#We are lost in Corona...

[another-clive-blog]

The robots. They're summoning the robots watch out-

I posted this meme redraw on Discord and we immediately started making crossovers :]

#We're stupid tho so we did like. Universes swap. #As in Varian is a London scientist and Clive is trying and failing to burn Corona to the ground. It's fun ahah #But yeah. THIS is why I had to look up heights- because I wanted to be precise x) #It's like. Roughly right which is really surprising to me !!! #clive dove #Varian tts #<- So weird to tag him again. Welcome back my boy. You aren't coming back again lol #professor layton and the unwound future #professor layton and the lost future #unwound future spoilers #lost future spoilers #Shitty meme redraw #tts varian #varian the alchemist #HOW MANY TAGS DO YOU HAVE

[keyofjetwolf]

Working from home today so I don't have my new coworkers around, and because I'm plague-ridden, I also don't have my old co-worker. Hot Pocket attempts to fill in the gap.

#life with jet wolf #lost in corona 2022 #the all new all different here we go again #i need to clean that window

[chasingcoyotes]

Found out the sickness going around my house was infact Covid and a Flu mixed together. Fun times.

My dad just tested positive tonight, but we've all been sick on and off for well over two weeks, he just got sick last week and we're all double vaxxed. I think that's why we didn't get as sick as we should've. My mum has COPD and my dad had a collapsed lung as a teen, but they both came out near perfectly fine. My dad's just got a terrible cough and no appetite/taste. But other than that he said he feels alright and even that's getting better.

I knew it'd happen at some point, we all work and go out often. I just didn't think we wouldn't even notice that's what it was. It just felt like a nasty flu for most of us.

I'm kinda glad it was covid, I thought my dad was just getting worse for no reason, but because he quit smoking in the last week it's affecting him as well.

I'll just be glad when we're all feeling 100%. It's basically just him left to get better now.

#god this is stressful lmao #if we wouldnt have been vaxxinated i likely wouldve lost half my family to this. it wasnt great but it wouldve been SO much worse #covid #corona virus #covid19

[tripleyeeet]

WHERE'S YOUR PATIENCE? (7)

SUMMARY: You and Astarion finally have the conversation. Among other things.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,912

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, little bit of hand stuff, vaginal sex, CONSENT IS SEXY, mentions of past sexual/physical trauma, potential spoilers for acts 1/2.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Say thank you to the 2 bottles of Corona and the tequila shot I took to loosen up my brain enough to write this smut. I couldn't have done it without them. (And also my bardic inspiration @imgoingtofreakoutnow)

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The weeks following feel like an uphill battle —a never-ending course of constant information and action all tied into one long work month. Without warning, you find yourself overwhelmingly annoyed with the pace of it all. Not to mention the unwavering guilt, knowing that if you’re not fighting hordes of Absolute cultists or doing research on how to rip the Illithid out of your head, your time is essentially wasted.

Or at least, that’s what it feels like. 

Considering the severity of everything, even when you’re resting from a long day's work, you always find your mind wandering. Picking apart texts from old books you’ve found during infiltration missions. Oftentimes late at night when Astarion’s come back from feeding, you spend a lot of your time together relaying said thoughts. Using the late-night silence to fuel the drive that’s been missing throughout the day. 

By the time you get to the Inn within the Shadowlands, you’re surprised he’s not sick of you for it. Nowadays, just the mere thought of your own voice makes you want to rip off your ears, and although you know it’s crucial that you discuss things like this, you know there are other things that are important too. 

Like your shared confession. And your promise to talk of the past when you were both ready. 

Since that night you haven’t asked him about it. With everything happening so quick, it’s been pushed to the back of your mind —lost amongst the clutter of thoughts that you’re often forced to leave behind. Deep down, you imagine he’s somewhat in the same boat but still, there’s even more guilt that surfaces. Filling both sides of the spectrum like an overflowing glass of water —so much so that by the time you’re gifted a proper night’s rest in an actual bed you’re already too tired to care. 

As soon as you enter the Inn after your journey through the cursed shadows of the forest you head straight to the bar, barely batting an eye at the barkeep who looks you up and down, horrified by the state of your dress.

“Whiskey, please.”

“And… whatever else you got back there that doesn’t taste of fermentation.” 

You turn to see Astarion already standing beside you, moving his hand to the small of your back to usher you into one of the stools. Immediately, you oblige with a sigh, blinking back sleep as you rest your bloodied elbows on the countertop, earning yourself a look of annoyance that Astarion squashes with an unfriendly scowl, showcasing his canine teeth. 

If you weren’t so exhausted you probably would’ve laughed at such a sight, but considering you are, you instead let out a soft hum and down your whiskey when it’s placed in front of you, signalling for another. 

“I see you’ve already decided how you’re going to spend your night off.” 

Nodding your head, you barely register his words, slumping your damp forehead down against the counter with a groan. “How the fuck are we even alive?” 

It’s a fair question when you take into account all that you’ve been through. All the puzzles and battles and endless expectations to now save all of Baldur’s Gate just to get these damned Illithids out of your head. 

At this rate, you and everyone else should’ve been dead ages ago. Either murdered and looted for your tadpoles and their powers or already turned into tentacle-faced beasts. Not sitting next to Astarion, covered in blood, sweat and tears, wondering how the hell you’re supposed to keep going. How you’re meant to keep this unrealistic momentum of burnout over and over and—

He runs his palm along the base of your spine, drawing his fingers up and down as he takes a sip of his drink. “Hells if I know, darling.”

Feeling a bit delirious, you laugh and raise your head to look between him and the new drink in front of you. “We should’ve been dead by now.” 

“You? Perhaps. Me?” He pauses to dig his digits into your aching neck, making your head fall forward again in delight. “Well, I have far too much to do after all of this is over.” 

“Yeah, like what?”

When he doesn’t answer right away you remember the conversation. That moment by the fire where you kissed and confessed and told each other you’d talk about it. Immediately it fills you with anxiety, clouding your features with a worried brow and frowning lips as you crane your neck to the side. 

When you look at him you notice he’s not really there. His eyes sit in their normal position, staring back but there’s nothing. Not a thought or feeling; just two empty voids surrounded by bloodied dissociation. 

It pulls at your heartstrings far too much —makes you let out a breath and raise your frame to slip off the stool and move to hug him. Despite the lack of attention, he manages to follow suit as it happens, wrapping his arms around your neck as you burrow into his chest, once again sighing, wondering if you should apologize and offer your ear or merely forget the exchange entirely. 

Before you can even think to do either he’s standing up, keeping his hold as he grabs your other whiskey and proceeds to drink it down, barely batting an eye. 

Raising your brow at him, you feel his fingers dig into your neck again, rubbing rough circles that have you resting your forehead against his chest, trying to form any semblance of a thought. 

It makes him laugh and raise his hand to your hair, running his fingers through the roots. “Let’s get cleaned up.” 

You’re already off and climbing the stairs before you’re able to answer. Pushing through the pain that radiates through your calves with every step. Leaning against him with tired eyes that eventually open up when the door creaks open in front you of. 

Somehow you managed to earn yourself a private room. One that’s actually clean with a real bed and a tub —all of which almost have you in tears. 

“Nice of them to give us some privacy, hm?” Astarion smirks down at you as he speaks, watching as you roll your eyes and finally pull yourself away, reaching for the clasps of your leather vest. Like the rest of you, it’s coated in a thick layer of dirt and blood. All of it dried and coming off in disgusting clumps that have you scrunching up your face. Brushing off the top few clasps, you try not to focus on the way it feels against your fingers. How it collects under your nails as you narrow your eyes, struggling to get the damned thing off.

It makes him scoff and pull you back in, pushing your hands aside to undo the first clasp. “I feel as though I recall a time where you claimed to be patient?” 

As he moves down to the next one you shake your head and look away. “Emotionally, yes. Physically I—“

“I’d say you’re far more patient in that regard, actually.”

For a second you’re not sure what he means but then it hits you. He means sex. Physical intimacy. A line of which you hadn’t yet crossed due to several things. The main being your lack of conversation —your lack of focus to a promise you both said you wouldn't break. 

Obviously, the lack of time hasn’t helped either, but as you stand there, watching his fingers pull apart your top layer, you find yourself visibly frustrated. Angry at yourself for not taking the time to offer the piece of yourself you desperately want. 

After that night it was always your intention to go first. To tell him all about your past in order to open the floodgates. You figured if you were brave enough to do it —to be the one to bite the bullet— maybe he’d inevitably follow. 

But then life got in the way and now nearly five weeks later it suddenly feels like you’re stuck in this limbo. One where you’re dancing on the edge, teetering with bated breath. Wondering if maybe the time is right. 

As his hands move further and further you find yourself fighting your imagination. Brushing off the feelings that start to surface as you stare down at his hands, watching their delicate ministrations. 

It’s apparent then that he's no stranger to the art of undress. As his fingers twist and turn to work the clasps apart, you have to stop yourself from giving in to temptation, knowing that it’s wrong. Remembering the promise you made.

Moving your hand to stop him, you clear your throat and watch his eyes. Noticing the way they filter through the air to eventually focus on you, blinking as if he wasn’t there to begin with. 

“Can we talk now? Maybe?”

His hands sit against your leathers, gripping the metal with tightened fingers that still somehow manage to pale from their hold despite his complexion. “Course.”

Running your fingers along his knuckles, you slowly wrap your fists around them, bringing them up toward your mouth to place soft kisses despite the mess of battle that lingers. Then you drag him further into the room, placing him on the edge of the bed. 

“Do you know who Beshaba is?” you ask, plain and simple, unsure how else to start the conversation of your past as you sit beside him.

“The deity?”

You nod, slowly, letting your gaze anxiously fall to your lap. “I grew up in one of her churches after my parents died. Learned everything I know about the world from a priestess named Hessa.”

As you try your best to further collect your thoughts, Astarion leans in, narrowing his eyes at the way your hands start to shake against your thigh.

“Is she the one in your dream?” he asks.  

Without hesitation, you nod. “They thrive on infliction,” you explain after, watching him frown. Taking in the way his demeanour changes without warning to become something you’re not quite sure you've seen before. “Their doctrine revolves around fear. If you don’t participate you’re expected to endure only pain and misfortune.”

You remember growing up underneath all these women, listening to their cautionary tales of Beshaba’s terror. It instilled fear in you from the get-go —taught you that the only way to endure the horrors of this life was to devote yourself to her. To offer everything you could in exchange for peace, so you did. Unwaveringly so. 

“As a child, I grew up listening to these women scare everyone for the sake of their goddess.” You pause to swallow, feeling the memories of Hessa’s knife each time you later disobeyed, slice across your skin. “Then, as an adult, I followed the cycle.”

“Willingly?”

You shrug your shoulders. “At first.” 

You remember as soon as you were old enough you were sent out to recruit. To trick the minds of all the simple folk, weaving fabricated tales of disasters that were carried out by Beshaba’s hand. It was difficult to do. Seeing all those ruined minds come crawling to you for salvation —begging for forgiveness in the form of eternal loyalty. 

Thankfully though, it grew old pretty quickly. The formula of travelling Faerûn, following the endless calamity and blaming it on the lack of faith was enough to pull you out of the fog. As each day passed, it became increasingly hard to pretend your faith was still intact, so you formulated a plan. 

“When we arrived in Baldur’s Gate I tried to leave. In the middle of the night I abandoned my sisters —tried to run and never look back but…”

There’s a moment where your mouth just closes, trailing from the memories of your story; straying solely to the image of Hessa. To her hands and face each time she broke you apart and put you back together. 

Without even trying you can feel her next to you, whispering her teachings in your ear —touching your scars with calloused hands. Her voice still has that icy hold on you even when you’re far away, keeping you still as she forces you down to kneel on the stone floor and await your punishment. 

A punishment you’ll always feel you deserve. Even now that you’ve well and truly denounced the faith. Deep down you still feel the guilt of your exit. The pain of having to carry the trauma of an existence you never had the choice of living. To this day, it still eats away through the scars that line your stomach. Boring lines of betrayal across your skin.

The last thing you want to do is cry, but as the reminder of such abuse continues to penetrate your mind you find the tears falling anyway. Collecting at the edges of your eyes so quickly that you’re forced to close them in order to reset your vision.

As you do you feel Astarion wrapping himself completely around you. Pulling you into his chest with heavy hands that feel nothing like hers. Reminding you that you’re safe. That you’re here with him and nobody else. 

“Is this wretched woman still stationed in Baldur’s?” 

You feel his fingers on your chin, pulling your face up so that he can see you when you nod, holding back tears. 

“Good. Then our destinations align.” 

His voice sounds different. Instead of the usual softness or flirtation, it’s spoken through clenched teeth that strain against his throat, somehow feeling almost like a threat. An unspoken but well-articulated phrase of warning that has you sniffing and wiping your eyes. “What do you mean?” 

At first, you figure he’s talking about the Illithid. The urgent need to get to Baldur’s Gate before time runs out. But then you’re ripped back to reality —to the moments where he’s briefly mentioned his desire to return home. To finish whatever business he has after this timely journey is over. 

“The person who sent the hunter—“

He practically spits out his name. Cazador Szarr. A man you’re unfortunately well aware of given his reputation. 

After arriving in Baldur’s Gate it was common knowledge to avoid him and his property. As awful as your church was about promoting the misfortunes of others, they made it very clear not to get involved. According to them, he was an unholy man —one that could never fully be understood due to the obvious seclusion of his person.

To this day, you've always wondered what lies behind those doors of his. What sinister things he was up to throughout the years. 

However, when you look at Astarion —when you see the way his rage suddenly seems to know no bounds, you know it’s bad. Worse than bad considering Astarion hardly ever gets angry. Sure, annoyance and frustration often come out but anger —real anger— never does.  

“When you told me that you wished I didn’t know what it felt like, I didn’t realize how similar our experiences were.” His fingers rub rough circles into your flesh, distracting his mind as he lets out a breath and continues. “I didn’t know the level of your pain.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“I know.”

His voice cracks. Your heart breaks. Then, both of you sit in another wave of silence, letting the words previously spoken sit at your feet as you stare at one another, trying to gauge what happens next.

You don’t anticipate his hands moving to his armour. Nor do you retain any sense of restraint when you reach to follow them, both of you working to pry it off before he pulls his tunic over his head. 

Despite being on the road together for so long you’ve never seen him bare like this. So open and willing to prove to you that he's here. With you, here’s here and ready to share whatever you think you need. 

Embarrassingly, it makes you want to cry all over again, reaching for his face. Feeling that familiar coolness beneath your touch as he turns to rest both hands on your hips again.

“It’s been so long since I’ve willingly wanted this.”

“This?” You look at him confused.

“To be intimate.” His fingers tighten around your flesh, digging into the plush ever so slightly. “To share the act of sex with another rather than exploit it.”

There’s a small smile that creeps through then. An inkling of hope for the vampire’s happiness as you inch in closer, placing the softest kiss you can muster to his cheek. “But you’re nervous?”

“Terribly,” he admits with a heavy breath. “In the span of 200 years I’ve bed countless men and women —all of them willing. All of them happy to have enjoyed my body only to end up at death’s door.”

It’s a lot to take in —the admittance of his faults. As soon as the first detail is uttered it’s as if the floodgates open and he’s telling you everything. From the moment he was turned and forced to crawl from his grave to the years that followed luring person after person into the Szarr home for a master so cruel you immediately wish to kill him. 

“I spent so long under that bastard’s thumb that… I don’t even know who I am anymore. How I’m meant to be now that I’ve attained even the slightest bit of freedom.” 

You understand how he feels. Perhaps the levels are different but deep within there’s always been this nagging feeling of how you’re supposed to live your life. How you feel as though you should be travelling the world in search of a new purpose rather than once again fulfilling someone else’s. 

But then you remember what’s at stake. And how even someone else’s fate can affect your livelihood. Then it’s as if the cycle repeats itself, constantly reminding you that if you don’t participate then that’s the end. Your freedom is null just as Astarion’s, leaving you to wonder what’s the point of it all.

“I think people like you and I are just meant to live.” Your hands move up to touch his hair. Carefully, you grip his curls between your fingers, pressing the pads into his skull as you run them down, hearing him sigh. “To enjoy what little time we have.”

“Little?” He raises his brow with a smirk. “Darling, I’m immortal.”

“True but you could still become a Mind-flayer like the rest of us.”

“Fair point.”

He seems calmer now. The usual persona of his overbearing personality coming through, making you grin. 

Instead of tightly wound he’s relaxed under your hold, practically melting against your touch as he lowers himself to rest on your shoulder. As he does, you end up catching a glimpse of his back, fully seeing Cazador’s work in the form of rough, red etchings that coat his entire spine. 

You have to force yourself not to ask about them until he’s ready, tightening the hold you have around his head as you riddle his face in kisses, letting your lips linger against his temple as you close your eyes. 

“They’re not as bad as they look,” he says then, somehow reading your mind. 

As painful as it is to admit, you know he’s right. Compared to other scars you’ve seen his look undeniably perfect. The way they paint the image of what looks to be some sort of sigil against his pale flesh. Despite the violence endured to create such a piece, it’s obvious that there was care put in too. A meticulous hand working away with the precision of someone borderline obsessed. 

If it wasn’t the result of abuse you could even call it beautiful. But since it’s not, you only continue to hold him, gripping his face for dear life, wondering what kind of pain he had to suffer to earn such a massive reminder of his ownership. 

“Do you know what it is?”

He lifts his head, looking at you like he’s seeking the answer himself. “A brand I’m guessing. Not that I can tell. Unlike you I can’t use a mirror. Nor can I very well reach to trace the damned thing myself.” 

Your fingers twitch at his words, feeling the temptation to touch them grow as you remember your own scars. In terms of appearance, they’re much more rigid. Three jagged lines that cover the middle of your stomach, making sure you remember. Ensuring your mind that every day you live on this earth —every new moment spent thinking that you’re worthy of whatever this is between you— that you’ll never be normal. 

The moment they dug that first knife into your gut you were marked for life. Branded just like him. 

Swallowing hard you force yourself to slip away from his grasp, watching the confusion that erupts before the understanding starts as you shakily discard your leather layer and throw your tunic over your head. 

It takes everything in you not to put it back on when you see the look on Astarion’s face. How it studies you with knitted brows and a clenched jaw that makes you want to hold him again.

“Mine are just… lines. They don’t mean anything.” As you motion to the thick slashes that have been carved over countless times you catch his gaze twitching upward, taking in the exhaustion.

“She did this?”

After you nod you feel his hand move forward, ever so gently grazing the top of the centre line with curiosity. “How many times?”

“I don’t remember.”

“But you remember how it felt?”

You press your lips together, breathing through your nose. Sucking in the Inn’s dusty air before blowing it out as you nod, forcing back the memory. Pushing through the pain as your tadpole squirms, asking to let him in. 

Like all the other feelings you’ve shared as of late, it’s been so long since you’ve felt his presence like this. Even with the Illithid’s constant use outside of each other, when he calls out to you it’s completely different. The movement behind your eye doesn’t feel like an annoyance. It feels like a call. A tingle of hope that has you answering before you can even question what it is he might want. 

When you answer there’s a warmth that hits your skin. Enveloping you completely, you feel the aching of the heat carry through your extremities, cascading down in anxious pools that have you breathing rather hard. Closing your eyes, you see the image of Astarion’s hands in front of you. Slowly he wiggles his fingers and turns his palms, taking in the fact that he’s safely under the sun, despite what he is. 

You realize then that this is the first memory he has of freedom. Of a life where he truly believes the tether’s been severed. All the thoughts inside his mind are full of nerves. Building anxieties of the past and the future being interrupted by a present he never thought was possible. 

It’s a memory that stirs you to move. To guide his hands to your waist as you crawl into his lap and grab his chin. 

Touching his skin you feel that same warmth flow through to your core. Letting it take over all the thoughts of scarring and owners and the lives you’ve both lived to get to this point, it takes away your breath. Pulls from you the needs of anything but him. 

In this moment, none of it matters anymore. Every experience is nothing more than a dimming shadow compared to the sensation of his breath wafting over your face as you angle your head down to look at him.

“Do you want this?”

His tongue darts out to line his lips. His hunger growing at the sight of you —at the feeling of you moulded to him like melting wax just cool enough to touch. “Yes.”

“So it’s okay if I—“

There’s a hand in your hair before you can finish, forcing you down to his mouth. It’s rough at first but quickly softens once he’s got you where he wants you. Firmly set atop his thighs and in his grasp. Allowing him enough access to reach up and touch the edge of your neck, his thumb lingering towards the centre to press a soft touch —reminding you that you have to breathe. That the usage of your lungs is no longer second nature but something you actively have to think about through the open-mouthed kisses that work to take it all away. 

Your head dizzies at the feeling. All at once your vision blurs while your hands begin to roam, stretching over skin and bone, eventually hitting raised scars that make you kiss him even harder, knowing it’s what he needs. What he deserves after countless years of loveless encounters. After touches, empty of anything resembling the adoration you wish to offer him.  

While laying waste to his bruising lips, you clumsily slide down his lap so that you’re standing on the ground, tucked between his open legs and bending forward. 

Confused, you feel his face twist against your own, prompting you to pull away and lower yourself further, letting your knees gently come in contact with the floor. 

“I was enjoying you where you were,” he muses then, cocking his head to focus on the way your hands begin to slide up over his knees, resting on each outer thigh. 

“And now you’ll enjoy me over here.” You smirk.

“Cheeky pup.” 

“The cheekiest.” 

After that, you shuffle closer and reach for his belt, keeping eye contact every step of the way to make sure you aren’t stepping over any boundaries. 

The last thing you’d want is to make him feel uncomfortable —to feel used in all the ways he used to experience. So you combat all that by checking in; offering him subtle glances every time you take the next step. 

You can tell immediately that he’s appreciative. Whenever he nods there’s a faint smile that sits across his lips, offering you approval as your fingers knock against the metal clasp of his belt, shakily moving to open it up.

At some point he ends up doing it himself, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and laugh at the nerves that render your fingers useless. Nerves that only spread when you stare up at his face while his hands busily move the strap aside.

After tossing his belt aside he doesn’t let you go further. Instead, he drags you further between his legs, leaning down to cup your cheeks and kiss you all over again.

It’s distracting, to say the least. The feeling of his lips moving in tandem with your own as he reaches around to rid you of your bra with two quick swipes, leaving you just as bare as him. 

It sends a shiver down your spine that makes him smirk, his upper lip quirking against yours before he gently bites down making you groan. 

“Can’t let you be the only one with a view,” he mutters against you, making you awkwardly laugh as you watch his gaze lower to your naked chest. “Can I, pet?”

“No, I suppose not.” 

Your voice sounds anything but confident as his hands continue their descent, matching your previous desires when they linger at your belt, waiting for you to give him the okay. 

When you do he makes quick work, unclasping the belt with skillful hands before lightly smacking your ass, signalling you to stand before he carefully slides the rest of it down, thumbing the edges of your legs. 

You have to force yourself not to cry out right then and there, feeling overwhelmed by the soft touch of his fingers. How they barely graze the outer parts of your already parting thighs, stopping at your knees when he looks up at you with a smirk.

“You seem nervous, darling.” 

Rolling your eyes, you shove an open palm to his chest, pushing him back against the bed with a scoff. One that makes him laugh and watch as you kick off the remainder of the fabric, trying to appear brave. Something that proves to be harder than you anticipate when he swiftly follows suit, giving you a show of your own in the form of freshly exposed skin you’ve only ever imagined in the deepest corners of your mind. 

In almost an instant, the fabric slips away, revealing more of him than you possibly could’ve expected, making your mind wander as the building arousal between your thighs twitches with desire. Telling you that you need this. 

You open your mouth to ask for more only to be yanked upon his lap causing a yelp to fall from your lips that makes you both laugh. 

“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”

With a smile, his eyes scan your naked frame. Up and down and back, they linger at every part as if he’s studying you for future use. Taking mental notes with each passing freckle or scar that lines the length of bare skin. “I mean truly, look at you.” 

As he speaks, one hand runs along your neck —over your shoulder and down your arm until it’s resting at your thigh, gripping you tight. “I’m not sure what God out there decided to make you but remind me to give them my utmost thanks after this is over.”

When he leans in you have to force yourself not to nervously laugh at his praise, once again feeling his lips find refuge on your own, driving you to take things further. Encouraging you to make him feel as good as he deserves. 

This time though, instead of asking for approval with a glance you do so with a touch, reaching down to grip the end of his length with gentle hands that make him moan. Ever so quietly, the second you hear it you immediately strengthen your hold, using your free hand to grip his shoulder as you work him slowly, noticing him push. Feeling the subtle arc of his hips buck against your hand, wanting more.

For a moment you think about doing it. Letting your hand tighten further while you pick up the pace. It’d be easy. Nothing more than a simple readjustment but something mischievous stops you from doing it. 

Remembering that night at the grove —the one where he relentlessly teased just to get a rise out of you— you find yourself smirking and pulling away, gripping his shoulder even tighter to keep him in place.

Almost immediately, he knows exactly what you’re doing. He can feel it in the way you languidly pull at his cock, barely holding on with each stroke. 

“You think you’re clever, do you?”

You quirk your brow and bite your lip, massaging the apex of his shoulder. “I have to be if I’m going to be hanging around you.”

Furthering his torment, you then tighten your grip for a couple more pumps before returning to your previous pace, eliciting a hiss of disapproval that has him gripping both your hips and maneuvering you to sit against his right thigh. 

“Oh really?” 

Pushing up into your core, Astarion shifts you back and forth with his hands, making your breath catch inside your throat once you realize what you’ve done. How you’ve instantly set yourself up for a failure you know he’ll only revel in winning.

Considering he’s more than capable of making you fluster solely with words, you should’ve expected this —saw it coming from a mile away. 

Continuing your ministrations as lazily as possible, he barely registers them as he glides your folds against his leg. Holding you down, he manages to apply the perfect amount of pressure to build the tension, making you press your lips tightly together, forcing back any sound that might be deemed a loss. 

Even though it’s anything but a competition. A detail that’s reminded once he maneuvers one of his hands to cup your sex, rubbing rough circles into your clit. 

It makes you lose all semblance of thought, forgetting the hold you have on his cock as you shakily reach for his other shoulder, steadying yourself against him. 

“Doesn’t it feel nice when you give in?” 

Despite the context, there’s surprisingly no snark to his words. No sarcasm or bite —just genuine thought. A question so true to its word that all you can do is pant through the building pleasure and nod; letting him raise you off his leg and station himself at your entrance. 

It fills your mind to the brim with needs and wants you never thought you’d feel again. Having been subjected to abuse and then forced upon a journey you’re still not sure you’re ready for, the thought of attachments like this never once crossed your mind. 

Even after everything you’d been through, you never thought Astarion was capable of such tenderness —of loving care and safekeeping. Of gentle touches that run across your aching skin as he looks at you and you at him, both of you deciding it’s okay. 

As soon as it’s given, he’s sliding into you. Painfully slow, he uses the approval to grant you access to your shared pleasure, pushing through the tightness just as you open your mouth.

“Feel alright?”

Your fingers press against his neck as they slide up to cup his chin so you can pull your foreheads together. “More than alright.”

Through an unsteady breath, he laughs and guides you further down, allowing you both to savour the sensation for a moment before pulling back out again. 

As soon as he’s missing you’re already longing for more. Desperate for the fill of his cock, prompting a whine to escape; earning yourself a tut. 

“Remember patience?”

You do. More than anything in this moment you remember your claim and how foolish it was to think he wouldn’t forget it. 

“I recall you saying—"

“Astarion, please.” 

You’re not sure if it’s the anguish in your voice or the squirming of your hips that does it, but almost instantly he’s giving in. Once again offering you exactly what you need in the form of a push and pull so viscerally satisfying you’re left slumped against his chest, keeping hold of his neck. Forcing his hand to grip the back of your head to see the way he ruts inside of you. 

It’s a sight that’s almost too much. One that makes you moan and close your eyes, allowing him to move your face to his. At which point you’re on the precipice of ruin. Both body and mind becoming a mess of everything and nothing, forcing your breath to falter. 

You can tell Astarion’s in the same boat, struggling to maintain his starting pace the longer you mindlessly grind against him, unable to contribute much of anything else.

Together, the two of you try to move in unison, pushing and pushing —inhaling and exhaling. Anything you can do to share the burden of the building pleasure that grows and grows until—

When it hits, it feels better than you imagined. Deep within there’s a blooming that unfolds, petal by petal, opening to reveal unholy tremors that make you release a heavy plume of air through your closed lips. 

Gripping you close, you can feel Astarion follow quickly behind, twitching inside before he inevitably spills out, making both of you groan and fall back onto the bed in a fit of nervous laughter before he cheekily suggests you make use of the tub. 

-

TAGLIST: @poohxlove @gaiasmight @sassy-stupid @novarex @v-gremlin @sapphiccloud @lipstickghoulie @kuroitsukyo@jjfchk@idiotsatan@bluestuesday@bloopthebat@art-by-greenie@heneralmoon@sukunababe@dreamingaboutyousworld@ranfithegood@haniscrying@liadamerondjarin@the-lake-is-calling@marina-and-the-memes@rookieoftheyear@zraloci-cpr@kaetmo@snickerdoodle-daydream@wowowwild@d1anna@raswiet@conniesbbymama@venus-wrts@demonicthorns@kihten@deadglamsheep@sanscas@spammypasta@leighsartworks216@rose-gold-blue@p1ssmagg0t@hellish-writes@ghostinvenus@otayz@sexysquatch@sleepyeclair@colorful-anxieties@alina-exe@ilana-the-lasagna@lillifer@girlwiththepapatattoo@y2cade@acelin-ginsberg@pinkuranium@catrad0rable@scarletrosesposts@qwnamidala@itsrosebabe@bunnyperi@queenofcarrotflowers-s@tatumadams20@spkyxszn@chlort@f3v3rs@awkwardwookie@joy-the-reader@warm-milk-with-honey-blog@vertigocrime@iyis@wildpiper@pebblethestone@tillywasneverhere@bex-03@kaetmo@revemiya@staticspouse@itzagothamcitysiren@djarinsmixtape@when-the-night-came@epicy0n@bababahannah@sleepyred1703@lotus-99@lofcompass@r4d10h34d5@vampninjaz@itsmekalou@offbrandhand@yikes-buddy@konenichi

(If you'd like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form. Also, if your name isn't on here and it should be I couldn't tag you so message me and I'll try again next time!)

#where's your patience? #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

[punksdoll]

~~~𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆~~~

gif not mine like, comments, & reblogs appreciated

𝑹𝒉𝒆𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ^owner of gif

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝑹𝒉𝒆𝒂 𝒂𝒃𝒔𝒐𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚/𝒏.

𝒂/𝒏: 𝒘𝒉𝒐𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒊’𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒔𝒌. 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒃𝒕 𝒊𝒕:) 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒊 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚<𝟑

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓, 𝒓𝒉𝒆𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕, 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇

not proofread

Rhea looks annoyed as she grips on y/n where she is positioned on her shoulder, thrashing around as she tries attacking JD McDonagh as he had just cost her, her match.

“You pissed mami number 2 offff…” Dominik chuckles as he watches y/n reach her arm out trying to get at JD.

“Let me go RHEA!” Y/n shouts out Rhea’s name.

“You need to calm down. I will drop you.” Rhea says sternly, setting Y/n down slowly.

Y/n looks up at Rhea then back at JD, “He just cost me my dam match. I will most definitely NOT calm down.” Y/n tries brushing by Rhea, only for her to wrap her arms around her middle section and lift her away from JD. “RHEA!” Y/n exclaims.

“He didn’t mean it, y/n/n.” Finn tries, “He was just gonna help you win…”

Y/n slowly looks at Finn, “Then why did I lose.” She questions.

It’s silent as Finn and Y/n have a stare off before Rhea decides it enough and lifts Y/n up. “We’ll see you all at the hotel, goodbye.”

Y/n huffs as she dangles on Rhea’s shoulder while Rhea walks away from their friends. “You can put me down now, Rhea.” She says as she lifts herself up and stares down at Rhea with her arm wrapped around her neck.

“I’m alright, shortcake.”

Y/n scowls as Rhea stuffs her in the car.

•••

Y/n lets out a drama gasp as she watches Rhea pin Piper Viven, making them win the woman’s tag team championship.

“Oh my god.” Y/n says before rushing in and jumping at Rhea who immediately catches her, “WE WON WE WON!” Y/n exclaims as Rhea twirls her around with a laugh.

“Here are your winners…The Judgment Day!”

•••

“Oh my god, is this what it feels like to own the division?” Y/n asks from where she is hanging on, on Rhea’s back as her and her friends walk to their hotel rooms.

“That and more.” Rhea smirks, glancing over at her from her shoulder before looking back and walking towards their hotel room.

“Night!”

“Night!”

“Good night!

“Buenas Noches.” Y/n blows her friends kisses before Rhea walks in the hotel room and closes the door.

•••

“1! 2! 3!” The crowd chants and everyone cheers as Y/n jolts up with a cry, “Here is your winner and the NEW women’s champion, Y/n Y/l/n!”

Y/n rushes up and snatches what was iyo’s belt, now hers, away from the ref as she holds it up proudly with a big smile on her face.

“Hell yeah!” Y/n hears Rhea shout before feeling the ring shake and feels herself being lifted up by Rhea and twirled around. “YOU DID IT.” Rhea shouts as she holds Y/n.

Y/n squeals and wraps her limbs tighter around Rhea, “I didddd.” Y/n claps, “Oh my gosh I did.”

•••

“I…ammmmmm” Y/n slurs as she stumbles over to Rhea who laughs at her drunken state. “I am your NEW WOMENS CHAMPION.” Y/n shouts as she holds up a corona in the air before taking a swig of it.

“That’s enough for you today…” Rhea chuckles, taking away the beer bottle and picking Y/n up bridal style. “We’ll see ya tomorrow.” Rhea tells their friends before walking out of their hotel room to go to hers and Y/n’s.

“Rhea…” Y/n whispers loudly as she lays her head on her best friends shoulder “I’m women’s champion.”

•••

Y/n lets out a cry as she watches Iyo hold up the women’s championship belt. They just had their rematch and unfortunately for y/n, she had lost.

“I’m not women’s champion…” Y/n frowns as she slowly gets out the ring and limps towards Rhea who stops her almost immediately and picks her up.

“We’re gonna get you that back, I promise.” Rhea says angrily as she holds y/n bridal style while walking up the ramp. “Don’t you dare cry.”

Y/n immediately starts crying as she shoves her face in Rhea’s neck, “I failed…”

•••

Y/n screams as she jumps up and down, “I did it! I did it! I did it!!” Y/n claps her hands before snatching the women’s championship away from the ref right as Rhea slides in. Y/n runs at Rhea and jumps into her arms, “I’m champion again!”

“Our champion.” Rhea smiles and holds her as they both raise their titles up to show the whole world who’s dominating the company.

#wwe imagine #wwe raw #wwe smackdown #wwe x reader #wwe one shot #wwe superstars #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley #mami rhea #rhea ripley imagine #wwe rhea ripley #wwe judgement day #the judgement day

[apoemaday]

Facts About the Moon

by Dorianne Laux

The moon is backing away from us an inch and a half each year. That means if you’re like me and were born around fifty years ago the moon was a full six feet closer to the earth. What’s a person supposed to do? I feel the gray cloud of consternation travel across my face. I begin thinking about the moon-lit past, how if you go back far enough you can imagine the breathtaking hugeness of the moon, prehistoric solar eclipses when the moon covered the sun so completely there was no corona, only a darkness we had no word for. And future eclipses will look like this: the moon a small black pupil in the eye of the sun. But these are bald facts. What bothers me most is that someday the moon will spiral right out of orbit and all land-based life will die. The moon keeps the oceans from swallowing the shores, keeps the electromagnetic fields in check at the polar ends of the earth. And please don’t tell me what I already know, that it won’t happen for a long time. I don’t care. I’m afraid of what will happen to the moon. Forget us. We don’t deserve the moon. Maybe we once did but not now after all we’ve done. These nights I harbor a secret pity for the moon, rolling around alone in space without her milky planet, her only child, a mother who’s lost a child, a bad child, a greedy child or maybe a grown boy who’s murdered and raped, a mother can’t help it, she loves that boy anyway, and in spite of herself she misses him, and if you sit beside her on the padded hospital bench outside the door to his room you can’t not take her hand, listen to her while she weeps, telling you how sweet he was, how blue his eyes, and you know she’s only romanticizing, that she’s conveniently forgotten the bruises and booze, the stolen car, the day he ripped the phones from the walls, and you want to slap her back to sanity, remind her of the truth: he was a leech, a fuckup, a little shit, and you almost do until she lifts her pale puffy face, her eyes two craters and then you can’t help it either, you know love when you see it, you can feel its lunar strength, its brutal pull.

#poetry #dorianne laux #facts about the moon #requested poem

[katakaluptastrophy]

So we all know how Ianthe became a Lyctor for “ultimate power—and posters of [her] face.”

And I'm sure someone made a nice icon.

But you know who would have definitely gotten a poster of their face? Coronabeth.

Think about it: every House but the Ninth has lost a scion. In a culture that thrives on melodrama and the conspicuous consumption of death, there is a wave of hysterical funerary fervour to mourn their lost leaders. And the Third - the House of glitz, trendsetting, and political intrigue - has lost its beloved Crown Princess.

We don't know a huge amount about funerals in the Nine Houses, but we do know a bit about Third House funerals:

The front coffin is distinguished from its fellows by its gorgeous arrangement of flowers and wreaths. The flowers are all in hues of gold or violet, and are fake. The coffin is hinged open at the front, with its contents hidden from view by the flowers. A tray of meat is rested on the closed bottom half of the coffin. A queue of gaudily masked mourners process past the coffin, slowly, each one taking a strip of meat, then stopping by the head to lean within—kissing or feeding; we can’t be sure. - TUG

Apparently, a Third House funeral - unsurprisingly for flesh magicians - focuses on the physical. The reverence of/fear of/(lust for?) the body. A wake on steroids. But they received no body for Coronabeth. So I can only imagine larger than life posters of Corona decked with flowers, the weeping crowds surging through the streets of Ida, etc etc... Poor Ianthe, second place once again to a 'corpse'.

Moving past Ianthe to House funerary customs in general, and to the awful aftermath of the Lyctor trials in particular, it seems especially unfair that neither of the flesh magic Houses got a body back to mourn. Obviously Corona wasn't actually dead, but for those who believed her to be, the lack of a body for such visceral funerary rights must have been traumatic.

We don't have as many details of Seventh funerals, but the House famous for it's "beguiling corpses" likely also focuses much of its post-mortem ritual around the body. Dulcie suggests that the deceased might even leave specific instructions in their will about the appearance of their corpse:

That drawing looked nothing like me. I loved it. You don’t know this so it doesn’t help, but I included it in my will and put down that I wanted to look like that after I died. I thought maybe it would give you a laugh at the funeral, you know? - TUG

Meanwhile, the Fourth, Fifth, and Eighth receive their perfect pairs of "statuesque and incorruptible" bodies, preserved beyond the wildest dreams of the Seventh. These Houses are all spirit magicians. The Fourth, for whom thanergetically detonating oneself on a battlefield far from the rays of Dominicus isn't unheard of, almost certainly have funerary rites that don't presuppose a body. And the Fifth, whose necromantic practice is far more concerned with the spirit than the body, likely centre their most significant funerary rites around the ghost.

Y'know, the bit they don't have? Just as the flesh magicians of the Third and Seventh would have been unable to mourn their lost scions with rites around the body, the Fifth would have been unable to call their ghosts, trapped in Harrow's River bubble.

So amidst all the grief and awfulness, and the Emperor refusing to answer any questions about what happened (why are they all dead? Why are so many bodies missing? Where are the ghosts? Why are the bodies so creepily perfect?), half the Houses can't even mourn their dead in the way they normally would.

#the locked tomb #tlt meta #harrow the ninth #Tamsyn I am begging you for more details about the political fallout of the Lyctor trials in ATN

[leennaan]

Alessia Russo // Take on the world pt2

Here it is. Part two of „Take on the world“

Pt1 can be found here

Warnings: mentions of death and mental health problems. It’s not very detailed but it is mentioned so if that triggers you don’t read it. Take care of yourself.

With that being said, enjoy reading💕

———————————————————————

A few weeks had gone by since Alessia and Lotte had left the states, but the Corona situation had only worsened since then.

You left Chaphill a week after the two English girls to go back to your family in New York.

Alessia and you called each other daily. Sometimes you called her in the morning, and you would make breakfast for yourself and your little sister while she ate lunch or did her exercises. Sometimes it would already be night in England, and you would talk about your day while the blonde would just listen to you until she fell asleep.

The distance was hard for you both, as you were used to being in close proximity 24/7, but you managed.

But it got harder and harder when your girlfriend called you less and less. When you did talk to each other, you could sense that something was wrong, but you didn’t want to pressure Lessi.

When Alessia hadn’t talked to you in over two days with not even a text, you got worried.

You were scared that you had done anything. That she didn’t love you anymore. But also, maybe something had happened. Whenever the two of you talked, she looked drained with swollen and red-rimmed eyes. She looked like she had cried a lot, and it made you sick that you didn’t know what had happened to her.

So on the second day, she hadn’t called or answered your text, so you decided to call Lotte.

„Hey Y/N. What happened? You look like you cried."

Lotte had answered the second you dialed her number.

A son escaped your lips, and Lotte was instantly concerned.

„Calm down. Talk to me. What’s going on?"

„Lessi, she, I think she, she wants to break up with me."

You sobbed.

„Lessi wants what? Why would you say that? That girl is heads over heels in love with you.“

Lotte looked at you like you had lost your head or something. A few days ago, you would have believed her in an instant, but now you're not so sure.

"She hasn’t called me or answered my text in the last two days. That’s so unlike her. She called me even two or three times a day not many days ago, and then it got less and less, and the texts got shorter and shorter, and now she stopped altogether.“

You explained to Lotte, who looked more and more worried.

„Y/n I don’t think that that has anything to do with you. She hasn’t talked to me either, and the last time we talked, she looked so tired and sad."

Now you felt really bad. You had noticed that something was up with your girlfriend, but instead of trying to help her, you got stuck in your own head.

"You are right, Lotts. She looked like she had cried a lot when we last talked.“

„You know what? I will drive over tomorrow and look at how she is doing. I call you when I know more."

„Thank you, Lotts. I feel so stupid. I should have released that something wasn’t right. I wish I was with you guys. I want to help Lessi, but I feel like I am too far away.“

It took you a few hours to comprehend what Lotte had said.

You really felt dumb. The way you noticed her red and swollen eyes, her small voice when she talked, the way she seemed to be miles away—never once had you thought about why she was like that. Your mind had gone straight to thinking she would break up with you.

Now angry at yourself, you threw your mobile phone across the room, only to scramble to your feet and quickly make your way over to it when it started ringing.

You looked at your screen, which read “star girl." Stunned, you looked at the clock. It was around 3 a.m. in the morning in London. Now concerned about Alessia, you quickly accepted the face-time call.

You could barely make Alessia out in the darkness of her room, but you could definitely hear her sniffling.

“Lessi Baby? What’s wrong?” You asked, concerned, but she didn’t answer you.

"Baby, you scare me. You can talk to me; you know that, right?” It was silent for a few seconds, but it felt like hours until the blonde quietly started to talk.

"He, he is gone, Y/N."

Immediately, your heart sank. "They said he was better; they said he would be released soon. I don’t know what to do; y/n, he is gone.“

You watched as Alessia started to cry, and you wished nothing more than to be there with her. To be able to hold her. You knew she was talking about her grandpa. The situation in Italy was still tense. A lot of people were dying because of COVID, but until now, no one close to you was affected. Now that had changed, and you couldn’t imagine how Alessia must feel.

„Baby I am so sorry. I wish I could hold you. Is there anything I can do for you?“ You asked, now hating this whole situation even more.

Alessia's blue eyes were chiming with tears, and you had to fight back your own. Seeing Alessia like this broke you.

„Can you just talk to me? I haven’t slept since yesterday, when we got the call. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face."

„Of course I can. Anything specific?“ Your girlfriend shook her head.

„My parents are thinking of adopting a dog. They said that with me and also my sister going to college next year, they will be lonely. I felt betrayed that now that I am out of the house, they want a dog. You know I wanted one since I was little.“

And so you talked to her for the next few hours. Here and there, Alessia would hum or nod her head at you to show that she was listening. Slowly, you noticed her eyelids dropping and watched her fall into a restless sleep.

You stayed on the phone even after she fell asleep. As you watched her, a lone tear made its way down your cheek.

A few hours later, you woke up feeling slightly disoriented. You grabbed your phone from where it lay next to you.

Alessia had sent you a thank-you text and had wished you a good day.

That’s how the next few days went. At first, Alessia called you after she couldn’t fall asleep for hours, but you couldn’t see her struggling even more, so you started to call her around six p.m. London time. Often, Alessia just wanted to hear your voice, and you obliged, telling her about your day. One day you even played on your guitar after what felt like years. You started playing when you were little, but it got less and less in recent years. Now you were singing for her songs that you thought she liked or that she requested.

She didn’t know that you could play or sing, but she loved it, and so did you.

It kind of got therapeutic for you too, and slowly you started playing for yourself again, even when you were not talking to Alessia.

When the summer neared, you got increasingly excited.

Alessia was feeling better; at least that was what she told you.

You could still see the pain in her eyes, and you knew that she wasn’t as well as she said, but she was slowly getting there. Her smiles became more real again, and you knew she slept better because the begs under her eyes got less prominent.

Around early June, you went back to campus, and this time you took your guitar with you.

Over the last few weeks, you even started to write little songs. Nothing was good in your opinion, but it helped you sort out your thoughts.

Alessia and Lotte called you one afternoon when you were sitting in your dorm room with your guitar in hand, and they were both really buzzing. You felt the good energy as soon as you accepted the call.

„We are coming back!“ Was the first thing that Allesia shouted.

„Wait what?“ You asked, perplexed.

„Yes, we just booked our flight for next week. The restrictions aren’t as bad as before, and we want to get back as soon as possible. I know Blondie over here has missed you an awful lot, but I missed you almost as much," answered Lotte, and you couldn’t help the big grin that spread over your face when Alessia punched Lotte lightly on the shoulder.

„No way, guys, I am so excited. When are you back? I’ll pick you up from the airport. I can’t believe it. I missed you both. Campus and everything just isn’t the same without you Brits.“ You laughed.

That’s how you found yourself in the airport in North Carolina only five days later, impatiently waiting for the two girls to arrive.

And with almost one and a half hours of delay, they landed. As soon as you saw Alessia, you couldn’t help yourself, and you sprinted right into her arms. She had dropped her luggage to be able to hoist you up into her arms. You wrapped your legs around her waist, clinging to her like a koala.

„Oh how I have missed you." Whispered Lessi into your ear, not letting go of you. You answered by kissing her. It felt so good to have her lips on yours again.

After what felt like hours but in reality were only a few seconds, Lotte interrupted you two. „I know you guys love each other and missed each other so much, but I also missed you. Can I at least get a hug?“

Both Lessi and you couldn’t help but laugh before your girlfriend let you down, and you hugged Lotte. „I missed you too, Lotts.“

The next few weeks were the best you had for a while. Being able to spend time with your girlfriend made you extremely happy, and you could see that Alessia was feeling better too.

Of course, there were days when she was feeling down, but being able to just hug you was enough to make her better.

On days she was feeling especially down, you would get out your guitar and play something for her. You even taught her a few accords.

But soon you noticed that not all things were back to perfect.

At training, there was uncertainty about stuff and players. No one knew what the season would bring.

It wasn’t decided whether the games would be held as normal or if there would even be a college cup.

Training was hard if no one knew what they trained for.

You noticed that Lotte and Alessia were not happy with the situation.

„When we don’t have games, we are losing our opportunities.“ Said Lotte one evening when you were sitting together with the whole team. Of course, she was right. Without games to watch for national or club coaches, they would lose their spot on the national team and chances for a professional contract after college.

„I talked with the guffer today. He said he has no idea what’s going to happen this season. I also asked my brother what I should do. He recommended looking for offers back in England.“ Said Alessia while she was cuddled by your side. You didn’t want the girls to leave again, but you knew the situation would probably be the best. „What about you guys? Do you consider playing outside the U.S.?“ asked Lois. You watched as your friends answered. „I don’t know. My dream was always to play in the NWSL. It doesn’t really matter to me anyway. I‘ve got two years of college left, and my mother would literally disown me if I dropped out.“ The fact that you were a year younger than most of your close friends and girlfriend just hit you. Knowing that you would be left behind for a year even without this whole Corona thing going on.

Alessia noticed that your mind was starting to wander. Your habit of overthinking is getting the better of you again. So you hadn’t noticed her standing up. Only once did she pull you towards her, carefully maneuvering you out of the room.

„Baby breath. Breath. I am here. Follow my breathing. That’s it, baby. Slowly. Yes. There you are.“ Slowly, your breathing settled down.

„I don’t want you to leave. Not again.“ You whispered, and Alessia pulled you against her. Wrapping her strong arms around your body. „No matter what. I'll always love you. I know it was hard for us both, but we can do it again. I will visit whenever I can, and I promise you I will always be one call away. I know it may not seem like this right now, but I know for sure that you and I are forever.“ She kissed you hard, like a promise.

Your eyes were still closed when she pulled away slightly.

„I know we are still young…“ You felt her move away from your body and watched her get a jewelry box out. You opened your mouth, but she interrupted you. "Don't worry, I am not proposing. At least not yet.“ You couldn’t help but chuckle.

"It's a promise ring. I promise that I will never desert you. I promise that one day I will go down on that knee. A promise of a future together. "I promise that even though there might be thousands of kilometers between us, I will always be there for you.“ Tears streamed down your face as you watched her. Heart racing, you put your hand out for her to put the ring on your finger. „Not yet, baby. There is something on the inside I want you to look at."

Carefully, you grabbed the ring. Written in cursive were the words ‚We will take on the world‘ a sentence that both of you had repeatedly said to each other.

„I love you so much.“ You said this, grabbing her face with your hands and kissing her hard.

———————————————————————

I am already working on Pt 3 which will also be the final part

Always open to feedback ☺️

#alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader #woso #unc tar heels #unc Reader #alessia russo #lotte wubben moy #woso x reader #Tar Heels #woso imagine

[thetravelingtyper]

On The Same Page pt2 (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader Bookshop! AU)

After a recurring nightmare, you and Sam decide to open the shop early...only to have an early arriving customer.

Part 1, part 3

Oh, the boy's a slag, the best you ever had

The best you ever had is just a memory and those dreams

Weren't as daft as they seem, not as daft as they seemed

My love, when you dream them up

You awoke with a jolt at your alarm, the cursed song striking once more before you could silence your phone. As you sit up the irony is not lost on you. Your dreams of late had been haunted by the caricature of your ex, some cartoon evil laugh chasing with the constant ringing of your phone. The dreams always ended the same, except for this last night:

He was upon you in a moment, clawed hand reaching up your leg. You kick and kick but the words never escape your sewn mouth. The words of your ex-coworker swarm you like angry flies, bold and ugly.

“Disgraceful”

“Stepped over for the CEO’s daughter”

“They were shoddy anyway…”

The voices all fade into your ex’s final words to you: “I never loved you anyway.”

That crushed your heart into ash and scattered it into the indifferent winds. But before he could drag you back, a shape formed in your conscience. Heavy boot steps silence the laughter and a large figure passes in your peripheral vision. In the haze of your dream, he passes the shelves, the bookstore emerging from the darkness to surround your ex and the harpies. 

Your panic slows in the familiar setting and with a kick you send your ex stumbling backward. Turning your face up from the hardwood floor you look towards the figure as the haze clears. It's a man, tall and in black, just browsing but something draws your eye. And as you feel yourself awaken his eyes, hardwood and honey, meet yours. 

You hear shuffling before there is a knock on your door. You call him in and Sam’s head pops in. Green eyes hidden behind black curls meet yours and he pauses upon seeing your slouched shoulders.

“Nightmare again?” He kicks a pair of jeans aside and enters your room.

You stand, make your bed swiftly, and turn to address him in the glory of your Rainbow Fish Pajamas. 

“Yeah, except there was a man this-”

“You got Soap on the brain again?” It comes out immediately and you flush before rushing forward to hit your older brother figure. He was and wasn't wrong. In the following weeks after Soap’s initial visit you found yourself developing a steady friendship with the Scot, who insisted on dropping in every other day. It started with recommendations but quickly turned into shared tea over book conversations. You learned a little about him in the meantime, finding out he worked as a bartender literally down the street from your little shop. The convenience of his closeness and his ease of personality found you a fast and steady friend. 

“-despite your obvious stupidity, no I do not like him!” You huffed, and it was true! Soap was handsome but in truth, you believed that one he was in a relationship and second he was better as a prospective friend. 

Sam grins, dodging your poor attempt to smack him as he spins out of your room,

“He is hot though, poor lad probably gets hit on every shift. Remember we promised to visit on Saturday night! Come on let's open up the store early. I have a good feeling about today!” And with a clap of his hands for you to hurry he closes your door, exiting down the hall towards the kitchen. In a moment you can hear him lighting the stove to make breakfast. 

In the resulting silence, you dress yourself, passing a reflection of yourself in the mirror and choosing to ignore it. Your laptop sits beside your current project: A Smith Corona Corsair, one of the few possessions you had brought with you. The typewriter was the start of your writing career and you kept it well-tuned for work. 

You run a soft hand over its polished ivory keys. The mint blue of the case had a few scratches but was mostly worn from love. You remember as a child hammering on the keys, which graduated into a curiosity for mechanical machines and writing. The stone kept tumbling after you finished your Master’s in English and first stepped into the editing business. In the topsy-turvy world you found yourself in a comfortable position as an editor for a company, a year in deciding to write your books and the rest was history. 

You close the typewriter and quickly change into a manageable but comfy outfit then head out into the hall. Closing your door, you head down the hallway of your small flat, passing photos from back home with Sam. Taking a right you pass into the open concept of the apartment (Sam’s room was straight across the hall from yours). You pad softly on the carpet, stepping onto the rug and into the kitchen where Sam is making breakfast. He flips a pancake as bacon sizzles on the griddle. Running a hand to his shoulder you lean over to see how it was coming, sufficiently satisfied at his improving cooking skills.

“You are learning well”

“I get it from the best” he replies pulling you in for a small hug and a kiss to the side of your head. He releases you at the ding of 8 am on the clock. 

“You want breakfast up here?” You hover over the cabinet of plates, proceeding to pull two out for the food with silverware following. 

“Nah, let's just open shop, I'll eat in the sitting area before cleaning the book return. Can you take the counter today?”

You nod and shift aside so he can plate the food. The Ghibli style meal looks filling and you sigh, you go to take a swipe at the fresh pancakes but Sam dances aside.

“Wait till we’re downstairs.” He follows it up by gathering the silverware and heading towards the stairs. You pout and go to open the door for him and proceed to follow him down the hardwood stairs.

---

You set up post at the counter by 8:11, a plate of food set aside the stack of holds. Some paperbacks gleam with a glossy finish, while other hardbacks are nice with matte coats. Before your eye moves away you catch the shine of antiqued gold. You gently move the top books aside to grab the fabric-bound hardback: Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea by Jules Verne.  It looked to be a 50s-60s American release, bound with an inner marbled coat of paper and inlaid with gold foil lettering. The deep aqua of the fabric was barely worn, you wondered if the book had ever been read at all with the great condition it was in. You looked inside the cover for a name but on a a shibu inu shaped sticky note were the initials S.R.

Huh, that's interesting. You ran a hand over the scripting, it wasn't Sam nor your handwriting. You shrug. They must be regular then. You and Sam had a ‘write and set aside’ policy in the store. 

It was an unspoken rule amongst the two of you (and the regulars) that if a book turned up on the counter like this, with a name, it was put ‘on hold’. You set the beautiful book aside with a final glance, then turned your attention to breakfast. 

After finishing your meal you opened the doors to the bookstore at an early 8:34 am. Turning back to the counter you head over and hook your phone up to the music. You flip through Your Love first then frown, the implications of the song a bit much, next Jessie’s Girl. At Rick Springfield’s voice, you sigh, flashes of the girl your ex dumped, and you turn the song again. Then finally the sweet guitar riff and a beat that puts you on your toes kicks up. From the back of the shelves, Sam's head full of hair pokes out.

“It's been a while since we've had a Bowie day!”

You smile back at him as Modern Love kicks up. You sway from around the corner and flip the sign to open, you turn on the neon sign and turn to go stock the sitting area when there’s an immediate ding of the bell as someone enters. You turn around as Sam calls a Welcome in from the back of the store. The first sight that hits you is a literal wall of a man, then there is the smell of worn leather and pine. You step back with a small oh in surprise. 

He wears all black except for a pair of well-fitting jeans and leather boots. As your eyes trace up his tall figure you catch a snug shift with a leather jacket fitted over. Then a black surgical mask and…you freeze. Looking down at you with a slight sense of amusement are eyes the color of darkened honey. 

The man from your dream! But in the flesh and oh…

“I am so sorry!” You wave your hand in front of you a little shy to be caught staring.

The man offers no more than a slight nod with amusement dancing in his eyes. He regards you a moment before mentioning in a low voice, rough but soft:

“No worries dove.”

And with that he steps around you, brushing your arm with the slightest touch of leather, and disappears into the books.

You stand for a moment more before a blush runs up your face and a tingle runs down your spine.

Fuck.

END

I love writing this. I am no longer bored in the library thank you to these lovely people (Taglist!)

@ghostlythots

#cod mw2 2022 fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #soap and reader #simon riley fluff #fanfiction #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #on the same page

[colins-bridgerton]

penelope & colin playlist

a year ago by james arthur

i wish it was a year ago i wish that i could hold you close now i'm driving past your house, i know the lights are on, you're not alone i wonder if you're making eyes i wonder if he loves you like the way you said that only i could do i wish that i could tell you that I miss you

ghost of you by seconds of summer

too young, too dumb to know things like love too young, too dumb to I drown it out like I always do dancing through our house with the ghost of you and i chase it down with a shot of truth that my feet don't dance like they did with you

far away by nickleback

i wanted you to stay 'cause i needed i need to hear you say that i love you i loved you all along and I forgive you for being away for far too long so keep breathing 'cause i'm not leaving you anymore believe it hold on to me, and never let me go

oceans by seafret

it feels like there's oceans between you and me once again we hide our emotions Under the surface and try to pretend but it feels like there's oceans between you and me i want you i want you and i always will it feels like there's oceans between you and me

give me a minute by the coronas

and i can't remember how we got so wrapped up in it hold on i'm not finished just give me a minute i'm not finished and if you don't mind i can live with it just a minute i'm not finished would you be so kind just to forgive it

can i be him by james arthur

i heard there was someone but i know he don't deserve you if you were mine i'd never let anyone hurt you no no I wanna dry those tears, kiss those lips It's all that I've been thinking about 'cause a light came on when i heard that song and i want you to sing it again i swear that every word you sing you wrote them for me like it was a private show

before by ulrik munther

before we burn each other up before we lose our minds before i'm not enough for you baby I need some time before you break my heart oh before we need to talk before it even starts i mean i'm sorry i didn't call

you're loosing me by taylor swift

how long could we be a sad song 'til we were too far gone to bring back to life? i gave you all my best me's, my endless empathy and all i did was bleed as i tried to be the bravest soldier fighting in only your army, frontlines, don't you ignore me i'm the best thing at this party (you're losin' me) andi wouldn't marry me either a pathological people pleaser who only wanted you to see her and i'm fadin', thinkin' "do something, babe, say something" (say something) "lose something, babe, risk something" (you're losin' me) "choose something, babe, i got nothing" (i got nothing) "to believe, unless you're choosin' me"

deep end by birdy

i don't know if you mean everything to me and I wonder, can i give you what you need? don't want to find i've lost it all too scared to have no one to call so can we just pretend that we're not falling into the deep end?

love me or leave me by little mix

and love me baby please cause i could still be the only one you need the only one close enough to feel you breathe yeah I could still be that place where you run Instead of the one that you're running from, ooh you, can take this heart heal it or break it all apart no, this isn't fair love me or leave me here

cross your mind by calum scott

tell me, do i ever cross your mind? do i ever keep you up at night? thinking 'bout what coulda been if we did it all again i've been trying to keep an open door even though you've got the locks on yours tell me even after all of this time do i ever cross your mind like you cross mine? do i?

wrong direction by hailee steinfeld

loved me with your worst intentions didn't even stop to question every time you burned me down don't know how; for a moment it felt like heaven loved me with your worst intentions painted us a happy ending every time you burned me down don't know how; for a moment it felt like heaven and it's so gut-wrenchin' fallin' in the wrong direction

loves you like i coudn't do by dunacan laurence

i hope you find that someone who'll love you and it feels like all that you wanted thought it would last if we just kept running we played our hand, now we're left with nothing hope you find that someone who'll hold you In a way that i always wanted to a hundred shots, but we kept on missing there's no regrets, 'cause we tried, my love I hope you find that someone who loves you like i couldn't do

a little bit yours by jp saxe

you found someone new, before me and you didn't try nearly as hard and maybe that's the problem i don't know how to take it away from you without giving someone else my heart all I do Is get over you and i'm still so bad at it i let myself want you i let myself try i let myself fall back into your eyes i let myself want you i let myself hope i let myself feel things i know that you don't you're not mine anymore but I'm still a little bit yours

#dailybridgerton #dailypolin #polinedit #bridgertonedit #otpsource #penelopefeatheringtonedit #colinbridgertonedit #perioddramaedit #weloveperioddrama #perioddramacentral #userperioddrama #gifshistorical #userbecca #userdiamond #userdevon #*penelopefeatherington #*colinbridgerton #*polin #*bridgerton #c:colin bridgerton #c:penelope featherington #otp:polin #otp:this was penelope and this was love #tv:bridgerton #*mygifs

[sassy-cass-16]

man. the locked tomb is so funny and so full of memes and so beautiful and sometimes it just hits me that it's also so fucking sad.

gideon and harrow spent their entire childhoods hating each other for no reason. they never had to hate each other. harrow had gideon's blood on her hands when she opened the tomb and lost her entire family and it was all for no reason. just because gideon had no one to stick up for her. and when they were both orphans they couldn't even talk to each other about it. because they hated each other.

gideon fell so in love with harrow that she died for her and then harrow spent an entire year pretending she didn't exist just so she wouldn't lose her forever. gideon literally tells harrow's story for her and takes such reverent care of her body for the short time she's in it. gideon first saw her own father through harrow's eyes and called him Lord.

and john. and john is terrible. and he is so human that he becomes terrible. he breaks down weeping because no one else in the entire universe will ever understand his jokes again. he lost everything and he is the only one who even remembers the thing that was lost. he is so completely ordinary that you almost feel like you can't blame him for everything he's done but he is terrible. he let his friends die over and over and over again and he wants to wipe everything clean and start over and he is a man who has gone so completely insane from loneliness that he's circled back around to seeming horribly normal.

he greets his daughter with a dad joke and names her as best he can and gives her a title and a body with speed holes that help her go fast. and he's not malicious. and he's not good. you can't even really call him a villain--what the hell else was he supposed to do? in any of these circumstances? but he is trying his best and his best is simply not good enough. the true horror of god is that he is just human.

all the lyctors. all the lyctors are a tragedy in their own rights. augustine and mercymorn are just the two examples that we know the most about, and their own god/father/brother/lover/beloved/teacher killed them both.

(admittedly, mercymorn struck first. admittedly, john was defending himself and his entire empire. admittedly, it was ianthe's choice to save john in the river that killed augustine. less than an hour before that, augustine was apologizing for raising his voice and john told him to have a cigarette and do you see what i mean about it being hard to blame john for anything?)

and the whole concept of the fourth house in general. we don't talk about that enough. that is almost an entire planet's worth of child soldiers, from what little information we have. what does it say about ulysses and titania that they were the ones to found that house? isaac was thirteen. jeannemary was fourteen. they were expected to become full lyctors before isaac's voice had even dropped. there was no way they could make it off canaan house alive. these kids were doomed.

protesilaus ebdoma had a wife and kids. his wife's name is mia and she probably has no idea what actually happened to him. same with abigail's brother and nephew. corona and ianthe's parents must be losing their shit--they think their eldest daughter is dead and their younger one is now a fucking Saint with a gold skeleton arm.

that's not even getting into alecto. or nona. or camilla and palamedes and paul. this series is so fucking sad even without getting into the revelation that all the lyctors are slowly merging with their cavaliers.

#tlt #tlt spoilers #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #the locked tomb spoilers #john gaius #gtn spoilers #htn spoilers #ntn spoilers #tug spoilers #the unwanted guest #god why does this series require so many tags

[antifainternational]

Solidarity, not hate! Demonstration against far-right NSV. Antwerp. Thursday 25 April. 19h Dageraadplaats

NSV, the unofficial student association of Vlaams Belang, wants to march in Antwerp on the 25th of April. This is a threat to immigrants, people of colour, LGBTQIA+ persons and everyone else who does not fit into their ideas of white elitism. The NSV only lost their status in Leuven after a racist hate meeting with Van Langenhove. NSV and VB feel strong because of their high scores in the polls. Thus, they bring out their racism, sexism and queerphobia even more brutally, with words regularly followed by actions. As more and more people struggle to survive, both financially and mentally, the far right goes into the offensive against all those who resist oppressions.

Before corona, every year there was an NSV demonstration, but the counter-demonstration was always bigger. Every time the Nazionalist (their flag consists of the NS /Nazi flag and a Flemish lion) Student Association organises a march, other students are harassed on campus or while going out based on their origin or their orientation, often with violence. Each time, the NSV demonstration brings together convicted neo-Nazis with VB leaders (Filip Dewinter and Tom Van Grieken are former members).

Anti-fascist protests limit the space they are given; without the various actions in Leuven, the NSV would not have lost their status. In Antwerp, too, we want to give a voice to all those who stand up against the threat of the far right with a demonstration. NSV claims that "the Flemish youth" is on their side; with a much larger counter-demonstration, we will knock down that argument. Against the hatred of the extreme right, we place a strong message of solidarity. In doing so, we also go against the VB's feeding ground: a society where more and more people are excluded and are pushed to fear each other.

We will ensure that our demonstration goes through safely without confrontation with the NSV demonstration. Show your solidarity and walk with us in our anti-NSV demonstration. We will meet at 19:00 Dageraadplaats

#antwerp #antwerpen #antifa #antifascist #antifascism #protest

[sssapplebottomjeans]

okay okay okay one thing I just absolutely love about the relationship between rapunzel and varian and what the show did with them in general is just how perfectly they were set up as mirrors of each other. varian is corrupted rapunzel. rapunzel is what varian could have been

Literally starting from their births, okay, Rapunzel? Born into the royal family, she’s the Princess of Corona, the one and only direct heir to the throne. A day after her birth, she gets stolen from her family, from her kingdom and completely isolated from the world for eighteen years. She’s taught that the world is dangerous, but even in her isolation and loneliness, she finds something that keeps her happy, which for Rapunzel is her art. And she’s good at it, she paints on her walls and nothing bad comes out of it, they’re her freedom when she herself has none.

Then you have Varian. He’s the son of someone who worked in a Brotherhood, someone who was in a close alliance with the king of the Dark Kingdom. Before he was born, his dad left the Dark Kingdom and started a new life in Corona, now with a newborn son. Varian grows up to be a little bit of a teenage hermit. Instead of being taught that the world is dangerous, he’s taught that he is dangerous, the first rumors Cassandra hearing about him is that he is a 'dangerous wizard', which, when we first meet Varian for real, we find out that he doesn't even like being associated with magic. And his biggest hobby is the same thing that makes him an outcast in the first place, his alchemy. His inventions and experiments never work the way they should, but they’re what he thinks is his way out, he’s going to help people with this.

So, comparing that, I do believe that Varian is a sort of mirror to Rapunzel. Both placed in similar positions (albiet Rapunzel's more extreme) with similar choices, but with different outcomes and reactions. Rapunzel’s a direct heir to the throne, Varian’s not an heir to anything but he comes from a line of people that worked for the king. Rapunzel was stolen from her kingdom, Varian was born into this new kingdom, his dad was the one that left. Rapunzel was forced into isolation against her will; Varian chose it and continues to choose it in pursuit of something better. The world is dangerous to Rapunzel, Varian is dangerous to himself and the people he cares about the most. Rapunzel is happy because of her art and it’s her freedom. Varian is happy with his alchemy yet it’s why he’s an outcast. They’re mirror images of each other, and I think Varian figured that out first.

Even their personalities are similar in that they’re both hopeful, excitable, energetic, they talk a lot, they want to please their parental figure(s), they want to change the world but there’s limits set in stone that keep them from achieving that, they’re stubborn as fuck, impulsive and don’t listen to what people say unless it’s someone they really value the opinion of.

She still has a family, he doesn’t. (The sad thing is, I don't think he realizes that Rapunzel has already lost Gothel, and for eighteen years, Gothel was her 'mother') She’s respected, he’s not. And he gets that “oh. If she’s just like me but *better*, then I know how to make her tick.” So he tries to trap her mom in the amber, he’s going into this fully intending on murdering her mom in the same way his dad died just in case her hair doesn't work, (keeping in mind that Varian has confidence which ultimately led to his downfall, so whether he was completely sure Rapunzel's hair would work or not would make a big difference) which in that case- then the roles are completely flipped for a second. Now Rapunzel is the less extreme of the two. Rapunzel indirectly left Varian’s father to die, Varian pours the amber on her mom himself. And then he says it himself, “Sorry, Princess! We were in this together, but if I can’t have a happy ending then neither can you.” “It’s not enough until you endure the same amount of pain and agony I have!”

It’s all about corrupting this version of himself that has what he wants, the family that will always support her, (which we know is wrong. Fred and Ariana don’t justify everything she does, and Fred especially has made decisions about Rapunzel that really are just questionable at the best of times) the kingdom that will respect her. It’s trying to bring her down to his level, so maybe she’ll finally understand, cuz a lot of his conflict up until this point has been that nobody really listens to him, his dad, Rapunzel, or the kingdom.

I'm getting more into headcanon territory here but I would make an argument that Rapunzel realized how similar they were only when they were face to face in the final battle of SOTSD, and i would also argue that when she drives the last spike in his automaton, that's it's also a promise to herself that she will never become like how he was then, angry and bitter and jaded, an attack that's also destroying that small part of herself... also thinking that her destroying the automaton and not hurting Varian was part of that promise. Cuz she never really hated him. And even if she did, that promise to herself would've also been, "to be merciful, to not hold onto anger and grief, and give those who act out of pain and desperation another chance."

...aka the exact opposite of what Varian did.

Butttt that's diving into headcanons, plus. i'm sleep deprived atm and really don't feel like editing it SKDJGHJDG

The show already makes so many parallels between them and i think one of my favorites is the dream sequence in The Quest for Varian

It just…. So many feels. IMAGINE IF THEY HAD DONE MOON VARIAN, PLS SUN MOON LIGHT DARK HOPE GRIEF

#tangled the series #rapunzel's tangled adventure #varian #rapunzel #tangled varian #varian tts #rapunzel tangled #can you tell who my favorite characters are #freckle siblings

[tangledbea]

Who named Rapunzel? If it was the king or the queen, why Eugene couldn't recognize her by the name? And why Gothel kept this name?

If it was Gothel, then why the king and the queen kept the name? Doesn't it mean "lettuce" or something?

According to the series, it was canonically her parents who named her. We know this for two reasons:

In Tangled: Before Ever After, when Fredric is remembering the night she was kidnapped, he calls out her name in his memory.

In the season 3 episode "No Time Like the Past," we see missing posters of her up around Corona with her name on them.

I have headcanons that go way back to before the series existed about her name, so strap in, because this is a kind of involved answer.

First, I'll address the meaning. Rapunzel is not lettuce. Rapunzel is another name for the rampion plant which, yes, has edible leaves and roots and can be used as a salad green, but more closely resembles a radish than lettuce. However, it is also the name of the plant's flower, and just like how Rose, Daisy, Lily, Hyacinth, etc are all names, why not Rapunzel? Furthermore, Disney's Rapunzel was not named after the rampion flower, specifically. She was named after the Sundrop flower that saved her and the queen's life.

Here is what the rapunzel flower looks like:

And here is what the Sundrop flower looks like:

Notice how the center of the Sundrop flower essentially contains a rapunzel flower. This was deliberate on the part of the artists who designed it. Rapunzel was named after this flower.

As for why Gothel kept the name, I have a headcanon for that.

Back in the day, in ye olden tymes, babies were often not named until they were Christened, which didn't really happen until the parents were relatively sure the kid would survive. Now, Corona doesn't appear to be a Christian nation (it appears to be a sun-worshiping one that has the trappings of Christianity, if you ask me, but that's neither here nor there), and the king and queen clearly named their baby. So my headcanon is that the night they lifted the lantern was not the day she was born. I mean, look at that baby. She has the wiggliness and personality of a three-month-old, at the youngest. I think the lantern lifting was their version of her Christening, when her name would be revealed to the people. Up until then, I headcanon she was called Baby Princess by the citizens. Now, since the people only knew her name for one night, they sort of defaulted to calling her The Lost Princess after she was kidnapped.

My headcanon goes on to say that Gothel either didn't know the baby's name and also named her Rapunzel after the flower that she now embodied, or else she did know her name and figured that the girl was never going to see this kingdom again, so was too lazy to come up with anything different when it already suited her perfectly.

Eugene is, canonically to the series, not raised in a Corona orphanage. He's raised in a Vardaros orphanage. If the citizens were by and large calling her The Lost Princess, then that's the name that would spread to other kingdoms and territories. Then, by the time Eugene was doing that job in Corona that was happening in "No Time Like the Past," he wasn't looking at "lost baby" posters around town, just keeping an eye out for the guards (and other things worth stealing). He wasn't consciously aware of the posters, he didn't hear anyone referring to the Lost Princess as Rapunzel, he didn't know that was the princess' name.

All of this is a long way to say that the series actually complicated things by having the king and queen name her Rapunzel. If it had been Gothel, I wouldn't have had to come up with a convoluted headcanon to explain it all.

#Tangled #Tangled the Series #Rapunzel #Eugene Fitzherbert #King Frederic #Queen Arianna #Mother Gothel #TTS #The Flower #Headcanons #Analysis #Answered

[swaps55]

The Fusion of Stars

@katerinaalianovamindin asked about Kaidan's response to Sam's Lazarus scarring. So I wrote a thing, loosely inspired by this stunning art of Daggertongue's Amara Shepard.

~

“It’s like starlight,” Kaidan says, running gentle fingers down the scars crosshatching Shepard's ribs. In the dark of his cabin, they gleam with pale light.  

Shepard scoffs. “Hardly. Lawson said it was a side effect of the biosynthetic fusion.”

“Fusion, huh. What do you think makes stars shine?”

“If you give me a lecture about physics and nuclear fusion, I'll dunk your head in the fish tank.”

Kaidan cranes his neck to look over at the tank, where a jellyfish bobs in the corner and a sunfish darts through some seaweed. “You really think you could fit my head in that gap.”

“We could find out.”

“I think you’re trying to distract me from complimenting your starlight.”

“That’s because it’s not starlight. I’m more like Frankenstein’s night light.”

Kaidan lays his head on Shepard’s chest, fingers resuming their exploration. The scarring runs down most of Shepard’s left side. Ribs. Thigh. Hidden against the sheets, there’s a small rift across his right scapula, too, like a constellation etched right into his skin.

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Shepard shrugs the shoulder not trapped under Kaidan’s head. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just…”

Kaidan waits for him to put his thoughts together, prodding gently when he gets too stuck in his head to actually get them out.

“Just what?”

“They aren’t mine,” he says finally. “They’re Cerberus’ scars. I didn’t get a say in it. The old me didn’t cut it, so they had to cook up something better in a lab. You think I’m joking but Frankenstein’s monster isn’t that far-fetched.”

“The new you is still the old you. And Cerberus thought you were so instrumental to the survival of humanity that they performed an actual act of god to bring you back.”

“Never believed in god.”

“No. You believe in the stars. You were born in them. Hell, you were born in the very star I used to look at through a telescope when I was a kid.”

“Died in them, too.”

“You are really hard to compliment sometimes, you know that?”

Shepard huffs. “Sorry. This past year…really sucked.”

“I know,” Kaidan says quietly, trying not to think about the last three. But those two years will never exist for Shepard, and right now, pointing that out will only hurt them both.     

Instead, Kaidan traces the fractured skin along Shepard's cheek with his lips. “The creation of stars is violent, destructive, even terrible,” he murmurs between kisses. “But that doesn't make the star itself any less beautiful.”

Shepard gazes at him, running tender fingers in Kaidan's hair. “How do you do that? How do you always find the good in something?”

Because it’s you.

“All the years I’ve known you, I’ve always seen this.” Kaidan caresses the gleam over Shepard’s ribs with feather-light fingers. Shepard jumps – Cerberus didn’t change the spots where he’s ticklish – and then tugs Kaidan closer to him. “You’ve always been a star in the sky I thought I could never reach. But then you chose me. And after I lost you…you came back to me.”

“Your very own glowstick,” Shepard says, lopsided smile on his face.

Kaidan swirls the gravity well. Shepard’s biotic field hums in response. “You’ve always been a glowstick. Brighter than anything Cerberus could ever do to you.”

Shepard’s corona kindles, like a swish of silk under Kaidan’s skin. “Yeah, but I can turn that off. These?” He cups the marks on his own chin with his fingers. “Not so much.”

“Just means I can find you whenever you get lost in the dark.” Kaidan wraps an arm around Shepard and buries his nose against his neck. “You’re no one’s monster. You’re mine. And I love you.”

Shepard exhales, content. “There are perks to resurrection, I guess. Like getting to hear you say that again.”

“I love you,” Kaidan repeats.

“Mmmm.”

“You do make a good nightlight, though.”

Shepard snickers and rolls them over, pinning Kaidan to the mattress. Kaidan gazes up at him, reveling in the whisper of his biotic field.

You have no idea how beautiful you are, Kaidan thinks. You never have.  

He strokes Shepards cheek, where the light breaks through. “I don’t care what made you. Cerberus. God. The fusion of stars. You’re here. In my arms. To hell with the rest.”

“The way you say it almost makes me believe it.”  

Kaidan pulls Shepard down to him and whispers in his ear. “C’mere and I’ll prove it.”

Shepard sighs against him, warm, solid, real, with a heart beating strong and steady under Kaidan’s palm.  Mine, Kaidan thinks. The light and the dark, the broken and beautiful. He wants all of it, wherever it leads.

He strokes the scars that Cerberus gave them with reverent fingers, and Shepard arcs into the touch.     

#mass effect #mshenko #kaidan alenko #otp: after all this time #my fic #opus!verse

[faerromagnetic]

Nona the Ninth Thoughts, part 4

The Locked Tomb series obviously, deals with Love right? Love in all its forms, from horror to beauty. I like how the 3 books approach it through different point of views.

Gideon the Ninth speaks of Relationships, of the Love between two or more people. How those relationships mold us, makes us do things we never would have done.

Harrow the Ninth speaks of Grief, what happens when that Love is Lost, what do you do? What does it mean to love someone lost to you?

Nona the Ninth speaks of Identity, who are you after that Love is lost?

Nona is Alecto. Alecto is the Earth itself. Nona is what Alecto is naturally, a kind and happy person, that just wants to take care of others, to be taken care of and accepted. Which just shows you how awfully John destroyed that Love, Alecto is basically Nona in her "tantrum".

Camilla and Palamedes managed to integrate the experiences of their love into a new identity, stronger than who they were before they lost that love.

Pyrrha is, I think, an example of being able to go through grief, and saying "I think it's time I start again, and be better this time".

Corona is pretending to be someone going back to their toxic relationship because they can't live without them, because their identity is so strictly attached to their previous relationship. I wish Corona and Judith get expounded soon.

#the locked tomb #nona the ninth #pyrrha dve #paul tlt #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius