#as if I would ever have any knowledge of that normally

[daistea]

Hi Daistea! You are absolutly THE Mithrun writer! You catch his essence so well

I was wondering if you could write a prequel to "first burn"? I would love to hear more of his thoughts about cultivating his desire for intimacy and affection with reader

Thank you so much for doing such good for the fandom!

Thank you friend! Here you go, though I kinda just.. rambled with this one. I was just having fun, I hope you like it.

Mithrun x gn Reader

Post-Canon / spoilers maybe

word count: 2,200

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It wasn’t as if there was a handbook on how to cultivate desires. It wasn’t as if ‘normal’ people understood and recognized the process of desire. It wasn’t as if Mithrun had any clue what he was doing. 

 That, in and of itself, felt like a swaying tightrope he was only barely balancing on. Atop that, discomfort was a new concept. The end result was only more stark, suffocating discomfort. Mithrun usually knew what to do; if he ever had to figure something out, the solution came quickly, effortlessly. He was beginning to think he’d been spoiled in that area. Having such unfettered focus lended itself to problem solving. 

 Mithrun watched you. Perhaps he could be the one to write the handbook on desire. And there’d be an entire chapter dedicated to you. Was it possible to have a desire for desire? He supposed as much. He was stuck on the outer rims of the feeling, staring through a dusty window at what could be if only he could be. He was a planet stuck in the farthest orbit from the sun, and it was cold, and nobody really saw him there in the sky because he was so damn far away. 

 You ran your fingers through your hair. His attention snapped back to you like a taut rubber band. There must be a footnote in the handbook on cultivating desires about your small habits. You fidgeted, you shifted, your smile twisted into different shapes depending on your mood and every one of these habits must be footnoted. 

 Mithrun couldn’t help but make a grimace. He rested his chin in his palm and tore his gaze away, instead following the lines of the wooden panels in the wall of the restaurant. The handbook was going to be long— Gods, he wasn’t going to write it, he didn’t care enough to put in the effort. Nevertheless, one of the jagged lines in the wood paneling unlocked something within his brain. The very fact that he relentlessly took note of your every minute detail said something. 

 What did it say? Mithrun moved onto the next line in the wood. It gave him nothing. What did it say, Mithrun? What was the implication? It isn’t a hard question, Mithrun. Just answer. Just say it. Just—

 He clenched his fist. He clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white. You were still chatting away with the restaurant owner and he had half a mind to grab you by the waist and teleport you elsewhere, a place where you’d only pay attention to him. Only him. Perhaps that would answer the devastatingly easy implications that confounded him. 

 A wandering part of his mind, a traveler— which was a new feature: wandering— brought forth a query. What would you say about his inner turmoil? Most likely something along the lines of ‘I’m proud of you for trying, don’t pressure yourself so much.’ And he would ignore your words entirely because Mithrun wanted to want. 

 He must do something. There was that objective knowledge of what the situation required, it wasn’t exactly desire, but it was motivating. You deserved more. You deserved to have your hand held. You deserved kisses on your neck. You deserved gasps and moans and weak knees. He imagined the scene; you, beneath him, or in his lap, perhaps. You, closing your eyes, brows furrowed, whimpering as you sunk down and…

 Nothing. Mithrun knew he was making some sort of face, because a half-foot scurried past his table with wide eyes. Whatever. 

 Enough, he decided. It had been forty years since he had experienced any form of physical intimacy. While some feelings were more difficult to connect with, frustration was one of the easiest to identify. He’d had enough.

 Without a word to you— he probably should’ve given you a word, but he was in a hurry— Mithrun called upon his mana, the lingering spirits, and clenched his fist. A fourth of a second passed, a blink of an eye. He didn’t mean to end up on the kitchen floor of his apartment, but fine. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but you.

 Mithrun sighed and laid back. The tile was cool on the exposed skin of his hands as he stretched out his limbs. There were cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings. He could already feel a dull headache coming on from the hardness of the floor. Okay. 

 Routine: eyes closed, deep breaths, sinking into the floor and smelling the air and hearing the sounds. His kitchen smelled like soap. The sounds were absent. Images of you flickered through his mind, a rope gently tied around his body, pulling him deeper into the warm flood-waters. He imagined your arms, your waist, your thighs, your lips, your eyes, your laugh, your gasps, your stare, your hair, your hands, your knees, your chest, your stomach. Then, running his hands up your waist. Holding you. How would you feel with your body against his? How would your hand fit with his? 

 For a moment, Mithrun felt his heart pull and twist. Objectively, that was the physical reaction to adrenaline hormones in one’s body; anxiety. Yet, he didn’t believe he was anxious. He took a moment to wrack his brain, and the process of doing so always reminded him of the file room in the old Canaries headquarters. Papers would flip across his thumb as he searched for the right information. All he needed was a glimpse of the right set of letters, the right combination of words, until he found what he needed. 

 For an elf, forty-ish years wasn’t too long. Mithrun had spent the majority of his life as an entirely different person— may he rest in agony. He sometimes looked back on memories in order to identify a feeling. Past Mithrun would feel that pull and twist when Lord Kerensil made those snide comments about Mithrun’s biological father. That twist and pull was always present when Obrin idly, innocently, mentioned an investment deal he’d been allowed to participate in, as the heir to the House of Kerensil. That twist and pull was present when he saw Sultha send Obrin those wry smiles, how her lips twisted in a way that made Mithrun sick to his stomach. 

 To even dare associate that feeling with you brought the same nausea. 

 Yet, perhaps it wasn’t about you. 

 Perhaps it was him. Perhaps it was the self-loathing. He’d always carried it like a disease, though the symptoms only appeared in certain moments. Lately, though, he’d been sick with it more often than not. The happiness of a new purpose was parallel to the newfound connection with his more negative emotions. Mithrun supposed that it was person-hood; anger, sadness, joy, attraction, deep and intense adoration that made him physically ill when he meditated for too long about how he couldn’t quite feel the allure of a kiss. 

 That was his person-hood. Mithrun’s life was a constant struggle, and the kitchen floor felt abnormally cold that evening. 

 Kabru suggested that Mithrun keep track of new developments. It would help him, Kabru said. Mithrun had no protests nor interest in the theory, but nothing better to do, so he had a journal. Thus far, only one page in the journal had been filled. It said: 

1. Cheese is alright, preferably on bread

 Very exciting, at least for some— you and Kabru, particularly. Mithrun had a preference! Despite your excitement, you still put up your hands and waved them as if to ward off the positivity, “You’ve always had preferences, you know. It was just easy to overlook them.”

 Mithrun supposed you were right. He had plenty to complain about. That was preference-based, in a way. Obsession over the demon was such a large issue, though, that it left no room for anything else. It was like a flood, seeping into every corner, taking every inch, leaving nothing untouched and dry. 

 The second item in the journal was:

2. Black coffee, two sugars

 That was how he used to drink it. Some things never changed. Even if the timing was different throughout the year, the sun would always rise and set.

3. Desiring some sort of physical contact involving hands (with [name] specifically)

 And when Mithrun desired something, he would have it. Inevitable. He knew from an objective standpoint that carrying on with that view would only lead to disappointment, but the desire to change did not arise.

 Mithrun began taking your hand whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

 The first time, you glanced at him. Your lips were parted and your eyes the slightest bit wider. You looked down at your intertwined fingers. Mithrun did not dare look away from your face as you studied how each finger fit together like pieces of a puzzle— designed specifically for each other. 

 When you turned your head back to the person you were originally speaking to and resumed your conversation, satisfaction like a warm blanket settled over Mithrun’s shoulders and chest. He may have looked a bit smug without realizing it, for your conversation partner sent him a look. 

Next:

4. The palm is more sensitive than I remember. I think it would be okay to use it. 

 Mithrun pressed the palm of his hand against the small of your back. You had no reaction. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased that you accepted his touch so readily, or displeased that he saw no acknowledgement. He settled for some in-between feeling that even Past Mithrun could not identify. 

 Without putting it into certain words, Mithrun had an idea of why his skin felt so sensitive to your touch. For one, he’d gone so long without physical touch that his nerves were desert dwellers encountering an oasis for the first time. Secondly, it was the broadest part of the hand. The fingers were important, of course, they wrapped and they clutched and they stroked. Yet, the palm was deeper. It was taken for granted. Everybody in possession of fingers used them every day of their life. They were mundane, almost. The palm, though, was for cradling. The palm was for tracing. The palm was—

 Mithrun lifted your hand without a second thought. He’d nearly forgotten what shame felt like, it was another one of those objective feelings that he could identify in others but not quite connect with. Shame was not present at that moment, and he was pleased for that fact. If he had shame, then he would not experience the feeling of your palm against his lips. 

 He held your wrist with both hands. Your skin smelled like soap, and it was not exactly soft. There were lines and ridges on the palm, but he took a moment to memorize the shape of each one against his lips as he pressed a kiss to the spot between your thumb and index finger. 

 Your conversation partner looked away. You looked at Mithrun. He looked at you, his good eye fluttering open and taking in the sight of your expectancy and surprise and fondness and embarrassment. 

 Three seconds passed. Mithrun knew it was three seconds that passed because he counted. One, pause. Two, pause. Three, pause. 

 You swallowed and looked back at the person you’d been speaking to. Mithrun knew them, but didn’t care enough to allow his brain to make that connection between their face and his memories. His gaze was solely on you. Your profile was silhouetted against the orange sunset of Melini. 

 “Anyway, what were you saying?” You asked the person Mithrun didn’t care to identify— because you were the newest flood. You spread in a similar manner, filling up every inch and leaving nothing dry. Something in the back of his mind told him that that wasn’t healthy. Where there was a flood, there was mold and rot and destruction. 

 Whatever. 

 “The state of Melini,” your conversation partner said, “it’s really becoming a nation now.”

 You nodded, “It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.”

 That was such a generic statement, but you believed it. Perhaps the commonplace quality of the statement was what made it less feasible. Yet, when coming from your lips, Mithrun could almost imagine it. 

 Your lips. You said the most wonderful things, even when they were totally common and quotidian. You could tell Mithrun that the sun had exploded, and despite the clear existence of the sun in the sky at that very moment, he’d agree with you simply to see you satisfied.

 The desire to kiss you hit Mithrun like a slap to the face— no, actually, Past Mithrun had been slapped several times before, and he always knew it was coming. The desire to kiss you hit him like the taste of cheese on toasted bread, like the pleasure of a black coffee with two sugars, like the shiver down his spine when your palm pressed against his. 

 And finally, the handbook of desire was written. There were no words. It didn’t need words. 

 He desired you. 

 What even was attraction? What even was happiness and anger and desire? It was so subjective that the answer would never satisfy the inquirer. And Mithrun was tired of dissatisfaction.

 And it was time to act. 

 And it was time to open the gates. 

 And it was time to drown in desires he’d never let himself acknowledge. 

5. Start slowly. Whatever happens, happens. You can want now. 

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

[lukolabrainrot]

Calm theory anon here!!! I seen some theories about this whole A and L thing. That A force her way into a relationship with L let's discuss this. Facts we have is Luke never once address what this girl was to him. The girl appeared to have wanted to hold his hand in London for the paps and Luke actual straighten his hand (which showed that's the last thing he wanted to do). After all the hate she and he got he still has not addressed her title. So my question is why hasn't he? I have seen the argument he doesn't wanna bring unnecessary hate towards her. But she getting hated on and has been. So that argument is null and void. He's not saving her from anything. So if he's in a relationship with her why doesn't he just announce it? And announcing it can come in a simple form of just posting her in his stories. His name has already been dragged so what would be the benefits of keeping it without a title? If anything an argument could've been made if he did speak up most of the fans would stop. So why hasn't he posted her? She not even been in any of his stories. She not been in any of his post. He's not willingly launch her at all as someone that's important to him. Matter of fact excluding the two kisses we seen before January why haven't we gotten any type of kiss pictures since then. All these pap pictures and all we get is the life guard stance that you do to younger siblings or friends. Matter of fact in a lot of the pictures with L he looks straight up uncomfortable. It can't be because he's not use to camera and these pap pictures were taken without his knowledge. So shouldn't we have gotten some type of loved up picture? In the first year of a relationship is the loved up stage but the pictures we get seems like Luke's drunk to much and teach her to float. That's what we got. This is what we are basing our idea that this was a relationship on. This is why I don't think of her as his GF. The title of GF is given to someone. We the fans can't give her that title. Every outing we have seen them in has been a group outing. That we can prove there hasn't been a single outing that there by themselves (Spain doesn't count looking at some palm trees and a wall doesn't mean she was there). She can't post him and he won't her. All we have actually is why's? We have nothing really to go on. No actual statements. No actual posts. So were they really an item? Yes he went on trips with friends? But was she invited by him or his friends? The premiers was she invited by him or his sister? And if it was him why hasn't we actual see him stick some type of this is my girl? Unless this was just a friends with benefits thing and she pushing for more. I mean to me it makes sense. Luke isn't an asshole and a lot of people have these types of arrangements. It's normal in a sense. Maybe they had an arrangement. He gets sex without the complications of a serious relationship and she gets notoriety from being around him. There is so many maybe I doubt we will ever know. I will say I think a lot going on BTS. Nicola has gifted us and taken attention off Luke. Right now that's what we know for sure. Good things are coming guys

No notes!

[downsteepy]

i am very grateful that im not someone that has to deal with daily seizures but it is evil when it takes like a week and a half's worth of business days to recover from a seizure

[autistic-katara]

seeing ur beloved mutual reblogging some questionable shit (probably unintentionally) but not having the energy to argue or explain why </3

[bumpscosity]

too scared to go off anon but we are mutuals and i love seeing your posts about the disney rides and such. its like peeking in a window to something i know nothing about but enjoy seeing on my dash regardless

HAI MYSTERY MUTUAL!! glad ya like it! disney parks are a hyperfixation so it's always fun to post about for me :)

[cherry-shipping]

hrhrrrhhg. wwuz lookin 4 kissing gifs here on tumblr to put on one of eebs posts & one of them was a. s*riel animation ive seen before and i closed my eyes and scrolled past But even just that one look at it made me be like. ok Time 2 b on the verge of tears for a good 30 minutes now 👍 like ok. fucking loser.

[tearlessrain]

please help me- i used to be pretty smart but i’m having so much trouble grasping the concept of diegetic vs non-diegetic bdsm!

gfkjldghfd okay first of all I'm sorry for the confusion, if you're not finding anything on the phrase it's because I made it up and absolutely nobody but me ever uses it, but I haven't found a better way to express what I'm trying to say so I keep using it. but now you've given me an excuse to ramble on about some shit that is only relevant to me and my deeply inefficient way of talking and by god I'm going to take it.

SO. the way diegetic and non-diegetic are normally used is to talk about music and sound design in movies/tv shows. in case you aren't familiar with that concept, here's a rundown:

diegetic sound is sound that happens within the world of the movie/show and can be acknowledged by the characters, like a song playing on the stereo during a driving scene, or sung on stage in Phantom of the Opera. it's also most other sounds that happen in a movie, like the sounds of traffic in a city scene, or a thunderclap, or a marching band passing by. or one of the three stock horse sounds they use in every movie with a horse in it even though horses don't really vocalize much in real life, but that's beside the point, the horse is supposed to be actually making that noise within the movie's world and the characters can hear it whinnying.

non-diegetic sound is any sound that doesn't exist in the world of the movie/show and can't be perceived by the characters. this includes things like laugh tracks and most soundtrack music. when Duel of Fates plays in Star Wars during the lightsaber fight for dramatic effect, that's non-diegetic. it exists to the audience, but the characters don't know their fight is being backed by sick ass music and, sadly, can't hear it.

the lines can get blurry between the two, you've probably seen the film trope where the clearly non-diegetic music in the title sequence fades out to the same music, now diegetic and playing from the character's car stereo. and then there are things like Phantom of the Opera as mentioned above, where the soundtrack is also part of the plot, but Phantom of the Opera does also have segments of non-diegetic music: the Phantom probably does not have an entire orchestra and some guy with an electric guitar hiding down in his sewer just waiting for someone to break into song, but both of those show up in the songs they sing down there.

now, on to how I apply this to bdsm in fiction.

if I'm referring to diegetic bdsm what I mean is that the bdsm is acknowledged for what it is in-world. the characters themselves are roleplaying whatever scenarios their scenes involve and are operating with knowledge of real life rules/safety practices. if there's cnc depicted, it will be apparent at some point, usually right away, that both characters actually are fully consenting and it's all just a planned scene, and you'll often see on-screen negotiation and aftercare, and elements of the story may involve the kink community wherever the characters are. Love and Leashes is a great example of this, 50 Shades and Bonding are terrible examples of this, but they all feature characters that know they're doing bdsm and are intentional about it.

if I'm talking about non-diegetic bdsm, I'm referring to a story that portrays certain kinks without the direct acknowledgement that the characters are doing bdsm. this would be something like Captive Prince, or Phantom of the Opera again, or the vast majority of bodice ripper type stories where an innocent woman is kidnapped by a pirate king or something and totally doesn't want to be ravished but then it turns out he's so cool and sexy and good at ravishing that she decides she's into it and becomes his pirate consort or whatever it is that happens at the end of those books. the characters don't know they're playing out a cnc or D/s fantasy, and in-universe it's often straight up noncon or dubcon rather than cnc at all. the thing about entirely non-diegetic bdsm is that it's almost always Problematic™ in some way if you're not willing to meet the story where it's at, but as long as you're not judging it by the standards of diegetic bdsm, it's just providing the reader the same thing that a partner in a scene would: the illusion of whatever risk or taboo floats your boat, sometimes to extremes that can't be replicated in real life due to safety, practicality, physics, the law, vampires not being real, etc. it's consensual by default because it's already pretend; the characters are vehicles for the story and not actually people who can be hurt, and the reader chose to pick up the book and is aware that nothing in it is real, so it's all good.

this difference is where people tend to get hung up in the discourse, from what I've observed. which is why I started using this phrasing, because I think it's very crucial to be able to differentiate which one you're talking about if you try to have a conversation with someone about the portrayal of bdsm in media. it would also, frankly, be useful for tagging, because sometimes when you're in the mood for non-diegetic bodice ripper shit you'd call the police over in real life, it can get really annoying to read paragraphs of negotiation and check-ins that break the illusion of the scene and so on, and the opposite can be jarring too.

it's very possible to blur these together the same way Phantom of the Opera blurs its diegetic and non-diegetic music as well. this leaves you even more open to being misunderstood by people reading in bad faith, but it can also be really fun to play with. @not-poignant writes fantastic fanfic, novels, and original serials on ao3 that pull this off really well, if you're okay with some dark shit in your fiction I would highly recommend their work. some of it does get really fucking dark in places though, just like. be advised. read the tags and all that.

but yeah, spontaneous writer plug aside, that's what I mean.

[argentconflagration]

when the subject of "why do people believe things that are seriously wrong and harmful" comes up it feels like you kinda hear one of two perspectives:

"oh, that's easy! it's because they're fundamentally Bad people who want to hurt others and choose their beliefs to justify that! :) hope this helps"

or

"they just don't have access to the same information we do. look at this person who was raised in a cult! don't you feel sorry for her?"

and like, yes, fine, some people were in fact raised in cults, but what i wish people would understand is that the bulk of it is just normal human flaws, like:

they want to believe stuff that makes them feel smart and cool and like they've figured everything out (you also do this)

they want to believe stuff that makes them feel like their emotions are justified and grounded in reality, and that the people they want to hurt deserve to be hurt (you also do this)

they form conclusions before they've processed all the relevant information, and cling to that first impression even when new info comes to light (you also do this)

they pick up beliefs from the people around them because they want to be liked and fit in, not because the beliefs are good or true (you also do this)

they come up with reasons that the stuff that benefits them (and the people they like and identify with) is actually overwhelmingly best for everyone and obviously the right thing to do (you also do this)

they pay more attention to stuff that supports what they already believe and avoid looking in places that might show them otherwise (you also do this)

they listen to people who talk like 'one of them' and ignore others (you also do this)

they come up with reasons to dismiss people with conflicting viewpoints as obviously in bad faith or ignorant or a shill or evil (you also do this)

they fail to take their own beliefs seriously sometimes, and take their beliefs way too seriously other times, in a selective way that lets them do the things they already wanted to do (you also do this)

the very ways they construct the ideas of 'knowledge' and 'wisdom' and 'belief' and 'understanding' are biased so that what they don't want to believe comes under lots of scrutiny and what they do want to believe receives less (you also do this)

you, dear reader, are presumably right about everything and were correct to die on every hill you've ever died on, but the difference between you and someone who's wrong about important stuff doesn't look like "well they're inherently evil and i'm not", it probably looks like a combination of:

natural environment (they would have been exposed to different information than you regardless of their choices)

being in the right place at the right time (your particular profile of flaws and virtues happened to be what was needed to lead you to the right conclusions, they had the opposite experience)

random luck (you doubled down on what felt right to believe but wasn't, but it turned out to be inconsequential, or even right for different reasons, while they doubled down on what turned out to be a horrible mistake distorting their entire worldview)

you do less of the things in the previous list, and over time the difference between you and them adds up

and, look, i also do these things. the nicest and most thoughtful people i've ever met do these things. if you meet someone who never does any of these things, i dunno, give them a fucking medal or something.

i know you're doing your best. we're all doing our best.

[staff]

We Asked an Expert...in Herpetology!

People on Tumblr come from all walks of life and all areas of expertise to grace our dashboards with paragraphs and photographs of the things they want to share with the world. Whether it's an artist uploading their speed art, a fanfic writer posting their WIPs, a language expert expounding on the origin of a specific word, or a historian ready to lay down the secrets of Ea-nasir, the hallways of Tumblr are filled with specialists sharing their knowledge with the world. We Asked an Expert is a deep dive into those expert brains on tumblr dot com. Today, we’re talking to Dr. Mark D. Scherz (@markscherz), an expert in Herpetology. Read on for some ribbeting frog facts, including what kind of frog the viral frog bread may be based on.

Reptiles v Amphibians. You have to choose one.

In a battle for my heart, I think amphibians beat out the reptiles. There is just something incredibly good about beholding a nice plump frog.

In a battle to the death, I have to give it to the reptiles—the number of reptiles that eat amphibians far, far outstrips the number of amphibians that eat reptiles.

In terms of ecological importance, I would give it to the amphibians again, though. Okay, reptiles may keep some insects and rodents in check, but many amphibians live a dual life, starting as herbivores and graduating to carnivory after metamorphosis, and as adults they are critical for keeping mosquitos and other pest insects in check.

What is the most recent exciting fact you discovered about herps?

This doesn’t really answer your question, but did you know that tadpole arms usually develop inside the body and later burst through the body wall fully formed? I learned about this as a Master’s student many years ago, but it still blows my mind. What’s curious is that this apparently does not happen in some of the species of frogs that don’t have tadpoles—oh yeah, like a third of all frogs or something don’t have free-living tadpoles; crazy, right? They just develop forelimbs on the outside of the body like all other four-legged beasties. But this has only really been examined in a couple species, so there is just so much we don’t know about development, especially in direct-developing frogs. Like, how the hell does it just… swap from chest-burster to ‘normal’ limb development? Is that the recovery of the ancestral programming, or is it newly generated? When in frog evolution did the chest-burster mode even evolve?

How can people contribute to conservation efforts for their local herps?

You can get involved with your local herpetological societies if they exist—and they probably do, as herpetologists are everywhere. You can upload observations of animals to iNaturalist, where you can get them identified while also contributing to datasets on species distribution and annual activity used by research scientists.

You can see if there are local conservation organizations that are doing any work locally, and if you find they are not, then you can get involved to try to get them started. For example, if you notice areas of particularly frequent roadkill, talking to your local council or national or local conservation organizations can get things like rescue programs or road protectors set up. You should also make sure you travel carefully and responsibly. Carefully wash and disinfect your hiking boots, especially between locations, as you do not want to be carrying chytrid or other nasty infectious diseases across the world, where they can cause population collapses and extinctions.

Here are some recent headlines. Quick question, what the frog is going on in the frog world? 

Click through for Mark’s response to these absolutely wild headlines, more about his day-to-day job, his opinion on frog bread, and his favorite Tumblr.

✨D I S C O V E R Y✨

There are more people on Earth than ever before, with the most incredible technology that advances daily at their disposal, and they disperse that knowledge instantly. That means more eyes and ears observing, recording, and sharing than ever before. And so we are making big new discoveries all the time, and are able to document them and reach huge audiences with them.

That being said, these headlines also showcase how bad some media reporting has gotten. The frogs that scream actually scream mostly in the audible range—they just have harmonics that stretch up into ultrasound. So, we can hear them scream, we just can’t hear all of it. Because the harmonics are just multiples of the fundamental, they would anyway only add to the overall ‘quality’ of the sound, not anything different. The mushroom was sprouting from the flank of the frog, and scientists are not really worried about it because this is not how parasitic fungi work, and this is probably a very weird fluke. And finally, the Cuban tree frogs (Osteocephalus septentrionalis) are not really cannibals per se; they are just generalist predators who will just as happily eat a frog as they will a grasshopper, but the frogs they are eating are usually other species. People seem to forget that cannibalism is, by definition, within a species. The fact that they are generalist predators makes them a much bigger problem than if they were cannibals—a cannibal would actually kind of keep itself in check, which would be useful. The press just uses this to get people’s hackles up because Westerners are often equal parts disgusted and fascinated by cannibalism. 

What does an average day look like for the curator of herpetology at the Natural History Museum of Denmark?

No two days are the same, and that is one of the joys of the job. I could spend a whole day in meetings, where we might be discussing anything from which budget is going to pay for 1000 magnets to how we could attract big research funding, to what a label is going to say in our new museum exhibits (we are in the process of building a new museum). Equally, I might spend a day accompanying or facilitating a visitor dissecting a crocodile or photographing a hundred snakes. Or it might be divided into one-hour segments that cover a full spectrum: working with one of my students on a project, training volunteers in the collection, hunting down a lizard that someone wants to borrow from the museum, working on one of a dozen research projects of my own, writing funding proposals, or teaching classes. It is a job with a great deal of freedom, which really suits my work style and brain.

Oh yeah, and then every now and then, I get to go to the field and spend anywhere from a couple of weeks to several months tracking down reptiles and amphibians, usually in the rainforest. These are also work days—with work conditions you couldn’t sell to anyone: 18-hour work days, no weekends, no real rest, uncomfortable living conditions, sometimes dangerous locations or working conditions, field kitchen with limited options, and more leeches and other biting beasties than most health and welfare officers would tolerate—but the reward is the opportunity to make new discoveries and observations, collect critical data, and the privilege of getting to be in some of the most beautiful and biodiverse places left on the planet. So, I am humbled by the fact that I have the privilege and opportunity to undertake such expeditions, and grateful for the incredible teams I collaborate with that make all of this work—from the museum to the field—possible.

The Tibetan Blackbird is also known as Turdus maximus. What’s your favorite chortle-inducing scientific name in the world of herpetology?

Among reptiles and amphibians, there aren’t actually that many to choose from, but I must give great credit to my friend Oliver Hawlitschek and his team, who named the snake Lycodryas cococola, which actually means ‘Coco dweller’ in Latin, referring to its occurrence in coconut trees. When we were naming Mini mum, Mini scule, and Mini ature, I was inspired by the incredible list that Mark Isaac has compiled of punning species names, particularly by the extinct parrot Vini vidivici, and the beetles Gelae baen, Gelae belae, Gelae donut, Gelae fish, and Gelae rol. I have known about these since high school, and it has always been my ambition to get a species on this list.

If you were a frog, what frog would you be and why?

I think I would be a Phasmahyla because they’re weird and awkward, long-limbed, and look like they’re wearing glasses. As a 186 cm (6’3) glasses-wearing human with no coordination, they quite resonate with me.

Please rate this frog bread from 1/10. Can you tell us what frog it represents?

With the arms inside the body cavity like that, it can basically only be a brevicipitid rain frog. The roundness of the body fits, too. I’d say probably Breviceps macrops (or should I say Breadviceps?) based on those big eyes. 7/10, a little on the bumpy side and missing a finger and at least one toe.

Please follow Dr. Mark Scherz at @markscherz for even more incredibly educational, entertaining, and meaningful resources in the world of reptiles and amphibians.

[xitsensunmoon]

My first ever comic con! And first cosplay too. Of course it's gonna be my boy :] Ramblings about the process are under the cut(Let me know if?? You would want me to elaborate with process images for any of the steps?)

The costume took me forever to make, as I've never done any machine sewing, sculpting, fabric dying or spray painting before but learning all of these was so fucking fun!! I never realised just how many different skills go into making a cosplay but it was so worth it!!!

Almost all of the clothes(except the hat) were purchased first as bases, but all of the detailing was added by me. All of the fabric used was originally just scraps that I was given for free so I needed to learn how to dye and dye all of the stars, they were originally white.

The sewing machine was its own beast that brought me tons of frustration from the lack of skill and knowledge (it was devastating to find out that 95% of fuck ups were my fault and not the machine's lmao). But as a result, a hat sewn from scratch, all of the fur trims, embroidery on the corset, stars and the collar(which is very hard to see on the pictures unfortunately) was all added manually. The stars and the stripes(on the back of the cape) were attached using heat-and-bond adhesive (I WISH I knew about such thing just when I started working on this. It would save me so much time and nerves.)

Then I found out about polymorph(mouldable plastic) and it has become the next thing I wanted to learn, to sculpt the claws and the fangs(yes, they're handmade jfksjs). The claws I then primed and painted in trillion coats because I wasn't satisfied with the colour of the spray paint. The fangs I moulded to my own teeth and then stained with tea to match the colour of my teeth :)c

As for makeup, I used Mehron Paradise water activated paints. At first I wanted to try to save money and bought myself Snazaroo instead, which unfortunately turned out to be a waste. Snazaroo didn't hold on my face for longer than 2 hours, cracking and peeling awfully. Mehron on the other hand survived 11 hours of me smiling, talking, emoting and such and didn't even crease at the smile lines(I'm actually shocked about that). It obviously works like any other makeup which means your skin texture and wrinkles won't go anywhere but Mehron's elasticity pleasantly surprised me. It did obviously smear from sweat and saliva(if you're eating and licking your lips) but if you don't touch the skin it just dries again, self setting. But if it's dry it's fully smear-proof. Highly recommend!

And last but not least, I've decided against painting my hands as it was very risky that I will stain everything I touch at the smallest hint of sweat. So instead I got myself gloves-tights(? Not sure how they're called but it's made from the same fabric as tights) and painted them with normal acrylic paint(did you know you could dye fabric with acrylic paint? I personally didn't), then heat set with an iron and voilà, they're reusable, my hands are not stained after an exhausting day and I don't stain everything I touch. It worked wonderfully which honestly was a surprise as I was really sceptical that acrylic paint will somehow stay in place.

I think this whole thing took me minimum of 6 months with big-big breaks for my school and life in general. But I'm really proud! This project taught me so many new skills and I couldn't have been happier about learning new knowledge, even if it sucked to fail in the meantime.

Everyone at the con was really nice and gave me a large confidence boost even tho it was my first time and I had no idea what I was doing. Taking photos with other people was really awkward/new for me as I hate cameras so I really had no idea how to pose/behave in front of one. But that's okay I think. This whole experience definitely made me want to do this again, so I think that will come with experience. Thank you for reading this far, hope you enjoyed this little summary :)

[shadesoflsk]

THE OLD WAY

pairing: Leon Kennedy x fem reader

summary: Living at a farm and being married surely has it perks. However, Leon can't help but think something is missing.

warnings: smut, MDNI, oral (fem receiving) p in v, mating press (??), creampie, breeding kink, outdoor sex, age gap (unspecified), established relationship, fluff, Leon is so husband in this, mentions of pregnancy, domestic bliss.

word count: 4k

author's note: Hello! I had this fic in my drafts for sooo long. I was kind of ashamed to post this since it's not my usual type of content but !!! fuck it !! Ovulation goes brrr. I hope you all like it!I had an older Leon in mind but I used a re6 leon pic for funsies. (And please... don't judge the lack of creativity in my title... I didn't know what to write.)

MY MASTERLIST

City life was no longer fitting for a man like him. Job was not the same and he was afraid he might not get up from one of his falls one day. Joints no longer worked like they used to, a painful reminder of how his age was getting to him.

That's why he chose to retire, rather early for the average citizen. But he believes his position as a federal agent has aged him to the point where he could easily describe himself as an 80 years old man who needed help crouching down.

With that in mind, he wasted no time buying a home away from civilization. Money was no problem and owning a ranch now sounded like the best idea he could come up with. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. Time seemed to flow faster as he settled down in a peaceful lifestyle.

Solitude was very much welcomed. The sounds of blood dripping and ragged screams were replaced by the soft pitty patter of the rain and the usual rooster’s crow each morning, announcing a new day. 

But, as much as he has grown to love and appreciate his simplistic routine, the monotonous daily work and the lack of companionship were hitting him hard. When night came and his thoughts clouded his rational side, he yearned for a change in his life. He was never the romantic type, never been. His previous job as an agent cut off any possibilities of having a partner and settling down like any normal person would. But years made him a sappy man, it seemed.

Life works in mysterious ways, though. He wouldn’t have thought that farm life would bring him a sweet thing like you. It all started with your car breaking down a few meters away from his farm. You wanted to thank him for his help, there was no way you would simply express your gratitude through words, not after his assistance. 

So, your first visit consisted of a home-baked pie which he reluctantly accepted. Not because he didn’t want to but it had been a while since he was last gifted something. That first meeting soon turned into a couple until you were basically there every day. 

“Stay with me,” shifted into a “Be my girlfriend” and therefore the “Marry me?” finally came. 

You were the best thing that has ever happened in his life, a peaceful life away from any danger the city may bring and a beautiful wife by his side? God granted him the most perfect miracle ever. 

He followed the milestones of your relationship to a T. Even though the lack of knowledge was sometimes obvious, he knew the basics of how to keep a girl—his girl— happy. It was in his nature to provide, and living with you meant no exception. 

He always strived to do better, to be better. Your needs were always met and he took pride in knowing he was your husband. No one else but him. 

However, he felt selfish when none of that actually fulfilled him. He was happy with you, don’t get him wrong. Nothing was like before when he thought he would die alone with no one who cared about him. But something in the back of his mind kept bothering him.

And ever since he realized something was missing, he couldn't help but try to find out what it was. 

For days and weeks, he tried picturing the change both of you needed. More pets? You had enough with the dog you both have. Vacations? He had already taken you to the beach. More space in your home? The house at the farm was alright… Maybe a little too big for just the two of you.

Oh.

Oh…

The problem was the two of you. Or rather, being just the two of you on this big ranch. 

He had come to realize that he could, in fact, dream bigger. A few years ago, he would have thought that being married was a faraway dream, unachievable and stupid. But now he’s a husband and maybe if he tries hard enough, he can get to be a family man.

However, nobody has taught him how to face these types of situations. Even when he asked you to be his wife, he needed months of preparation. How was he going to explain this desire to put a baby in you? 

On one peaceful night, he was spooning you as always. It was his favorite activity after taking care of his chores at the farm (and even doing some of yours just so you could relax more). But even when there was nothing but a comforting silence, his thoughts wouldn’t stop flooding his mind. 

He let one of his hands rest on your abdomen, caressing the skin there with circular motions. He tried closing his eyes to prevent more of those thoughts from coming to his mind yet it was useless. His imagination was running wild when he pictured you carrying a life in your belly, swollen and round, the perfect scenario.

He imagined taking care of you. Of course, his pretty wife won’t do anything if she’s next to him. There was no way he wouldn’t take that opportunity to show her how much of a man, a good man he was. 

Pressing a kiss to your cheek as he rested behind you, he spoke before even thinking what he was supposed to say.

“You would be a good mom, you know?” It slipped out of his mouth, he should’ve used a more discreet way of speaking his mind. Now it was too late to draw back.

“What?” You chuckled as you turned your head to look at Leon. “I’d look great as a mom?” 

“Yeah.” He whispered, finally admitting his desire to have a family. “What do you think?”

He wouldn’t push the matter if you don’t feel the same. As much as he loved the idea of having mini versions of both of you, there was no way he would force you to do it. 

“Mhm… I think you’d also be a great dad.” Your voice was as soft as his, indulging in this little moment of intimacy and raw honesty. 

The word dad rings in his mind. His life before having his ranch was violence-filled, then years of solitude surrounded by nothing but nature cornered him to think that being alone was his destiny. Now, you brought him a newfound desire to come back home and finding you and your child. A family.

“You think so?” 

“Absolutely.”

Leon had a silly smile formed on his face. His dreams were actually achievable and domesticity and tranquility were now his everyday life.

“We can try if you want.” You added, feeling how Leon continued drawing shapes on your stomach. “How many would you like?”

Leon didn’t think he would get this far. 

“Want me to be honest?” Leon’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “I wouldn’t mind having an entire football team with you.” He joked, hearing how you gasped in response.

“Leon!” You slapped his hand out of your abdomen. “I’m the one having them!” 

Both of you laughed as the night embraced both of you like a blanket. Confessions have never been so much welcomed as tonight’s. 

“I love you.” He murmured as his eyes closed. It was a reassurance that whatever life had in store for both of you, he would gladly accept it.

“I love you more.” You replied with the same fondness as always. Drifting off to sleep was easier than ever.

-

Days passed and the conversation wasn’t forgotten. Nonetheless, you let the flow of time and life decide for both of you.

Daily chores needed to be completed no matter what. So, he’s now washing his hands after feeding the horses. You’re holding the garden hose which makes a wet mess given the force of the water. 

“Didn’t know it was raining.” Leon jokes as the water soaks his shirt and pants. 

“Shit, sorry.” You turn off the garden hose as you giggle watching how drenched Leon looks. 

And while you are genuinely sorry since Leon still has things to do on the farm, you can’t help but appreciate the image your husband is offering. White shirt now see-through, giving you the perfect view of his soft abdomen clinging to the fabric.

When you first met Leon, he had told you what an amazing body he had. With so much pride, he once showed you pictures of his past self. Images of a toned torso and strong arms would look appealing to your eyes. But each time Leon and you are intimate, you get to feel his slightly rounder belly pressed against you, his strong arms clinging to you. In those moments you can’t help but thank God for the gorgeous man you have. 

“Enjoying the view?” Leon breaks the silence when he feels your eyes not leaving his body. 

“Maybe…” You quietly whisper as you drop the hose and walk closer to him. “Can’t help it, my husband is so handsome.” You add, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. Inevitably, you inhaled the scent you have grown to love. 

For a moment, you stay there, just drowning in the affection letting your hands rest on his sides unaware of how Leon could feel the slight friction of your breasts against his soaked shirt. The thin fabric of your dress does a poor job of preventing Leon’s hands from wandering around your body. 

A pool of arousal starts setting in Leon as he reaches your ass and gives it a firm squeeze.

With one swift and smooth move, he lifts you off the ground. Your feet are no longer touching the floor as Leon walks away from the barn. And, as if on command, you wrap your legs around his torso, allowing him to walk easier to whatever destination he had in mind.

For once, Leon hates the fact that he owns a big ass farm. His place is a bit far away from the barn, so his decisions are fogged by the desire and neediness he is feeling at the moment. Years in solitude led him to think he was imponent but with the way his jeans seem to get tighter each time your lower half brushes against his, he knows it's not true.

He is a gentleman, don’t get him wrong. He’d have picked you up and carried you to his bedroom as usual, laid you on the bed, taken off your clothes, and fucked you gently (or rough) like he usually did. However, a newfound wish piqued his interest, and even though you're in a secluded area, he wishes everyone would know what pretty girl he got.

Without further thinking and no complaints made, he places you down on the grass. The sensation of the blades tickling your skin is, in a way, bothersome, but your brain is easily turned into mush every time Leon dares to touch you.

Leon, however, wouldn’t allow you to feel any discomfort. His sun-kissed skin would be exposed in swift motion as he takes off his wet shirt. Those antagonizing seconds of admiring him unbuttoning the fabric push you to press your thighs together, seeking any type of release or mere pleasure.

“Up,” And after those endless seconds of him taking off his shirt, his hand taps your hip, motioning you to lift the lower half of your body for him to lay his shirt there. Giving no second thoughts, you raise your rear, pathetically quick, and Leon notices. “So needy, have I been slacking off?”

And his tone gives him away. He is looking forward to letting nature be the witness of your lustful acts. The sun being your light and the grass your makeshift bed. His body embraces the position on top of you.

“Of course I have.” He cooes, bringing his face lower and lower before pressing his cheek against your inner thigh. His stubble resembles sandpaper with how it scratches your skin, but at this point, it brings more pleasure than annoyance. “Look at her, already crying for me.”

His breath tickles the middle area between your legs. The wet spot in your panties is obvious to Leon who wastes no time to bring up that fact. And you want to thank yourself for choosing a dress today because there is no way you could do anything besides laying on the grass and letting Leon treat you so nicely and tenderly.

“How could I?” He hums against the soaked patch of the fabric. “Been neglecting my pretty girl.” He presses a kiss on your clothed area, dragging down the anticipated pleasure you’re looking for. 

“Mhm… please.” Your babbles gain a chuckle out of Leon’s lips. He is enjoying the whole setting, he wouldn’t have known he had a thing for outdoor sex but then again, he loves discovering new things with you. 

Antagonistically, he lifts your dress until it reaches your abdomen and exposes your lower half.

And finally, his fingers hook around the sides of your panties, yanking down the fabric, allowing himself to admire the way he has made a mess of you already. 

As always, he was ready for his favorite meal in the whole world.

Lying on his stomach, he props up on his elbows, his mouth dives into your pussy as his tongue laps at your clit. A moan escapes your lips as the sensation of being eaten out by Leon floods your mind and soul. 

He feasts like a starved man, like he is eating his favorite dessert. He delves into your aching hole, his tongue tasting the sweet and well-known flavor of your juices. He brings your legs over his shoulders, propping you to raise your lower half and reach even deeper. 

“Shit,” Your fingers tangle in his dirty blond hair, shoving his face into your cunt. His lips suck your clit, paying close attention to that part, drawing moans and whines out of you. 

A plethora of names are being said as Leon continues being trapped between your thighs. He flicks his tongue while he feels how some of your slick drips to his stubble. And with the way your legs squeeze him even tighter, he can already guess you’re feeling so much pleasure from his tongue alone.

You arch your back, trying to bring him even closer to your core. The wet noises of his saliva and your slick mix with the outdoor ones. The soft rustling of the trees’ leaves and the birds chirping are a reminder of the scenario you both are in.

Whimpers leave your lips as Leon's tongue makes out with your cunt. Your fingers grip the shirt Leon placed as a makeshift blanket. Heat starts pooling in your belly as the antagonizing seconds of Leon eating you out bring you to the edge.

At last, your body jerks and comes undone in Leon’s grasp. He holds you in place, flattening his tongue to collect every drop of your slick. He could easily cum too just by the fact he was tasting your release. 

“My sweet girl, always so perfect for me.” He finally disconnects from your pussy to crawl back to where your face is. He places some kisses on your neck which is glistening with a layer of sweat given how much pleasure you were previously feeling. 

At last, his lips reach yours and he passionately kisses you. You could easily taste yourself in the kiss yet you don’t care at this very moment. 

For a moment, he indulges in the tenderness of the kiss after bringing you to heaven with just his tongue alone. However, the easily noticeable restraint in his jeans was getting harder to control. 

You feel him grind against you, seeking any type of friction to ease the aching feeling of his erection. 

“Leon… I can’t….” Leon’s intentions are obvious as you feel his clothed dick humping your leg like a needy man yet, you are still tender from your ecstasy. 

“You can…” He brings his face against the crook of your neck once again, placing wet kisses around your skin. “Just one more baby.”

He pleads, he begs, he needs to feel you wrapped around him. Those thoughts about leaving his mark, leaving his seed in you are still pretty much present. So at last, you nod. That’s when you can feel a smile forming on his lips which continue being pressed against your neck. 

“Thank you, thank you.” Acting like he hasn’t touched for ages, you hear the rustle of fabric and his belt buckle falling to the ground. You see how his dick springs out of his boxers when he pulls them down, already leaking precum just from eating you out.

In less than a second, you feel him collecting your previous release, sliding his cock through your folds with such ease that it had you gripping air. 

“Fuck…” He murmurs as he pushes himself painfully slowly, taking his time to feel how your walls tighten around his length. Pinned underneath him, you feel overwhelmed by the sensation of having his body so close to you. 

“My pretty wife…” He whispers as he is finally all the way in. “Look at you, so pretty full of me.” He adds while one of his hands caresses your hair.

He starts gently rocking against your body, the pace is slow and comforting as if trying to remember the way your velvety walls clamp his dick, the stretch being something you’re accustomed to.

“I love you so much, you know that?” He says as he thrusts inside of you, this time a little more urgently. The hand that was previously running through your hair wraps around your waist and lifts it slightly. 

“Mhm…yes.” You nod as your eyes lock with his, witnessing a newfound desire you haven’t seen before. Maybe it was the fact that both of you are outdoors, you don’t know. 

The sounds of his skin slapping against yours mix with your heavy breaths. The perfect music for the perfect scenario. As soon as Leon hits that sweet spot of yours, you whimper his name like a mantra. 

And then again, the thought of a family floods his mind. The mental image of your belly stretching out, making space for the baby is everything he longs for. And not only that, but he craves to take care of you, his pretty wife. You wouldn’t need to lift a finger for the nine months of pregnancy. 

“Wanna fill you up.” He finally confesses in a moan. He isn’t a stranger to dirty talk, you know it well. The way his words come out like a promise and an already-made decision is proof of his not so hidden wish. “This farm is lonely with just the two of us…”

And as he presses his forehead against yours, you see in his eyes the devotion he has for you. The same man that promised you the world is now promising a life, a new life who is going to be the perfect combination of both you and him.

“What’chu mean?” You feign ignorance just for the sake of hearing those words coming out of his mouth again. And as you try to say some more teasing words, you can feel the way his thrusts get rougher as if trying to make a statement. The statement being that he wouldn’t stop until you get pregnant.

“You know what I mean…” He is huffing by now, letting out a grunt as he utters those words. “Wanna get you nice and full.”

Ultimately, your dreams are the same as his. So you allow him to transform this dream of his into his—your—reality now.

“Yeah?” You say through your teeth, trying not to whimper from the fact that his cock is reaching so deep into you. 

“Yeah.” He groans, his sticky forehead never leaving yours as he looks into your eyes and your dazed-out expression. “You’re gonna look so goddamn beautiful as a momma.” 

Out of desperation to fuck you even deeper, he brings your legs to his shoulders, just like he previously did when he was eating you out. But this time, it is an attempt to let his dick mark your womb. 

It is his mission to one day see a positive test. It’s his mission to show his devotion to his princess and the now-future mother of his children. He’d never stop looking at the telltale of his seed making its home in your body. 

He wouldn’t let you do anything besides resting and growing your little miracle. He’d cook, he’d clean, he’d feed you if you ask him to. 

“Keep squeezing me like that, I’m gonna—fuck—cum…” He effortlessly bends your knees even more, bringing them closer to your chest.  “Gonna fill you up until I’m so damn empty.” 

He takes advantage of the vulnerable position you’re in to bring a hand to your clit. Rubbing it, he waits for the imminent climax of both of you.

“Cum for me, princess.” He presses his body on top of you, the position allowing him to let out an almost growl against your ear. The sense of purpose that Leon is showing prompts you to finally reach your climax. With a broken voice and your fingernails leaving crescent moons on his back, you coat his dick with your release. A gooey ring forms at the base of his cock every time he pulls in and out of you. 

His actions don’t stop there, though. He was so close to spilling right inside you and making his dreams come true. He brings the hand that was previously teasing your clit to your face, brushing away some of your hair that has stuck to your forehead, he looks right into your eyes.

“Fucking love you so much.” He grunts, his deep sea eyes never leaving yours, as if trying to engrave this moment in his mind. To forever remember the time when he finally achieved his dream. “You’ll be the prettiest momma ever.”

Although his thrusts are too much for you to handle and the overstimulation turns into a slight discomfort, the way his hand is gently caressing your cheek—a juxtaposition of his determined attempt of marking you— makes you melt on the spot.

And especially since the cold feeling of his wedding ring reminds you of the amazing man you married.

“I'm cumming.” He warns you as his thrusts get sloppy and without rhythm. He's seeing stars at this moment, every time he plunges his dick into you he reaches the sky. And at last, with the way his breath gets laboured and heavy, it announces his high coming.

The head of his dick spurts rope after rope of cum into you, the angle you are in makes it easier for it not to drip out of you. He wouldn’t allow a drop of his seed to go to waste. 

You feel the warm and thick liquid filling your insides, proof of Leon’s actions and therefore fulfilled wish. For a moment, you stay there letting his weight crush you and your bent legs. 

After a while, he slowly slips out of you, carefully placing your legs on the ground. You feel the grass blades tickling your calves where Leon’s shirt doesn’t reach. 

Leon rests his arm next to your head, admiring the dazed-out expression you have after letting him fill you.

“Hey…” He murmurs before letting out a soft chuckle. 

“Hi you.” You respond with a smile amidst the exhaustion that is running through your veins. “We really just did that.”

“Yeah…” In his eyes, you can observe how much love he has for you and how eager he is to know if this one dream will be a reality.

With his free hand, he grabs yours and places soft pecks on your knuckles. 

“Are you okay?” He once again speaks, now making sure you are alright. 

“More than okay.” 

He gives your knuckles one last kiss before he lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head while doing so.

“A penny for your thoughts?” You ask.

“Nothing…” He shakes his head once again. “It's just that… I may have some dad jokes already prepared.”

“Shut up, Leon.”

You couldn’t wait to know if your dreams were achieved by this act. You couldn’t wait to see if your life could get even better than this. And especially, you couldn’t wait to experience being a family.

💬 shadesoflsk: Comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Knowing

I have just had the worst, or best, brainwave and I need to share it. 

Here is an AU for you.

Vader thinks that he killed his wife and child, right?

Right up until he meets little Leia Organa when she is 10 years old. Like his one brain cell woke the fuck up when he was confronted with a passionate, angry little girl with Padme’s eyes and his chin. This is maybe a month after she was kidnapped and returned to Alderaan. Leia decides that she would need to learn how to be a senator and insists that Bail takes her with him to the next session of the imperial senate.  

Bail does not want to bring her to the imperial senate. However he knows very well who her birth parents were, it is either Bail brings Leia to the Imperial Senate or Leia brings Leia to the Imperial Senate, probably bringing with her someone she really shouldn’t (Like actual Obi Wan Kenobi-I just want you to picture for a moment, because Bail certainly did, looking up and realizing that Leia is charging down the halls outside his office, dragging with her a bemused and sandy Obi Wan, both in badly conceived disguises).

Bail is super stressed as he tries to run a rebellion while riding herd on his well meaning but very direct 10 year old daughter on top of his normal duties as an imperial senator. Bail is also very afraid that the moment the Emperor sees Leia, he will make the connection between Leia and Padme Amidala (The emperor does not socialize with the senate any longer, thank the stars). He has no idea that Vader was once Anakin Skywalker, so has no cause to be more careful than normal (because Vader) about Vader seeing Leia. As such Bail does not even notice when Vader stops to consider them from the shadows. Leia is haranguing another planet’s senatorial aide who had chosen the wrong moment to make a bigoted joke. 

Vader is very abruptly, though mentally, thrown back to this very hallway 12 years earlier where he watched his wife do the same thing, for the same reason, possibly to this same aide. Though Leia is still a child and Padme was an adult, he can still see his wife in this little girl.

The realization that this is Padme’s child hits him with the force of a Ventanor. Followed immediately, before he even realized that this meant that his child was standing in front of him, by the soul deep knowledge that she must be protected from the Emperor at all costs. 

Vader had known for years that his suit had been designed to cause him more pain, he just thought he deserved it. The thought of Palpatine getting ahold of Padme’s daughter was abhorrent. Vader sticks to the shadows and watches, seeing how well Bail loved and protected Leia. 

While he is thinking(read Obsessing) about his daughter, the part of him that is always centered on Obi Wan points out that his old master had been one of the last people to see Padme after Vader choked her. But the little voice that spoke in Padme’s tones piped up, the shock of Leia living being enough to finally make this little voice loud enough to be heard, saying that until recently Obi Wan believed that Anakin Skywalker was all the way dead, he was protecting their child as best as he knew how. 

And Vader has issues with just about every choice Obi Wan Kenobi ever made. But he will admit that hiding Padme’s daughter was the best option. 

As Vader knows that paying too much attention to Leia would draw the Emperor’s attention, he would be willing to wait until the right moment to get his daughter back. His one concession to his need to protect her was taking one of his personal guard, one of the few units still made up almost entirely of clones, and assigning them to be Leia Organa’s bodyguard, her shadow (I also want you to take a moment to consider what that did for Bail’s stress level).  And then Vader gets to planning. 

With his one brain cell awake and focused on the Organa’s it takes Vader all of 15 minutes to realize that Bail Organa is running the Rebellion (I want it to be clear, this is not a slight on Bail at all, Anakin Skywalker was a war general, well educated through the Jedi on a number of subjects, and does have a fair measure of politics learning from both his former master and his dead wife).  However Vader is no more loyal to the Empire than Anakin was to the Republic.  In fact, upon realizing that Padme’s daughter had lived Vader firmly decided that he needed to find a way to kill Palpatine to crown Leia.  With the realization that Bail, and likely Leia (neither Vader nor Anakin have any idea what activities are appropriate for a 10 year old), are part of the Rebellion, Vader decides that The Rebellion would succeed (or everyone would die trying). 

Note: Vader only really gets away with no one realizing that he now supported the Rebellion because, well, no one can quite believe that Darth Vader supports the Rebellion. Most people think there is a new type of Space Madness, and that one of the symptoms is hallucinating Darth Vader giving you intel for the Rebellion.

By the time Leia was a teenager, rumors abound about the odd way that Vader acted around her. By sheer happenstance (and some judicial violence on Vader’s part) these rumors had never reached the Emperor. A good deal of these rumors implied that Vader was looking to the Princess of Alderaan as a wife.  The reaction Vader had, the only time it was brought up in front of him, was…impressive, even for the amount of violence he normally dealt out. Still there are members of Vader’s personal guard who watch over Leia whenever she is on Imperial Center, and no one wants to repeat the time when she was 12 when one of Bail enemies tried to kidnap her for ransom.  It took an entire corps of engineers to put those levels back to rights (after they scrubbed the blood off).  

So we get all the way up to the timeframe of ANH. The Death Star in this does not start out under the control of Darth Vader. It starts out under the control of Tarkin, it is important to note this. Leia still sends out R2D2 and C3P0 to find Obi Wan Kenobi, none of that part changes. 

It is after Leia is captured that Darth Vader shows up (does he lurk silently in any system that Leia is due to be in as often as he can get away with…why yes, yes he does). Tarkin had wanted Leia tortured, however no one wanted to find out how many decks Vader would spread their entrails across for touching her.  Vader arrives on the bridge just as Tarkin is threatening to blow up Alderaan. Tarkin orders the weapon to begin its charge. 

Leia, Leia who is so like her mother in that she will use every weapon in her arsenal, turns to Darth Vader and speaks to him for the first time. ‘Please’ she said, no effort to hide her distress, ‘please save my planet’

Something Leia had no cause to know-An angel who she resembled once thanked Anakin Skywalker for saving her planet. 

Tarkin is dead almost before she finishes speaking. Vader orders the DS weapons to power down and disengage, which is done post haste. Then announces that Leia Organa was now in control. 

So Leia now owns a Death Star (genuine article-never used). Leia is not sure if that is how this works, but no one is arguing with the tall man in black who has OPINIONS and will enforce them.  Leia manages to communicate this to her parents, who take a shuttle up to the space station to figure out what the fuck is going on, and what, if anything, they need to do next.

Two hours later: Obi Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, R2D2, C3P0, and Chewbacca have just been caught trying to sneak onto the Death Star. The Organas are still on board, trying to get answers (In that time Vader has said precisely five words to them ‘You have raised her well’).  It is to this room that the troopers manning the station (who are deeply confused and a bit conflicted because it seems like they may have all been forcibly defected from the Empire, but no one is willing to disobey Lord Vader) bring Obi Wan and co. and present them to Leia, as she is considered in command.  Somehow Luke’s full name (I kind of picture him still dumbly introducing himself to Leia, followed with ‘we’re here to rescue you’) gets used before the situation deteriorates. Which naturally causes everything to deteriorate further and faster than before.  

Far away on Imperial Center, the Emperor pauses in the middle of a hallway ‘I feel’ he says to no one ‘a disturbance in the Force.’ another pause ‘like some shit has just hit the fan’

Far away on Dagobah Yoda looks up, ‘weird, shit just got’

[cuubism]

Found this old fic concept in my notes, I doubt I'll ever get around to writing it or that I could do it justice if I did, but it still makes me laugh so I wrote it up as a little blurb. Perhaps it will make you laugh too.

Mega Popstar Dream and Hob, his extremely non-famous celebrity crush

So in this universe Dream is an extremely famous musician. He's like Taylor Swift level of famous, if you walk up to any random person on the street they would know who he is. Meanwhile Hob is an actor but really not very well known, he was in a few small projects and is in the core cast of one TV show that's well-regarded but not super popular.

It's Dream's FAVORITE TV SHOW and Hob is his FAVORITE ACTOR that he's ferally OBSESSED WITH. Everyone knows about this too, Dream is really obvious about it. In interviews people will ask him what he likes and he's like "this is my favorite TV show" "have you seen Hob Gadling in that show isn't he incredible", They'll ask him if he has a celebrity crush (as a joke) and he's like "YES HOB GADLING 😍" like it's become a meme in Dream's fandom how much he has a crush on this random actor.

They've never met though, probably Dream was afraid to -- 'never meet your heroes' and all -- and never let his team book any overlapping events. So he's never seen Hob in person, only watched his favorite TV show 65 times in a row and memorized every inch of his face. Like a stalker.

So then a Buzzfeed-esque YouTube channel is running a special edition of their usual challenge show, "People Meet Their Celebrity Crush", except this time it's "CELEBRITIES Meet Their Celebrity Crush." Dream's entire team conspires against him to book him on this. Dream doesn't know what it is until the very moment since the whole point is to surprise people with their crush. Needless to say, Hob was REALLY dubious when the channel reached out like "do you want to come on as Dream's celebrity crush" but what's he gonna do say NO? say NO when Dream is so pretty and cute? So yeah he goes.

Anyway during the moment in the video when they revealed his celebrity crush to him -- aka Hob just looking like a totally normal and random guy -- Dream literally tripped over a chair and fell on the floor and then fainted. Instant meme and it became the thumbnail of the video. When Dream woke up to find Hob crouched by him all concerned asking if he was okay he nearly had a panic attack, he was never more flustered and nervous in his whole life not even performing for crowds of millions.

Hob fell in love instantly. He doesn't even know much about Dream, he hasn't even listened to Dream's music other than what's just playing ubiquitously on the radio all the time but all it took was watching Dream fall over a chair and then look up at him with his huge starry eyes and he was like 'This one's mine forever idc. I gotta protect this nerd he won't survive in the wild.'

Anyway they did start dating after that and Dream never leaves the honeymoon phase for the rest of his whole life, he truly thinks Hob is the most handsome man and best actor in the entire world and will tell anyone so at any opportunity, he goes around saying things like "see if you believe really hard you too can marry your celebrity crush 🥰" with zero irony, he might have skipped the Grammys to go to the premiere of season 3 of Hob's show (Hob didn't ask him to do that) (Dream won the Grammy but had more fun staring at Hob's face for 2 hours than he would have had at the awards show). Meanwhile Hob never talks about Dream in public because Dream already has negative 500% privacy in his life, he's extremely protective of him, and he allegedly punched one of the paparazzi in the face when they tried to take stealth shots at their wedding which was supposed to be a private affair. ALLEGEDLY. No charges were filed.

Dream did post one photo of the wedding on insta for his adoring fandom in which he described Hob as his knight in shining armor and then denied any knowledge of any 'alleged' events when asked about it in the future. Because Hob was so much more private about their relationship than Dream, for a while Dream's fandom had been like HOB DOESN'T DESERVE DREAM but after the (alleged) story about Hob punching someone in the face came out they were all obsessed with him. So that solved that problem.

(Despite Hob's efforts a paparazzi photo did come out of them the morning after the wedding, Hob sitting on the terrace drinking coffee, Dream sitting on his lap wearing Hob's shirt and looking thoroughly ravished. Dream might have framed it.)

Then they lived happily ever after. Dream put Hob in every one of his music videos regardless of whether it made sense for the story. Hob got one of Dream's songs put in his favorite TV show which made Dream's whole entire year. The end :)

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Jade Leech - Mermaid Fin Voice Lines

Mermaid Fin Jade does not have a vignette.

When Summoned: Life is pleasurable because of all the unpredictability that occurs.

Summon Line: It has been some time since we've come across each other while I'm in my merform. Oh, yes, what say we have a bit of a chase once again?

Groooovy!!: That was an unforgiving wake-up call. However, I should expect nothing less from my beloved brother.

Home: Let's head into the dark and cold ocean.

Swap Looks: Even deeper, now.

Home Idle 1: It may have merely been a dream, but it was a wonderful experience to be able to climb so many mountains. I feel as though I would be able to utilize the knowledge I gleaned there for hiking in the real world.

Home Idle 2: Perhaps I should simply do as I please in the real world as well. To tell you the truth, I do tend to hold myself back.

Home Idle 3: In the end, my merform definitely feels more comfortable and easier to move around in. If I were to put a finger on one inconvenience, it would be that I cannot go mountain climbing.

Home Idle - Login: Who would have ever imagined we could traverse into other people's dreams... Such a venture could reveal someone's inner most secrets purely by accident!

Home Idle - Groovy: It would not behoove me to bring Azul or Floyd on a mountain hike on land. It could bring dire consequences if I were to bring those uninitiated to the possible perils.

Home Tap 1: A majority of merfolk tend to spend their entire lives in familiar waters. It seems fear of the unknown world outweighs any possible allure...

Home Tap 2: Ever since Floyd came to my dream, he has been giving me an icy look. Is this what they call a rebellious phase?

Home Tap 3: What was I like in Floyd's dream? We weren't together...? I see, well, that seems very like him.

Home Tap 4: Ah, I am beginning to miss the mountains. I may end up purchasing those hiking boots I have been eyeing once we return to the surface.

Home Tap 5: You wish to know if you were in my dream? Why yes, of course. Similar to Floyd and Azul, you appeared looking just as you normally do.

Home Tap - Groovy: Fufu, how many years has it been since we had a proper sibling squabble? In the end, fighting with Floyd is, as always, thrilling and entertaining.

Duo: [JADE]: We should teach them a lesson, Kalim-san. [KALIM]: Jade, your smile's terrifying!

Requested by Anonymous.

[ceruark]

eat your heart out

synopsis: you’re a vampire just trying to get by via feeding on your friends, having no desire to find a mate. sunday has other plans. notes: yan! sunday x vampire! gn! reader. (yan! aventurine if you squint) words: 3,396 notes: modern au. vampires are fully integrated into society. cw: yandere themes: obsessive and possessive behavior, stalking, drugging. not nsfw but definitely a bit horny, my bad. a/n: apparently the key to overcoming writer’s block is having a really questionable dream

“Come on.”

“Aven, I said no.”

“Just one bite?”

“No. I’m not hungry.” You shove his face away from your arm, but he just rests his head on your shoulder in response. You roll your eyes in annoyance. “Besides, you’ve had vodka. Your blood probably tastes like shit right now.”

The blonde scoffs at you. “It’s not my fault you have an awful alcohol palate.”

You glare at him, offended. “Wine is one of the only things I can tolerate. It’s not my fault you don’t have a more refined taste.”

Aventurine heaves a loud sigh and pouts, but drops the topic.

It’s common knowledge that, as a vampire, you need to drink blood regularly to sustain yourself. After much trial and error, you found that you can get by just fine feeding only twice a week. Thankfully, your friends don’t harbor any fear toward you and are more than willing to let you drink from them. You always feel bad for leaving such a painful mark on their wrists, but they wave away your worries, insisting that it’s not much to put up with so long as you’re fed and healthy. You’re grateful for all of them and will take what you can get, even if you have developed a particular taste for Black Swan’s and Ratio’s blood— and Aventurine’s, when he isn’t drinking that godawful liquor.

Others of your kind often tell you that it would be easier and more beneficial for you to find a mate. Drinking from a single person would mean that you could feed more frequently, and the consistency of drinking the same blood would make you stronger, and overall healthier. You’re reluctant to tell your friends that drinking blood of various types and quality leaves you feeling more lethargic than could be considered normal. They would react poorly to that information, and the alternative is something you don’t want to do— not in the near future, and maybe not ever.

The thought of being bound to one person until they die leaves you nauseous; you’d seen how well that worked out for your parents. Becoming accustomed and addicted to a single person’s blood is a tricky thing, and your father’s withdrawal symptoms had been brutal for decades. For a long time, doctors believed he would never fully recover.

So you always brush away anyone who approaches you with the intent of becoming your mate, insisting you aren’t interested and you don't need one. 

Aventurine seems to be gunning for that position, anyway. He has a habit of clinging to you and flaunting his neck around you, wearing accessories that bring attention to it or leaving it completely barren while wearing a low-cut top. His intentions couldn’t be more obvious, but you refuse to acknowledge them; you love him dearly, but not enough to shatter your fear of taking in a mate.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when the bartender finally places your order in front of you: a glass of classic red wine. You perk up as they bow to you. “Apologies for the wait, we’re quite busy tonight.”

You shake your head in dismissal. You were wondering why it was taking so long to pour a simple glass of wine, but you suppose some things can’t be helped.

“No worries,” you respond with a grin. The bartender watches as you raise the glass to your lips and take your first sip, and leaves once you hum in satisfaction and go back for more.

You remain at ease for a while longer, sipping at your drink and enjoying conversation with your dear friend (who ends up ordering another drink with vodka in it, how disgusting). The two of you are in the middle of an argument about who in your shared friend group would survive in a zombie apocalypse when someone settles into the empty seat on the other side of you.

“Having a nice night?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden voice sounding next to you. You manage to catch the way Aventurine’s fond gaze morphs into a heated glare, the way his laughter breaks off and his genuine smile twists into that of a bitter one.

“Sunday,” he says in greeting, though the name rolls off his tongue with loathing.

Said man’s sharp golden eyes flick to Aventurine briefly, meeting the glare with one of his own, before looking back to you. You repress a shudder and greet him with a tight smile.

Sunday Oak, world-famous actor and esteemed son of the distinguished director Gopher Wood, has an interest in you that you haven’t been able to shake. Mr. Wood had picked up a screenplay you wrote, and you were ecstatic to hear that he wanted to meet with you to further discuss your vision for the film. The movie the two of you crafted together was a massive success, and Mr. Wood quickly snatched you up, not wanting to lose your talent to another agency. He’d seen something in you— “a keen eye,” he’d said— and decided to keep you around as his assistant.

Needless to say, you were in no position to treat Sunday with anything but respect, even if he did unnerve you. The two of you met in Halovian Entertainment’s main office during a major company meeting; as the heir to the man’s fortune, he was always at his father’s side, but as his assistant, you now had a place on Mr. Wood’s other side. You two are frequently around each other, and the more you speak to him, the more he seems to pop up in your life, even in places he shouldn’t be. He has a way of conveniently being in the right place at the right time, always lending a hand when you’re struggling to carry heavy equipment, or running through lines and providing an actor’s perspective when you’ve hit a roadblock while writing a script.

He’s always showing up when you’ve gone just a few days longer than usual without feeding, standing closer to you than he usually does. He’ll linger nearby, and the normally graceful and composed actor will somehow manage to gain a small wound that causes him to bleed and fills the air with a scent you can just barely resist.

You considered him a good friend at first. You might still be taken with him if you hadn’t long since figured out that he’s trying to sink his claws into you by getting you to sink your fangs into him. His demeanor is sweet, and his blood smells even sweeter— but you know better than to bite into the apple that the devil tempts you with.

Tonight, he’s decided to crash your weekly meet-up with your friends and sit beside you at the bar. He’s wearing a sheer white top that hangs lowly around his chest, leaving his pale, unblemished neck and collarbones as yours for the taking. Aventurine eyes his outfit choice with disdain, and had this been anyone else sitting with you two, you would have called him out on his hypocrisy; the black off-the-shoulder top he’s wearing shamelessly leaves everything on glorious display.

You turn your head to face Sunday— maybe a little too fast, given the way the room seems to spin a little. You blink rapidly, trying to pull yourself together against the fuzziness in your head.

“It’s nice of you to join us,” you say pleasantly, trying to smooth your smile into something less forced.

Sunday returns your smile, before shaking his head. “I wish I could join you on more friendly terms, but I do have unfortunate news.”

You straighten up, a bit alarmed. “What is it?”

“It seems teenage drama is more serious than we thought. Yanqing and Yunli are unwilling to continue to work with each other.” He sighs. “They’re both demanding that the other drop the film.”

You stare at him incredulously. “We’re already halfway through filming.”

“Yes,” Sunday says, sounding as tired as you already feel. His eyes flit to Aventurine, before looking back to you. “I’ve already discussed potential solutions with my father, but we shouldn’t go over them in… mixed company.”

As an actor under a different agency, Aventurine shouldn’t be around for a conversation like this. He narrows his eyes, giving Sunday another strained smile. “Certainly you can discuss it another time then, yes?”

“It’s an urgent matter,” Sunday answers easily. “If we have to recast and reshoot, we should have this sorted out as soon as possible.”

The blonde is about to fire off another snarky response, but pauses when you place a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right, we need to get this figured out.” You squeeze his shoulder. “Why don’t you go and make sure Veritas hasn’t killed Boothill over poker? They both left the bar pretty drunk.”

Aventurine eyes Sunday warily, then looks back to you. “Fine.” He drops his voice to a whisper, “But you come find us if he tries anything, alright?”

“He won’t,” you whisper back, “I’ll be fine.”

He clearly doesn’t believe you, but he stands to leave anyway. He flicks Sunday a cool look before turning his back on the two of you, wandering away from the bar and toward the casino.

You turn back to Sunday, ignoring the way your head starts swimming again. You suck in an unsteady breath. You feel hot all over, burning like a million needles are pricking at your skin. You glance at your empty wine glass with concern— alcohol never hits you this hard. 

You clear your throat, putting your discomfort on the backburner for now. “So what did your father say?”

Sunday hums, propping his arm up against the counter and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “There aren’t many teenage actors with the skill to replace either of them, and those with the availability are under IPC contract.” 

Your eyes go wide. Halovian Entertainment and the IPC don’t mix well, under any circumstances. “He’s not seriously considering extending the casting call to them, is he? The media will be a nightmare if we do that.”

Sunday opens his mouth to respond, then pauses. He takes a sweeping gaze of the crowd around them, too close for comfort. “Perhaps it would be wise to take this conversation elsewhere.”

You nod in agreement, rising to your feet—

—and immediately go crashing toward the floor.

The burning intensifies once you’re standing, and if it was swimming before, then the room is somersaulting now. You let out a cry of distress as you flail, your hands attempting to catch onto the counter or your chair as your legs give out beneath you. One hand feebly latches onto the counter, but slips off of it. Before you can hit the ground, Sunday rushes to your side and wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you against him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice dripping with concern and something else you can’t quite place.

“Something—” You cut yourself off, surprised at the way you slur your words. “Something’s wrong.”

Sunday’s face comes into view. His brows are drawn as he clicks his tongue at you. “Did you have too much to drink?”

“No.” You shake your head, and immediately regret it. “Alcohol doesn’t affect me much.” 

He frowns more at that. “Might you be getting sick?” He presses his hand to your head, feeling for your temperature. At the contact, your stomach roils, painfully contracting within you.

With horror, you realize it’s hunger. You fed yesterday— you shouldn’t start feeling hungry for at least a few days, nevermind feeling like you’re starving.

You tremble as he withdraws his hand. Your fangs poke at your tongue in your mouth, presenting themselves against your will. Standing this close to you, Sunday’s scent is too strong, and you feel your resolve hanging on by a singular thread.

“You’re running a fever.” He leans in closer, and you clench your jaw. “Do you want me to take you back to your hotel room?”

You don’t trust yourself to open your mouth right now. You shake your head, then move to separate yourself from him. You need to find your friends, any of them, and you need to do it now. But the second you manage to slip out of his grasp, you’re unsteady again, sent tumbling to the ground.

Sunday quickly catches you by the arm before you can fall and pulls you back toward him. The arm around your waist is firm this time.

“Please,” he says, sounding stressed, maybe even a bit desperate. “Let me walk you back. You can’t make it back in this state.”

You want to talk, want to tell him that no, he doesn’t need to escort you back— in fact, you’d rather him take you to one of your friends. But you can’t, not with the way your hunger overrides your brain and leaves you salivating. You can only bring yourself to nod slowly. Once he dumps you in your room, you can call Aventurine up and feed all you like.

The walk to the elevator is agonizing, but the ride up to the thirteenth floor is even worse. At least near the bar, you could distract yourself by catching bits and pieces of the patrons’ conversations, or by staring at the lights of the machines at the casino.

In the small and confined space with no lights or sounds— just you and Sunday— it’s much harder to ignore the roaring of your stomach. Unconsciously, the hand you have settled on his hip to steady yourself tightens, your nails digging harshly into his shirt and leaving crescent marks in his flesh.

He looks at you again, eyes shining in what seems to be anticipation. You would notice it if you didn’t have your gaze resolutely fixed to your feet. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nod again, still refusing to open your mouth.

The doors slide open, and somewhere in your hunger-induced haze you manage to feel relief at the sight of your hotel door. You reach into your pocket and produce the key card. Sunday takes it from you and opens the door, holding you every step of the way until he can set you down gently on the bed.

Once you’re seated, you use every ounce of strength you have left to say, “You can go now.” Your voice is strained from the effort of holding yourself back.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this,” he says, and you grit your teeth at his words. “You’re clearly ill. I don’t want to risk things getting worse with no one around.”

“I’ll be fine,” you mutter as you close your eyes. He needs to leave, and soon, or you’re going to lose your mind.

His hand is against your head again, and you jerk away from his touch, clenching your hands into fists to ground yourself.

“At least let me take your temperature,” he pleads. “The first aid kids have medicine that will help with the fever.”

“Fine,” you concede, and he sets off to the bathroom.

His return is indicated by the bed dipping beside you and the sound of the first aid kit being rummaged through. You feel the press of the thermometer against your forehead, and then hear a beeping sound go off.

“102,” he says, sighing. “I’m going to give you some Tylenol, alright?”

You nod weakly. You sincerely doubt the medication will help with your particular ailment. You hear the packaging being ripped open, and for a long moment there’s nothing else.

And then, you smell it: the metallic, unmistakable scent of blood.

Your eyes fly open, pupils blown wide as they lock onto Sunday. He’s pricked himself on the needle in the first aid kit, and a small bead of blood sits on the end of his index finger.

Were you in your right mind, you might have been able to piece it together: the way the bartender watched you as you drank the wine, the way Sunday was in the right place at the right time again, and the way he holds the needle in a way that makes the injury look more purposeful rather than accidental. But such a train of thought has no chance of departing when your blood is roaring in your ears and your carnal instincts take over.

In an instant, you're lunging at him. One of your hands grips the side of his neck and the other settles on his hip again. You push him onto the mattress, using your body weight and enhanced strength to pin him down.

Your lips brush momentarily against the soft skin of his neck before you open your mouth wide and bite into him.

Sunday lets out a soft groan as your fangs pierce his neck. Your fangs hold no venom yet he finds himself going still, paralyzed from pleasure. Despite the stabbing sensation, he cranes his neck and presses it against your lips as much as he can, trying to make access to his blood even easier for you. In a haze of his own, he reaches up and tangles one of his hands into your hair, placing the other on the small of your back and pulling you into him even more.

His blood is sweet against your tongue— sweet like syrup, as sweet as he is to you. You’re past the amount of blood you need to drink to be sustained, but you persist in drinking, indulging yourself just this once. You need more, taking in such big gulps of it that it spills out of the sides of your lips and dribbles down your chin.

You move lower, trailing tiny bites down his neck until you bite down firmly into his shoulder, taking as much as you please. He breathes shallowly and moans at every nip and bite, but he makes no move to push you away. If anything, he only holds you tighter against him.

He trails a hand down your back, and a coherent part of your mind registers that his hold on you has gone slack. Suddenly, an urgency to stop manages to cut through the fog still lingering in your mind. If you drink anymore than you already have, you’re going to leave him weak and seriously injured. 

You detach your fangs from his shoulder and peel yourself off of him. He gazes up at you through half-lidded eyes, desire evident and overflowing in his gaze. His hair is a mess from the rough way you handled him while keeping him pinned down. His chest rises and falls with the ragged breaths he takes now that you’ve stopped, drawing your attention to the blood smeared along his neck and shoulder, staining his white shirt beautifully. He reaches for your hand, delicately placing his own on top of it.

Coming to your senses, you pull your hand back as though you’ve been burned. And you have, in a sense— the realization of the night’s events and what he’d done to you hits you all at once. You pivot backward, scrambling away from him until your back slams harshly into the bed’s headboard.

Surprisingly, Sunday follows you, using the last of his strength to rise and move across the bed to sit at your side. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you against him. You curl in on yourself, turning your face toward the wall and away from him.

You can feel the haze already starting to pull at the corners of your mind. Whatever he drugged you with is still in your system, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re hungry again.

In a quiet voice, barely above a whisper, you ask, “Why did you do this?”

You can feel him hum where your back is pressed against his chest, then you feel his fingers settle on your chin. He coaxes you into looking at him, grasping your face gently and slowly turning it toward him.

The affection in his eyes makes your stomach turn. With what, you do not know.

“I thought it might be nice if you wanted me as much as I want you.”

He moves his hand to cup your face and pulls you toward him. He presses his lips against yours, relishing in the taste of his blood on your lips.

[charliedawn]

"Marry me."

How I think marriage proposals would go for those characters.

Sandor Clegane:

"…Wanna get married ?" You asked as both you and Sandor were sleeping side by side in the forest. Sandor blinked—half asleep. He had back pain and a headache. He had hoped that the wine would help him to fall asleep quicker, as to not have to hear you say any other crazy thing or request for the day. But, of course. He was mistaken.

"Huh ?" When the information seemed to eventually settle in his brain, his whole face seemed a perfect depiction of confusion. He finally turned around and you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t exactly sober either. You decided this was the perfect moment to ask—since he would probably not even remember you asked the next morning. It gave you courage to ask again.

"Wanna get married ?" You repeated with a little more determination and this time, he answered.

"No."

"Ah."

"…"

"…"

"…You. Wanna get married ?" He asked this time—more because he was curious than awaiting an actual answer. But, you took your chance and answered truthfully.

"Sure."

He was momentarily surprised by your confidence before he huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.

"…Fine. We’ll get married in the morning. Now, hush."

There was then a moment of silence before you both bursted out laughing. Just two drunks having the most normal conversation ever. You knew that by tomorrow, he would have surely forgotten all about tonight. But for now, you were satisfied with the knowledge that his subconscience hadn’t said no.

Oberyn Martell:

"Would you like to marry me ?" You asked Oberyn while he wad writing and whose lips curved slightly into a small smirk at the request. He was used to your rather straightforward nature. He liked it even. It made him laugh and enjoy your presence at parties. You were curious and completely unashamed or afraid of any consequences your requests or demands would bring. This is why he always caved. But, he could also be playful and this is why he answered with a small grin:

"No."

He was curious to see your reaction, but his smile slightly faltered when he saw the hurt in your eyes at his rejection. It was the first time he had seen you so upset and he immediately regretted his words.

"Oh. Okay then." You were embarrassed and turned around quickly to get back to your own private quarters. But he was by your side in an instant and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"I was only kidding. I would LOVE to marry you, sweet peach."

He then kissed the back of your neck lovingly. You let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against him.

"…Really ?"

He chuckled.

"Yes. Really."

He then kissed your temple and you stayed in his arms for a while before he started nuzzling the back of your neck.

"But what brought the subject, sweet peach ?"

You sighed before closing your eyes.

"…You’re the only one who truly enjoys my presence. You laugh and smile at me, even when my words are nonsense. So I thought…why not ask ?"

Oberyn seemed taken aback for a moment before his smile widened and he pressed your back further against him to kiss your shoulder and whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I would marry you for your nonsense, my dear. Because your nonsense makes more sense to me than this whole world does…"

Tyrion Lannister:

"Do you want to marry me ?" You asked Tyrion one night and the man was so stunned that he spilled his cup of wine.

"What ?"

Tyrion was the most decent between all the Lannisters. He had helped you more than once and there was no doubt in your proposal. You would never find better husband.

"You heard me."

He stayed silent again and made you nervous. Would he refuse ? Would he tell you that he has already found someone ? Would he tell you that he has no interest in you ? But, he didn’t. He simply sighed.

"…Why ?"

Why ? You could tell him a thousand reasons why. Because he was one of the few good men you knew. Because you had no intention of marrying any other. Because you knew he could be gentle. Because he was funny. Because he could be brave. Because he had the heart of a true lion…but no. You wouldn’t tell him like that. Because even if you did, he wouldn’t believe you.

"Because I want to." You settled for instead and his eyes widened slightly in surprise before he smiled a little and shook his head.

"Why would you want to marry an imp ?"

"It is not an imp that I am marrying, but a prince." You retorted. You both stared at each other and his gaze softened as he started actually considering it for a moment.

"You would be miserable." You frowned in incomprehension at his words.

"Why ?" He glanced away for a second.

"Because I am not a good man."

You huffed a bitter laugh at his words.

"Haven’t you heard ? There are no good man left, my prince."

Tyrion seemed taken aback, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind your words and drank a little of his wine.

"Tell me, Tyrion. If I was to become your wife/husband. Would you hit me ? Would you abuse me ? Would you lie to me ?"

He shook his head with a small smile. No. He wouldn’t. You smiled back and Tyrion finally nodded understandingly. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about finding a good man. It was always about finding the one who wouldn’t hurt you…And hence, he understood and maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wife/husband ?

Jaime Lannister:

"Jaime…" You sat down next to him at the feast prepared for the Lannisters and even though you could feel Cersei glaring daggers at you—you grabbed his hand. He didn’t react, but you could feel his fingers slightly curving to hold yours.

"Hello, buttercup." He finally greeted you in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile weakly. You knew of his heart and his loyalty to his sister. It wasn’t really your business to interfere, but you didn’t like how Cersei was treating him. And, you also knew that his heart could maybe be won over.

So, you did the most nonsense ever and challenged him. You stood up and faced him—catching the attention of everyone in the room as you declared loudly.

"Jaime Lannister. I challenge you to an arm wrestling competition !"

That ought to have gained his attention as his eyes finally met yours and what he found in there made his eyes widen in surprise. You were determined and even though he was a knight—you didn’t seem scared of losing. He tried to laugh and wave it off as a mere joke—but you didn’t back down and even provoked him.

"Are you perhaps not a lion ? But a scared chicken ?"

That oughta do it. He was up before you could even pronounce another word and the fury in his eyes made you smile. He had taken the bait.

"If I win, you must agree to one single demand of my choice without knowing what it is !"

"And if I win ?" He quickly shot back and you bit back a laugh.

"Then I will give you whatever you want."

In a matter of minutes, everything was settled and you were both in position. Everyone assumed you were mad or had consumed too much wine to challenge Jaime Lannister—but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You had planned it carefully. You had trained and trained your body and your mind. You had worn big sleeves to hide the muscles hidden underneath. This could be the most important challenge of your life and you wanted to win. More than anything.

The moment Jaime gripped your hand, his eyes stared straight at you as he realised what you had done. This was not the strength of the Y/N he was accustomed to…but it was too late to stop and in a matter of seconds—Jaime Lannister was on the floor.

Everyone was stunned.

But, you only gracefully stood up from your seat and looked down at him before smirking.

"…I will be waiting for that marriage proposal." And with that, you were out of the room—leaving a very confused Jaime and a very angry Cersei behind. But, you knew that a lion never backed down from his word. And Jaime would be yours.

Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) :

"Marry me." Littlefinger didn’t even seem surprised by you sudden demand. Everyone knew that your father wished to marry you off to Ramsay Bolton. And even though Littlefinger wasn’t sure why you would come to him with such a request, he didn’t show it.

He didn’t even look up as he simply asked.

"Why ?"

You huffed a bitter laugh. The man would sell mother and father for a throne. And he dared to ask why ?

"Does it matter ?"

He licked his thumb to turn the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly, even though you knew that he was secretly weighing the pros and cons of such an alliance.

"Depends. What will it bring me ?"

You looked away.

"Don’t pretend not to realise how advantageous it would be for you to be a part of the Lannister family. You’d have an easy access to the iron throne."

He hummed and pretended to think about it. It was true marrying you would be a fast way to get access to all the nice advantages of being a part of the so-called prestigious Lannister family. But, it had its own set of disadvantages to consider. He would become more than just a little man in the shadows that no one would deem worthy of being a threat, he would become a lion. A black lion.

"…Tell me why you would lower yourself to such an alliance with me. Surely, there would be one handsome young man who would say yes to such a proposal without even blinking. Why go to me, princess/prince ?"

You hesitated before sighing in defeat.

"…Because if I am to marry a snake, better be one I know than one chosen by Tywin Lannister."

At that, Petyr finally dignified you with a glance. You held his gaze and after a few seconds, he smiled.

"Very well, my beauty. Lead the snake to the lion’s den then."

Sansa Stark:

You and Sansa had been longtime allies and friends. You were maybe the only friend she had ever had after the almost complete destruction of House Stark. You had developed feeling for her over time and knew that asking her for her hand wouldn’t be easy—but you were willing to try.

"Please, Sansa of House Stark." You knelt on one knee before her with a rose in your hand and the other hand on your heart. "Would you marry me ?"

Sansa was surprised by the proposal. She had married twice and both marriages weren’t a success. She had lived through nightmares and pain out of such a dream as marriage. She used to want to get married with someone she loved so badly, but not anymore.

"My heart is not so easily won by a rose and pretty words anymore." She replied instead—thinking that she would succeed in breaking your resolve. But, she was mistaken.

"I know. I know that I may never be worthy of even your eyes on me. But…I am a fool, and my heart beats for you. And if you want it ? Then it’s yours. And even if you don’t want it. Let me fight for you. And prove my loyalty to the most beautiful and strong lady the North has ever seen." You pleaded and Sansa was rendered speechless.

She looked into your eyes and saw only love and adoration. She then glanced down at the rose you offered her and after a moment of hesitation, she finally took it.

"…You may try to win my heart, Y/N. But, I cannot promise you success."

You smiled and shook your head.

"Just having you acknowledge my feelings is enough for hope to enter my heart."

Sansa smiled back.

Maybe…romance wasn’t utterly dead.

Jon Snow: (Before the tragedy 😭)

"Marry me." It was said with such confidence that Jon himself was stunned as he looked up at you with widened eyes.

"What ?"

"You heard me."

There was a moment of silence before Jon smiled and he suddenly pulled you into his arms. There was no yes or no. Just a moment of pure euphoria as he couldn’t stop laughing as he buried his face in your chest. He was so happy, he forgot to form words.

When he was finally calm once more, he kissed you passionately.

"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will."

You both started laughing together and Jon even fell back on the snow as you held him tightly.

Daenerys:

"Marry me." You demanded and Daenerys looked back at you. She didn’t seem surprised or even mildly confused by the demand. She knew of your feelings for her—and she was more than happy to reciprocate.

But, marriage ?

Marriage meant boundaries. Marriage meant attachment. Marriage meant she would have to think about you and a possible future where she wasn’t all powerful.

She sighed before stroking your cheek and offering you an apologetic smile.

"My dear Y/N…If only I could, do not believe for a second that I would say no. But, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I cannot."

You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You had expected such an answer of course, but still…your heart ached.

"I…understand." You forced yourself to say and Daenerys nodded. She was a queen. A khaleesi. And you were just…human.

Ser Jorah:

"Please. Marry me." Ser Jorah was stunned at the unexpected request and turned towards you with widened eyes. He was about to answer when you quickly added.

"Love me. Hate me. I want you and you want her. But, I am not asking for your love. But for your protection, kind ser Jorah." He closes his mouth and seemed to think about it for a moment. He knew that you were a young lady/man who had left her/his family to join Daenerys. He had no idea you held such feelings for him…

"You can have my protection, but why go to such lengths to have it ?" He finally asked and you sighed before taking his hand in yours.

"Because it is not only physical protection I seek." You then laid his hand flat upon your heart and Ser Jorah seemed taken aback once more. He looked at you and you didn’t shy away from his gaze.

You knew Ser Jorah was honourable and even if he would never return your feelings, he would make a far greater husband than anyone you ever knew. He would respect you and your heart. And that was more than you could ever wish for…

Ser Jorah accepted.

After all, it was only his name that you were going to bear and his sword that would protect you. You would call him husband, but only in name.