#i think the first self insert (like really just supposed to be me) i ever made was for england

[chocobox]

listening to kashka from baghdad by kate bush but through the lens of being a trans gay man. do you understand what i am saying. it reminds me of when i was too little to understand that i could be a gay man myself, so i just latched really hard onto gay ships because it was the first time i had ever discovered feelings of romantic fulfillment. i never felt love like it was love until i started to see those feelings through the context of being a gay man. i felt like an outsider looking in on the life that could make me happy, but i didn't realize that's what it was... and kashka from baghdad feels like that experience to me.

[penmansparadise]

Tommy Shelby ~ Dust in the Wind

*I DON'T OWN THIS GIF* *CREDIT TO GIF OWNER*

*I do not give anyone permission to repost my work in any way (translations included)*

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Discusses infant loss/stillborn, ANGST, mild language, possibly ooc Tommy

a/n: Alright, well, it has been quite some time since I've posted on this site. First, let me get a few things out. 1) This is the most self-indulgent piece I have ever written, so if you don't want to read it, please just keep on scrolling. 2) This does not mean that I am ready to start taking requests again or that I will be regularly writing again. As stated before, this is a very self-indulgent piece because I just experienced the loss of my daughter, who was born prematurely. It has completely wrecked me, and I have just finally decided to start writing again. I am trying to navigate my loss and thought maybe writing would help. It did, and although this piece is a little darker than I usually write, it was therapeutic, and I wanted to share it because I am proud of my work. I did write it as a reader insert, but if you all read it and think it would be better as an OC story, I'll change it. Anyway, this is the first time I've ever written for Tommy, so please forgive the potential out-of-character actions he has in this story. Also, it has been a bit since I watched season 3 so forgive any mistakes. I took some liberties with the story by adding different children for Tommy and Y/N and some of the things that happened in the show. Well, I hope you enjoy this story, and would really like to know what you all think.

§

Y/N was no stranger to death.  It was Small Heath, for goodness’ sake.  Death practically ran in the water.  Being deeply entrenched in the Shelby family since she was a young girl only made her acquaintance with death’s steely grip all that much closer.  She had been to more than enough funerals in her 29 years of living.  She was present at the cemetery when her father finally drank himself into his grave, she was there to mourn when consumption took her mother, and she showed up to support Ada when they buried Freddie.  Y/N was always there when any of the Peaky boys were killed in the line of action, and she even showed up for her elderly childhood neighbor’s funeral.  But this time, it was different.  She wasn’t gathered in the woods on the outskirts of Small Heath to mourn for someone else.  There wasn’t a stranger tucked away in the wagon standing in front of her.  The Shelbys weren’t gathered to bid farewell to a distant relative or friend.  The Lees weren’t generously providing this funeral for a price.  No, the whole Shelby and Lee families were there for her and Tommy this time.

            The heat from the flames washed over Y/N’s face, making her sweat a little, but she didn’t move.  She wanted to be as close as she could possibly be.  If she had it her way, she would have jumped into the wagon and let the flames swallow her whole, but Tommy’s hand tightly gripping hers anchored her to the ground.  It had only been a few days.  It couldn’t have been more than four, but with how time was moving, it felt like a lifetime had passed.  The flames roared on, and Tommy squeezed her hand a little tighter, causing Y/N’s throat to tighten.  She swallowed down the sadness trying to claw its way out of her.  Y/N wasn’t going to break down in front of all these people.  She didn’t want to cry at all, for that matter.  It felt like it had been an endless stream of tears, and Y/N was done.  If only her aching heart would catch the memo.  Y/N’s eyes traveled the length of the flames until they landed on the little plaque one of the Lee boys carved for the wagon.  “Lily Eleanora Shelby,” it read, and suddenly, the sadness returned with a vengeance.  Y/N shut her eyes, and the events that led to this day played in her head.  She was supposed to be happy.  She was supposed to be full of unadulterated joy.  She was supposed to be cradling her newborn baby girl.  But she wasn’t.  Instead, she held onto her husband’s hand like a lifeline as she watched her daughter’s wagon burn.  One day.  That’s all it took to completely destroy her.

            Even as she stood there, watching the flames devour her daughter’s wagon, she still recounted everything she did four days ago, trying to figure out what could have possibly led to this result.  Four days ago, she was a cheery 29-week pregnant woman.  A stay-at-home mom who, with the help of their maid Frances, cared for her and Tommy’s three-year-old son, Benjamin.  That day had started like any other.  Tommy was already out, and she could hear Frances chasing Ben around his room.  The little boy’s giggles echoed through the house, and she remembers smiling as she slid a hand over her round tummy.  Y/N couldn’t wait for Ben to be a big brother.  She got ready like any other day and eventually made her way to her son, who welcomed her presence with a hug and a kiss.  The little boy rubbed her tummy, planted a chaste kiss to her navel, and smiled at her. 

            “I just wanted to let my little brother or sister know that I love them too, Mommy,” he had said, causing Y/N’s heart to clench.  Even at three, he was a charmer, just like his father.  She knelt to be at eye level with her son and lifted her hand to cradle his face.

            “You’re going to be a wonderful big brother; do you know that?”

            “Of course I will be, Mommy.  I’ve been practicing sharing my toys with Frances and making sure I listen real good to you and daddy.”  He said, standing up straighter to exhibit his full height.  “Frances says I need to be a good example for the new baby, or else Santa won’t bring me any presents this year for Christmas.  How outrageous is that, Mommy!?”

            Y/N stifled a laugh before brushing Ben’s hair back and looking up to see Frances smirking from her spot by Ben’s block tower. 

“I’m sure Santa won’t forget about you this year, honey.”  She told her son.  The boy gave her a toothy grin before trotting off to continue playing with his blocks. 

Y/N returned to her feet and watched Ben for another minute before retreating to the new nursery.  It was already put together, and she often found herself hiding away in that room.  She glided her hand over the bassinet and let the soft fabric tickle her palm.  The walls were already decorated with paintings of horses, some of which came from Ben, who insisted that his younger sibling have them.  She sat on the rocking chair and gently rubbed her hands over her stomach, earning a little kick from her unborn child.  A soft laugh fell from her lips as she looked down at her growing bump.

“Sorry to disturb you, love.”  She whispered, her hands still rubbing slow circles.  “Mommy just wanted to let you know she loves you very much.  And so does your big brother, who is very excited to meet you.”

Another kick came.

“You’re excited to meet him, too?  I’ll have to let him know.”

“Daddy loves you too, just in case Mommy forgot to mention that.”  Tommy’s voice came from the doorway, causing Y/N to look up.  He gave her a full smile, the one he reserved only for her and their son, and it fell over her like a warm blanket.

“Mommy was just about to get there.  Had daddy not interrupted her,” she said.  Tommy hummed in response as he floated across the room to kneel before her.  He looked up at Y/N through his lashes and said, “Sure you were,” before removing her hands and planting a soft kiss where they had just lay.

“Daddy can’t wait to meet you,” he whispered against her stomach, his warm breath radiating throughout her body.  Tommy looked up at Y/N before standing and pressing his lips to hers.  When he pulled away, a smile matching his spread across her face.  She was beaming.  She had dreamt of being in this position for many years as a teenager, and now it was real.  Thomas Shelby was hovering over her very pregnant figure in their unborn second child’s nursery.  Their lively three-year-old son’s muffled laughter ricocheted off the hallway walls.  It was everything she ever wanted, and she was so happy.

“What’s that look for?”  Tommy asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Nothing,” she hummed, gaining a skeptical eyebrow raise from her husband.  “I just love you.  That’s all.”

Tommy nestled his face into the crook of her neck, peppering kisses along the exposed skin.  Then he pulled back, looked into her eye, and said, “I love you more than you know, Y/N.”

He gave her one more swift kiss before standing and sauntering out of the room with a smirk.  The rest of the day went by like any day usually went.  She sat around and read, played with Ben, ate lunch at 1100, put Ben down for a nap at 1230, and then went back to reading.  Tommy was in and out, balancing work from home and the office.  She could tell that day was extra tiring from how he sighed every time he left the house.  It was after Tommy left for the last time of the day that Y/N got the idea to wander down to the kitchen.  When she entered, the cooks were hard at work peeling and slicing vegetables.

“Good evening, Mrs. Shelby,” the head chef began, “is there anything we can do for you, ma’am?”

Y/N clasped her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels like a guilty toddler.  “Um,” she said, “actually, yes, there is.”  She stepped into the kitchen and moved her hands to rest on her stomach.  “I was thinking that maybe tonight you and the rest of the staff could take the evening off and allow me to cook dinner.”

The head chef’s eyes widened at her statement.  Everyone else stilled for a brief moment, waiting for him to speak.  “Oh,” he stammered, “b-but, Mrs. Shelby, and please forgive me if I am overstepping, but shouldn’t you be resting instead of cooking?”  His eyes dipped down to her protruding abdomen before landing back on her face. 

“Resting?  I rest all day.  Really,” Y/N said, waving the chef’s comment off, “it would be nothing.  I actually miss being in the kitchen.  It’ll be nice.  Therapeutic.”  She couldn’t miss the wide-eyed stares from everyone in the room, but she chose to ignore them.  When they didn’t move to leave, she stepped forward, placed a gentle hand on the head chef’s back, and began leading him out of the kitchen. 

“Trust me,” she said, “I’ll be fine.  Thank you for your concern, though.”

Once she ushered the staff out, she began working on dinner.  It had been a long time since she cooked, but it came back to her like riding a bicycle.  She couldn’t escape the excitement that bubbled inside of her as she fell into a groove preparing dinner for her family again.  She boiled the potatoes the staff had peeled, sauteed the peppers and onions, and braised the beef that was in the refrigerator.  About an hour into cooking, a dull pain emanated from her lower back and into her hips.  The dull pain slowly morphed into a pressure that she just assumed was normal 29-week pregnancy symptoms.  It’s just the baby getting comfortable.  The baby is just moving around and pressing a little harder than usual on my cervix.  She ignored the feelings and finished cooking before asking the kitchen staff for help to bring the meal into the dining room.  Once the table was set, Frances went and fetched her boys, alerting them that not only had Y/N cooked dinner, but she had also served it.  She greeted the boys in the doorway of the dining room and gave each a kiss before they all sat to eat.  That pain returned in her lower back and hips, making it hard to get comfortable in her seat.  She let out a low groan of discomfort, and Tommy placed his hand over hers to gain her attention.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyebrows knitted together.  She swallowed another groan that threatened to come out and nodded with a strained smile.  Y/N could tell that her weak answer did nothing to reassure Tommy, but he didn’t press her. 

“How do you like the meal?”  She asked, doing her best to not sound strained against the constant pressure she felt pulsing between her legs.

Before Tommy could answer, Ben nodded with enthusiasm and stuffed a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes into his mouth.  “I love it, Mommy!  This is the best dinner I’ve ever had,” he said through his mouthful of food. 

Y/N smiled, but it must have looked more like a grimace because this time, Tommy stood up and moved to her side.  “Y/N,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, “are you sure you’re okay?  Should I have Frances phone the doctor?” 

Y/N grabbed his hand and squeezed it as she looked up to her husband.  “I’m fine, darling.  I promise.  Let’s just finish dinner.”  She pulled his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.  Then, using her head, she motioned for Tommy to sit again.  He stared at her for another moment, the line on his forehead deepening, before sighing and retaking his seat.  She kept her discomfort under wraps for the remainder of dinner because Tommy didn’t mention anything until after they had put Ben down for the night and were about to crawl into bed.  The pressure and pain had only grown in that short time, and she was beginning to get nervous.  She was sitting on the edge of their bed, eyes shut, and taking some deep breaths when Tommy’s hands landed on her thighs.  She could feel him kneeling between her legs, but she didn’t open her eyes.  She didn’t want to admit that her anxiety was consuming her or that the pain and pressure had turned into abdominal cramps.  It wasn’t until she suddenly felt the bed beneath her sopping wet that she looked at Tommy.  He looked down and saw the fluid dripping from her nightgown and their duvet before his gaze landed on her.  She could see his mouth moving, but his voice was drowned out by her rapidly beating heart.  Something is wrong.  She thought.  This shouldn’t be happening.  I’m too early.  Tommy pushed away the hair that had begun sticking to her sweaty forehead, and then ran out of the room.  His voice was distant, but she could have sworn he said something about calling Polly and Ada.  She wasn’t sure because all she could focus on was the sharp pain that was puncturing her abdomen and the immense pressure building between her legs.  Before she could comprehend what was happening, Tommy scooped her up and lay her on their bed.  What about the sheets?  I’m going to ruin the bed. 

She must have said those thoughts aloud because Tommy quickly said, “Don’t worry about the bed, love.  We’ll get another one if we have to.”  The pain was only getting worse, and she had to shut her eyes and bite her tongue to prevent a groan from escaping.  She didn’t know how much time had passed before Polly and Ada came rushing into the room, shoving Tommy into the hallway.  When it was just the three of them, Y/N finally let out a guttural moan.  She didn’t remember this much pain when she gave birth to Ben.  Something is wrong.  Something is not right.  Those words chanted in her head like a mantra.  Polly set her up on her bed while Ada used a wet towel to wipe away the sweat beading on her face.

“Just breathe, Y/N,” Polly chirped soothingly in her ear. “Ada and I are here.  We’re going to take care of you.”

Anxiety coursed through her veins and unfurled in her gut when the pressure between her legs began to increase.  She tried to cross her legs and prevent the inevitable from happening, but Polly and Ada wouldn’t let her.  Tears of pain and fear streamed down her cheeks.  She wanted to scream at them to stop and let her try to stop this urge to push.  But the pain and pressure were too much, and the only sound that came out of her mouth was a low groan. 

She could feel Polly’s hand between her legs, and the words “crowning” and “push” floated to her ears.  Ada took her hand, and Y/N tried with every fiber in her body to not push, but her body had other plans.  She held her breath and begged her body to stop forcing her baby out of her, but it was too late.  The pressure was building.  Climbing to a peak that felt like it would rip her in half until suddenly, she felt relief.  Her heavy breathing filled the room, and she waited impatiently for the tell-tale cries of her baby, but they never came.  She opened her eyes and looked at Polly and then at Ada.  They both just stared back at her, and Y/N knew something wasn’t right. 

“Y/N,” was all Polly whispered, and she knew.  The silence was deafening.  She lay there, completely exposed, bleeding, and sweaty, and waited, but her baby gave her nothing.  Her eyes shut and then, without any strength to stop it, let out a crushing wail.  The tears overflowed, and when she opened her eyes again, she watched the door burst open and Tommy storm in.  He moved over to where Polly held their baby and looked down at their motionless child.

“Why isn’t she crying?”  He asked. 

It was a girl.  I had a baby girl.  Even through her tears and sobs, she could see Tommy’s chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

“Why isn’t she fucking crying, Pol!?”  Tommy’s voice boomed through the room and mixed with her loud cries to create the saddest song.  She could see the distress in the slant of his shoulders and how he ran a hurried hand through his cropped hair.  He didn’t wait for anyone to answer his question before bounding across the room and landing on the floor next to her.  His hands found hers, and she could feel them shaking.  His lips pressed to Y/N’s forehead and cheeks, absorbing only some of the tears that continued to cascade down her face. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, but the way his voice cracked in her ear told her he didn’t even believe those words.  “I love you, Y/N.”  She could hear that his words dripped with the same despair she felt.  “You know that, ey?  I love you, and it’s going to be okay.”

Tommy’s words echoed in her head as she watched the fire blaze around her daughter’s wagon.  She wanted to be convinced that his words were true, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe them.  When the funeral finished, they all returned to Arrow House, where the wake was being held.  Even being in a crowded room surrounded by family, Y/N felt alone.  Her whole body was like radio static – unfeeling.  Tommy’s hand was on her lower back the entire time, but she still felt like she was floating away.  Nothing could tether her to this reality anymore.

Several people approached her and Tommy, and with every person, a new empty comment emerged. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” which loosely translates to, “Boy, that sucks to be you.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” which means, “I’m really glad I’m not dealing with that!”

And, “At least you still have Ben,” equates to, “You shouldn’t be upset when you still have one kid alive.”

With every consolation tossed at her feet like the change she used to find on the ground when she was a child, this unknown sensation began to build in her chest.  It was heavy and wild, like an untamed animal.  It was red and bared its teeth, ready to bite.  It was something Y/N had never felt before.  She was usually understanding, calm, and collected.  She wasn’t hot-headed or easily provoked.  But now, she was quickly discovering that what she was feeling was rage.  Hot and stormy, it ravaged her insides, and instead of beating it back into its cage, Y/N leaned into it, letting it hold her battered and broken soul up.

After the wake, Y/N let her sadness swallow her.  She hid in one of the guest rooms daily and even went as far as to avoid Tommy.  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him because every time their eyes met, two things happened.  1) she could see the grief he was carrying like cinder blocks chained to his neck, and 2) she could see the way he looked at her like she was a broken piece of artwork now.  She knew she was a shell of the woman she once was, but it hurt her even more to know that Tommy saw it so plainly in her, too.  He didn’t see her as the strong, independent woman he fell in love with.  No, now she was a ghost of her former self, and she couldn’t take his pity for having lost their daughter and herself. 

Although clearly grieving, Tommy didn’t seem nearly as phased by their loss as Y/N.  He was able to jump back into work, and now, nearly a week since the wake, he was back to being fully invested.  If Y/N were being honest, she envied Tommy for being able to distract himself.  She couldn’t do anything but hide from the memories that haunted their home and do her best to still be a good mother to Ben.  When a week finally passed since laying her daughter to rest, Y/N knew she had to do something.  She would talk to Polly and beg for some sort of work.  She didn’t care that Polly insisted that Y/N take some “time to heal.”  She needed a distraction.  Being in Arrow House felt more like a prison than a home.

Y/N got dressed and began to head for the door after handing Ben over to Frances.  But, as she approached Tommy’s office, she could hear him talking.  She peeked through the tiny crack to discover John and Arthur sitting at Tommy’s desk. 

“Ada’s handling the Communists.  She’s got someone on the inside who’s giving us information,” Tommy stated.  “And,” he shuffled papers around on his desk, “I’m…dealing with Father Hughes.”

“And what about the horny princess?” John asked, leaning forward and adjusting his jacket.  “You gonna figure out where her family keeps the jewels?”

Tommy waved him off.  “I already know.”  That single statement had both his brothers and Y/N leaning forward just slightly.  Tommy lay a large blueprint on his desk, causing the brothers to stand.

“They keep their entire collection in this strong room.  There’s no way to get in from above without a key,” Tommy stated, flattening the paper and looking up at his brothers. 

“So, what’s your plan, brother?”  Arthur asked like a good soldier.  Tommy straightened slightly, and Y/N could tell he was a little uncomfortable.  He pulled a cigarette from his case and slid it across his bottom lip before lighting it and taking a drag. 

“We’ve gotta tunnel in,” Tommy said without hesitation.  Those four words landed on the Shelby men like a grenade, and Y/N could almost feel the atmosphere shift at the statement.  None of them moved.  It was evident that the idea of tunneling hadn’t been a thought in any of their minds since the war.  Tommy cleared his throat. 

“I know,” he began, “but there’s no other way.  I’ve already got Johnny Dogs ready to help.  He’ll set up camp where we’ll start the tunnel.”

The air was thick, and again, neither of the brothers spoke.  She knew they didn’t like the plan, but they would comply because Tommy was giving the orders.  Y/N watched as John and Arthur fiddled with their suit jackets, their anxious energy hitting her like a baseball bat to the face.  It wasn’t until Arthur blew out a puff of air and ran his hand through his messy hair, exposing his apprehension, that Y/N knew what she would do.  Without even a second thought, Y/N opened the door to Tommy’s office, and all three men turned to face her.  She was only adding insult to injury as the silence in the room became even heavier.  Neither of her brothers-in-law had seen her since the wake, and the uneasy energy was almost palpable.  Tommy stepped toward her but didn’t get too close, which Y/N could see his brothers noticed.

“Y/N, is everything alright, love?”

Her eyes flitted between all three of the Shelby men for a moment before finally landing back on Tommy.  She knew she probably looked like a deer in headlights.  Her stare was frazzled, and she knew she looked a bit harried.  But she still squared her shoulders and stated with the most conviction she could muster, “Let me help.”

All three men’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, but only one spoke. 

“Excuse me?”  Tommy asked, incredulity lacing each word.  There was no going back now.  Y/N had to double down on her commitment.  So, she waved her hand toward the blueprints on Tommy’s desk. 

“With the tunnel.”

Tommy’s eyes turned a shade darker, and Y/N could see his jaw tick.  She only glanced at John and Arthur for a second, and they both looked like they might choke on the thickness of the air.  She felt like she might, too, but she held her ground.  She was not a fragile porcelain doll and could help her husband like she used to.  Tommy coughed, then turned to his brothers and, in a calm voice, asked, “Would you mind giving me a moment with my wife, boys?”

Neither of the brothers wasted a second before hustling out into the hallway.  Once the door shut behind them, Tommy’s steely gaze landed back on Y/N.  Before, she would have felt a little nervous under Tommy’s intense glare.  She had never inserted herself into his shoddy business in the past.  But now, she didn’t care.  She needed a distraction and a way to prove that she was still a force to be reckoned with even after her loss.  Y/N could see Tommy trying to contain his anger as his nostrils flared and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.  His eyes shut for a brief moment as he took a deep inhale.

“Are you fucking insane, Y/N?”  He finally asked, his voice level.  Y/N’s mouth fell open, and she reared back just slightly.  But before she could say anything, Tommy continued.

“You’ve been avoiding me, your husband, for a week in our own home, and when you decide to finally speak to me, that is what you say?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  “Tommy.”

“No, Y/N!”  He shouted, causing her to startle.  “You can’t just move past this!”

That statement made Y/N see red.  In the week since Lily’s passing, Tommy did precisely that.  Y/N’s spine straightened, and her whole body became rigid.

“Why not!?” she shouted back, stomping toward Tommy.  “Is that not what you did?  Pretend like we didn’t lose our daughter?  You threw yourself into your work.  Why can’t I do the same thing?”  Her chest was heaving, and as badly as she didn’t want them to, she could feel tears pricking at her eyes.  She hated that she was a frustrated crier.  Her fists were in tight balls at her sides, and every muscle in her body was flexed.  She was ready for a fight.  She was prepared for Tommy to yell back at her.  In fact, she wanted him to yell at her.  She wanted Tommy to tell her how stupid her idea was and that she was out of her mind.  She mentally begged Tommy to scream at her for barging in on his meeting with his brothers and even thinking about tunneling.  Y/N wanted to feel the passion he usually had toward her before they lost their baby.  She needed him to reassure her that she was not a lost cause he was housing but his fierce wife.  But he didn’t yell.  The fire in his eyes dimmed, and his features softened.  The pity eyes were back, and she was struck by the sadness she was trying to escape.  She shut her eyes in a lame attempt to avoid looking at her husband and keep her tears at bay, but it was futile.  The tiny droplets fell down her cheeks, and when she opened her eyes again, Tommy was right in front of her.  He lifted his hands to cradle her face, and she hated how she melted into his touch.  It had been a week since she even looked at Tommy, let alone touched him.  She couldn’t lie, she missed him.  But it was easier to hide from the pain and suffering they both shared than deal with it head-on. 

Y/N let out a shaky breath and looked into her husband’s eyes. 

“Why can’t I, Tommy?” She asked, barely above a whisper.  “Let me help you.  Please.”

Tommy’s thumb stroked her cheeks, wiping away a stray tear.  He cataloged her features, and for the first time in a very long time, she wished she could see into Tommy’s thoughts.  She stared at him and hoped that everything she wanted to say was conveyed in her eyes.  I’m no longer the same woman I was a week ago.  I’m a failure as a woman and a mother.  I’m alone, letting my thoughts eat me alive.  I’m scared you won’t love this broken woman I have become.  Her eyes pleaded for Tommy to let her prove that she could still be the same person as before.  She needed to prove to him and herself that she wasn’t hopeless.  But when Tommy shut his eyes and let out a sigh, she knew his answer before he even said it. 

He looked at Y/N and said sotto voce, “You know I can’t, love.”

Y/N’s body went rigid, and that new familiar sensation began to bubble in her gut.  She could feel it rumbling and swirling, mixing with her fear and sadness, creating an uncontrollable fury.  It burned like venom, but she found herself welcoming the sting.  Her once soft features hardened, and Tommy noticed the change immediately.  Her stare was blank, and the joy that used to fill it had vanished.  Before losing her daughter, she never understood why the war had changed Tommy.  She supported him while his experiences ravaged him, but she never knew why he returned with a harder exterior than when he left.  But now, after suffering such a devastating loss, she understood.  There is no coming back from witnessing a tragedy. 

Tommy’s rough thumbs brushed against Y/N’s tear-stained cheeks and bent until his forehead rested on hers.  “Where did the woman I married three years ago disappear to?”  He said, his breath fanning over her face.  He pulled back, his distressed stare locking Y/N in place, and whispered, “I know she’s in there.”

The words stung like a slap to her already bruised ego.  She could feel the weight of that question in every bone of her body.  All her fears began raging a war inside her head, and she could feel her armor cracking.  She could feel the tears clogging her throat, burning as she swallowed them down.  Her lungs felt like they weren’t getting nearly enough oxygen, and she was only seconds away from either crying or breaking something.  With a swift step backward, Y/N separated herself from her husband.  She hated to admit that her body yearned for Tommy’s hands back on her, but she batted that thought away as quickly as it appeared.  Tommy slowly lowered his hands back to his sides, and she leveled him with a callous stare.

“That woman is gone, Tommy,” she spat.  “She burned to ash with her daughter a week ago.”  She could see the way her words landed on Tommy like bullets striking his chest.  Some of her felt bad, but the angry beast slowly becoming her new persona convinced her she did nothing wrong. 

Y/N waited for Tommy to say something, anything, back to her, and when he didn’t, she turned and reached for the door.  Confidence that felt different from what she was used to coursed through her body like electricity.  She was a little scared of who she was becoming, but those wild and fiery feelings of rage were the only things that brought her peace.  Before pulling the door open, she turned back toward Tommy and said, “If you won’t let me help you, Tommy, I’ll find someone else who will.  You forget, my roots run deep in this business, too.”

Tommy let out a dry laugh.  “You’re really threatening me, now, ey?”

Y/N’s grip tightened around the cold door handle, and, through gritted teeth, she growled, “It’s not a threat, Thomas.  It’s a promise.”  Without a second look, she flung the door open and stepped out. 

John and Arthur straightened at her abrupt appearance, and she just brushed past them, letting her feet carry her toward the front of their home.  She knew they heard her and Tommy’s conversation, but she didn’t care anymore.  This newfound boldness that her bereavement had granted her washed away any and all anxiety.   

“Hope you enjoyed the show, boys,” Y/N tossed over her shoulder toward John and Arthur.  “Next time, I’ll sell tickets and make talking to my husband more worthwhile rather than a waste of my time.”

She didn’t turn back around to see their reaction to her words.  Instead, she showed herself out and hopped into one of Tommy’s many vehicles.  She would find another way if he wouldn’t allow her to help.  The image of a tall Jewish man whom she briefly met a while back when Tommy first started expanding into London entered her mind.  She knew exactly who would be more than willing to give her a hand in her effort to help the Shelby family – Alfie Solomons.

[steveharrington]

can you elaborate more on steve being abandoned by the narrative?

yes <3 so i think there are two very unfortunate circumstances surrounding steve's character that have led to the current state of his plotline: 1. after not killing him in s1 like they originally planned, the duffers have never really had a plan for steve and 2. they are extremely influenced by audiences. when they were conceptualizing steve to fit in among the ensemble cast, the duffers were picturing him as a douchey boyfriend who unceremoniously dies. lonnie was originally going to come back to the byers house to save jonathan and nancy. there was no need to picture where he'd be 4 seasons down the road, so they just didn't account for that. then joe keery charmed them so hard that they literally couldn't bear to kill him, so steve ends season one still somehow alive.

but we've already established the nancy/jonathan plotline, because jonathan was once the duffers' self-insert who must defeat the evil jock and win over the girl. they couldn't just backpedal on that right away, so they needed to give nancy and jonathan a plotline alone, away from steve. but steve only ever functioned as an extension of nancy until this point, so what do we do with steve now? in an accidental stroke of genius that the duffers have admitted was a last second decision, they pair him with the children and make him into a babysitter. it almost instantly boosts steve into being tied with hopper and el for most popular character from the show, potentially even beats them both out. in 2017 when s2 aired, you could not escape mom steve jokes. it was everywhere, steve was everywhere, joe was everywhere, it was arguably the second coming of #justice for barb, which, in netflix business-y terms, was the exact viral meme type situation that the show wanted and needed to sell merch and remain relevant and say "see we still got it!!!"

you know who has the 2nd most lines in the entirety of season three? directly behind hopper? ahead of winona ryder? steve. think for a second about how absolutely insane that is. the character who was written specifically to die in season one. joe keery's name wasn't even in the season one credits, because he wasn't considered a series regular. and now he has the 2nd most spoken lines in the big blockbuster season because he rocketed up in popularity so intensely. season three marketing features the mall so heavily, creates a literal physical shrine to 80s nostalgia, and when the very first promo is released an entire year before the season airs, who's the star of that teaser trailer? and who, pray tell, is featured in the main brand sponsorship ad that plays in movie theaters worldwide? thats right its america's little darling steve harrington.

but here is the issue. the duffers look at what made steve popular and they see: funny exasperated babysitter, heartthrob action hero. they're like oh okay so we should keep putting him directly in the center of the action, bang him up every season to give him his classic bloodied aesthetic, but. he still needs to be funny. we can almost kill him, but we can't actually kill him because he's profitable. we can let him get horrifically injured because it's badass, but we still gotta let him crack jokes. it creates this very weird tone to steve's role in the story starting in season 3 because he's both the action hero and the comedic relief and protected by plot armor, so we get scenes where he's being literally tortured until he's begging for his life and gasping for breath but the tone is still.......fun? comedic? light and goofy? i think the duffers also forgot he's supposed to be a teenager.

now this is partially me making educated guesses but i feel pretty confident about this: once again, like gollum, joe keery uses his big shiny eyes and manages to evade death again in season four by being so likable and charming and marketable that netflix execs or shawn levy or maybe even the duffers themselves were like oh fuck we just can't do it. they were obviously tossing around the idea of taking mom steve all the way by letting him die sacrificially for dustin, so in season four they make eddie, transfer steve's relationship with dustin directly onto him, ctrl f steve's name in the death scene and just type in eddie instead, and once again steve is alive but he's directionless.

so what does he have now, in season four? i think the duffers have a whiteboard somewhere with steve's name and around it are little circles that say "funny" "cool" "DO NOT KILL" and steve is now stuck in this endless cycle of getting beaten up, popping back up somehow unharmed like a looney tune, saying something cute and oblivious, rinse and repeat. because that's what worked, that's what made him popular all the way back in season two. that's what the duffers are obviously keeping in mind when they're writing steve: popularity. not realism, not depth, not growth, just literally how to continue making him popular. meanwhile, other characters get to be part of the actual story. other characters get to serve a purpose other than selling merch. when el is bitten by a monster, she gets to actually feel pain and need help because that's realistically what any human would need. when hopper is tortured, he gets to suffer and ponder his existence and reflect on the relationships in his life. steve never gets any of that, because the writers just don't see steve as the 19 year old boy on his 4th straight year of traumatic events that he actually is.

they literally just see him as a money maker, there for cool viral moments and witty lines and maybe the occasional emotion experienced but only if it's about his romantic prospects. and the narrative that other characters get to have and be apart of just kinda runs parallel to steve. he's there, technically, but he's not really in the story. and it's like actually crazy because you'd think after all the funko pops he sold, he'd have earned an actual storyline!!!

[iiseor]

Smoke sprite | part 1

Synopsis: maybe your mother cheating on your father wasn't that bad after all.

Cw: idk... reader is described as a first year college student... (semi self insert) kinda wrote reader to be like 19 & Ellie 20 but it doesn't matter age isn't rlly mentioned

4:30pm.

"This is boring huh?" Laila said as she sat down beside you. You squinted to look at her, protecting your eyes from the beaming fire lights. "Insanely boring" you replied.

-

It had been three months since your life changed drastically. Your mother cheated, divorced your father, married her new boyfriend and moved you to an entirely different state within months. Everything happening so fast, it felt like you never got the opportunity to actually comprehend anything.

Despite the separation of your family, and your now resent fullness towards your mother and step father—there was one thing making it all better, your step siblings.

Laila and jay, your new brother and sister. Unlike you, they were used to having one full parent. Though, just like you, they hated that parent for nearly everything. Because of this, they became your biggest support system and resource for when you needed to get away from your mother—often taking you for drives as your mothers affair ruined your license plans.

And that's how you're here, at a stupid neighborhood fire, in the middle of fall, watching your mother live happily ever after.... despite your misery.

5:00pm.

"Me and jay are going to a party, wanna come?" Laila asked you, still sitting next to you. "Really?" You questioned. "Of course, it'll be cool, you can meet some people for once" she replied, making you laugh. "Idk... I'm kinda still getting settled, and won't our parents notice we're gone all the sudden?" You responded. "Nah, it's all good, just come let's get ready" she added, pulling you up before you could protest

The two of you spent just about a hour getting ready. As Laila figured, your parents didn't once question where you had ran off to, making it easy for you to walk right by them and drive off.

8:00pm.

"Her names y/n" laila told. "Your new girlfriend? You moved on that quick?" one of her guy friends questioned, making you nearly spit out your drink. "No wtf, my step sister idiot, ignore him" she said turning to you, "we're gonna go out and smoke wanna come?" She added.

"Oh uh... I don't smoke" you replied, making laila laugh, thinking you were being sarcastic. "Oh you're frl?" She said as she glanced at you again realizing you were serious. "Yea.... not my thing" you added. "That's alright, we'll go you have fun!" She said pulling her friend away, the faint conversation between them fading out

"You're so stupid" she said, "how was i supposed to know she was your sister" he replied.

11:56pm.

Nearly midnight, and Laila still wasn't back from her smoke session. You had spent almost a hour outside in the cold looking for her, with no luck.

Your anxiety was through the roof as you made your way to the nearest restroom, stopping to ask anyone you could if they've seen her—only getting "nah's" and crazy stares.

you burst through the bathroom door, desperately trying to turn your frozen phone back on, nearly dropping it as you fidgeted with the buttons. Girls clearing out left and right, while you tried your best to not embarrass yourself. Before you could finish trying to get yourself together, something startled you out of the breakdown.

"You good babe?" A raspy voice echoed through your ears as you turned around, your eyes mimicking a deer in the headlights. "You need a charger?" The girl questioned, moving up from against the wall and reaching for your phone. Her hands quickly gracing yours. "Your hands are freezing, run them under some hot water here" she said dragging you towards the sink.

"Do you know Laila" was the only thing you could get out, still trying to bring your breathing back to normal. "I know of her" she chuckled, "why? You her new girlfriend?" She questioned. "No god why does everyone keep saying that" you replied.

"Relax I'm just messing with you" she said. "she just... brought me here and I can't find her anywhere, my phone won't fucking turn on and I don't know how to get home it's too dark" the words spilled out of your mouth, 'it's not her problem' you thought mid ramble. "It's alright love, your hands warm enough now yea?" She laughed at your sudden shift in tone, taking out a pair of mittens from her thin jacket pocket. "Wear these outside" handing them to you. "Thanks" you said—finally making eye contact. 'Of course she has to be fine, the first time I embarrass myself here' you thought on.

"You good now tho? Sounded like you were gonna explode when you came in" she said, caressing the back of your jacket. You paused, studying her for a moment before breaking out of it—afraid she'd think you're a creep. "Yea I'm good, I was just panicking" you said now studying the floor. "You the step sister?" "Laila's new one?" She questioned, you so distracted by her presence — you hadn't even realized she started to guide you out of the washroom and back to the main room. "Hm?" She added looking over at you. "Uh yea" you replied, your tone quiet. "Yea of course she left you here, she doesn't pay attention to shit" she told, "I'll drive you so you don't have to walk in the cold, yea?" She asked. "You know where she lives?" You asked back. "Where you live? Yea" she smirked. "Give me ten, I gotta talk to some people first, sit here" she said guiding you onto a kitchen stool, as if you were incapable of thinking for yourself. "you'll be good?" She looked at you again. "Yea..." you replied. "Alright" she said patting your shoulder.

And unlike Leila, Ellie came right back. talked to some people, came back and took you striaght home as told. "Is the heat warm enough?" She asked, leaning to put her hand over the car vent. "Yea it's good" you replied. "When did you move in? With Laila... I knew her dad started dating again but I didn't know it moved that quick" she questioned. "like three months ago..." you replied, your tone quickly going quiet again as you slouched down in the seat. "You don't like him?" She asked, looking at you through her mirror. "He's fine I guess, I don't mind" you replied, "must suck tho, having to leave everything behind and move in with strangers.. especially ones your age, and having to apply to new colleges and shit, must suck bad" she ranted on, 'tell me about it' you thought to yourself.

"Sorry that was out of line" she added on, noticing your silence. "It's fine, at least someone gets it " you said unbuckling your seatbelt, the awkwardness making the time go by quick. "Let me walk you to the door, it's dark" she said getting out to quickly open the car door. "your phone" she handed to you once you reached the front entrance. "Thanks, and for driving me.. can I repay you?" You questioned, Ellie now being the one to study you. "Yea" she replied looking you up and down, "with what?" You replied, looking back at her wide eyed once again, making her laugh. "Just your number, I'll take you to a real party" she said, "Oh alright.." you hesitently replied—but hesitant enough as she had already handed you a pen and paper. "You just keep this on you at all times?" You asked, as you wrote down your number—cheeks frozen and hands cuddled up in the mittens she had given you. "Comes in handy doesn't it?" She replied, you handing her the paper and rolling your eyes. "I live down the street, it'll be nice to see you around" she added.

"Thanks.. again" you said, looking around the street behind her. "Don't mention it...you should go inside, poor face is frozen" she replied lifting her hand to caress your cheek—eyes meeting for a moment before you broke it. "Yea, it's cold... but thanks again.. see you, later?" You questioned. "Yea, I'll call you, once your phone is unfrozen" she joked, you laughing in return. "Ellie by the way" she practically yelled as she walked down the stairs from your front entrance, "y/n" you yelled back just enough for her to hear, before turning around and going inside—your freezing face not being able to contain your giddiness.

[annwrites]

exactly what he needs, pt. 4 ♡ ⋆｡˚ | other parts here

— pairing: nate jacob x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (multi-chapter)

— summary: nate & you have breakfast together, made by you. he then takes you grocery shopping, & later in the week, he finally asks you to be his!

— tags: cute lil domestic moments, you wearing nate's jersey, meeting the parents day 1, first kiss

— tw: dollification (mans isn't even trying to hide it anymore, he straight-up is tying bows in your hair now), eating, snooping, it being implied that nate has already thought about one day baby-trapping you if push-comes-to-shove, misogyny (he's so mean to cassie), threatening, f receiving oral, emotional manipulation, possessiveness

— word count: 11,661

— a/n: reader uses pads bc i use pads & we are all about self-inserts around here (i never learned how to use tampons, don't judge me). honestly, idk how nate would feel about pads. like, on the one hand, i can see him as seeing them as more "unsanitary", but also preferring it if reader is still a virgin. tbh, he prob just tries to pretend periods don't exist, & doesn't want to hear about it if you're on yours, apart from a slight heads-up & being informed once everything down there is back to normal.

i hope this doesn't seem like things are moving too fast in reader & nate already getting together, but tbf, nate & cassie had hung out for what? prob at most a couple hrs when fezco beat his ass, & then the boy is lying in the hospital thinking he's in love & wants to have babies with her. i say it's on-par for his character lol.

The next morning after your day together is the first time Nate ever shoots you a text. 

A simple Good morning, sweetheart.

You stare at it for around ten minutes, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You type up a reply, then delete it. Then type up another and backspace the entirety of it as well.

Finally, you press send on a simple Good morning. (:

Nate: Any plans for today?

You: Might clean the house a bit, then go grocery shopping.

You watch as three little dots dance on your screen, then suddenly disappear. You then suppose you’ve not supplied an incredibly interesting answer.

You toss your phone down on the bed, deciding to finally get up for the day. It’s nearly fifteen minutes later when you check your texts again and see that Nate replied…ten minutes ago.

Nate: How do you get your groceries home?

You: There’s a store not too far from here. If I don’t have very many, I usually just carry them as I walk. If I have quite a few, sometimes I take the bus.

Speaking of which, you need to check the schedule for it today and plan accordingly. That is, until Nate replies. 

Nate: I can drive you there and back. I don’t mind.

You begin to type, telling him that’s completely unnecessary, but you’re not fast enough.

A text from him pops up: omw

You throw yourself back on your bed, groaning. You’ve just woken up.

You hadn’t planned to go to the store for perhaps a few more hours. You want to at least wake up first. Eat something, then clean. Even if the house is already essentially spotless, but you have a cleaning schedule you try to adhere to to keep it that way. And to give yourself something to do on the weekends in your spare time.

Which is, apart from tutoring, all you really have.

You decide to just stay in your PJs—a pair of soft blue shorts with clouds on them and a white t-shirt.

You’ve already washed your face and brushed your teeth, as well as your hair—which is now in a bun atop your head.

You make your bed, opening your curtains, letting the morning sunshine into your room before you go to the living room and flip the lock on the door to let Nate in.

You then head to the kitchen to decide on what to make for breakfast. You’re torn between eggs and bacon, or waffles, with perhaps a small side of French toast, when you hear a truck roar into your driveway.

You’re torn from your debating over breakfast by a knock on the door.

“It’s open!”

Nate enters the house, slipping off his shoes, closing the door behind him. 

“I’m in the kitchen,” you call softly.

He comes to stand in the entryway. “Want me to give you a few while you get ready?”

He surely hopes you’re not the type who goes to the store in her pajamas, at least.

You turn around to look at him, leaning back against the counter behind you, crossing your arms over your chest. “Actually, I was planning on going later this afternoon. After cleaning. And eating… I haven’t had breakfast yet,” you say sheepishly.

“Shit,” he hangs his head for a moment, then looks at you again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fuck up your plans for the day. I just didn’t have anything to do this morning, so I thought I’d run over and help you out.”

You shake your head. “It’s ok. I appreciate it. You don’t have to stay if you have somewhere else you need to be.”

“I don’t. Not until this evening, at least.”

His dipshit dad wants everyone to have a family dinner together, while Nate wants to do anything else.

Like be here with you.

“Have you eaten yet?”

He has—a breakfast burrito maybe an hour ago. “No, do you want to go somewhere and get breakfast?”

“I could make us something instead?” You turn back around, opening the fridge again. “Any requests?”

He’s quiet for a moment, just taking you and this moment both in. You, still in your pajamas, having just rolled out of bed a little while ago, standing in the kitchen in the early-morning light, offering to cook for him. It’s all so…domestic. And a warm feeling forms in his chest at it—imaging this as his home with you. Imagining you’re both married and your kids are still asleep in the other room. 

You glance back to him.

He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m sorry, I’ve just never done—had this before.”

“What?”

“My-” he stops himself before he can say ‘girlfriend’. “A girl cooking for me.”

Your brows furrow. “Really? Neither Cassie or Maddy ever did?”

He chuckles. “I honestly don’t think of either of them know how.”

“That’s sad,” you state simply, before turning back around. “So, do you want bacon and eggs, or waffles, pancakes…I can do French toast?”

“Whatever you want to do is fine with me.” He likes that you know how to make so many things. That you want to do so for him. He’d chosen right with you. 

You turn around yet again. “You’re my guest, so you get to pick.”

He smirks, shrugging. “Bacon and eggs is fine with me.”

“How do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled works.”

You nod, then start pulling out cookware.

Nate had stood to the side, watching as you worked, occasionally sipping on a mug of black coffee—you’d put some on just after having gotten up. He’d asked more than once if you wanted help as he watched you flit about the kitchen, but you’d only smiled and shook your head.

Finally, once breakfast is ready, you make the both of you a plate and carry them into the dining room, sitting his plate on one side of the table and yours on the other.

You take your seat before he can bother pulling it out for you. He tries not to let it irk him. He tells himself it’s because it’s a habit, since you’re in your own home. You’re not used to being catered to. But neither is he.

Thankfully, Nate had gone for a run after eating earlier, so he’s able to clean his plate. He doesn’t want your feelings hurt—for you to feel insulted—by him not eating every last bite. And it had been rather good, actually.

“You’re a good cook.” 

You look up to him, beaming. “Thank you, I’m glad you liked it. Do you want anything else?”

He leans back, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can fit anymore.”

You nod, standing, taking both your plates into the kitchen, placing them in the dishwasher.

You return to the dining room and remain silent as Nate types a message out on his phone, looking up to you as he tucks it back into his pocket.

“I’ll get dressed and then we can head out.”

He stands. “It’s warm out.”

You smile. “Thanks for the forecast.”

He smirks. “You could—if you want to—wear the skirt and top I bought you.”

You’d hung everything up to dry last night and had truthfully forgotten about all of it until his just-now reminding you.

“Unless you don’t like them?”

You shake your head. “No, I do. I just…I wish you had asked me first.”

“Would you have let me get them for you if I had?”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “Probably not.”

“Then I made the right decision to make it a surprise.” 

He heads in the direction of your bedroom, then, and you trail after him. “I just don’t understand why.”

You feel stupid, speaking to the back of his head.

He comes to sit in the swing-chair in the corner of your room. “Why what?”

“Why you bought me everything you did. I looked up the necklace, how much it costs…”

He’s unphased by it, knowing he’d spent well over a grand on you yesterday. But in truth, it hadn’t been nearly the amount he’d wanted to spend.

He'd wanted—more than anything—to take you into a lingerie store and blow a ton of cash on you there, watching you try on everything he asked you to. But he knew better. For now, at least.

“So I wanted to get you a few nice things. You act like it’s some sort of terrible thing for me to have done.”

You sit on the corner of your bed, facing him. “I’m very grateful. For all of it. I just…I hope you don’t think you need to buy my friendship, Nate. I’m not going anywhere.”

It has nothing to do with friendship. But he can’t tell you just how much it turns him on: spoiling you, buying you expensive things, the idea of you being covered in him—from shoes, to clothes, to jewelry, to perfume and more. It gets him off—makes getting off easier, in truth. Until he has your body to do that with, that is, at least.

He leans forward. “I’m glad to hear that. But you don’t have to worry—I never thought I did.”

He glances to your closet. “Do you want to get dressed?”

“I should probably check to make sure everything is dry. I hung everything up last night.”

You leave your bedroom, heading in the direction of the laundry room. 

Meanwhile, Nate stands, finally having a moment alone in your room. He wrenches open the drawer on your bedside table and is met with a couple remotes, a book, a few hair ties, a charging cable…nothing of interest. So he closes it.

Heart pounding, he peeks out your bedroom door—you’re nowhere to be seen—and he then opens the top drawer of your dresser next. Ever-organized, your panties are all in individual cubbies—all cotton, some solid colors, others with patterns printed across them, like small flowers and stars. He picks up a bra. White, with a bit of lace, a small bow in the front, another sage-green. Everything utterly virginal. He digs, but finds not one sex toy.

Perhaps you have them elsewhere. 

He jumps when he hears a door close. He steps into the hall a moment and sees the bathroom door is now shut. 

He returns to your room, getting on the floor and looking under your bed, where there’s only a couple vacuum-sealed bags full of clothes. He then quietly opens your closet. On the top shelf are a few boxes. He pulls down a shoe box, which, unsurprisingly, has a pair of brand new tennis shoes inside. He puts it back, pulling down another.

And it’s full of old Polaroids. They’re all from when you were younger. You and your dad, another of the two of you, a photo of a butterfly, another of a dog looking up at the camera, and he nearly drops the box when he finds a picture of the two of you. The pair of you can’t be more than six or seven-years-old, both of you smiling toothy grins up at the camera.

He flips it over. Written in faded blue ink on the back, it reads “Nate + Y/N ‘05”. He pockets the picture, putting the lid back on the box and setting it back in your closet. 

He stops snooping and sits back in his previous seat, unable to remember the picture ever having been taken. He wonders if you do.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Nate is still sitting in the corner of your room, his head leaned back and eyes closed, hands folded in his lap.

You silently sit on the edge of your bed, folding your legs over one another, draping your new pink skirt over them. You don't want to wake him, so just as you begin to consider changing back, closing your door and cleaning the house while he rests, he slowly opens his eyes.

"If you'd like to take a nap, you can."

He shakes his head, looking you over. You look perfect. For the most part. "Don't want to wear your necklace today?"

You glance to the robin's-egg colored box on top of your dresser. In truth, you're a bit paranoid about wearing something so expensive. What if the chain breaks and by the time you realize, it's long-gone?

You then look back to him, watching as he stands, opens the small box, then removes the necklace inside.

He comes to sit down behind you, slipping the chain around your neck, fastening it into place.

He then begins to tug the hairband from your ponytail.

You half-turn your head back toward him. "What're you-"

"Do you mind if I do your hair for you?"

You're starting to wonder if Nate has some hidden interest in hair-styling.

"I...I guess not."

He slips your hairband free, it coming to rest on his wrist along with the one he'd taken from you yesterday.

You sit there silently, enjoying the feeling of someone else's fingers in your hair once again, your cheeks growing warm as you feel him pull one side of your hair into a pigtail—something you're not quite sure about, but you decide to only make a judgement once he's finished.

He then does the same with the other side, smoothing some hair down your back, before gripping both your upper arms. "Done."

You stand, walking over to the mirror set atop your dresser and inspecting the half-up, half-down style. One pigtail on either side, the rest of your hair against your back.

"I think you look really pretty like that," he says from the bed behind you.

Who knew the star-quarterback had hidden hair-dressing talents.

You turn back around to him. "So when do I get to do your hair?"

He raises a brow.

"I could put clips and bows and ribbons-"

"Do you have ribbons?"

He...he can't seriously want you to put one in his hair...

"Yes."

He stands. "Where?"

"In the bathroom, the second drawer below the sink."

He leaves you standing there as he goes to rifle through them, returning a moment later with two that match the color of your skirt.

"Nate-"

"Turn around."

You're not sure that you appreciate his demanding tone, but do as he says nevertheless.

Once you have bows tied around either pigtail, Nate puts his hand against the small of your back. "Let's head out."

When the two of you arrive at the store, you go to get out, until Nate stops you by grabbing your left hand. "Wait for me to get it."

You sit back in your seat and wait for him to come around to your side. Once the door is open, you speak. "You don't have to come in with me if you'd rather wait here. I know grocery shopping, well, shopping in general, can be tedious."

He shrugs. "I don't mind."

He takes your hand, helping you down and shuts the door, leading you inside.

Nate stays close to your side as you toss various items into your cart—paying acute attention to each thing you do. You don't get a terrible amount of junk food, but he wishes you'd forgo the cereal. He'd already told you from here on out he'd be bringing you breakfast every morning.

He studies what kind of conditioner you use, what kind of lady razor, even your morning facial-wash. He briefly daydreams about getting you ready for the day—the detailed process he would go through to make you look like his own perfect living doll.

It's when you're in the frozen foods aisle that you briefly pause as he pretends to look over the frozen pizzas, when he's actually watching you. Watching you stare at a couple across the way, giggling and kissing each other, the girl's hand resting over her swollen belly, that is.

Hurt flashes across your features and he briefly grows angry, wondering if it's jealousy—if you know the man.

He steps over to you. "Do you know them?"

You jump in surprise at his presence, having been lost in your thoughts. You shake your head, throwing a bag of frozen vegetables in the cart. "No." You're quiet for a moment. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

You look at the happy pair again. "What that must feel like."

He places his palm against the small of your back, refusing to remove it for the rest of the shopping trip.

Nate of course takes it upon himself to not only load every single grocery bag into the bed of his truck, but also unloading and bringing every one into the kitchen once you're home. He simply watches from a kitchen island stool as you put them away.

He eventually excuses himself to your bathroom, deciding to finally cross the boundary of going through your medicine cabinet.

He locks the door, turning the faucet on as he goes through the cabinet under your sink first. Some toilet paper, a box of pads, some pantiliners, cotton balls, cotton pads—basic bathroom paraphernalia.

He then starts pulling open drawers. One he's already familiar with, it's filled with small baskets which hold elastics, hair bands, bows, clips, headbands and the like. Another houses hot-tools: a curling iron, which looks barely-used, a straightener, which has clearly been well-loved—the company name all but rubbed off of it, even an old crimping iron, and a blow-dryer.

He moves onto the last drawer, which just has extra toothpaste, toothbrushes, some lotion, triple antibiotic, extra shaving gel, and some other odds-and-ends.

Finally, he opens the medicine cabinet, curious if you're on birth control. If so, that will be coming to a stop immediately. Not only does he hate the horrid list of side effects that come with it, but once the two of you start fucking, he wants to be in complete control of your reproductive options.

Needs to be if... Well, if he eventually decides he can't live without you and has to resort to drastic options to keep the two of you permanently connected for the rest of your lives, he'll have that option.

But all he finds is some Tylenol, Advil, expired allergy pills, an old prescription bottle with your dad's name on it, a bottle of mouthwash, a small cup of bobby pins, some q-tips, and a couple—of course—clean makeup brushes, a few other items here and there.

He quickly searches the shower and just finds a few bottles of various kinds of soap.

Finally, he flushes the toilet, turns the water off, and comes to join you in the kitchen.

Nate had left not longer after you'd finished cleaning the house, him offering to help, but you telling him you could never ask a guest to do such a thing, so he'd instead sat on the couch, idly watching football, fantasizing once again about you being his perfect little housewife. Cooking and cleaning and grocery shopping for him, allowing him to dress you up and show you off.

It's in the moment as he watches you humming to yourself as you dust off the mantle that he decides this Thursday you'll finally be his.

Nate continues on with the studying ruse to continue spending one-on-one time with you.

Monday, you'd done exactly as he'd asked: you'd worn the white dress, a pair of flats with it even, your new necklace, a hint of blush, and you'd even curled your hair, which had made him hard near-instantly.

It had taken everything in him not to hold your hand as the two of you walked into school. As soon as he spotted Lexi—the ridiculous look on her face as she watched the two of you—he pulled you in the other direction before you could see her yourself, seating you with him and his friends. When you had brought up going to find Lexi, he'd merely told you he thought it might be nice for you to meet some new people that morning.

He knew by their expressions that his friends had wanted to say something—anything about you—perhaps throw around some vulgar jokes, but the death-glare he greeted them with instead kept them talking about football and some party that had gone on this last weekend, which he'd been unaware of, too concerned with filling his time with you.

As the week went on, the two of you began to text more and more. You woke up everyday to him and went to sleep to messages from him. He'd even called you once, and the two of you chatted for almost an hour about everything and nothing. He would've been content to stay up all night listening to your voice, until you had gotten off the phone, telling him you were going to sleep and you would see him in the morning.

You had no idea he was outside of your house that night, watching your bedside lamp flicker off.

Thursday after school, once the two of you are finished studying, Nate finally takes the plunge, praying to fucking God he gets what he's been dying to have for the last two weeks.

He pulls out his extra jersey from his bookbag, handing it to you.

You look up to him, confused.

"I thought you could wear it tomorrow to school, and the game that night."

You look down at it, the metallic number '18' on the front, then back up to him once more. "Isn't...isn't wearing a player's jersey to school something girlfriends usually do?"

He scoots the least bit closer to you, his legs on either side of your chair. He reaches up, gently gripping the back of your neck, light enough that it seems just a sweet gesture, but he knows what he means it as: him touching what is about to belong to him.

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

You blink once, twice. "What?"

He takes one of your hands in his free one. "Listen, the last few weeks," even if he knows it's only been two, but so little time together sounds...not the best out loud, "spending time with you has been a welcome change in my life. I know it started out as just tutoring, and we can keep doing that, of course. But, Y/N, I really, really like you. Being around you is just...so fucking easy. You're easy to talk to, to hang out with, to text with. And you're incredibly beautiful. And kind. And smart. Honestly, I could go on for the next hour, if not longer, about all your admirable qualities. Suffice to say that I'm very-much interested in being with you. And if you feel the same way that I do, then maybe we can give this a shot."

A strange, uneasy feeling comes over you. You tell yourself it's because you've never been asked out before. Never had someone show such blatant interest in you before like this. You're used to being alone, so of course the idea of being with someone—anyone—but especially Nate Jacobs, star football player, his dad's name being a household name in East Highland, and the guy every girl at school seems to want—seems unthinkable.

"I...I didn't think I was your type."

So does that mean you have thought about it? Being with him?

He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "I didn't think so either. But that's precisely why I think you're so good for me. You're not attention-seeking. Dating girls like that in the past has caused me nothing but trouble. You're not superficial. You care about shit—see things—in ways others just don't. Not at our age, at least. Not at our school. You're mature, responsible, know how to take care of yourself..."

He trails off, wanting you to reply. To just say yes. To give yourself to him.

"I don't know about this..."

His grip on your hand tightens just the smallest bit. "What's your concern?"

"How do I know you're not rebounding, from Cassie or Maddy?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not. I should've been done with Maddy a long time ago for the way she treated me. What she did at McKay's...I can never forgive that. And Cassie was a mistake from the first moment. We had both been drinking. And I just...I wasn't thinking clearly. But I am now. And I know what I want."

You look down to your lap. "And what if I screw things up? I've never dated someone before. I'd have no idea what to even do."

"Nothing here has to change. Not really. Us being together just means spending more time together." He fights back a smirk. "And me finally getting to kiss you."

Your head jerks up.

"Once you're ready," he adds on, knowing you'll be ready when he deems you so.

"And what if I'm just one more person to hurt or let you down?"

He feels like with that one question alone—you being so concerned for his wellbeing—he falls in love with you.

He releases your neck, now cupping your cheek. "You won't be. Do you think I haven't thought the same thing? You were abandoned by your mom. Your dad, too, essentially. The last thing I want is to be one more person to leave you. So I don't plan to.

"Listen, I'm not saying everything is going to be like a picture-perfect fairytale all the time, but I think so long as we're both happy, give each other our all, and consistently work at what we have, then we'll both be happy.

"Just in the time we've spent together, I've already opened up more to you alone than I have to anyone else in I can't tell you how long. I trust you."

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your lower lip and you want to cry from how gentle and sweet he's being—has been—with you.

Finally, you resign yourself to the likely fate of your first heartbreak.

"Okay."

His brows raise. "Yeah?"

You nod, a small smile on your face, your eyes filling with tears of joy. "Yes."

He stands, picking you up, wrapping your legs around his middle and your arms around his neck before spinning you around. "Oh, baby, I am going to make you so fucking happy."

You look down at him, and you believe it.

When you wake the next morning, you only get so far as brushing your teeth and washing your face when you hear a truck outside.

Still half-asleep, you wander to the front door and look through the peephole to see Nate coming up to it, one of his arms behind his back. You briefly wonder if you'd overslept as you flip the lock and open the door.

He comes in, pressing a kiss to your warm forehead. "Morning, angel."

You look up to him with sleepy eyes. "Am I running late?"

He smirks, thinking of the things he'd love to do with you while you're still half-asleep like this. It'd be too all easy to take control in bed.

He shakes his head. "No, I'm early," he says, pulling a bouquet of a dozen white roses out from behind his back.

You gasp lightly, taking them from him. "They're beautiful." You look up to him. "You didn't have to bring me flowers now that we're together."

It feels oddly strange to say.

He presses another kiss to your forehead. "I wanted to. It's something I want to do for you, bring my girlfriend flowers, take her on dates," he shuts the door behind him, backing you up against the wall, the flowers clutched against your chest as he places his palms on either side of you. "I hope you know I intend to spoil you fucking rotten."

Your eyes widen. "Oh."

He smirks. "C'mon, let's go get you ready."

Once you've put your flowers in a glass vase near a window in the kitchen, Nate takes your hand, leading you into the bathroom.

"Sit," he says before stopping himself, nearly opening the drawer to your straightener. He doesn't need you knowing he'd been snooping. "Straightener?"

"Uh...top drawer," you reply, seating yourself on the toilet lid

He retrieves the device, plugging it in.

As it heats up, he grabs your hairbrush from atop the sink and comes to stand behind you, running the bristles through your hair.

"You...you don't have to do my hair."

"I want to."

In truth, he wants to shave and moisturize your legs as well, then dress you in his jersey—picking out a bra and panties, too, before doing your makeup.

"Did you do this for Maddy and Cassie as well?"

He'd bought Maddy clothes, but she would've never let him dress her. Would've most-likely mocked him had he so much as given her a ponytail. Cassie was obviously a different story. "No. And we don't have to talk about them anymore. They're in the past now."

You fidget nervously with your hands. "Isn't that important—addressing our pasts to get to know one another better?"

Once your hair is free of tangles, he sets the brush down on top of the toilet tank. He then comes to stand in front of you, kneeling down to make the two of you level. "It is, but I don't want you to worry about either of them. You're the best thing for me now."

He sprays some heat-protectant on your hair before beginning to straighten it.

Nate gives you some privacy as you go over your legs with a razor one more time before getting dressed, even if you'd shaved the night previous. When you're finished, you come to stand in front of the mirror, and you simply stare.

Your hair is like it was the other day when you went grocery shopping, only, instead of ribbons on either side, he'd used hair bands that have two small balls on them that match the color of the numbering on his jersey. He'd actually done surprisingly well in doing your hair.

When you step out of the bathroom, he's waiting for you in your bedroom, his extra jersey, which you'd had hung up in your closet, now resting on your bed.

You nearly want to pinch yourself, everything seems so unreal in this moment.

He picks up the blush he'd gotten you, along with a makeup brush from your hardly-ever-used vanity and he dips it into the fine powder before gripping your chin, swiping the brush over the apples of both of your cheeks once, then twice.

You giggle nervously. "I'm starting to feel like a living-doll or something."

He smirks, snapping the compact shut, setting the materials back where they go. "I just like taking care of you."

He picks up your diamond Tiffany necklace, one more sign of his ownership over you, and clasps it around your neck.

He nods down to the jersey. "I'll let you get dressed."

Nate fights back a raging erection every mile to school. Here you sit, completely fucking covered in him, in the passenger seat of his truck. He'd done your hair, your makeup, bought the piece of jewelry you're now wearing, and his jersey hangs from your frame like a dress—he'd also picked out the white pair of tennis shoes from your closet that you're now wearing. Even eating a muffin he'd stopped to pick up for you.

He wants to pull over in a secluded spot somewhere and claim your virginity—one more part of you that will now belong to him—but he tells himself that will come soon enough.

If his plan works, you'll be in his bed, a whimpering, crying, whining, begging mess under him, sooner rather than later.

Your pussy will be his to fuck whenever and however he pleases.

He'll finally be back to no longer having to use his hand.

His fucked-up sexual fantasies of the two of you will finally get to come true

When Nate pulls into the lot, he 'accidentally' steps on one of your shoelaces after you've gotten out of the truck. He lifts you back up into your seat, setting your foot atop his knee—just like at the bowling alley—and people watch from their cars as he ties your shoe for you.

Finally, he takes your hand, firmly twining your fingers together, before locking his vehicle behind the two of you, as you walk into school together.

And you feel yourself begin to sweat nervously with every pair of eyes that turn your way, some people clearly not thinking much of it—bless those few—while others react with shocked expressions, whispering amongst themselves, eyeing you up and down, making you want to crawl inside a hole.

You look up to Nate and he looks nothing short of confident and unbothered.

You then glance over to Lexi's table and Lexi's expression somehow looks...sad? Disappointed, maybe?

Cassie, however, is shaking she's so enraged.

You quickly balk and look away from her before sitting down beside Nate, thankful you had worn a pair of black bicycle shorts under his jersey.

You drown out Nate's football friends chatting with him about tonight's game as he places his hand on your knee, then slowly moves it higher, then higher, until it's on the middle of your thigh.

You can feel your face growing warm out of mortification. What if someone sees? Thinks that the two of you are...well, already doing that.

You're torn from worrisome thoughts, thinking perhaps you'd made a mistake—you're not sure exactly what choice to consider as much—by Nate squeezing your leg.

You blink up at him. "What?"

He nods toward his friend. "He asked you a question."

You look at the young man across the table, who's maybe a year younger than the both of you, with black hair and hazel eyes, braces still on his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I guess I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you were going to be at the game tonight, since you're Nate's new girl."

"Of course she is," Nate replies for you. "She'll be in the stands cheering us onto victory. Right, baby?"

You give him a nervous smile, then nod.

He's pleased with your agreeable response.

When you get into second period, Cassie is already there, in her seat, which is just behind and diagonal to yours. You don't look at her as you lie your books on your desk, afraid to meet her eyes.

Then you hear her whisper "bitch" as you take your seat.

You slowly turn back to look at her, filled with hurt at the cruel name.

She gives you a nasty look. "What are you looking at?" She asks in a snide tone.

You turn back around without another word, fighting back tears for the rest of class, unable to think of anything else but how she'd always been so nice to you, and now despises you.

Once class is over, you go out to your locker, so distracted that you don't see Nate leaning against the one next to it with a smile meant only for you.

A smile that immediately disappears when he sees the sullen look on your face, and your bloodshot eyes.

You fumble with your lock twice before finally getting your locker open.

"What's wrong?"

You nearly jump at the sound of his voice.

You shake your head, setting your books back on their shelves with shaking hands. "N-nothing."

He leans down closer to you and speaks gently, quietly. "Something happened. Tell me."

He isn't going to take no for an answer.

You shake your head and he feels his fuse growing shorter. "Did someone say something to you?"

You look up to him. "I don't want to cause any trouble."

He delicately laces his fingers through your hair. "You won't. Just tell me what happened, sweetheart."

You shift from one foot to the other, clutching one of your textbooks to your chest. "Cassie. She-"

His tone grows hard. "What did she do?"

"When I got into class she called me a bitch. I wasn't...I wasn't sure if I heard her correctly. I turned around to look at her and she just...she had such a mean look on her face and asked me what I was looking at, so I just turned around."

He clenches his jaw so hard he's sure it will break. If that stupid whore ruins what he'd just gotten to finally happen with you—making you his—he'll fucking kill her. Actually kill her.

He wants to make a scene right in the middle of the hallway, wants to show you just how far he's willing to go to protect you, even just your feelings, but he knows it will only frighten you away. Showing his devotion to you in extreme measures is something that will have to come in time.

He presses a firm kiss to your forehead, staring down Cassie across the way, who's watching the both of you with a devastated look on her face. He then looks down at you, lifting your chin until your eyes are looking into his own. "Just ignore her. She's jealous. That's all it is. Eventually she'll get over it and move onto her next flavor-of-the-month."

You nod, grabbing the rest of your things for third period.

He smiles down at you, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. "I'll be there in a minute. I'm going to run to the restroom first."

You nod, heading to class.

Once you're out of sight, he makes a b-line for Cassie.

And the dumb bitch is stupid enough to actually smile at him.

When he reaches her, he slams her locker shut with one hand—causing her to jump—keeping it firmly in place against it as he stares her down. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

She shakes some hair off of her shoulder, looking up to him, back straight, eyes pensive. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's complete fucking bull. Y/N told me what happened in second period." He lowers his voice so only she can hear. "Let's get one thing straight, you desperate whore, if you screw this up for me, you won't like what happens to you. You have no idea the things I'm capable of—the lengths I'm willing to go to—when someone tries to destroy my life or take someone I love away from me."

She flinches at that—him admitting it—his feelings for you. And after such a short time...

"We had our fun, now I'm done with you, just like the other half of the male student population here. The fuck did you really think was going to happen with us? Did you think we'd...what? Get married, have kids, and live in a cul-de-sac in some fantasy where you're actually a good person that any man would deem worthy of marriage? I got exactly what I wanted and threw your ass to the curb when I got bored and you started acting fucking psychotic."

He points his finger at her face and she shrinks back against a locker, tears stinging her eyes. "Stay the fuck away from me, and even further away from Y/N. If I find out you've said another word—so much as come near her... Just try me, Cass."

With that, he steps away, heading to third period.

After school, Nate drops you off, promising he'll be back that evening to pick you up before the game, and you give him a soft kiss on the cheek before he leaves.

Once you're alone, for some reason, you feel like you can finally breathe. Like some weight had been bearing down on your chest all day and has suddenly lifted.

You blame it on the crowded halls and your noisy classmates.

You leave your hair the way it is, but change into something more comfortable before finding something to eat and sitting down to do homework.

In the middle of finishing your math homework, you begin to think of what had happened with Cassie. It had hurt your feelings, but you aren't angry. If anything, you feel sad on her behalf. While she was, of course, partly to blame, she'd still lost her best friend and boyfriend both, as well as earning herself an even worse reputation around school. You tell yourself the anger isn't necessarily directed at you. That's she's just lashing out in general due to being hurt and alone, and you're an easy target.

You're not sure trying to make nice with her is a good idea, however.

Your phone buzzes, ripping you away from your worries about Maddy trying to come after you next, even if she seems to have far less interest in you and Nate—minus that day in the parking lot—when you check it. You see that it's from Nate.

Nate: Be by around 6 to pick you up.

You: See you then. (:

Nate: Make sure to wear my jersey. 🏈

You grin at his finally using emojis.

You: I will. ❤️

You're left with a little over two hours to yourself before he'll be there to pick you up again. So you take another shower, knowing you sweated a bit more than usual today, then lie back on your bed and try to distract yourself with a movie.

Shortly before six, you dress in Nate's jersey again, and a fresh pair of panties and bicycle shorts before going out to sit on the swing in front of your house to wait for him.

You can't help but smile when he pulls up, butterflies in your stomach.

He comes around, opening the passenger door to the truck. Once you're seated, before you can buckle yourself, he does so for you.

You don't manage to say anything, such as telling him that him doing that really isn't necessary, before he shuts the door.

Nate rolls down the windows, blasting upbeat rap music on the way back to the school. You smile, thinking he looks cute when he's excited. He doesn't seem to exhibit that emotion a lot.

Then again, apart from winning at bowling, neither do you.

Perhaps the both of you are too serious for your age.

You lean back, a smile on your face, and he rests his hand on your upper thigh. You tell yourself you're fine with him touching you there.

That it doesn't make you uncomfortable.

That he's just trying to be a sweet boyfriend.

Once the two of you pull in, the parking lot is only sparingly filled. But the game also doesn't start until after seven.

Once Nate has helped you out of the truck, disliking that you'd already unbuckled yourself before he got a chance to, he takes your hand in his—his duffle bag slung over his other shoulder—as he heads in the direction of the field house. One you're around the backside of the school, he drops his bag on the ground, turning back to you.

He cups your cheek in his large palm. "Can I get a kiss for good luck?"

You hesitate for a moment. Then, "Yes," you say with a shy smile.

He smiles down at you in return before pressing you up against the brick building, then lowering his lips to yours.

He fights back a moan at finally getting to be this: your first kiss. The first one to taste you. The only person to ever have this intimate moment with you.

He opens your mouth with his, gently flicking his tongue against your own and he feels your body stiffen, until he does it again and you relax.

He stays like that for a good few minutes, his tongue tasting you, the sun beating down on his back as his form shadows your own, both your eyes closed as you, after seventeen years, finally find out what it's like to be kissed.

And it's slow and gentle and passionate. And you feel heat pool between your thighs.

You whimper against his lips and his cock hardens at the sound.

He pulls back just the least bit, his lips hovering over your own, which are now red, a bit swollen. "What was that?"

"I dunno," you say, gripping his t-shirt, pulling him back down to you.

He grows impossibly harder at the fact you want more.

He easily obliges.

He wants to move his lips down to your neck, wants to give you a hicky before you go sit on the bleachers for the game, but doesn't.

Finally, he pulls away, both your breathing labored. "Alright, I have to go get ready, my little good-luck charm."

You laugh at that.

He presses one more soft kiss to your lips before reaching down and grabbing his bag.

"Oh," he says, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "This is for your ticket." He hands you a five dollar bill. "And this is incase you want anything from the concessions."

He hands you a fifty and your eyes widen.

"I don't think a pretzel costs that much, Nate."

He shrugs. "Maybe you'll want a souvenir of your first game."

You stand on your tiptoes and he smirks, leaning down again as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a soft kiss to his cheek, before whispering in his ear. "Good luck. And thank you."

He kisses your lips again before stepping away. "I'll look for you in the bleachers."

He begins to walk backwards toward the field house.

"I'll be there cheering you on."

He smiles at the image of that. "Maybe we can do something after."

You nod. "Good luck!"

Surprisingly, when you go to sit on the bleachers, Cassie, who's gathered with the rest of the cheerleaders, doesn't look back at you but once, shortly after you first sit down. It'd only been a glance, and then her completely ignoring you, which you're beyond okay with.

You'd bought yourself a water before finding a seat, the day still hot with the sun out, even if it's beginning to slowly set.

A sense of thrill fills you when the players run onto the field, your eyes immediately honing in on number eighteen.

You feel your cheeks grow impossibly warmer when you remember your kiss from earlier.

You watch as the players gather around their coach, Nate removing his helmet as they—you assume—strategize. He glances up to you and gives you a wink and you smile in return, blowing him a kiss.

Once they break, Nate pretends to catch it, pressing it to his chest before putting his helmet back on.

You can't help but admire him in his uniform.

You've never liked sports before tonight. But with Nate now being your boyfriend and out there on the field, you're completely engrossed. You sit on the edge of your seat the entire game, just watching him running this way and that across the field, blushing when you think about the two of you wearing matching jerseys.

And every time he scores a touchdown, which turns out to be a lot, you hop up from your seat, clapping and smiling, feeling proud of him.

In all honesty, seeing him plowing through the other players and tackling and just...playing the game...actually turns you on a little. Okay, perhaps a bit more than a little. It just makes him look so strong.

You wonder what he would think of that fact.

Once the game is over, the Blackhawks having unsurprisingly won, Nate removes his helmet, yelling and laughing in victory with the rest of his teammates. You smile, glad to see him happy.

He looks into the stands, searching for you and finds you in the same spot you've been in all night.

He waves his hand for you to come down and you do, coming to stand on the other side of the fence from him.

He rests his forearms atop it. "So, what did you think?"

You grip a few of his fingers. "I had fun, which I didn't expect." You giggle to yourself.

"What?" He asks with a smirk.

You shake your head.

"Well, now you have to tell me."

You look up at him from under your lashes and he can already tell he's going to fucking love whatever is about to come out of that pretty little mouth.

"You look really good in your uniform."

He leans forward. "Oh, yeah?"

You nod. "Mhm."

He reaches forward, gripping the one you're wearing, bringing you a bit closer to him. "So do you."

You kiss then, the taste of him now mixed with sweat and grass and fresh air.

He pulls away. "Climb over here."

Watch me fall or hurt myself, you think as you wedge your tennis shoe in the chain-link fence. Once you're halfway up, Nate lifts you the rest of the way over, and you wrap your legs around his middle, running your fingers through his slick hair.

"Sorry, I'm all sweaty."

You shake your head. "I don't mind," you say before kissing him.

You wait for Nate outside of the field house, leaned back against the red brick stones, staring up at the millions of stars littering the night sky, feeling so completely happy for the first time in you're not sure how long.

Once players begin to file out, you watch for Nate to be among them. When he exits, he glances in your direction, coming over to stand in front of you, offering you his hand. "Ready?"

You nod.

Once you're in his truck, he stands in the passenger side doorway, one of his arms resting against the top of the truck, his other hand against your left calf.

"I've had a really great night, and I don't really want to just drop you off at home, and then it ends."

You just look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"If I ask you to stay the night at my place, will you?"

You shift in your seat. "Doing...doing what?"

"Just sleeping," he states. "Maybe we can watch a movie in bed or something."

You think about it for a moment, not sure you're comfortable with moving this quickly.

"What about your parents?"

"What about 'em?"

"They won't mind you bringing a girl home late at night?"

He shakes his head. "I mind my business and they mind theirs. If I want to invite someone over, they're not going to tell me no."

You think that's a very unconventional way to parent, especially when it comes to him having a girl in his room—in his bed.

"You don't think it's a little early for me to be spending the night?" You ask gently, using a kind tone to try and prevent hurting his feelings.

He's quiet for a moment, now looking away from you. "I'm sorry. I guess I got too excited to spend more time with you tonight. It was a stupid idea. I shouldn't have asked in the first place. Just forget I did."

He goes to pull away and you suddenly feel bad. You'd hurt his feeling anyway. Something you had told him you didn't want to do just yesterday.

You quickly grab his hand. "No, I'm sorry. I just...I don't-" you scramble for some excuse that isn't 'this makes me uncomfortable'. "I don't want you to get the wrong impression about me."

He softens, stepping closer to you again, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Like what?"

You relax at the tension quickly dissipating. "Like..." you bite your lip. "Like I'm easy. Or...or a slut. Or-"

That same hand comes up to caress your cheek. "Baby, you'd never even had your first kiss before tonight. I could never think that about you. You're probably the most innocent girl—person, even—at this school. And like I said, we'll only be sleeping."

You look at him for a moment. "I don't have a change of clothes. Or a toothbrush or-"

"You can just wear something of mine. And we have extras, I'll just give you one."

Finally, you cave. "Ok."

He gives you a gentle smile. "Ok."

When you and Nate pull up to his house, you suddenly feel inadequate at the large home that looms before you. Two stories tall and very, very expensive looking.

You're so busy studying the extravagance of it that you don't notice Nate unbuckling you.

"Your house is-"

"Obnoxious, I know."

He helps you down, taking your hand in his before grabbing his bag and heading inside.

You glance around the foyer, but not for long before Nate begins pulling you toward the stairs. And then you hear his name being called from down the hall.

He stops in his tracks, rolling his eyes.

"Is that your mom?" You whisper.

He drops his duffel bag, which thumps against the floor. "Yeah."

"Nate, come in here, I want to tell you how great you were tonight!"

You take one of his hands in both of yours. "Can I meet her?"

He pulls his hand away without answering. Only, instead, giving you a 'wait here' before walking away.

You stand there, unsure about the sudden shift in his mood. It was like it had happened gradually on the way over and only became more extreme the moment her voice called to him.

Does he really hate being here that much?

When Nate enters the kitchen, his mom is making a salad at the island, his dad grabbing a beer from the fridge.

Marsha walks around it, gesturing for Nate to lean down to give her a hug, which he does, and she plants a quick kiss to his cheek. "You were so great tonight, honey. Your momma is very proud of you."

He nods. "Thanks."

He glances back down the hall, and then his dad speaks. "You left yourself open too much in the first quarter. I've said it before and I will again, you need to work on that, son."

Nate's fists tighten at his side.

He glances back down the hall again and immediately regrets it.

"Do we have company?" His mom asks.

"No. I do." He takes a step away.

"Wait, hold on. Who is it?"

He rolls his eyes. "Does it fucking matter? I need to get back to her-"

He lets out a low swear. He just had to say 'her'.

His mom crosses her arms, now interested. "Her? Did you bring a girl home?"

"I think your mother means 'another girl' home."

Nate glares at his father as he takes a swig of his beer. Finally, he looks back to his mom. "Yes."

Her brows raise. "Well, do I get to meet her?"

Nate sighs. He steps out of the kitchen, and you look up at him, now full of nerves. He jerks his head in the direction of the kitchen.

You walk up to him. "Is everything ok?" you whisper as he takes your hand.

"It's fine." Is all the reply he gives you before pulling you into the kitchen with him.

Your eyes look this way at that, taking in the lovely décor and the beautiful island and appliances, then looking to his mom, then his dad, who seems to be watching the two of you with no more than idle amusement.

"Mom, dad, this is Y/N. Y/N, these are my parents."

His mom steps forward first, pulling you into an unexpected hug, but you quickly embrace her in return. You don't want to admit how nice it feels to be held by a mother, even if she isn't your own.

Finally, she pulls back, holding you in place by your upper-arms as she looks you over. "Well, don't you just look adorable in Nate's old jersey."

You flush a shade of crimson. "Thank you."

She releases you, placing her hand over her chest. "I'm Marsha, the mom. And this is-"

"Cal," His father finishes, stepping up to the island, reaching across it to shake your hand.

You nearly tell him you already know his name, but refrain, knowing doing so will only make this moment more awkward.

Once introductions are through, you step back to Nate's side.

"It's nice to meet the both of you."

"Oh, she's polite!" His mom chimes in. "I already like her a lot better than Maddy. Not that that's hard to achieve." She takes a bite of her salad, swallowing. "She was a truly awful girl."

Nate wraps his arm around your waist, but before he can pull you away and get you upstairs and locked away inside his room with him, Cal speaks. "Going through 'em awful fast, aren't you, Nate? That's what, three girls now, in almost as many months?"

You feel nothing short of embarrassed, perhaps even a little ashamed, at his comment.

Nate's grip on your hip tightens painfully for a moment, and you're sure it'll leave a bruise, but you don't speak, instead just bearing witness to the now-taut silence enveloping the room.

Nate steps away from you, going over to the fridge.

Nate grabs a beer, Cal going to grab himself another, until Nate speaks so low only he can hear. "Not nearly as fast as you, though, am I?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're such a fucking asshole. Leave me," he glances to you, then back to his dad, "And her alone. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours like we usually do."

With that, Nate comes over, firmly gripping your hand, and leading you upstairs.

Once Nate has shut the door behind the two of you, locking it, he throws his duffle bag down, then grabs a pair of boxers and sweatpants from his dresser before going into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

You seat yourself on his bed, wondering what, exactly, had been said between he and his dad to make him so upset. Unless it was the comment about him going through girls? On the one hand, it was kind of a shitty thing to say. On the other, parents sometimes give their kids a hard time. It comes with the territory.

A few moments later, Nate emerges from the bathroom, shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and his hair damp and tousled.

You feel that same heat from earlier when he'd kissed you settling between your legs again. Then you tell yourself now is not the time—he's upset.

He walks over to his closet.

"Are you ok?" You ask softly.

He hands you a plain black t-shirt. "Here, you can wear this to bed after you've showered."

So he's not ready to talk about it just yet. "What about bottoms?"

He lies back on the bed, one of his arms slung over his eyes. "Nothing I have will fit you. The t-shirt is fine."

You accept that, padding into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

When you emerge, it's in Nate's shirt, a fluffy towel wrapped around your wet hair.

He's still lying on the bed in the same position from earlier.

You rub the towel against your hair a few times, then drop it in his hamper before coming to sit with your legs crossed beside him. You're silent for a moment, trying to think of the right thing to say. Finally, you just make a simple offer.

"Do you want me to leave?"

He shakes his head, his other arm coming to rub up and down your spine. "No."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He lowers the arm from over his eyes, which are now open, staring up at the ceiling. "There's nothing to talk about. I told you: he's an asshole."

You shrug. "He's your dad. Picking on you is kind of part of his job."

"That's not why he said it. It's not why he does any of the shit that he does. It has nothing to do with him being my dad."

"Maybe he just-"

He looks at you then. "Can we just not talk about my dad while we're in bed together?"

You withdraw into yourself a little at his sudden irritation. And how he had worded it. Like you're doing something other than just talking.

"Ok, I'm sorry."

He notes that your tone now sounds slightly frightened. He sits up, leaning on his arm, his free hand coming to grip your waist. "No, I am. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just him. It's always fucking him."

"Have the two of you ever considered sitting down and just having a heart-to-heart?"

He snorts, then looks at you like that's the stupidest idea anyone has ever come up with.

"Lie down with me," he says, pulling back the covers, which you then crawl beneath.

He pulls you against him, his arm under your neck, fingertips lightly tracing the tip of your shoulder. "Thank you for being here."

"You're welcome. I'm very proud of you tonight. It sounds like your mom is too."

He bends the arm that's not holding you behind his head.

"I'm glad you stayed."

"Of course I did," you say, resting your hand over his chest. "I thought I hated sports until tonight. I had a fun time watching you."

He looks at you. "Good."

He then slips his arm out from under you, your head falling back against a pillow which smells of cologne and him. He hovers over top of you, scooting you lower before he presses a kiss to your forehead.

You panic. "Nate..."

He looks down, but you grab his chin, which he doesn't expect.

"Don't look."

His brows furrow.

"The t-shirt sort of rode up."

He bites back a smirk. So you're half-naked underneath him, then.

He lowers his body onto your own. "There, now I can't see."

You remain staring up at him.

He plants a soft kiss to your cheek. "Is this ok?"

You're quiet for a moment. Longer than he'd like. Until, finally, "I guess so."

That's all the permission he needs before he starts kissing you. He teases you with his tongue again like earlier, since you had seemed to like that so much, before he eventually moves lower, pressing hot, wet kisses to your neck.

He moves from one side, and when he gets to the other, you jerk underneath him and whimper.

So he kisses that same spot again and your breathing quickens.

His cock fills with blood, knowing he's found a sweet spot.

And so he kisses and sucks at the sensitive skin, until your hips have risen up against him, your arms around his neck and you're panting. He flicks his tongue and you moan in the back of your throat, your control slipping more and more with each kiss. He doesn't stop until he's sure you're soaked and he sees that he's left a purple bruise in his wake.

When he looks down at you, your face is flushed, your lips slightly parted, your hair a mess. It'd be so fucking easy to have his way with you right now. But it would ruin everything to do it this soon.

"Did you like that?" he asks, smoothing some hair from your face.

You nod.

He wonders just how far you'll let him go tonight, short of him breaking your hymen with his cock.

He grips your hip in one of his hands, then moves it higher, to the curve of your side, then higher, until you reach down, firmly grabbing his wrist, his hand now underneath his t-shirt that's barely even covering you now.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I-" you shut your mouth.

In truth, all you want is to touch yourself. Or maybe let him. No. You can't do that. Not this soon. God, what are you doing? In his bed, nearly naked—nothing covering your bottom half, which is now so wet your thighs are slick from it—and wanting nothing more than to tell him to keep going.

You've never felt like this before. But you've also never had any form of intimacy with another person before.

Only ever yourself.

He gives you a look of understanding. "I don't give a shit what society expects of you. What you think you're supposed to do. I want to know what you want, right now, in this moment."

Finally, after a beat of silence, you release his wrist.

He slowly pushes up the t-shirt higher, then higher, until he can see the bottom swell of your breasts, then he pulls it over your head, tossing it on the floor.

And he just marvels at you. Your naked body lying back against his dark sheets. He still has his lower half covering your own, but knows he'll get to see every inch of you before the night is through.

He leans down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth and you throw your head back.

He grips your hips, trailing his tongue over to your other breast, now sucking on it. He looks up to you. Your eyes are now closed, head thrown back, mouth slightly parted.

He rolls a nipple between his teeth and your hips lift, which he pushes back down into the mattress.

He moves back to your other breast, doing the same, willing a whimper or a cry from your lips. Even his fucking name. Instead, you're so damn quiet. Maddy and Cassie had both been vocal—sometimes overly so. This he's not used to.

Finally, he lifts his head and your eyes pop open, wondering why he's stopped.

"Are you not enjoying it?"

Your brows furrow. "What?"

"You're not really making any noise. Are you this quiet when you touch yourself?"

You wait a moment, then nod. He just tells himself that he won't stop until he's changed that fact, then.

He dives back down, devouring your breasts again, then kissing between them, gradually moving lower and lower, until he's right below your belly button.

You suddenly sit half-up, leaning back on your forearms.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asks.

Your heart is pounding, and there's an incredibly strong pulse going between your thighs. A million thoughts race through your head. The most prominent one: is this why he'd given you attention in the first place? To make you another notch in his belt?

"This...this isn't all you wanted me for-"

"No. I want you. All of you. Being intimate with you is just one part of it. I don't plan on having sex with you tonight. When I take your virginity, I want it to be perfect. For your sake. There's just something I want to try."

He releases one of your hips, twining his fingers between yours for reassurance. While he understands your hesitancy, he wishes you'd lie the fuck back down and spread your legs for him.

Until, finally, you do.

He kisses down your stomach, then is pleased to see that you'd recently shaven your pubic area.

He makes a mental note to start setting you up appointments, which he'll be paying for, so you can get waxed regularly. At least he won't have to worry about stubble or ingrown hairs at that point.

When he's finally eye-level with your pussy, his throbbing erection grows impossibly harder. You truly are fucking perfect in every way.

He lowers his mouth onto you and, finally, you cry out at the unexpected feeling.

He quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, spearing his tongue, burying it in the heat between your thighs. He flicks your clit and your fingers tighten around his.

God, you're already so fucking wet. He blames it on your being a virgin—not that he doesn't absolutely fucking love it.

So he does it again. And again. He then swirls his tongue this way and that, sliding up your soaked folds—God, you taste fucking amazing—then back down again. Finally, he pulls back the least bit and he hears you whine in response as he begins to kiss your inner thighs.

At least he'll have this to use against you when the time comes: a bit of oral sex, leading you right up to the edge, and then denying you an orgasm unless you do what he wants will be a perfect weapon against you.

Finally, after wiggling your hips more than once, clearly wanting his mouth back on your pussy, he gives you what you've silently asked him for.

He kisses, licks, sucks, bites—lightly—until he focuses solely on your clit.

He hopes you scream when you fucking cum just so his dad has to hear it.

Instead, that fantasy is broken when you release his hand, pulling one of his pillows over your face as you finish against his mouth, your hips lifting, which he once again pulls back down as he continues eating you out.

He only hears your muffled cries—he can swear he hears you say his name—until you finally drop the pillow on the floor, trying to catch your breath as he presses a few kisses to your now-pulsating pussy.

He rests his chin against your pubic area, watching as you slowly begin to calm, your legs still over his shoulders.

"How was that?"

You feel dazed, your legs like jelly, even a bit sweaty. "Good."

He raises a brow. "Just good?"

You tangle your fingers in your hair, the pulse of your pussy just now beginning to calm. "Really, really good."

"You liked it that much, huh?"

You nod.

"How much?"

You sit up, your muscles now feeling weak. "I loved it, Nate. T-thank you."

He studies you for a moment, considering. "Do you want me to do it again?"

"Really?"

He notes just how eager and excited you sound. Almost desperate for it—for him.

And in that moment, he knows he finally has you exactly where he fucking wants you.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

they managed to massacre Aang's character and all the struggle and importance of his choice in the finale in a SINGLE page, and yet there are people who think the comics are good

and of course Katara's would have nothing to say on the matter, toootally in-character

Not to mention: yes, Zuko is right that a lifetime of indoctrination won't magically stop affecting him just because he's aware of it now, but the way the comics really said "If you're not perfect, you deserve to die. Not rehabilitation, not even incarceration despite it being an option, just straight to violent, lethal punishment" is horrying.

And lets not forget the blatant abuse apologism of having Zuko, the kid who was told by his abusive parent that his disfigurement and banishment was "for his own good" after he made one "mistake", turning to his closest friends and asking them to be his "safety net" by MURDERING HIM IF EVER STEPS OUT OF LINE - and said friends then agree to it.

Are you fucking kidding me? The real Aang would have double-down on the "You're NOT your father" bit, and the entire friend group would have been super concerned about Zuko because a victim of abuse saying they're as bad as their abuser thus deserve to die is one hell of a red flag as to how their mental health is going.

Speaking of mental health: I talk a lot about how Azula was constantly being abused by the supposed heroes in the comics, and how the justification of it is rooted in ableism, but this nonsense with Zuko asking to be put down like a dog is also peak victim blaming, and one of the few moments in which one can actually feel bad for comics!Zuko.

And it ties into a disturbing pattern I noticed among Avatar fans - and mainly Zuko fans. They don't truly understand that what Ozai put his children through was wrong, they simply think he chose the wrong kid as the escapegoat. They think Azula should have been the one that is constantly punished just for existing, while Zuko is the golden child that can do no wrong - or else.

This moment right here? With the people that he trusts agreeing to inflict violence on him if he ever makes a mistake? This is that "or else". This is literally the same mentality that led to Azula's breakdown because NO ONE CAN SURVIVE UNDER THAT MUCH PRESSURE.

And that leads us to the main reason why the comcis suck: Yang was using Zuko as a self-insert.

"Zuko‘s relationship with Ozai is something we – Mike, Brian, Dark Horse, Nickelodeon, and I – talked about extensively when we first started working together. There’s this strange thing that happens to people in power. The pressures of power often blur the lines between enemies. That’s part of what happens to Zuko here. Ozai is the only one who knows what it’s like to be Fire Lord, the only one who has the wisdom of experience. I also looked at my own life. I used to clash with my dad quite a bit when I was a teenager. However, as I grew up and found myself in roles that he used to have, I began to understand more and more of his decisions. My father isn't thoroughly evil, of course, but I imagine Zuko feels a little of the same pull."

Yang. My guy. My dude. The words "Ozai" and "wisdom" should NEVER be in the same sentence. Every single action of Ozai's as Fire Lord was based on him being an abusive piece of shit that finally got access to absolute power. He is not a stern dad, he is abusive. He's not misunderstood, he needed to be stopped and locked away. He is a human being with feelings and motivations, yes, but he is WRONG ABOUT LITERALLY EVERYTHING EVER. He NEVER had a point. Zuko has nothing to learn from him except what NOT to do. That's why he looks like an older, unscarred Zuko. A version of Zuko that never changed.

This is the core issue of the comics, and why it had so many moments of unintentional abuse apologism: they say Ozai is a villain, but they're going out of their way to constantly make the characters come dangerously close to saying "Maybe he had a point." That's why they have Zuko turn to Ozai for advice despite claiming he wants to avoid becoming like him - because the guy writting them couldn't understand that the bad guy was, in fact, bad and in the wrong and has no wisdom to offer to anyone.

Avatar, the series, is about the world moving past from the sick mentality people like Ozai had, and about his son realizing that he did not deserve to be abused. The Avatar Comics are about telling Zuko (and others) "Ozai isn't wrong actually, you'll understand when you're older."

No, Yang, they won't. Because there's nothing to "understand" here other than THE GUY THAT ABUSED HIS CHILDREN AND COMMITED GENOCIDE WAS WRONG ABOUT EVERYTHING, YOU DUMBASS!

Saying "the villain had a point" does not make a story better unless it is true - and in Ozai's case, it simply isn't. Insisting otherwise doesn't make the story and characters more mature, it just means you couldn't understand a cartoon aimed at 7-year-olds despite being a grown-ass man.

And I won't even get into Bryke approving of this bullshit otherwise I'll start tearing my hair out in rage at how badly they seem to have lost touch with the message of their best work, so let me just use a simple statemet to make everyone understand just how much of a disaster this is:

Even M. Night Shyamalan didn't misunderstand ATLA to the point of thinking Ozai wasn't actually wrong, but Bryan, Mike and Yang did. The comics understand the show less than M. Night Shyamalan did.

I rest my fucking case.

[oneshlut]

Your Valentine (Veneer x Reader) [Headcanons]

Rules For Requesting

Characters I Will Write For

Masterlist

Summary: General Valentines headcanons for Veneer

Extra Info: Happy Valentines!! Hyperfixation on Veneer so why not lmao,, Takes place pre-canon! Since Veneer is such a difficult character to write for with reader inserts and whatnot, I tried to keep the reader's occupation and all up to interpretation. I'll work some stuff out if someone requests meeting and crushing headcanons!!

Believe me when I say that Veneer is an absolute sucker for Valentine's Day. As a kid, he adored making his own letterbox for the holiday in class, and even as he grew older, he loved giving Valentines gifts to his friends, and especially Velvet! Velvet never really participated in the holiday other than wearing pink, but he didn't mind.

As you probably know, he also loved being the center of attention. Being absolutely spoiled growing up, receiving at least five valentines every year, then upping the rate of valentines he received as a pop star by at least 1000%, Veneer wasn't taken out of the spotlight often. This caused him to become a bit of a brat when it came to receiving gifts.

However, Valentine's Day quickly became a bit of a bore without a real "valentine". The letters he received began to repeat themselves, repeating the same phrases over and over.. couldn't his fans be a bit more creative than just "be mine"? Veneer would rather just buy gifts for himself at this point.. which wouldn't be too bad of an idea. Ooh, maybe he could get those new pair of shoes he's been seeing everywhere!

His perspective on the holiday quickly changed, though, as soon as he found himself a valentine. Well--a future one, he supposed. Who could turn the Veneer down, anyway?

And so, we introduce you to the scenario. You were the one to change his point of view, you were the one he wanted to spend Valentine's with. Of course, he denied his feelings at first. Why would he even think about romance? He had a job to do! Which was to be famous! And sing! And.. other things-! Veneer didn't have the time to date--especially if he had to present himself as taken to the public.. Ugh, that was way too much work. Not like he was nervous about being rejected or anything, he wasn't allowed to be..

As of the week before Valentine's Day, the two of you were "just friends". That's what you thought you two would ever be. He's.. Well, you're sure he's got better options than you. He was famous, for god's sake! And you were.. you were sure he didn't like you back. And how wrong you were.

Veneer definitely got a lot more fidgety as the holiday was approaching. It started out with the simple tapping of fingers, to bouncing his legs, then to wrapping his arms around eachother (via stretchy limbs). This nervous behavior wasn't going to just pass over Velvet.

Velvet was used to Veneer being nervous sometimes--especially before a big show. It got annoying for her to deal with all the time, but this jittery side of him was extremely new, and suspicious. He wasn't his usual sassy self, and the thought made Velvet even more irritated than usual.

When Veneer was confronted by this behavior by his sister, he immediately shrugged it off. Stage performances definitely helped with his acting for this scenario. Outright denying his sister of his strange behavior--despite the video evidence of him fidgeting during interviews--he quickly changed the subject, drowning out Velvet's interjecting voice. Okay, now she was pissed.

Not for long, though. Considering their upcoming performance in five minutes, Velvet took a deep breath and acted rationally for once. Even throughout the performance, Velvet could still tell something was off about her brother. Whatever--she had better things to worry about than her lame brother. Velvet could care less, as long as Veneer didn't mess up their image or anything.

And with that, Veneer was in the clear. But still extremely nervous. It was now only the day before Valentine's, so he had to ask you today or never. Why was he even nervous? He was confident about himself in every way, the thousands of gifts sent to him throughout the week proved that he deserved to be adored, why wouldn't you think the same?

Well.. thinking of it more now, you treated him more than just a celebrity. You saw him as a person--someone with feelings, someone that deserved to be treated with kindness. You always brought that point up to him when Velvet would treat him poorly. The fact that he deserved more. He never really got your point--after all, Velvet was his sister! That's what siblings do, they fight, they tease, and they have to do everything together. If he wasn't what Velvet wanted him to be, who was he? Veneer didn't get your point until now.

So--that was the main reason he was nervous. You saw him as his true self, accepted him as his true self, and.. you were aware of his flaws. That's what he was afraid of.

Either way, he persevered. Veneer isn't one to back down from something, especially when he's already committed with money and all. That's right--he went classic! A rose of your favorite color, a box of your favorite chocolates, and the nicest accessory he could find in the most expensive-brand store in the city. Unfortunately, shopping for Valentine's items in public as a famous celebrity drags a lot of attention to him. He normally loved the attention, but going shopping without his sister wasn't a great look on the news. Especially when it would eventually track back to Velvet herself, who didn't give Veneer permission to leave. But that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

News spread fast in the city, so it didn't take long for it to reach you aswell. Hearing that Veneer was out shopping for a Valentine's gift for his valentine made your heart drop slightly. You shouldn't have been disappointed, it wasn't like you were expecting anything. Nevertheless, the thought.. upset you. Clicking your phone off of the news website, you put it away, sighing outside of his door.

It took a bit of searching, but Veneer eventually found you outside of the door to his room. Why would you be here, of all places? You also seemed to be pretty deep in thought, not noticing him at first. He tapped your shoulder, and you immediately jumped, snapping out of your daze.

Honestly, Veneer was the last person you expected to see at the time. You figured he would be off to meet his valentine, busy with someone else to confess and--.. and suddenly the pieces started to come into place in your mind. His hands twisted behind his back, the rosy color that covered his cheeks, and the way he avoided eye contact. With that realization, your face flushed the same color as his did.

Saying that Veneer was anxious would be an understatement. When he gets nervous, he tends to overuse words like a middle school girl, confessing with multiple "like"s and "literally"s. It's funny, don't worry.

And if you accept? Well, he knew that you would. Totally. That doesn't stop him from overreacting, though. At the simplistic words of "Of course", he immediately loops his arms around you multiple times. Again, via stretchy limbs. Overjoyed, you embraced him in return. Veneer couldn't be happier at the fact that he was your Valentine.

He'll deal with Velvet's fury later.

[dark-frosted-heart]

The Beast's User Manual - Clavis (Part 3)

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

Case. 3: The proper way to love Clavis

Emma: Cyril, are you sure this information is accurate?

Cyril: Yes, no doubt about it. I swear on my title as the head knight.

Emma: Thank you. In that case, I can’t miss this chance!

Cyril, who’s Clavis’ close aide and in a position to control the knights of the Foreign Affairs faction, side-eyed me as I got fired up.

Having a free-spirited lord, the look’s not usual for Cyril. However, it’s rare that he directed it at me.

Emma: What’s wrong?

Cyril: Nothing…I just think that my lady’s been poisoned by Prince Clavis.

Emma: !!!

Cyril: Ah…you’re in shock. I thought you lost those feelings too.

Emma: Of course not.

(Poisoned…)

(No, he’s right. Normally, I wouldn’t think about pranking my fiance when I hear that he’s taking a rare nap)

Cyril: They do say that married couples tend to be alike.

Emma: We’re not married.

Cyril: You pretty much are. Well, do as you like. Just please make sure that you wake Prince Clavis up. If he doesn’t show up to the meeting on time, I’ll kick the door down.

Emma: Got it. I’ll do my best!

Cyril, perhaps overwhelmed by my energy, returned to his post with a wry smile.

I was left alone to face the tightly shut door.

(The key that Clavis gave me…Here it is)

Though Clavis didn’t normally let anyone in his room, he let me in.

I quietly inserted the key into the lock so as to not make a sound, and when I went inside…

(Wow…he really is sleeping like Cyril said)

The person lying on the sofa was breathing normally.

Even when I tiptoed toward him, Clavis’ eyes didn’t open.

(I think this is the first time I’ve ever gotten this good of a look at his sleeping face)

Clavis was lying on the sofa in his usual clothes and looked beautiful as he slept.

Without the usual smile, the innocent look reminded me of his innocent childhood.

(...Huh, he’s hugging something to his chest…)

(...It can’t be. A rabbit plushie?!)

I couldn’t help but groan at the fact that Clavis, a self-proclaimed rabbit lover, had this side to him.

(Is Clavis going to earn the title “cute” like that day with the lap pillow?)

(What a gentleman, geez!)

I knelt down beside him and continued to gaze at his handsome face with my chin resting on my hands.

I’ll never get tired of his bouncy bedhead or his overly defenseless sleeping face.

(What do I do? I need to wake him up, but…I can’t)

(...But if I don’t steel my heart, Cyril will kick the door down.)

Emma: Clavis…

When I whisper his name, Clavis’s eyelids react faster than I expected.

(I think he woke up, soー)

Clavis: Nn…It’s not…time yet… *yawn* I’m…sleepy…I’ve had enough, good night…

(Wow…he’s sleep talking)

(I don’t think I’ve seen Clavis half asleep like this before)

(I love this listless Clavis…)

As continued watching, forgetting what I was supposed to do, his eyes opened. 

(Ah…)

Clavis: …

Emma: G-good morning…

Clavis: …

Emma: Are you still half asleep?

I waved a hand in front of his golden eyes.

Clavis blinked several times and shot up.

He then hurriedly picked up his ascot tie that was hanging on the back of the sofa and tied it.

Clavis: Emma…

Emma: Yes?

Clavis: What did you see?

Emma: Your sleeping face.

Clavis: Did I say anything strange?

Emma: You said something cute.

Clavis: …I see

…

Clavis covered his face with one hand.

(Alright, the prank was successful)

Emma: Are you, by any chance, embarrassed?

Clavis: Haha, there’s no way. It’s just that, you know… Yes, I thought it strange for you to sneak into my room without permission.

Emma: Hehe…You prank me often. I thought I’d return the favor.

(This is the kind of surprise that Clavis loves)

Clavis: I see…you got me

Emma: And it’s my dream to become a Clavis master.

Clavis: Hm? What’s with that amusing title?

Emma: It’s a title reserved for those that you know ins and outs, and can hold the reins. It was a great learning experience today to see Clavis after you woke up from your nap.

Clavis: …

Emma: By the way, Clavis. Here.

When I point at a spot above his ear, Clavis tidies up his hair in a hurry.

(I guess Clavis’ hair falls out of place when he sleeps. There’s a lot of cute things today)

I couldn’t help but laugh and amusement replaced that innocent, sleepy look.

(Ah, I have a bad feeling about this)

Clavis: That’s a good attitude, my dear fiancee. I like your courage to prank me as part of your journey to becoming a master. However…

Clavis was returning to his usual self the more he spoke and suddenly grabbed my hand.

In one moment, it was like he was a gentleman asking me to sit on the sofa with a gentle touch, and in the next, I was pinned down.

The Clavis that was staring at me from above lost all traces of cuteness from before.

Clavis: You should be more careful. It’s too naive to be satisfied with a prank. You have to expect payback.

A charming Claviss kissed my forehead before sliding his lips down to my cheek and then jaw.

(It’s unfair to suddenly change the mood…)

And of course, my heart felt like it was going to burst from the unexpected surprise.

Emma: C-Clavis…It’s almost time for the meeting!

Clavis: I know.

Emma: But your hands are still wandering…!

A hand casually rested on a leg, ready to slip under my skirt.

The feeling of his fingers caressing the skin made my face heat up immediately. 

Clavis: Thanks to you, I woke up ahead of schedule. I have plenty of time to tease you.

(That devilish look…!)

Any protest is silenced by a kiss.

Having lost the upperhand, I accepted his loving kiss.

Clavis: Where’d that boldness go? You’ll never get me to submit like that, hahaha!

(But, did you think I didn’t see this coming?)

Believing that he was in charge now, Clavis let his guard down.

(In times like this…)

I grabbed his face and pulled him back in for a kiss.

Instead of a sweet peck, I kissed him deeply, tongue and all.

(Clavis will be so happy with how honestly I’m conveying my love for him…)

When our lips parted, shock once again adorned his handsome face.

Emma: Don’t underestimate me. I’ve been poisoned by you to the point that Cyril side-eyes me.

At my proud declaration, Clavis burst into laughter.

Clavis: When did you get so good at handling me?

Emma: Hehe, does that mean you approve?

Clavis: Yes, I’ve lost.

The wide and charming smile on Clavis’ face made my heart pound.

This was the look I wanted to see with my prank.

Emma: You can leave yourself to me.

(Because I love you more than anyone else)

[mobiuslab]

Reverse: 1999 seems unreal; too good to be true.

The reason I even took notice of it in the first place was its soundtrack. I hate jazz, but they made a jazz song that I actually like, and then there's ReReReRegulus!, what a banger. And then I watched the trailer, to get a feel of what the game is even about. First of all, the accents! Hello? I normally always play games in JP, but this game seems to be set not in some fictional world, but in our real world, in the real London, so the British English dub would be so much more immersive (but of course there are a lot of familiar JP seiyuu, I'm very conflicted.) If this game, unlike Genshin, has a good voice director, who actually does their work and tells the VA's how the character is supposed to sound, I might play in English tbh. As a former FGO player, traveling to the past isn't an entirely novel concept to me, however, we are going to the 20th century, which is quite interesting. I mean, think about it, the 20th century of our real world, there are so many fascinating historical events. And it seems that they are putting in much more effort in portraying the zeitgeist of the era than FGO ever did. The artistic direction seems to be on point for this game. Apparently there is a main character, with a canon personality and fully voiced dialogue. Hoyo making Honkai Impact 2.0's new MC a self-insert was the stupidest move, and I'm so glad that this game understands how much better a canon protagonist is. It really convinces me that they care about storytelling and characterization. The general artistic direction is so impressive, but the game itself also surprises me. The base rate of 6-stars is 1.5% (compared to Genshin and Star Rail's 0.6%) AND the soft pity starts at 60, with hard pity being at 70. There doesn't seem to be a weapon gacha and the dupes only increase skill multipliers instead of completely changing how a character can be played. At first, I thought it was unfortunate that pick-up rate was only 50%, but every character joins the standard pool, so losing the 50/50 won't be nearly as bad. Unless the gacha currency economy is completely fucked, this seems extremely generous. The combat is thankfully not one of those god-awful auto-fights like Blue Archive or PriConne, but it's turn-based, which is much more engaging, allowing for challenging battles that actually pick your brain and require some skill.

However, there is an auto-mode for the mundane stuff, and get this, you can record your actions, rather than having an AI do everything wrong. And thankfully, there is no PvP, so you don't need to compete with whales. Knowing all this, I really have to wonder, where is the catch? There must be some huge flaw, right? It is as if the devs of Reverse: 1999 looked at all the complaints and criticism of all other gacha games, and just decided to address all of them. As long as the game doesn't have a huge reliance on meta characters to clear endgame content and event-limited content and the writing doesn't absolutely suck, then this game might be the perfect gacha game. I'm so excited to give it a try!

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I promised, promised myself that I wouldn’t read the Roman König x Fee fic until it was completed because I knew i would get absolutely drawn in, wrapped up in your exquisite prose, then get addicted and suffer from withdrawals. Unneeded to say I broke said promise and welp here I am 🤡

Thing that surprised me was how quickly he endeared himself to me? A cock swinging village massacring brute that I was FULLY prepared to hate had me sighing by then end of chapter 3 with the “you care about my head?” ✋😩 YES I worry for your stupid head you adorable monster.

It’s uncanny how similarly Fee and I felt as the plot progressed. I know this is a self insert and though I made an OC for fee, you were able to capture the feeling of hate to curiousity to distrust to budding emotions on the readers side so beautifully and in only three chapters?? What sorcery is this?? I could go on and on about how I’m just… in awe of your writing skills.

It’s the small things too. The effort he went through to understand Fee, learning her language like he desperately wants to be a part of her. It’s just his delight in the simple things like having a woman and buying her pretty things. I AM GOING TO GNAW OFF MY ARM THIS IS SO GOOD!! I don’t know if you’ve watched HBOs Rome, but they remind me of Pullo and Eirene so much! Like you can’t tell me König doesn’t fit that goofy brawdy soldier who’s only hobbies are drinking and fucking and fighting to a T!

Then it got me thinking…. If König is Pullo then Simon is Vorenus. He has that straight laced, no bs aura about him. Now I’m imagining them both in this universe and please excuse me while I melt in a puddle 🫠

This is perhaps the best piece of fiction I’ve read in a while. I can’t wait for part 4, I have no doubt it will be wonderful as usual. Please accept my maladaptive daydream interpretation of Fee (first she was supposed to be a wood nymph, then the earth goddess then a fairy queen?? I’m not sure anymore. There was so much great imagery couldn’t settle on one. Your honor, we lost the plot.)

Oh my goodness OH MY GOODNESS ❤️❤️❤️

You shower me with praise and I’m over here like aaahh... for me? 🥺❤️

And yes I’ve watched Rome like four times at least! Every time I watch it just gets better, the producers and crew really outdid themselves with all the details in that series. I consider it one of the best TV shows ever made and excuse me but you opened a Pandora’s box here, I'm just so pleased you brought this up...

It took so much time for Pullo to grow on me, I was so frustrated with his character but when he killed Eirene’s man because he was so in love with her and was just like: “Oh there's something in the way of our love? Oh well. *there*, solved.” Gosh I was IN LOVE. I’m sorry, I’m a horrible person, but I fell in love with Pullo right that second. And yeah König is kinda like Pullo in that sense! Eirene wails at the corpse of her ex-lover and Pullo is just like “Um, yeah nasty business but… why are you crying? Oh, oh yeah, oops. But hey, we could be together? Oh, you don’t want me? Damn. How come?” I wanted to shake and kiss him for being so dumb and adorable.

And Ghost is Vorenus YES, you get it 100 %! And the tragic love story of Vorenus & Niobe, oh god, took me about a month to get over it. And Vorenus being under the protection of Mars first and then literally becoming Pluto, the Lord of the Underworld… The mythology nerd in me is swooning over here. The only thing about Vorenus that's slightly König coded to me was when Pullo had to explain to him what a clitoris is, and Vorenus is like “How do you know this about my wife?!?!” and almost kills him :D That’s so so Roman!König.

But AHHH let me squeal about your maladaptive daydream adaption next: she’s the most gorgeous Fee ever, so lovely and feminine and yet, strong and possessing that earthly power in her. I love the color of her dress too!! There’s a lot of earth & water elements linked to Fee so that color (green to turquoise?) is the most perfect combination of earth and sea, while König is more like fire & air, coming from the mountains and slow to anger but when the fire rises, no one is safe...

This was so lovely, thank you so much! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story 🩷💋

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Reader Insert) Incorrect Quotes Part 3

The Smiling Critters Space Riders Au and the character "Z" belongs to @onyxonline

If you haven't checked out the Fallen Angel (Reader Insert) series, you can check it out here. The reader will be referred to as both (Y/n) and Archangel. Enjoy!

Warning: Cursing

----------

Bobby: Don't break someone's heart, they only have one.

Archangel: Break one of their bones instead, they have 206 of them.

----------

Crafty: Do you guys ever have a civilized conversation that doesn't require insulting each other every time you get a chance?

Z: No.

Archangel: No.

Crafty: Didn't think so.

----------

Archangel: I've invited you here because I crave the deadliest game...

Hoppy, nodding: Knife Monopoly.

Archangel: I was actually going to play Russian Roulette, but now I'm really interested in whatever knife Monopoly is.

----------

Archangel: I found a note in one of my old logs that said Note to self: Get revenge on Captain Dogday.

Archangel: Except I couldn't remember what I was supposed to get revenge for.

Archangel: But I trusted my own judgment, so I went with it.

Dogday: Hmm... I don't know what you were supposed to get revenge for, either.

Archangel: I can only assume you got what was coming to you. Not 100 percent sure, though.

Dogday: Well, whatever I did, I guess I deserved it.

Archangel: Let that possibly be a lesson to you.

----------

Archangel: The only thing keeping me from running away and hiding from society for the rest of my life is spite. I could disappear forever, but there are some bitches whose downfalls I have yet to witness, and I wanna be around when that happens.

----------

Poppy: Your archangel was in a fight.

Dogday: Oh no, that's terrible!

Catnap: Did they win?

----------

Dogday: Did Z just tell me he loved me for the first time?

Archangel: Yeah, he did.

Dogday: And did I just do finger guns back?

Archangel: Yeah, you did.

----------

Archangel, watching Hoppy do something stupid: Kickin, you're officially only the second highest risk here...

Kickin: Hell yeah! I'm gonna-

Archangel: Don't finish that sentence, you'll move back up.

----------

Archangel: How do ethical philosophers feel about murder?

Bubba: Well, it's frowned upon.

Archangel: Okay, but what if the reason you want to murder someone is to make your life easier?

Archangel: That's okay, right?

----------

Bobby: And now for a gay update with Captain Dogday and Z.

Dogday: Getting gayer.

Bobby: Thank you, Captain.

----------

Bubba to Archangel: We call that a traumatic experience.

Bubba, turning to Catnap: Not a "bruh moment."

Bubba, turning to Kickin: Not "sadge."

Bubba, turning to Hoppy: And DEFINITELY not an "oof LMAO."

----------

Archangel: Why do you look like that, Captain?

Dogday, laying face-first on the floor: Like what?

Archangel: Like you're dead.

Dogday: It's because I'm dying. Leave me here to perish.

Catnap: Dogday accidentally called Z "babe" in front of everyone today.

Dogday: *sobs into the floor*

----------

Archangel: What's this?

Bobby, hugging Archangel: Affection!

Archangel: Disgusting.

Archangel:... Do it again.

----------

Kickin: You know, (Y/n), when you generalize, you tell general... lies.

Archangel: ...

Archangel: Are you trying to teach me moral lessons through puns?

----------

*One of the many, MANY fights before the events of Fallen Angel*

Dogday: You tricked me!

Archangel: I deceived you. 'Trick' makes it sound like we have a friendly relationship.

----------

Archangel: Here's a fun Christmas idea. We hang mistletoe, but instead of kissing, you have to FIGHT whoever else is under it.

Dogday: (Y/n), no.

Hoppy and Catnap: Mistlefoe.

Dogday: Please stop encouraging them.

----------

Archangel: I have a plan.

Dogday: No murder!

Archangel: ...

Dogday: ...

Archangel: I no longer have a plan.

----------

Archangel: If I die, you can have what little I own.

Bobby: Wait. What do you mean "if" you die?

Archangel: My unending existence is fueled by pure spite, that of which the painful experiences of life have rendered me full.

Bobby:

Bubba, sighing: Let me call your therapist again.

----------

Archangel: I'm bored, any suggestions?

Catnap: Sleeping is nice.

Archangel: I acknowledge your suggestion, and I'm deciding to ignore it.

----------

Hoppy: You think you're smarter than everyone else.

Bubba: I don't think I'm smarter than everyone else. I know I am.

----------

Kickin: So, I MEANT to say: "Oh crap, I left my phone my car," but what I ALMOST said was "Oh no, I left my cone in my phar," and damn, wouldn't that have been embarrassing, but I caught myself, and what I ACTUALLY said was:

Kickin: "Ah, my fart cone."

Kickin: So, anyway...

----------

Archangel: I know you don't have to listen to me...

Z: Glad we agree on something.

----------

Dogday: Do you have any skeletons in your closet?

Archangel: You mean literally or figuratively?

Dogday: Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...

----------

Dogday: (Y/n), I am questioning your sanity...

Hoppy: I never questioned it. I knew their sanity was missing from the start.

----------

Catnap: Why is Hoppy rolling on the floor laughing? And what happened to Kickin's head?

Archangel, sighing: Kickin was about to hit his head on the door frame, so I told him to duck and he quacked at me.

Archangel: And then he hit his head.

Catnap: *wheezes*

[soracities]

Re: that anon who thinks kids are evil

I'm really sorry that anon went through a tough time during childhood (and I did too, being bullied at school and abused at home) but kids aren't fundamentally evil. They're IMPRESSIONABLE. which is incredibly different. They like imitating adults around them, and so when they are surrounded by terrible, mean adults, they act terrible and mean towards themselves & their peers too. It was apparent that anon was surrounded by adults who weren't nice and didn't do their job of educating those kids (including offering anon support), which is really sad.

But regardless of that, kids simply learn from people around them and they can be, and most often are, sweet and nice. and most importantly, even if they aren't sweet or nice, they are deserving of love and compassion and respect and affection, because only with that can we cultivate and nurture the sweet & kind side in their soul.

I feel like if anon felt alienated for being different, they should especially beware of such generalizing rhetoric of "all kids are [insert adjective]" because that's the exact kind of speech that isolates and alienates kids who act different. And I wonder if anon realizes that it was their abuser's language that's coming out of their mouth.

(source: im an educator and ive never known a kid who's not sweet and lovable to me)

(cont'd) also, kind of unrelated but it made me think of this absolutely heartbreaking, sweet kid that I met on Tuesday during a visit to a kindergarten. I was supposed to go to different kindergartens to evaluate their teaching and give consultations, and a part of what I need to do is this one-on-one language assessment with the kids (age five and their mother tongue isn't english). So there was this girl, whose first words after sitting down was "I don't know any English." And I was like haha it's alright! Let's just try and see how much you know, then we can see where you can practice more on! And she went "okay >_<" (rather earnestly, like she didn't say she doesn't know shit because she didn't want to try) So we did a task, and she scored above average so I was like "You did really well! Why did you say you don't know anything?" and she went "But I still got two wrong :(" which was like, wtf girl who fucked up your self-esteem?? Kindergarten aged kids should feel like they're the coolest smartest shit in the world!! Like I was already ready to fight for her at this point okay Anyways I said "it's alright, now you know where you can work on!" and did another task with her, which she also did pretty well in So I tried to tell her some cliche encouragement like "sometimes we feel like we don't know anything because we feel scared, but when we be brave and try things out, usually we know a lot more than we thought we could! Just like you right now, look at how well you did! So please believe in yourself more" And this little girl deadass looked me in the eye and told me, very sincerely, "because mommy doesn't believe in herself, so I don't believe in myself either :(" I controlled my face, but internally my jaw was on the fking floor and I was screaming crying pulling my hair out. I was so HEARTBROKEN. Like I need to talk to that woman coz what did you do to your kid?? What did you project on her?? And this kid is so smart?? She is so self-aware like she is able observe her mother's emotions & understand her mentality and THEN recognize how her mother's mentality shapes her own?? Honestly, I don't think the majority of people at my age right noweven realize how others' mentality relate to their own. And she is able to articulate all that! Which just makes her statement extra sad, because she is so so smart and observant but she believes she doesn't know anything and that she is bad at school, which is fucking WRONG And I was just so fking devastated!! I want to hug her I want to adopt her I want to fix everything for her but I don't know how I could ever do that. I am not even her teacher, I'm just a nobody who comes once a month for some dumb observations and just, I don't have the ability to do anything significant enough. I tried my best to smile and said "oh no... but you said you think mommy is smart right? she just doesn't know that herself! and I think you are also very good, so you need to remember it for me okay?" and she was like ok >< Then I went home and cried for an hour cause I just feel so... powerless and like what am I doing?? What can I even do to change things for her and kids like her?? When and how will I ever be enough to make her feel happy and brilliant and innocent and no need to act so mature??? Kids are my soft spot and I don't think I will ever cease to feel heartbroken for them. They are so precious and trusting and loving yet so many adults just... betray that trust and abuse that love. And it is so easy to break them but so hard to build them back up, which is simply unfair. Anyways sorry for the venting (sort of) I just want to pour these out because I love kids so much and I want to hug them all and they are so precious and lovable and incredible. I guess my point is just please love and be kind to the kids you know and encounter cause you don't want to fuck them up and not to mention how could you feel anything but adoration when you interact with them

oh my God..................please don't apologize, I'm so, so grateful you took the time to write and share this because I could not agree with you more. I think people really don't seem to understand the depth to which children understand and interpret and process things and it is truly one of the most illuminating and profoundly humbing things to witness and be part of. For what it's worth I think your presence and your conversation absolutely meant something to that little girl and I believe it makes a difference to have validation like that, even just for a day 💗 The kids you work with are very lucky to have someone who cares so deeply about their wellbeing and, heartbreaking as I know it can be, I hope you don't forget that 💗

[mintmatcha]

You should totally write it; you’ve got an amazing way with words, and I really like how you write adult readers who don’t fit the “perfect” reader-insert box

lol heres some more of my fake book--- now with the OTHER love interest

“Some of us-” Lex types hard enough that the keys chunk with every hit,  “Don’t have a lot of dating options.”

Ian sits up just enough to peer over his glasses and computer monitor, eyebrow quirked. He, as always, looks unamused, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously thin as he takes her in. “What’s that// supposed to mean?”

The urge to jam her foot into her mouth hits Lex like a truck. While her dating life has been less than spectacular, Ian’s has been nonexistent. In the two years he’s worked alongside her, he’s only ever mentioned one date-- and his mood was soured for weeks afterwards. In fact, the topic always made him dour, even when Lex talked about her own spectacularly awful dating life. 

“I didn’t mean you,” Lex peeks up at him and catches his steady gaze,  “It’s just hard to date when you’re not a pretty girl.”

He processes this for a moment, then sinks down and resumes working. The little figurine on the top of his desk waggles as he works.

“Well, that’s kind of a moot point. You’re attractive.”

Lex can’t even process what he says at first. She just scoffs, then thinks, then scoffs again. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I have been working on this code for eight straight hours,” he says simply, pecking away,  “I don’t have enough neurons firing to lie to you right now. You’re attractive. The end.”

A chill runs across her skin. He says it so easily, so clearly, in ways March always seemed to skirt around. The flourish and the dance of flirting always worked on her, but directness is a luxury.

“Ian-” she says, voice softer than she wants.

“People just don’t date you because you’re pessimistic and self sabotaging.”

The moment is gone. She returns immediately to the onslaught of emails ahead of her, grumbling under her breath. “And here I thought you were finally being nice to me.”

“Again- not nice, just the truth.” He pushes away from his desk with a sigh, standing. He looks lankier than usual, towering over her when he passes. “I’m grabbing an energy drink.”

“Those things will give you kidney stones,” she calls after him, “You should drink water. And eat something.”

Ian turns on his heel, hands jammed into his hoodie pocket like a moody adolescent. “Don’t talk about my kidneys. That’s weird.”

“Take a proper lunch and I’ll never talk about your kidneys again.”

When he returns ten minutes later, he has the energy drink in question, along with a bag hooked on his elbow and a coffee in the other. He slides the warm beverage on to the corner of her mouse pad wordlessly before flopping into his seat. 

She regards it carefully, peeking at the label on the side. It’s her order-- the same thing she gets every Friday morning from the shop downstairs. Did he ask the workers about her? Or did he just… pay attention? Both of those options sound ridiculous. Lex writes it up to a lucky guess.

“Thanks,” she says. The earnesty makes her stomach unsettled, so she throws in a jab, “I prefer iced though.”

Ian stands again, reaching over both monitors. “Fine, I’ll drink it then.”

“Hey now!” Lex snatches it back and swears her coworker actually smiles for once, rolling his eyes as he sits back down.

[vividachromatic]

Attaching Strings

Enver Gortash × Dark Urge / Reader

Tags: Smut / MDNI / NSFW, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Hair-pulling, Begging, Edging, Power-Play, Emotional Manipulation, Confessions, Mention of Sexual Trauma

Notes: Female Dark Urge, she/her pronouns and female body parts. Named Dark Urge. The name for the Dark Urge here is Lucia. She is my OC and has a much more elaborate past, than Durge in the game too. I like her and had many ideas about her journey through the main game plot. This little writing from her past with Gortash came to me easily and works as a standalone. I may still continue with her, if people are interested...

But if you want to read this as a self-insert, besides the name and gender, there is not really anything that may deviate from the canon Dark Urge.

Summary: Lucia - Or the Dark Urge easily sneaked her way into Enver Gortash's Office. But he barely seemed to mind, even attempting to get closer to her and manipulate the dangerous spawn with the fact that she never had an actual deep connection with anyone.

After spending some... quality time together, he found that he enjoyed her company much more than he expected. Much more than anyone's perhaps.

(Read this on: AO3)

.

.

"Hello, Enver." Lucia yawned, entering Gortash's office - something absolutely no one was allowed to do - with no shame. No guards stopped her, meaning she must have successfully sneaked around all of them. But Gortash wasn't alarmed.

He turned to her with a smile, making no attempt to hide his teeth, "Ah, it's good to see you again, dear. I've missed your clever little presence..."

Lucia rolled her eyes, "I guess I missed yours, too..." She admitted, lazily sitting right in front of Gortash, on top of the desk he was currently working at. He blinked in surprise at her confidence.

"To be honest, the temple of Bhaal can be very boring most of the time..." she sighed. Then she winked at him with a sly grin, whispering "But don't tell anyone I said that."

Though she meant it as a joke, she wouldn't love to explain her words to a bunch of fanatics and her dear butler.

"Oh? And here I would have thought that with so many underlings wanting their gifts to be accepted by you, the temple would be the most exciting place for you!" He smirked, leaning forward in his chair slowly and putting his chin in his hand. "But I suppose if anyone can manage to find being worshipped boring, it would be you."

Lucia huffed a laugh.

"Oh, come on, that's exactly what makes it so boring! I want someone to tell me what the hells is up and why they agree or disagree with me. And not just kneel, whatever they may think of me, just because they're scared I'll take their head..."

"That's why I like hanging out with you. So tell me, Enver. What do you agree or disagree about with me?" Lucia grinned, repeating his first name was another way she was just purposely trying to show disrespect to him, since he explicitly ordered every one to call him Gortash.

Gortash paused, looking at her more seriously than she expected. "Do you truly want to know?"

Lucia's grin faltered only a little, she wasn't used to people being honest around her, and even though she requested his opinion, him asking again made it... serious. "Yes. Tell me your honest opinion."

He smiled. "You definitely are very charming and attractive. Your mind is quick, and your power is not to be trifled with." He leaned back into his chair, "But you seem a little lonely."

Lucia looked surprised by the answer. "Lonely? I don't even know what that feels like..." she half-joked. It's not like she ever actually thought too much about her own feelings.

Gortash folded his arms over his chest, "Hm..."

He exhaled slightly, one of his brows rising a little. "Well. I have another question for you. But I want you to answer it honestly."

"Oh? Alright then... I will." Lucia smiled, wondering what he may want to know about her.

"Is there anyone you've ever loved? In your entire life."

Lucia was taken aback. She looked at the ground, contemplating her answer. Then she cleared her throat.

"That's actually the first time someone has asked a question that's truly about me and my feelings, and not my affiliations or relations..." she looked confused, trying to gather what to say.

Did she love, or even like anyone? Normal people would love their parents. She served her father... but did she love him? She didn't know, the concept was foreign to her.

The air of amusement in the room faded. Now Gortash seemed truly interested...

"So? Was there?"

"I... I don't know. I don't think I have ever had enough time to think about my feelings. Everything was just about what or who I should be..." she answered honestly.

Gortash frowned. "But surely being asked to consider your personal feelings must feel... freeing? You're not your station, my dear. You're a person, are you not? A person with emotions and desires."

Lucia furrowed her brows in confusion. "Am I? I... don't know... I think... most people have thought of me as a tool. I don't even know what I think of myself..." She looked sad; like those thoughts genuinely crossed her mind for the first time. What did she even want?

Gortash straightened up in his chair, still looking into her eyes. She was being vulnerable, it would be the perfect opportunity to get closer to her.

"Then allow me to be the first person to care for you as more than your position. I care for you, Lucia, in a way none of the others ever have. So please... tell me how you feel."

Lucia blinked at him confused. Once, then twice, no one ever asked her about her feelings. Which is why she didn't even notice his obvious attempt at manipulation.

"....I don't know..." she whispered, looking up at Gortash,

"But I feel... not unhappy or empty. Not like I always feel. Talking to you is... nice. I think."

She felt vulnerable for the first time since she could remember. The feeling was supposed to be uncomfortable, but... she didn't hate it.

Gortash smiled, liking her answer.

"I'm glad. I'm very glad. And I'll be honest... I enjoy speaking with you as well. Your wit and words are charming all on their own."

"You mean you enjoy my company regardless of me being Bhaal's Chosen?"

Her demeanor changed, normally she was confident. Suited for the Chosen of Bhaal, one of the most dangerous persons in the world.

Gortash smiled. "Yes. Your power and position as Bhaal's Chosen is admirable. But I think you have far more interesting qualities, than just those things. And I would love to see those, my dear. Just... you."

Lucia let out a huff, hiding her face. She blushed in embarrassment for the first time in her life probably.

She felt warm. She didn't want to go home.

Seeing her flush brought a genuine smile to Gortash's face. He was enjoying this.

He laughed softly.

"You're very sweet, you know that?"

She kinda hated it, but her face turned even redder.

"Hm... you do remember who I am, right?" Or what,

"No one has ever called me sweet before.."

"Oh, I am well aware who you are." Gortash laughed, shaking his head a little. "And I do, in fact, think that you are very adorable."

Lucia just looked away from him. "Most people would call your taste weird then, I'm sure."

"Well, perhaps. But my weirdness is the last thing you should worry about." He grinned, "And I'd hate to break it to you, but I think I've grown rather fond of you, whatever that means to a Chosen like yourself."

Lucia's expression turned unsure for again.

"I... don't know. My father would probably hate for me to like a follower of Bane that much..."

Realizing what she said, her face flushed again.

"I mean-"

"Ah..." Gortash's smirk grew again, his expression becoming more amused. "So what I'm getting at is that you'd be... well, punished for liking me, is it? That does rather make things difficult, doesn't it?"

As long as she wouldn't do something unforgivable, like saving people's lifes or get killed... She would still remain his Chosen, though. And she could take a little punishment. "I guess... not that I'd mind... it's just..."

"Hmm... just what? If you do not care for the punishments you'd receive should we... continue to get closer... then there's nothing stopping us, is there?" Gortash smiled softly, leaning closer, his eyes seeming to reflect hers, as if to draw her in.

"W-Well my father's opinion is quite important to me, but..." she looked into Gortash's eyes once more, "I guess if I pray for forgiveness at his altar it'll be okay..."

Gortash chuckled softly - the little game seemed to be working.

"Your father's opinion is important to you, and you're even willing to suffer his wrath... For me?"

A sly, flirty smirk. "I have to ask... did you just confess, dear?"

"Hmm?"

Lucia thinks back to Mortal's concept of love and 'confessions'. Confessing means liking someone more than just in a platonic way... so...

"I... I guess... yes."

Gortash laughed again, and now there was a sparkle in his eyes. An almost child-like quality, or at least the equivalent to that of a man his age.

"Is that so? I suppose that means that you'll be... well... staying with me, then? In whatever this... relationship of ours may end up being?"

He was human... and though he was a little older than her, his lifespan would be much shorter... Though there are ways to change even that. She just... didn't know how to feel about all of this. As long as everyone would die one day, continuing Bhaal's legacy was part of her job, too.

She sighed, "Though you'll probably feel even more smug than you already do if I say this... I think I have quite taken a liking for you." She confessed, adding

"I guess I just have to beg my father for forgiveness for this..." in a whisper.

Gortash laughed, his expression becoming a little more... genuine now. He took her hand, and held it lightly, his thumb brushing across it gently.

"Oh, I would certainly be smug about that, my dear..." But then he paused, a little more thoughtful now. He took a second to actually contemplate his goal with her. In a way, he actually was growing a bit... fond of her

So it would definitely not be a bad thing to have her around for a bit.

"I don't know if this will make you feel any better, but your father can never take this feeling away from you. Not even death itself can. So whether he forgives you or not does not matter - what we feel here and now is genuine." He comforted her genuinely

Her eyes glistened, then closed. It's even possible she might be holding back some tears. She never considered to be anything without her father.

"I um... I feel tired... I can walk back, but..." She was obviously hinting at sleeping over.

Gortash sighed softly, then chuckled. Of course, this is where her feelings would take them to... But she was trying to be polite about it, so he didn't mind taking the lead.

"It's well past late now, so you're welcome to stay in my quarters for the night. You'll have plenty of space, and I assure you I will not bother you until sunrise."

He smirked. "Unless, of course, you would like me to not let you sleep at all..."

"I..." Her face flushed, thinking about what to say.

"Well, I... don't really need any sleep at all, so..." she coughed.

He couldn't help but grin. Not exactly surprising that she didn't need sleep - she was the child of a God, of course.

 

"Oh, I suppose I could have assumed that. Well, I don't mind staying with you for the night. That is... if you would like me to..." He trailed off, making an exaggerated eyebrow and wink with a smirk.

"You're getting a little too cocky now, you know..." Lucia grinned with a soft blush.

Gortash laughed. "I am, am I not?" He grinned proudly, and raised an eyebrow.

"Well... I guess so, yes. You may stay with me." she averted eye-contact nervously. "So, perhaps you want to show me your chambers?"

His eyes glittered as he saw her blush, and he nodded. "Well then. Of course. Shall I lead the way?"

As he spoke, he stood up from the chair, and stepped in front of her, holding out his hand towards her, gesturing for her to take hold of it.

Lucia took his hand into her own, letting him lead them.

Gortash walked the way, his steps sure and steady as a rock. With their hands interlocked, he slowly but purposefully led her out of the room, through narrow and dim hallways, to a nice but rather simple designed chamber.

But Lucia liked it. Considering blood and Intestines were considered nice decorations where she lived.

Gortash turned towards her upon entering, then smirked, letting go of her hand.

"You have a nice bed..." Lucia smiled shyly.

"I do what I can to make myself comfortable, my dear." He said, his expression becoming even more confident now.

He stepped towards it and sat on the edge of the bed. He motioned with his hand for her to join him.

"Please."

Lucia quietly stepped closer, sitting down on the soft bed at Gortash's invitation.

Though all of this could be seen as quite suggestive, she was still wondering how this night would play out.

Did he have a bathroom near his chambers..? Maybe she should freshen up. But she didn't take anything with her...

"Do you have something like night garments, perhaps?" She asked.

Gortash just laughed as he shook his head.

"...No. I do not. That would be rather pointless, don't you think?"

Well, so this was leading to something.

Well, obviously.

Not only has he hinted at it before, be she also invited herself into his chambers. So...

"Why?" She asked, playing coy and leaning closer to him.

"Well..." Gortash smirked, his eyes glittered with an almost dangerous gleam.

"I was planning for a much more... indecent sleep... with you."

Lucia nodded with a smile and whispered "Show me what you mean, then."

Gortash chuckled, and suddenly shifted closer to her. He put his arm around her, moving to lay her down on the bed.

Then, he lay down right next to her, his arm snaking over her and his body pressed up against hers.

"Is this good..?" He asked, trying to read her expression.

"That's all?" She breathed against his neck, giving him goosebumps.

Gortash's breath caught, and his grin grew wider. She was being more forward than he expected, but he didn't mind - rather the opposite.

His arm snaked further up her body, his body pressing more closely against her.

His breath was becoming more labored, and his other hands began stroking her thigh. Lucia let out a shaking breath, putting her hand on his, guiding it more towards the center.

"Mmmm... My, you really are an adorable thing... aren't you?" He chuckled softly. "You aren't afraid at all, are you?" Or uncomfortable.

Gortash has slept with a number of people before. But it has never been so... enthusiastic on both sides. Usually, one side would be getting something out of it.

Sex was mostly about power, not pleasure. In his experience at least.

And perhaps he did initially start flirting with her to get something out of it, but... he still felt excited. And not like he or the other person just had to force themselves through the act.

"Afraid? I'm giving you the lead, Enver, but we both know that if anyone should be afraid of the other, it should be you..." Lucia smirked, unaware of his complicated thoughts about this.

He just let out a chuckle in response, "Oh, really? Would you say I should be scared of you? Though you are powerful, your current position makes it hard for that to come across." He chuckled, hovering above her, still stroking her core through her underwear.

"I could snap your neck in two seconds if I wanted to." She whispered, grinding against his fingers.

Gortash laughed, and his breath caught for a second.

"Is that so? But who says I couldn't do the same..." He smirked, one of his hands stroking her neck now, softly closing his hand around her throat.

Could he? Maybe. And maybe she didn't hate that.

For the first time there was actually someone but her in charge. She felt like she could actually enjoy this for the first time, too.

She took the hand teasing her entrance again, to actually guide it where it felt good.

She let his cold index finger touch the soft bundle of nerves above her opening, letting out a moan immediately.

Gortash just raised his brow, pushing his finger into the spot again, watching her letting out another deep moan. With a smirk he started massaging the spot, making her let out serval, quiet and soft moans and huffs.

He found that extremely hot, to say the least.

He shifted the hand on her neck to softly caress it and hold her face.

She opend her eyes to look into his. Seeing her eyes glowing with pleasure, only made it better. So he pressed a kiss on to her lips, softer than she expected.

While still massaging her clitoris with his index finger, he used his middle one to stroke her folds, finding them to be extremely wet already. He smirked into the kiss, deepening it, while retracting his hand from her pussy, immediately feeling her groan against his lips in complaint. He parted from her mouth now, too, chuckling at her frustrated look.

"You're quite impatient, huh? Don't worry, I wasn't planning on letting you wait for that much longer." He smirked, taking his time to properly remove her underwear now, sliding it off her legs, finding it to be completely damp already.

Lucia avoided eye-contact finding this extremely embarrassing.

Throwing the panties on the ground he worked to undo his own belt.

She looked at him removing her belt and pants silently for a few seconds, only to find him looking up to her with a smirk, catching her staring. "You're liking the show?"

Lucia looked back to the ground again, clearing her throat, then started working on opening the buttons of her dress. But Gortash quickly stopped her.

"Let me do it." He whispered lowly.

Lucia just nodded removing her hands. Gortash smiled in response to her obedience, removing her dress for her, leaving her in nothing but her bra.

He then leaned to press a kiss on her lips again with a smile, while unclapping the bra. When he removed his lips from hers again, he found her completely bare in front of him.

He leaned in to kiss her again, pushing her back on to the matress with one hand and fondling her breast with the other one.

Moaning into the kiss, she started tucking at the collar of his shirt, hinting for him to take it off. He parted the kiss with a chuckle, removing his shirt for her.

Lucia leaned forward again, pressing her knee to his private parts. Gortash let out a moan, gripping her arm.

"Take me right now, alright? I don't want to wait any longer." She whispered against his lips.

Gortash felt a warm shiver going down his spine.

"Are you sure?" He whispered, his eyes glimmering as he spoke. "I could get a bit rough, you know..."

But those words didn't deter her. Her gaze just grew more confident, as she grinned at him as if to challenge him.

"Alright then, if you insist. But don't expect me to go soft on you," He repeated, as if to indirectly ask for permission.

"I wouldn't want you to." Lucia just answered.

"Well, then..." he used both his hands to push her down at the matress again, while still kneeling above her. His hands wandered to her hips, turning her around to roll her onto her belly. He leaned down, holding both of her hands in a tight grip, effectively trapping her underneath him.

"Is that what you wanted, hm?" He breathed into her ear.

 

A pleasant shiver went through her body, as she let out a shaking breath. She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment. The feeling of being completely overpowered and at the mercy of someone else.

She nodded.

Gortash's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes glinted. She seemed quite enthralled with him, so, he decided to press his advantage, and leaned to whisper in her ear again.

"Your reactions are quite telling. Is this the first time you've had someone else take control?" He smiled, biting her earlobe.

Lucia let out a huff, though him enjoying his power-trip in the moment was hot, she began to grow more impatient by the second. "Yes. Now stop teasing me, alright?"

Gortash chuckled, as he released the grip and her hands and shifted his own back down to her hips, giving them a light squeeze. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Gortash was enjoying himself this much.

"So, if I may ask, are you ready for me?"

 

"Yes." Lucia breathed softly.

 

"Then..." he leaned down to whisper in her eat, "I am afraid you'll just have to wait for a bit."

 

Lucia growned in response, which only made Gortash let out a laugh above her.

"My, you're getting incredibly desperate about a mere human. The Chosen of the God of Tyranny no less. We're supposed to be Rivals, if not enemies, you know?" Gortash chuckled, stroking her arm softly. "But here you are being such a good girl under me. I am quite flattered, if I'm being honest."

"Y-You..." she breathed, hearing him laugh above her. "I can actually snap your neck, you know?" She asked, annoyed and impatient, but not truly angry. "You're getting off on this, aren't you?"

 Gortash just smirked. "Yes, and yes."

"I am enjoying putting you off, I admit. And I am quite aware that you could very easily kill me if you wanted to. But you wouldn't do that, right? Not when you're enjoying this as much as I am."

Lucia's annoyed expression instantly cleared when Gortash leaned down to kiss her again. And Gortash definitely enjoyed the effect he had on her. She was playing exactly into the role he had planned for her.

She moaned into the kiss, bucking her hips up to meet his. Parting only for a second to whisper, "Enver..."

The smile on his face grew, as he leaned his full weight upon her, his breath becoming more shaky by the moment.

He moaned and nodded, one of his hands moving to her neck again, as the kiss continued, only parting for another second whisper. "Yes, my dear? Tell me... what do you want?"

"Please just take me, please.." she begged under him, swallowing all her pride and silently cursing herself for being so pathetic under a human. Someone that was one of her father's rivals nonetheless. 

His smile turned smug as he broke the kiss. "Oh, that sounds awfully like begging to me..."

He continued to press his weight upon her, but she could feel his hands traveling down her body - caressing, rubbing, and moving their way downwards. And finally, he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"I will take you. I'll take you, my dear. I want to hear you scream."

Lucia gripped the bedsheets as Gortash pressed his length to her hole.

 "Just say it one more time, please, beg. " he sounded desperate himself.

 "Ugh, Enver... please, please..!" She cried. And he didn't wait another second, before finally pushing himself into her, making him shake a little in delight and Lucia grip the bedsheets tighter.

 The room became hotter and hotter as he began moving into her, starting slowly.

"Hah..." Lucia moaned softly into the bedsheets. "You're... way too gentle..."

 "Oh?" His body was blazing hot now, as his movements became more aggressive, and he began to thrust himself harder into her, his body shaking slightly.

He had to bite back his laughter. She wasn't just letting it happen - she was actively enjoying this, too, this was so much better than he expected.

Lucia started whimpering under him, sounding way more out of breath now. You would even think she is in pain... if she wouldn't lean into it so much.

 "Mmm... You like this, don't you? You like how I'm treating you. Don't you?"

His breath caught in his throat, and he moved slightly faster, and harder.

 He was enjoying this so much that it was almost like getting revenge against life for how often he had to force himself through something like this.

And the fact that she was enjoying it so much too - just made this whole thing so much better. The only people who ever enjoyed sex with him, were taking advantage of him in some kind of way.

 But they enjoyed this together.

Lucia started trembling against him suddenly.

"Enver, I think I- I-"

"You're what?"

His movements turned sloppy, and his breath caught in his throat. The sound of her voice, the look of pleasure in her eyes. A shiver ran through his body, and his breath became sharp.

"Oh, please... please... give it to me..." he begged.

"Ha.. ah!" Suddenly Gortash felt her tightening around her, making it harder to move. Still, he kept his pace, letting her come around his cock.

He chocked on his breath. She was just... so beautiful in this moment.

He could never have anticipated a moment like this, one where he felt so much power. But her sounds of pleasure, and the way her body trembled underneath him...

Gortash roughly pulled her up on her hair against him, though trying to not actually hurt her, and continued thrusting into her.

"Ha... ha..." though feeling overstimulated, she continued to let Gortash take her how he wanted to, while he was pulling her hair.

 

They were so completely lost in this moment, in the pleasure they both felt. And she was such a good girl for him, too, just letting him take this moment the way he wanted to.

There was so much power he felt now, looking at her, as she released around him a second time, as Gortash now finally came inside her, too - at the same time. He continued riding out their orgasm, pushing his semen into her.

 

After everything, both of them rolled on to their side, feeling fullfilled,

Lucia tried to calm herself on her side of the bed and finally caught her breath now.

Gortash was lying next to her, breathing heavily aswell. The room was still warm, and the heat from their bodies had not dissipated yet.

The his moment was just perfect. And he leaned his body closer to hers, studying her face. 

Lucia slowly opend her eyes, finding Gortash already looking at her. She then gave him a soft smile, still out of breath.

This was, strangely enough exactly the moment something changed inside of him. This was the moment making him realize, that he wanted her beside him. When the world would fall under his and Bane's Tyranny. She would sit beside him.

And perhaps then, he'll even be okay with her killing him at the altar.

"You're so beautiful, you know," he whispered softly, his voice soft and gentle now, a stark contrast to before. His eyes were still shining with that smirk he usually wore, but this time, they seemed... brighter.

He raised a hand up to her face, caressing it softy.

Lucia's gaze turned soft now, too. She liked him - which is why she even wanted to share the bed with him in the first place, but this afterwards, felt almost better than the act itself. The pure moment of... love? It was soft, vulnerable. But strong. Lucia felt her heart swell, as she leaned into his touch, softly caressing his arm and laying her head on top of his chest.

And even his heart stirred, it was a feeling he never expected.

He felt... soft. Not in a way where he felt weak, but in a way where he was willing to share a part of himself with her. And that felt... good. The soft touch of her fingers lightly rubbing against his arm was quite... nice.

He was comfortable. This sensation was foreign to him, but he was content.

 

They didn't know what their future would entail. Probably a lot of trouble. Especially considering that both of them were Chosen's of different gods. Everything was complicated. The world would continue to be cruel, but...

This felt nice.

And both really hoped that whatever would happen in the future, this wouldn't be the last night they would spend in each other's arms.

Gortash felt felt Lucia's consciousness slipping away, and for the first time he didn't see that as weakness. He squeezed her arm gently, leaning his head against hers. His own consciousness slipping away, too.

[surlifen]

guide to surlis sonas

aka an excuse to Poast Images and drone on because I love to do that!

current main sona I think and closest to a truesona: this otter guy who remains unnamed because all the names that are my name have already been used at this point LMAO

art by nepeteaa and by me! I'd honestly draw him more often if he weren't hard to draw? surli was easy because. Fox. (and Generic Thin whereas my body type is, while still pretty thin, specific in a way that's hard for me to draw) and honestly I enjoy drawing him more oTL.... otters are super hard to stylize cutely + in a way that looks Like Me... surli does not look Like Me teebeehaiche

surli fennec surlifen main sona of the past and still like... kind of me it's complicated

imbages by jilf and vhsdruid

i kinda ended up disconnecting from his Design as a Whole and the alt palette didn't really fix it but nonetheless he's never leaving my possession. it's weird cause my brain can really only connect fully to one character per Thing/Setting as a Sona who is Me so ever since splitting off into otter I don't feel FULLY connected to either the way I once did to surli :( but I am experimenting with having multiple sonas and maybe ill try that thing people do where they also do sonas for different Aspects of themselves so I don't just have an army of Normal Nice Blonds

pokesona: liam

art by me, cicadaghost, me

not much 2 say he is me pokemonned! he's much Smaller Cuter than I am and I really enjoy his simple design + imagining him in the pokemon world :3 like what berries he'd like best and what specific cities/landmarks he hangs out at... hiking in ilex forest and visiting the national park yk

lee: bunny....sona....?

art by me, purrker

he was a bit of an experiment in "CAN I have more than one fursona?" and also "CAN I make a sona who isn't Exactly Like Me?" i've always seen people whose sonas have Supernatural Elements and been like how can you do that. I respect it so much but if EYE am a normal human person how can I connect to something with strange abilities and qualities. and I still couldn't go so far as like... my friend whose sona is an honest to god several stories tall kaiju with a backstory and shit, but lee has supernatural luck and a connection to/control of storms/lightning because that's sick and awesome and cool. and also glows and has cool antlers when he wants. he's not as me as the others but he's there and he's not... NOT me?

fucking... willie dustice, silver city "self-insert" joke guy

unfortunately I DO love his stupid ass. you know how sometimes in a comic or animated show there'll be some obscure reference to one of the creators or someone on the team like as a gag that goes over most people's heads well he's supposed to be that. his appearance is me at my worst (needs haircut + shave) and he has the OP superpower of putting people in pocket dimensions of altered reality he controls entirely but he ONLY uses it to make stupid filler bottle episodes like They All Have To Play Softball or Beach Episode or whatever. represents my oft-abused ability as a creator to Put Those Guys in a Situation. he's not so much a sona (cause if I made a silver city sona it would be genuine not this greasy freak) but he sure is Representative of Me.

horse: horse

i was challenged to make a horsesona. I don't plan to do anything with him but kept him around because I liked his design. someday I might make a more natural horse sona for in case I ever joined some kind of equine rp setting or some shit equivalent but for now my sparklehorse

spinxynsona: coast

art by capricorne, me, me

coasty woasty... made for the nephfei world for the spinxyn closed species. first closed species sona ive ever had and i think hes neat! nephfei is such a well designed world that is really conducive to stories and characters influencing each other's arcs but coast is just some guy he's just there. he just lives there and minds his own business. (he has no gifts or curses so nothing really requiring a Story) but maybe i should get him some Friends at least maybe i can have a sona who has Story OC Friends from other people and still be like yes thats me if i was friends with everybody's ocs

dnd character who was based on me: august

art by me, thembodino

it was suggested since I have a very hard time being In Character (i get so self conscious) that I start with a character similar to myself! so august is incredibly Just Me FR. if i were to go on an adventure i would be bad at it and terrified. his campaign is suspended due to Life but i accidentally, due to knowing nothing, picked a pretty OP blend of stats that has made him bizarrely competent (not like. the best in the party or anything but he really can hold his own and once like critted twice and turned invisible and flew and killed a dragon) and honestly that's hilarious and I like it for him

that's it! the rest of my characters are just characters not sonas though I still love them dearly, some of them even more than some of my sonas i won't name names though ty if you made it this far. i love to Talk

[lazulian-devil]

The Villains of Skulduggery Pleasant 2

Now before I start, I want to point out that Book 2 has an absolute myriad of Bad Guys™.

The book introduces not only Dusk (who is great at making everyones day just a whole lot worse. Just fun to be around. Only bit Valkyrie, killed the Lord Vampire of Dublin™ Moloch and is generally just... So much fun!), but also the whole Diablerie Subplot (oh look, China is getting a backstory upgrade), Billy-Ray motherfucking Sanguine (who is in one way or another responsible for a third of my favourite quotes from the books), the Torment and Roarhaven (and all that bullshit), the reflection quite literally cracking (this could never possibly become important later on), the whole Faceless One dimension and whatever was going on with Thurid Guild.

So uh, yeah. Book 2, for being actually quite short in comparison to the absolute Grimoires Derek would later be known to write, is a dense friggin book. You might ask yourself "Wow, this sure is a whole lot more dense than the first one" and thats because Landy had at this point already won and be nominated for enough awards that his writing adventures would be a solid thing for him.

The first book was a leap of faith, the second was the beginning of a saga.

(Tangent: I personally think Landy plans and writes books in pairs of threes, as even Phase 2 was originally supposed to be nine but then turned into six books by force of publisher. Because I read them on a Kindle, I am very much aware of how much longer they have gotten with each installment and I think that he, like many an author, would absolutely benefit from cutting down some of the sizes of his books. But book 2 is still very much on the shorter end, if not the second shortest book of the series).

So, after all these absolute bangers of villains, who will I focus on? The one that dies (which is honestly how I think I should do these. Just slowly talk about everyone who actually dies and leave the "I will appear in a trillion books" villains for last, in favor of my sanity).

Baron Vengous.

In a world filled with sarcastic, silly villains, Vengous is the stern military guy that doesnt talk a lot.

And I mean that literally. Besides like... One or two speeches the guy just doesnt talk much.

Ive managed to complete Book 7 in my reading insanity and have read up to 13 before that (reading them as they come out) and I can say with a solid 78% conviction that he is the most "normal" villain and antagonist the series has ever had.

Hes straightforward. Hes methodical. His status as a General of Mevolent is based not only in honestly insane levels of power, but in his pure military might brain and body.

Baron Vengous is the absolute most opposite anyone could have written to Serpine. He almost seems specifically written to oppose him in as many ways as possible. If Serpine was the Vibe, Vengous is the Antivibe.

You get my point.

We actually get an in depth look into him later (where? Leibniz. In terms of trouble, always assume Leibniz) and even among those people, he is somewhat normal. Apart from his wife.

Oh and the other character trait he has. What was that again? I can barely remember.

Ah. Right. Faceless One fanaticism to the point of self destruction.

It makes you wonder what he did after the Amnesty, as he is broken out of prison by Sanguine at the beginning of the book and its never quite explained why. Serpine was just vibin' in his castle. Maybe he did some human sacrifices to his beloved gods and got caught for it. Who knows. (Afaik, its never explained what he did after the Amnesty to end up in prison in the first place and at this point, Im convinced it doesnt really matter and was just a neat way to introduce Sanguine).

But Vengous just isnt a very... Interesting character. He only works so well because Sanguine is a delight anywhere he shows up and Dusk is just utterly terrifying. The Baron is almost too normal among them.

You need proof? Fine. Let me grab my Kindle real quick.

Insert transition music.

Alright, so. Vengous first appearance (Chapter 3: Vengous) paints him as the man in control, the guy who has been in prison for eighty years (Im sure cellphones blew his mind) is out and looking for revenge. He doesnt say a lot. His first actual words are "You're late." to Dusk (who he later points out in his internal dialogue isnt even a man to him). This gives us two insights into his character: First, his stoic mentality. He just murdered someone. Hes entirely calm. Lifes are a casualty to him. And second, he holds enough power or reputation that a very skilled vampire is not only working for him, but accepts being talked down to by this man.

Later in Chapter Ten: The Armour, Sanguines inner dialogue says "The Baron was not a man to be trifled with, especially at a time like this". Once again, we have a whole chapter that shows of several things (passively) about the Baron. He is a planner (shown by his knowledge of the armor and its requirements, the supposed knowledge of where Vile died and his general tactical demeanour being described), he is someone who seems to be in control at all times (shown by him casually watching a bunch of infected under Dusks command dig away) and he is incredibly patient (shown in previous chapters by him being able to wait 80 years and then just "get on with it. Sure, hes mad at Sanguine, but his plans are more important).

And then we add something a little spicy in the mixture: Hes not only a fanatic, hes also an asshole. Ooooohoho.

Its Chapter 18 in which our Protagonists finally meet him and he simply despises Skulduggery. But thats not whats actually interesting. The Chapter reveals him to be self important. Sure, hes a leader, stoic, goal oriented. But hes also cocksure of himself. (A trait he shares with about 84% of all characters in the SP universe).

Skulduggerys taunts go right over him.

"Skulduggery nodded. "So, you married or something? Do I hear the pitter patter of tiny evil feet?"

"I will destroy you."

Normal reaction, ey? The scene goes on quite a while longer than that, but only hammers home this point even more.

The Baron believes himself superior. Righteous. Blessed, probably.

What kills him in the end? His self importance. And how does he react to his death?

"But... But this isnt how Im supposed to die", He said weakly. "Not... Not like this. Not by your hand. You're... You're an abomination."

And then he crawls towards the actual abomination he summoned, pleads it to tell them (the Faceless Ones) that hes sorry for failing them.

The Grotesquery moved its hand so that it touches Vengous' face. It looked almost tender, until the hand gripped and wrenched and the Barons head snapped to one side.

Vengous is a fascinating villain, because he stands calmly among the flashy and vibrant. In a long line of batshit insane people, his insanity is the one that hits closest to home. Many, many villains in the future would be obsessed with religion (the Necromaner Temple, the whole Diablerie plot, later on Darquesse). But all of them are so overpainted, so saturated, that many are just that: A mockery of real life fanaticism.

And the Baron still feels like someone who is rootes in reality. He truly believes that he and the Faceless Ones are superior. His last act is - and I cannot stress this enough - apologising to his gods.

This man. This stoic, straightforward man. This absolute unit. Former General of Mevolent. Words like a scalpel, tactician, wit and gumption combined.

Hes just as insane as all of them. But his insanity is so much quieter. So much more refined.

And that makes him scary.

While I would like to end here, lets summarise real quick:

Vengous has mostly two traits that make him stand out: Straightforwardness and Fanaticism.

Hes a pretty boring villain in comparison to his counterparts.

He is - at least in my opinion - one of the most realistic villains in the series. His insanity is believable and while its not as flashy as those of others, its a kind of insane that makes your skin crawl as soon as you think about it.

He stole Skulduggerys Armor. If you know that Skulduggery is Vile, there are some really interesting scenes that allude to it.

His Leibniz counterpart, for once, seems to actually improve on the OG one. He talks more and he even shows a certain twisted kindness to Valkyrie in explaining her everything. I would almost argue that the Baron of Leibniz is more interesting than the OG Baron. Also, silly wife Eliza. Such a stupid joke.

If he had been succesful, he would have actually ruined the world. Legitimately. The stakes were so high and the man remained so calm. Imagine trying to resurrect your gods. Imagine resurrecting Jesus, all the while having the vibes of a Military Dad with PTSD.

Im afraid that I never found Vengous that compelling. The writing in Book 2 is immaculate though and Dusk and Sanguine are amazing.

I give him a... 7? 8 out of 10?

Also: remember to stay hydrated. Eat a snack. Stretch. You deserve it.

Wanna read more of my mad ramblings? Heres Part 1 with Nefarian Serpine and Part 3 with Batu!