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rachel-614 · 1 year

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Okay, let me tell you a story:

Once upon a time, there was a prose translation of the Pearl Poet’s Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It was wonderfully charming and lyrical and perfect for use in a high school, and so a clever English teacher (as one did in the 70s) made a scan of the book for her students, saved it as a pdf, and printed copies off for her students every year. In true teacher tradition, she shared the file with her colleagues, and so for many years the students of the high school all studied Sir Gawain and the Green Knight from the same (very badly scanned) version of this wonderful prose translation.

In time, a new teacher became head of the English Department, and while he agreed that the prose translation was very wonderful he felt that the quality of the scan was much less so. Also in true teacher tradition, he then spent hours typing up the scan into a word processor, with a few typos here and there and a few places where he was genuinely just guessing wildly at what the scan actually said. This completed word document was much cleaner and easier for the students to read, and so of course he shared it with his colleagues, including his very new wide-eyed faculty member who was teaching British Literature for the first time (this was me).

As teachers sometimes do, he moved on for greener (ie, better paying) pastures, leaving behind the word document, but not the original pdf scan. This of course meant that as I was attempting to verify whether a weird word was a typo or a genuine artifact of the original translation, I had no other version to compare it to. Being a good card-holding gen zillenial I of course turned to google, making good use of the super secret plagiarism-checking teacher technique “Quotation Marks”, with an astonishing result:

By which I mean literally one result.

For my purposes, this was precisely what I needed: a very clean and crisp scan that allowed me to make corrections to my typed edition: a happily ever after, amen.

But beware, for deep within my soul a terrible Monster was stirring. Bane of procrastinators everywhere, my Curiosity had found a likely looking rabbit hole. See, this wonderfully clear and crisp scan was lacking in two rather important pieces of identifying information: the title of the book from which the scan was taken, and the name of the translator. The only identifying features were the section title “Precursors” (and no, that is not the title of the book, believe me I looked) and this little leaf-like motif by the page numbers:

(Remember the leaf. This will be important later.)

We shall not dwell at length on the hours of internet research that ensued—how the sun slowly dipped behind the horizon, grading abandoned in shadows half-lit by the the blue glow of the computer screen—how google search after search racked up, until an email warning of “unusual activity on your account” flashed into momentary existence before being consigned immediately and with some prejudice to the digital void—how one third of the way through a “comprehensive but not exhaustive” list of Sir Gawain translators despair crept in until I was left in utter darkness, screen black and eyes staring dully at the wall.

Above all, let us not admit to the fact that such an afternoon occurred not once, not twice, but three times.

Suffice to say, many hours had been spent in fruitless pursuit before a new thought crept in: if this book was so mysterious, so obscure as to defeat the modern search engine, perhaps the answer lay not in the technologies of today, but the wisdom of the past. Fingers trembling, I pulled up the last blast email that had been sent to current and former faculty and staff, and began to compose an email to the timeless and indomitable woman who had taught English to me when I was a student, and who had, after nearly fifty years, retired from teaching just before I returned to my alma mater.

After staring at the email for approximately five or so minutes, I winced, pressed send, and let my plea sail out into the void. I cannot adequately describe for you the instinctive reverence I possess towards this teacher; suffice to say that Ms English was and is a woman of remarkable character, as much a legend as an institution as a woman of flesh and blood whose enduring influence inspired countless students. There is not a student taught by Ms. English who does not have a story to tell about her, and her decline in her last years of teaching and eventual retirement in the face of COVID was the end of an era. She still remembers me, and every couple months one of her contemporaries and dear friends who still works as a guidance counsellor stops me in the hall to tell me that Ms. English says hello and that she is thrilled that I am teaching here—thrilled that I am teaching honors students—thrilled that I am now teaching the AP students. “Tell her I said hello back,” I always say, and smile.

Ms. English is a legend, and one does not expect legends to respond to you immediately. Who knows when a woman of her generation would next think to check her email? Who knows if she would remember?

The day after I sent the email I got this response:

My friends, I was shaken. I was stunned. Imagine asking God a question and he turns to you and says, “Hold on one moment, let me check with my predecessor.”

The idea that even Ms. English had inherited this mysterious translation had never even occurred to me as a possibility, not when Ms. English had been a faculty member since the early days of the school. How wonderful, I thought to myself. What a great thing, that this translation is so obscure and mysterious that it defeats even Ms. English.

A few days later, Ms. English emailed me again:

(I had, in fact searched through both the English office and the Annex—a dark, weirdly shaped concrete storage area containing a great deal of dust and many aging copies of various books—a few days prior. I had no luck, sadly.)

At last, though, I had a title and a description! I returned to my internet search, only to find to my dismay that there was no book that exactly matched the title. I found THE BRITISH TRADITION: POETRY, PROSE, AND DRAMA (which was not black and the table of contents I found did not include Sir Gawain) and THE ENGLISH TRADITION, a super early edition of the Prentice Hall textbooks we use today, which did have a black cover but there were absolutely zero images I could find of the table of contents or the interior and so I had no way of determining if it was the correct book short of laying out an unfortunate amount of cold hard cash for a potential dead end.

So I sighed, and relinquished my dreams of solving the mystery. Perhaps someday 30 years from now, I thought, I’ll be wandering through one of those mysterious bookshops filled with out of print books and I’ll pick up a book and there will be the translation, found out last!

So I sighed, and told the whole story to my colleagues for a laugh. I sent screenshots of Ms. English’s emails to my siblings who were also taught by her. I told the story to my Dad over dinner as my Great Adventure of the Week.

…my friends. I come by my rabbit-hole curiosity honestly, but my Dad is of a different generation of computer literacy and knows a few Deep Secrets that I have never learned. He asked me the title that Ms. English gave me, pulled up some mysterious catalogue site, and within ten minutes found a title card. There are apparently two copies available in libraries worldwide, one in Philadelphia and the other in British Columbia. I said, “sure, Dad,” and went upstairs. He texted me a link. Rolling my eyes, I opened it and looked at the description.

Huh, I thought. Four volumes, just like Ms. English said. I wonder…

Armed with a slightly different title and a publisher, I looked up “The English Tradition: Fiction macmillan” and the first entry is an eBay sale that had picture of the interior and LO AND BEHOLD:

THE LEAF. LOOK AT THE LEAF.

My dad found it! He found the book!!

Except for one teensy tiny problem which is that the cover of the book is uh a very bright green and not at all black like Ms. English said. Alas, it was a case of mistaken identity, because The English Tradition: Poetry does have a black cover, although it is the fiction volume which contains Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

And so having found the book at last, I have decided to purchase it for the sum of $8, that ever after the origins of this translation may once more be known.

In this year of 2022 this adventure took place, as this post bears witness, the end, amen.

(Edit: See here for part 2!)

#sir gawain and the green knight #translations #internet research #english literature #teaching things #dads are the best #long post #story telling #I STILL don’t know the name of the translator but I WILL find out #obscure books

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plaguedocboi · 1 year

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We all love the beach, right? I sure do. Where the sea meets the land is a magical place. It is the overlap of two very different worlds; our sunny, sandy, beautiful home and the alien waves that beckon you into the inhospitable wilderness of the ocean. When crossing that foam-fringed boundary, one must remember that you are no longer in your world. You are entering the sea, and the sea is vast and dark and dangerous. It is more untamed than the wildest jungle and full of creatures that can kill you in a hundred different gruesome ways. Every wave whispers to you that you do not belong here, you may only visit for a brief time if you want to leave with your life. Hold tight to the warm sunlit sand that fringes the barrier of this place, or you may never see it again. Welcome to the beach. Enter at your own risk.

1. Tamarama beach, Australia

This is know as both the smallest and the most dangerous beach in NSW. There is a permanent rip current that runs along the rocky northern shore, but at any given time there could be more hidden in the surf. Large waves break just a little ways offshore, posing a hazard to swimmers but an attraction for surfers. Although there are rarely deaths here, lifeguards have to rescue multiple people a day. Interestingly, this beach is only around sometimes! Occasionally all the sand will wash away and all that’s left is a rocky outcrop. There’s no way to be certain when the beach will come back or how big it will be or what it might look like. I guess it never gets boring to visit.

2. Isle of Ré, France

This island is not the only place you can go to see square waves, but it is one of the places most famous for this strange phenomenon. This is called a cross sea, and occurs when two opposing wave patterns intersect. Although this is certainly a tourist attraction, it is best to observe from a distance, as cross seas can be very dangerous to both ships and swimmers. Cross seas can cause powerful rip currents and walls of water up to 10 feet high, rolling ships and dragging people underwater. (As a side note, my mother thought I had made up cross seas as a freaky supernatural event in my book. Unfortunately, I did not.)

3. Dumas Beach, India

This is supposedly one of the most haunted places in India. Although this beach is full of tourists during the daytime, no one remains after dark, for fear that they will become the next ghost to wander the sand. Apparently, this beach was once used as a burial ground, and said to be black due to the human ashes mixed in. At night, people report hearing voices and seeing apparitions, and even dogs behave strangely once the sun goes down. There have also been multiple unexplained disappearances and at least one recorded death. Whether you believe in ghosts or not, there definitely seems to be something eerie happening on this beach.

4. Morecambe Bay, UK

This is an interesting one, as it’s not technically the water that’s dangerous. The ground is. This estuary features extreme tides, with the water level dropping and rising up to 32 feet twice a day. This exposes an expanse of mud flats and channels which are composed of loose, wet material that can absolutely suck you in and trap you. If this happens when the tide is coming in, it can quickly turn deadly. This has happened many times going back through history, including one incident in 2004 where 23 people died. Yes, all at the same time. No, I don’t want to delve into that incident too deeply in this list as it’s extremely horrifying and tragic. Feel free to research it yourself.

5. Monastery Beach, Oregon

This has earned its nickname “mortuary beach” by being extremely dangerous. Over 30 people have died here, including people who weren’t even in the water. In 2015, a woman walking along the beach was dragged in by a wave and drowned. The beach has multiple factors that make it so deadly, including a steep drop off, unpredictable waves, and strong undertows. This beach isn’t even safe to walk on. I um. Don’t like that.

6. Hanakapiai Beach, Hawaii

Despite its beauty, this Hawaiian beach is not recommended for swimming except for expert surfers. During the summer, this beach is a popular place for hiking, sunbathing and sightseeing, but during the winter the sand is washed away and the waves crash against the cliffs directly. Even in the relatively safe summer months, this beach has no barrier reef to break up the strong waves and powerful currents, which leads to a dangerous situation where swimmers can quickly be swept out into the open ocean and drown. At least 30 people have died here, and 15 of the bodies have never been recovered.

7. Lake Michigan. Just, all of it.

Despite all the Great Lakes being somewhat terrifying, Michigan takes the title of the most dangerous lake in the country. Yearly, Lake Michigan has more drownings than all four other Great Lakes combined. The reason that Michigan is especially hazardous is that, well, it’s kind of weirdly shaped. Thanks to its 300+ miles of uninterrupted parallel shorelines running north-south, it forms huge waves and strong riptides and long shore currents. It is also a question of numbers; Lake Michigan has more public beaches and large population centers than the other Great Lakes. All in all, a recipe for disaster.

8. Playa Zipolite, Mexico

This is also called the “beach of the dead”, so it’s inclusion on this list seems pretty self-explanatory. These waters have strong undercurrents that rotate in a circular pattern, either pushing you into shore or pulling you out to sea. There is a pervasive rumor that 50 people drown at this beach a year, although this is… somewhat exaggerated. In fact, very few people drown at this beach these days, as it has actually gotten less dangerous over the years. There used to be a steep drop-off that would catch people by surprise, but due to several severe storms in the early 2000s, the beach has eroded back and now gently slopes down instead. Although very few people die at this beach nowadays, multiple rescues are performed every day due to the dangerous currents.

9. Cyclops, Australia

This is a particular type of wave that forms off the coast of Esperance, Australia, as the sea floor rapidly goes from deep, open water to a very very shallow reef. It is… unsettling. The longer I look at it, the weirder it gets. It’s like an ai generated image. I couldn’t even pick one picture of it so I made you a collage.

It is considered one of the most dangerous surf spots in the world, and can only be accessed by boat. To quote pacific surf dot com, “the reason the wave is dangerous is because it does not act like any other wave in the world. It engulfs itself due to the massive change in the ocean floor when the wave rolls up.”

10. Nazare, Portugal

This area of Portugal is home to some of the biggest waves in the world. Just offshore is an underwater canyon, plunging down to 16,000 ft deep. This allows large, fast deep-water waves to move into shore unimpeded, and when they hit the shallows close to shore all the water gets suddenly pushed up, resulting in waves up to 80 ft tall. I think the picture speaks for itself in this case. Probably best to not get in the water if you see that shit.

That was fun, wasn’t it? Before I go, let me end this on a different note than the rest of my lists; some actual advice for if you should you ever decide to visit these beaches (or any beach, really). Rip currents are incredibly strong (believe me, I know) but very narrow currents that run perpendicular to shore. To get out of a rip current, swim parallel to shore. Trying to fight the current will just tire you out and eventually leave you exhausted and way the fuck out in the ocean, which is typically when you die. Swimming parallel to shore will get you out of the current, and once you’re free you can swim back in at your leisure. And, just in general, never fight the sea. The sea will win.

#water rating #bathophobia #thalassophobia #long post

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theostrophywife · 6 months

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le coup de foudre.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: my love mine all mine by mitski.

author's note: this was a result of me binging dune and call me by your name. whoever fancasted timothee chalamet as regulus deserves a forehead kith cause look at him. he's so boyfriend coded it makes me sick.

Regulus Black did not believe in love at first sight.

It was a foolish notion. One that contradicted his pragmatic beliefs. At his core, Regulus was a realist. In his world, love was not a luxury one could afford. Regulus was raised with the expectation to marry according to class, wealth, and most importantly, blood status. The noble and most ancient house of Black only took the purest of the pure.

After all, toujours pur, always pure, has been his family’s motto for centuries. There has never been any doubt in his mind that he’d marry another member of the sacred twenty eight. It wasn’t a matter of if, only a question of when.

During his sixth year, his mother made her intentions very clear. Walburga Black was adamant that he begin his search for a suitable bride. Leave it to his mother to compose a list of ladies she deemed suitable to become the future Mrs. Black. Regulus was to adhere to the carefully curated roster. They were names that he’d seen a million times before. Greengrass, Prewett, Rosier. Girls he’d grown up with and inadvertently had absolutely no interest in.

Still, his mother was insistent so Regulus complied. He took the girls out on dates. The formula was rather simple: dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town followed by a walk around the city square in which he offered to buy his date a dessert like the proper gentleman his mother raised him to be. Despite the fact that Regulus had the entire process down to a science, the dates were always unsatisfactory.

He was polite, of course. Opened the door, pulled out their chair, asked the appropriate level of questions to get to know his counterpart, but by the time the appetizers arrived, Regulus was on the verge of stabbing himself with the butter knife just to rouse himself from boredom.

Regulus placed no blame on the girls. They were only doing what their families had raised them to do. Sit pretty, chew gracefully, agree with his opinions. All while wearing breakneck heels and a smile to boot. It was all terribly fucked up, but this was the world they lived in.

The more he went on these dates, the more he realized that he didn’t want some pretty, docile wife. What he truly needed was someone who was willing to challenge him, to call him out on his bullshit, to argue with him when his own stubbornness prevented him from seeing reason. Regulus came to the horrible, earth-shattering realization that he probably wouldn’t find a woman like that on his mother’s list.

As he walked back from another mind numbing date, Regulus grappled with this newfound dilemma. He didn’t want to endure another one of these disastrous dates. He didn’t want to sit through an entire meal making small talk. He definitely didn’t want to disappoint another girl by not kissing them at the end of the night.

It wasn’t like any of them liked him anyways. Though they loved the idea of Regulus Black, he was quite certain that they wouldn’t afford the same affections to Reggie—the real and true version of himself. The one that Sirius often said Regulus kept in a neatly locked cage.

He wished he could be more like his brother. Sirius had always been the brave one. It was that infamous Gryffindor boldness that prompted his older brother to rebel against his family’s expectations. Instead of heeding to their mother’s ridiculous list, Sirius chose to date Remus in open defiance to Walburga’s orders. It resulted in him getting kicked out of 12 Grimmauld Place and burned off the family portrait, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind one bit.

In a lot of ways, Regulus envied his brother. Sirius had the guts to stand up for himself. He wasn’t burdened by the crippling pressure of pleasing their mother. In all honesty, Reggie wondered if such a thing was even achievable. As he brooded, Regulus found himself on the shores of the Black Lake. His body had taken him here on autopilot. It was his only place of refuge in the castle.

Regulus paced the rickety wooden dock. His mind was working so fast, so many thoughts spinning in his head, that it felt like he might work himself up to a fit. This has always been his problem. Sirius often said that he lived in his head too much. He frowned, trying and failing to get ahold of himself. For once, he wished he could just shut his brain off entirely.

Just then, Regulus felt a drop of water hit his head. He looked up and found dark, gray clouds hovering over the horizon. The stormcloud broke open and unleashed torrential rain all around him. Fucking fantastic. The world truly couldn’t give him a bloody break, could it?

With a sigh, Regulus began making his way back. The ground was sodden underneath his feet, his boots sinking into the sand and dragging behind his black coat. The waves lapped violently across the shore as the wind lashed against the murky waters. Regulus was almost at the edge of the beach when he spotted you.

A flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Regulus stopped dead in his tracks. There, at the mouth of the Black Lake, in the middle of the pouring rain, stood a girl with the most breathtaking smile he had ever seen.

Regulus was fairly certain that you had History of Magic together. He sat behind you in class, passed by you in the halls, even reached for the same book in the forbidden section of the library once, but Reggie had never once seen that smile. The gravity of it threatened to knock the very breath from his lungs.

There was something carefree about you. The way you spread your arms, tilted your head back, and laughed in the midst of the rain and thunder. Almost like you were welcoming the storm.

It was only when your eyes locked that Regulus realized he was staring. You cocked your head at him, trailing your gaze from the curls plastered against his cheek to the nice button down and freshly pressed trousers that were now soaked from the rain, down to the shiny leather boots that were now digging into the sand. You seemed amused at the sight of him.

Ever the perfect gentleman, Regulus snapped out of his daze and jogged over to you. Without hesitation, he raised his coat over your head to shield you from the rain even though you were already both drenched.

“What are you doing out in the rain?” Regulus asked, his voice full of genuine concern. “You’ll catch a cold.”

You stepped out of the refuge of his expensive looking coat and held your hand out, catching droplets in your palm. “I don’t mind. I just…I just needed to feel the rain on my skin, that’s all.”

You supposed it must’ve seemed strange to him, but the rain always made you feel better. Lately, life had been just a little too overwhelming. There was so much pressure to do well in classes, to hang out with friends while balancing your clubs and sports, as well as making time to write back to your parents. When it all became a bit too much, you tended to come to the Black Lake for some sort of refuge. The rain was just an added bonus.

If Regulus found your behavior bizarre, he didn’t say. Instead, he just smiled softly. “Well, you got your wish. It’s soaked out here.”

“I know,” you responded with an enthusiastic nod. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Standing out in the pouring rain? On a beach where lightning can strike me down at any second? Yes, it’s absolutely splendid.”

Your mouth quirked in amusement. “No one’s telling you to stay out here.” You nodded towards the castle. “You’re more than welcome to take your brooding inside where it’s warm and dry. Not to mention, free of the dangers of lightning strikes, which are extremely rare by the way.”

“With my luck, I might be the poor one in a million git who gets torched while getting insulted by a pretty girl.”

“Did I insult you?’ you quipped back. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You accused me of brooding.”

“I didn’t accuse, I stated. Even the Wizengamot would have to rule that you were, in fact, brooding.”

Regulus raised a brow. “What happened to innocent before proven guilty?”

“Unfortunately, the evidence is overwhelming and the verdict is set. You, Regulus Black, have been sentenced for glaring at the Black Lake so menacingly that even the giant squid refuses to come to shore. Off to Azkaban you go.”

“Do you promise to write me letters? Update me of how the world’s progressed without my dazzling presence?”

“It would be my genuine pleasure.”

Regulus chuckled at your dry humor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bantered like this with anyone, much less with a strange not-so-stranger. You sat down on the wet sand and patted the spot beside you with a grin.

“Why don’t you take a seat and tell me all about your troubles.”

Beyond the bleak horizon, the spires of the castle peeked through the gray clouds. Regulus thought of the common room where his housemates would no doubt be gathered around the ornate fireplace for warmth. Knowing his friends, they’d probably be indulging in spiked hot chocolate and playing some childish drinking game. A few minutes ago, nothing appealed to him more, but now Regulus found himself choosing the violent rain and soggy sand. All because of you, his mystery girl.

You leaned back on your elbows and cocked your head at him. “What ails you, Mr. Black?”

“That depends. How much do you bill per hour?”

“Fortunately for you, I’m in a generous mood so I’ll throw in a free session. Consider it my pro-bono work.”

“How kind of you,” Regulus said with a serious expression. “My brother’s been nagging me to see a mind healer for years. All that childhood trauma, you know.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, revealing a set of dimples that he found rather charming. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“My brother is Sirius. I’m Regulus, remember?”

You snorted in a very unladylike manner, which only made Regulus grin. There was something so unapologetically you in your laugh that was absolutely endearing to him. Regulus smiled and knocked his shoulder against yours.

You mimicked the action and smiled back at him. “All sarcasm aside, I was being genuine. If you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

"Do you often offer therapy sessions to complete strangers?"

"Only to surly Slytherins with sad eyes and pretty curls," you quipped back. "And we're not strangers. I sit behind you in potions. We're practically best mates."

"You think my curls are pretty?"

"Like a little cherub's. Are you quite sure you haven't escaped from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? You look like one of Michelangelo's angels. Except with way more scowling." Regulus grinned. He got the feeling that you always said whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. It was refreshing. "There's a smile. See? Our session is already progressing."

"I think you might get more than you bargained for with me, I'm afraid."

You met the challenge in his words head on. "Try me."

“You were right. I’m definitely guilty of brooding.”

“What happened?”

Regulus hesitated for a moment. He had never been the type of person to be candid with his feelings, especially not with someone he barely knew. Usually, he just kept his thoughts to himself and ruminated on them in the privacy of his dorm until he drove himself mad by overthinking, but your presence brought him an unexplainable ease. For once in his life, Regulus chose not to question it.

“I’ve had a long night,” he said, tucking his knees up to his chest. “I just got back from a date.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“It was…fine. It’s always fine. But it’s the same thing over and over again, just with a different girl.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a playboy, Regulus Black.”

Regulus chuckled. “I’m not some unscrupulous rake, I assure you.”

“Yes, that much is obvious from your use of the word unscrupulous.” You tucked your legs underneath you. “So why go on all of these dates if you find them so tedious?”

“It’s my mother,” Regulus explained. “She has this list.”

“A list?”

“Yes, a list of girls that I’m to court. Noble, pureblooded, proper ladies of society that my mother has deemed worthy of marriage.”

“You’re seventeen years old. Shouldn’t you be worrying about quidditch games and potions exams?”

Regulus nodded. “Yes, one would think. But my family has always been different. Since my brother left, my parents have been obsessed with grooming me into becoming the perfect heir.”

“How do you feel about that?”

He sighed. “Stifled. Exhausted. Smothered. I can feel the weight of their expectations weighing me down every second of every day.”

“I’m sorry, Regulus. That’s a terrible burden to carry.”

Regulus shrugged. “Others have it worse.”

“It doesn’t mean that your problem is any less heavy.”

To Regulus, the acknowledgement felt oddly validating. Even though you knew nothing of his circumstance, there was wisdom in your words and you delivered it delicately, like you actually cared to hear his troubles. You were devoid of the judgment he'd grown accustomed to and he found that rather freeing.

“It’s just…sometimes I think that I’ll never be the perfect son. My brother, he’s always been the brave one. Classic Gryffindor,” he said with an eye roll. You chuckled, but stayed silent. It was obvious that Regulus had a myriad of thoughts to unpack tonight and you were more than happy to just listen. “Sirius has never cared what anyone thought about him, least of all our parents. I admire that about him, but I just don’t think I’m wired that way. I care too much.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” you said softly. “Apathy is so common nowadays, finding someone who can admit that they care is refreshing. Though, I think it’s not without limits. You can’t please everyone. No matter what you do, someone is going to have something to complain about. You might as well be yourself.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Regulus pondered. “All of these girls on my mother's list, I think they like the idea of Regulus Black, but he’s an illusion. It isn’t the real me.”

“Then who is the real you?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m just Reggie. I like playing quidditch and reading depressing literature and memorizing obscure history facts. I hate messy rooms and orange juice and anything that crawls.”

You smiled. “And what kind of girl does Reggie like?”

“Someone witty. Someone funny. Someone who’ll argue with me. Someone who doesn’t just nod and agree with everything I say."

"So what you're saying is that you don't want a nice girl?"

Regulus shook his head. "No, I think I need someone who challenges me. Who sees me for who I am rather than what I represent. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the girls on my mother’s list are lovely, but I don’t think they’d actually like me if they knew who I really am.”

“I don’t know, Reggie seems like a great guy. That Regulus bloke, on the other hand…” you scrunched your nose in disapproval.

“Hey!” Regulus chided, “I’m pouring my heart out to you. That took a lot of courage, you know.”

“You’re very brave, Reggie,” you said with a grin. “But you know what would be even braver?”

Regulus squinted in the rain as you stood to your feet. Lightning crackled over the horizon, illuminating you with an ethereal silver glow. You held out your hand to him. “Come dance with me.”

“Deathly afraid of being struck by lightning, remember?”

“Sorry, what?” You asked as you shimmied around him. It wasn’t graceful by any means. It was the goofiest thing he’d ever seen and yet he’d never been so enthralled. You danced without a care in the world and it made him genuinely laugh. “I can’t hear you over all the fun I’m having.”

"This is ridiculous," he said over the roaring thunder.

You shrugged. "Perhaps. But everyone's allowed to be a little ridiculous sometimes. Besides, I was asking Reggie not Regulus."

“Are you really trying to peer pressure me into dancing with you?”

“That depends,” you replied with a cheeky smile. “Is it working?”

Regulus conceded with a sigh and leapt to his feet. The youngest Black brother bowed like a proper gentleman. “May I have this dance, my lady?"

“You may, good sir.”

You grinned up at him as he took you by the waist and waltzed with you across the sand. Surprisingly, Regulus let you take the lead. He chuckled when you stepped on his toes and laughed even harder when you tried to twirl him. Towering a good foot over you, Regulus had to fully crouch for the maneuver to work.

Finally, you gave up the formality and just spun around in dizzying circles. There was absolutely no rhyme or rhythm to it. Just two idiots dancing in the rain with the biggest smiles on their faces.

Your coordination, or lack thereof, caused you to almost faceplant into the sand. Regulus yelped as you took him down with you. By the time you recovered from the laughing fit, the two of you were red-faced, out of breath, and laying side by side along the shore. He turned over to you and brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“See? There’s more to life than just being moody and melancholic.”

“So this mystery girl of mine keeps reminding me,” Regulus said with a smile. “You never told me your name, by the way.”

“Wow, you don’t even know my name? I’m offended, Reggie. We’ve only been in classes together since fifth year.”

“I—we’ve never been introduced—”

You broke out into a smile and giggled. You thought it was cute that Reggie was so easily flustered. “I’m just kidding, Reggie.”

He sighed in relief as you stuck out your hand. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

Regulus slipped his hand into yours. He cocked his head, studying your eyes and your smile and those cute little dimples.

Y/N. The last name on his mother’s list. The one he saved for last because he didn’t know who she was.

The French had a saying—le coup de foudre. The infamous phrase translated to a bolt of lightning or love at first sight. Regulus had long dismissed it as flowery prose, but thanks to his mystery girl, he started to think that maybe the Parisians were onto something because meeting you tonight felt preordained. A date with fate. Like a bolt of lightning streaking through his dark, endless skies.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Reggie.”

Regulus smiled and laced your fingers together. He was frozen, it was raining, and he was fairly certain that you were both probably going to catch a cold, but he didn’t care. In that moment, as he stared up at the sky, blinking back the rain, and intertwining his fingers with yours, Regulus had never felt more content.

So no, Regulus did not believe in love at first sight, but love at second, third, and even fourth glance? He smiled a little as he gazed back at you, letting his gaze linger as he drank in that infectious laugh and sunny grin.

You made him think that maybe, just maybe, a girl like you could convert a skeptic like him into a devout believer.

#ok but when can i run my fingers through reggie's curls hm? when is it my turn to be happy?#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black fic #the marauders #the marauders era

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writingwithcolor · 6 months

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I’m afraid my character has stereotypical traits. How do I avoid making them a caricature?

Is your character composed of several stereotypical traits, or is it just the one? Are they allowed to act and think in ways that are not confined to stereotypes? The more three-dimensional your character is, the less they are defined by the stereotypes.

One strategy that works in some cases is the “offset” character. This refers to weakening character A’s stereotype by including a character B of the same identity who isn’t stereotypical in that way. Say you have a selfless, “motherly” Black woman who looks after the cast. In addition to developing her own arc and her own desires, try adding a Black woman character with 0 maternal instinct who goes full steam ahead with her goals.

Trace your logic as to why you decided to give certain traits to a character of a certain identity. Our aptly named #trace your logic tag contains examples where we prompt the asker to interrogate their intentions behind certain ideas. Try to ask yourself the same questions.

Further reading:

Tropes and Stereotypes

Stereotyped vs Nuanced Characters and Audience Perception

---

This Q&A is an excerpt from our General FAQ for Newcomers, which can be found in our new Masterpost of rules and FAQs. For more advice on writing with diversity, start there!

-Writing With Color

#writing with color #writeblr #representation #poc representation #lgbt representation #writing advice #writing tips #writers on tumblr #faq

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wandasaura · 5 months

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— THE QUIET GAME

summary — nobody can beat wanda at her own game, but that doesn’t stop you from trying, and roping natasha into your little game much to her amusement

warnings — dom!wanda maximoff, flirting, dom/sub undertones, semi-public sex (nobody’s around), nipple play, finger sucking, face slapping (once), thigh grinding, fingering (r receiving), degrading, praise, slight begging, edging, aftercare, implied past relationship with natasha, smut minors/men dni

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

Wanda was livid, you could tell from across the room, the dim overhead lighting just bright enough to create a million little rainbows reflecting off the sequins of her skimpy black dress and the kink in her jaw as she grinded her teeth together. It was rare to see your girlfriend so dressed up and out of her element — usually sporting a more masculine appearance in various shades of red — but tonight was a special night, and she always strived to outdo the company.

She became the most beautiful woman in the room the second you opened the double doors upon your arrival, hand and hand, standing shoulder to shoulder, both dressed to stun in dresses that left little to the imagination. She’d had no reservations about your scanty red dress, but her sage eyes had been hungry and dark with lust since the initial glance she stole of your put together look before you left the apartment. You’re her most prized possession and all of your friends know it, some more inclined to tease the hardened witch about her soft spot for you then others, but that didn’t quell her insistence to make your relationship known to every stranger who attended; proud to show off what was only hers. Throughout the night, she’d kept a hand on your your hip, whispering into the shell of your ear knowing how it looked and how it made your legs quiver. Throughout the night, she’d been working you up to the point of no return.

When you separated after too many cocktails and not nearly enough fancy horderves to keep up with your alcohol intake that left your cheeks flush and palms sweaty (not by any choice of your own or hers, merely Tony’s elaborate plan to trap his billionaire friends into donating to the Potts Project) your attention had been solely on her and memorizing the way that the light shaped to her sinful body, cleavage glistening and full for anyone to gawk at. And they did. You’d caught a handful of guests ogling the deep neckline of her dress too many times to remain unbothered and composed, and while you knew the only one she was even looking at beneath the yellow toned lighting was you, the offered drinks and fleeting touches to her waist from arrogant men that thought they could get a piece of what was yours, sparked a fire of jealousy you didn’t want to ignore.

It was no secret that these events led to some of the best sex you had in your relationship, a result of spending the long hours of the night too enraptured with each other's bodies to pay soft touches and patience any mind when you finally had the chance to come undone beneath one another, but tonight was different. Tonight you couldn’t play by her rules and watch from a distance as she floated around and socialized, no, tonight you’d play the long game of getting so beneath her skin she wouldn’t be able to wait until you returned home for a piece of you.

That jealousy was what ended you up in such a flirtatious exchange with Natasha, the redheaded widow painfully aware of yours and Wanda’s relationship (she’d walked in on you too many times to deem them all accidents), but she was more than happy to play along with your game, finding sadistic entertainment in the not-so-subtle expressions your otherwise unshakable girlfriend sent her way. With a possessive grip on your hip, chest flush against yours, nose only one accidental stumble away from yours, Natasha was playing with fire, and you were malleable to her every move. Your history with her was only an advantage in this situation as you stole glances at Wanda from across the room, not surprised to find that she was watching you intensely, clutching the stem of her wine glass so tight her knuckles had turned white, lips pursed into a thin line and when you caught her eye, you dared to smile innocently. When Natasha’s calloused thumb brushed against your bottom lip to draw your attention back to her, Wanda’s final straw snapped, and the redhead teasing your body with sensual touches merely chuckled darkly at the approaching footsteps of your possessive girlfriend.

You didn’t break eye contact with Natasha even when you felt the warmth of her body press against yours, her wine glass having been shoved into some poor unsuspecting waiter's chest during her pursuit. “Let’s go.” Her words were cynical, heavy even, but you’d only just started having fun, and Natasha wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

The redhead pulled you closer, so close that you could smell the mojito on her breath, creating space between you and Wanda who hadn’t been quick enough to grab the other side of your waist when she had the chance. “Look who finally has the time for me.” You joked with Natasha, running a wandering hand down the front of her chest where the buttons of her suit jacket revealed milky skin. She was always so pale, even in the summertime, but the deep color of her suit complimented her complexion nicely, and sharpened the deep green of her eyes and redness of her freshly dyed curls. She’d been blonde only three days prior, but her changing appearance wasn’t anything new at this point. Twirling a strand between your fingers, you bit into your bottom lip. “You have time for me, don’t you, Natty?”

“Always, detka.” The redhead smirked, leaning her forehead against yours, bold enough to slide her hands down your waist and grab at your barely covered ass. Wanda seethed behind you, green eyes flashing red as she glared at your best friend and grabbed your wrist before you could go exploring Natasha’s body again. You had the audacity to giggle when she started pulling you away and toward the exit, wiggling your fingers at the widow who sent you a knowing wink, stumbling over to Maria who had watched the entire scene play out behind a bottle of beer, lips upturned in a smirk. You’d get an earful tomorrow afternoon when you returned to the office, but for now, the only thing you cared about was getting your girlfriend undressed and beneath your touch.

“Hi.” You grinned sweetly, voice dripping with lust as you peered up at her clenched jawline and flared nostrils. She was pissed, and a pissed off Wanda was exactly the woman you needed tonight. Her hand was still tight around your wrist, grabbing at you not hard enough to hurt, but giving you no other choice but to follow after her as she dodged guests and furniture.

You’d never been to this specific venue, Tony preferring to host these events in the compound where the only liability was a broken vase that he didn’t really care about anyway, but still, she maneuvered you both through the building like she’d mapped it all out, footsteps only slowing when she had you confined to a single use bathroom down the hall from the main ballroom. In seconds your back was flush against the door, breath knocked from your lungs as you peered up at her with blown out pupils and a hungry smirk.

She didn’t give you the time to make a sarcastic comment, you’d made enough of them already if she had any say in it, but you would never complain about the feverish way she leant in to kiss you, and how her tongue tasted like your favorite cocktail as it brushed against yours. You fought for dominance as your teeth clashed together and your tongues danced to explore the others mouth, fighting to be the lead, but it was no surprise that she won. A heavy moan filled the echoey bathroom when her body warm pressed into yours, leaving you helpless to her assault that you truthfully didn’t really mind. You kissed her back just as aggressively, hands finding their way into her loose locks that fell down her shoulders in simple and natural waves, and you tugged on it in a desperate plea for something more. Anything more.

She chuckled darkly when she pulled away, bringing her decorated fingers toward your face. Her rings sparkled beneath the automatic lights, silver jewelry complimenting her midnight black dress. In any other setting, you would’ve told her she looked beautiful, but you were desperate to reach a high only she could give you, and she seemed to be taking her sweet time in working you up. Just like Natasha had, her calloused thumb brushed across your swollen and wet bottom lip, collecting the wetness that had gathered from your kiss before she forced it into your mouth. The digit felt heavy on your tongue, but not unfamiliar, and without hesitation you began to suck, eyelids fluttering closed at the warm feeling the sheer dominance of the action sent through your body and straight to your already sopping core. You could feel your arousal soaking through your panties, thighs wet and pressed together as you sought out any kind of relief. Wanda gazed at you with stars in her eyes, but her delicacy didn’t last long before she was forcing your legs apart with her thigh, pressing right up into your needy core. The pressure on your clit felt heavenly, your hips grinding to find the right friction without her permission.

She didn’t stop you, letting you hump her leg like a needy slut, instead focusing her attention on the way you hollowed out your lips around her thumb and kitten licked around her ring, eyes pinched shut as your breathing became heavier. “You think you’re so funny.” She sneered, using her pointer finger to tilt your head upward, revealing your unmarked neck. She’d change that. Her red lips didn’t waste a second, and her teeth weren’t gentle as she nipped and licked at your sensitive skin, working her way up toward the shell of your ear where you were the most reactive. You shuddered violently when she licked a bold strip up the side of your neck, blowing out cold air that made goosebumps prick the skin of your arms. Your grinding only became sloppier as your clit pulsates with need, pathetic whines vibrating her thumb and fueling her actions. “You think you can let Natasha touch what’s mine. Think I don’t know what you’re doing. I know everything, malyshka. I know what makes you moan,” She bit down on your earlobe, tugging at it gently with her teeth, and unable to help yourself, you arched into her chest, moaning desperately.

“I know what makes you whine,” The hand that wasn’t occupied snaked between your bodies, and sought out your barely hidden nipples, pebbled from the cold and your turned on state. Your whines were music to her ears as she tugged and twisted at your sensitive buds overtop of the thin dress, not bothering to shove it out of the way like you wanted. Your nipples were always so sensitive, it was one of Wanda’s favorite ways to work you up to a quick orgasm when you didn’t have the time to be fooling around, but that wasn’t her intention tonight. Just like you’d decided to do, she was playing the long game.

“I know what makes you gasp,” Her thumb made an obnoxiously loud sound as she pulled it from the warm confines of your mouth, but before you had time to process the loss, her palm was colliding with your cheek and the sting on your flushed skin replaced the weight of her heavy digit. You gasped, just like she expected you to, peering at her with wide eyes and an entirely fucked out expression despite not actually being touched yet. Her thigh was saturated in your arousal, the scent thick in the air but it couldn’t be blamed on only you. Her own panties, black like the color of her dress because she was ever the meticulous woman, we’re so drenched they stuck to her folds, but her attention was on you right now, because clearly that’s all you wanted, and who was she to deny you anymore?

“What? Did you just need me to pay you attention? Is that it?” She cooed mockingly, pulling her thigh away from your core just as you found the perfect rhythm, disrupting your climbing high before you could fall over the edge into bliss. You whined pathetically, hips frantically searching for her again. “Are you such a desperate little slut you couldn’t get through one evening without needing this little pussy fucked?” You gasped when her hand cupped your mound, skilled fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties and toying at your sensitive clit. “You spent the last hour mouthing off to Natasha, when you could’ve just told me what you needed.”

“P-Please.” You stumbled over your words, breathy moans like music to her ears as she sank two fingers into your willing hole, feeling just how worked up you’d gotten yourself since arriving. You squeezed at her fingers, walls fluttering with desperation as her thumb set a brutal pace on your clit, entirely to soft and slow to bring you to where you wanted to be.

Attempting to take matters into your own hands, you pushed on her fingers that worked at scissoring you open, caressing your velvety walls like she was trying to study you. “Oh no, you don’t get to rush me now. You lost that privilege the second you let her touch what belongs to me.” Wanda’s other hand held your hips flush against the door you were pinned against, keeping her pace slow and torturous and entirely unsatisfying. “We’re gonna play a little game.”

“N-No.” You shook your head frantically, your hands scratching at her exposed shoulders, trying to wrestle them down her arms to free her breasts that had been taunting you all night. Even in her aggression, she still looked beautiful, and you cursed the tight fabric of her dress for holding her in so perfectly. “Wanda please, p-please.” You moaned loudly when her fingers found that perfect spot inside of you, pressing into it teasingly, before they were pulled away. She let them slip past your lips, filling your mouth with the taste of your own juices that glistened on her palm and smeared against your chin.

“Unless you want someone to hear how desperate you sound, you’re going to stay quiet. The second you make a noise I stop, do you understand me?” She pulled her fingers out of your mouth, satisfied with how you’d cleaned them off only for her to get them dirty again. You nodded frantically, desperate to have her back where you needed her most. Your walls fluttered around nothing, that deep ache in your belly nearly unbearable as you’d been left right on the edge twice already. “Good girl. What do you say if you need a break?”

Your heart melted at the tender care she showed, a crack in her facade as she let the both of you exist in a single gentle moment of care and respect. She may be rough when she’s pissed, she may slap you around and drag out your pleasure for her own amusement, but she made sure that you knew you were really the one in charge during these exchanges. The second you asked her to stop, she would. But you trusted her enough to never go there. “Yellow. Red if I want you to stop, I know Wands. I trust you, just please touch me.”

She smirked sadistically, letting her hands roam your body filthily. You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress the moan that threatened to escape when she pulled at the neckline of your dress and revealed your sensitive nipples to the cold air abruptly. Her hot fingers were skilled in many ways, and still slightly damp from your mouth, they moved over your skin easily, tugging and pinching at your nipples with a practiced perfection. She knew exactly what you liked and what made you go crazy, and she was using every skill in the book to get you to break. When her mouth found your left breast, kissing all over the warm and silky skin that she’d spent twenty minutes fondling before you’d even left for the event, you almost broke. Your knees weakened, your belly quivered with need as she kissed and sucked at every inch of skin beside where you really wanted her. When her lips finally encased your erect bud, a wave of relief crashed over you, but was replaced in seconds by an unmet desire. Her teeth bit ar your nipple, tugging until you didn’t think you could take it anymore, but she knew what you could take, and before you could tap at her shoulder, she was letting go and soothing the ache with her skilled tongue. A shaky breath escaped your lips before you could help it, and immediately she was letting go of you completely, leaving you to stand by yourself against the door.

“What did I say?” Her green eyes that were black with lust glared at you, her words sounding so far away as you arched away from the door and tried to persuade her to come back.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please. Please Wands, just touch me.” Your eyes were unfocused and hazy, head spinning as you pined for touch. The long game had definitely come back to bite you in the ass, nobody fucked with Wanda Maximoff and won, but you were too drunk on her touch to care about how you’d walked yourself into this.

“You make another sound and we’re going back out there until the end of the night.” She laid out her ultimatum, words slurring together with the faintest hint of her accent coming out to play as she admired your frantic stare and flushed cheeks, looking absolutely ravenous as you anticipated her touch. You nodded frantically, desperate to win her over, although you both knew she was going to resume either way. Natasha could only work you up so much, but she was the one who made you come undone with the lightest touch, and that was enough to motivate her into continuing.

This time when her fingers returned to your core, she wasn’t as gentle, thumb heavy on your clit as her fingers teased around your entrance, not daring to fill you up how you wanted without making you earn it. She pulled at the waistband of your thong until it snapped, flimsy purple fabric falling down your sweaty thigh to be forgotten about on the tile floor, and finally without the tight barrier that only gave her so much room to work in the way, she set an unforgiving pace that had your head spinning and thighs shaking as she reached the deepest part of your pussy with ease and talent that Natasha never had during all of your hookups. The wet noises that came from your center should’ve been embarrassing, but you couldn’t think about how anybody that happened passed by the door could definitely hear them, focused solely on the way her palm slapped against your clit at just the right pressure and pace, her breath tickling your lips as she leaned in close and rested her forehead against yours. Your hands reached out for her, desperate to have something to ground yourself to as you felt the spring in your core begin to tighten immensely. Her red hair was tousled and frizzy from your desperate pulling, and it only got messier as one of your hands tangled into it again.

Wanda didn’t deny you, grabbing the hand that wasn’t in her hair, and holding it against her chest as she worked you through your orgasm, smiling sweetly as your chest rose and fell in quick succession, bottom lip bitten and flush from both the alcohol and your high. “You can make noise, it’s okay. Let me hear you, it’s just us. It’s just us, malyshka.” Her gentle eyes flashed red, strong tendrils of magic encasing the room im her own makeshift sound barrier. The noise from the party quieted down, leaving only the sounds of your intimacy to be heard. With her permission to moan, you did just that, whining and gasping as you rode out your orgasm on her fingers, hips stuttering to both find a steady pace and pull away from the overstimulating sensations shooting down your spine.

When she pulled her hand away, fingers dripping in your juices, your cheeks flushed, only growing darker when she let them sink past her cherry red lips and weigh heavy on her tongue. She moaned at your taste, eyes twinkling as she made sure you were looking straight at her. When she was satisfied, she leaned in for a kiss, gentle and endearing as she let you work out whatever you needed, pulling back the reins of her dominance for the time being at least. Wrapping your arms around her neck, you looked up at her glassy green eyes.

“I love you, Wanda Maximoff.” You giggled, pecking her lips that your arousal clung to. The taste of yourself wasn’t something unfamiliar at this point in your relationship, but it never failed to make your belly tighten with gratitude that after everything in life, you found your way to her.

“I love you more.” She leaned up to peck your nose, smiling goofily. “We should invite Natasha over again.”

You laughed loudly at the suggestion, remembering the last time the redhead ended up in your bed when you were still living at the compound. She’d limped around for hours afterward, glaring daggers at Wanda from across the room every time she went to sit down.

“You know, she’s equally as guilty as I am.” Your eyes sparkled with mischief, a teasing smirk on your lips as you thought about the unstoppable Black Widow being forced to her knees by your giggly girlfriend.

“Watch it, or I’ll let her spank you with the paddle next time.” Wanda quipped, grabbing your hand and bringing it up to her lips, where her gaze lingered for a few seconds before looking back at you. “Maria’s going to be all over you tomorrow.”

“I guess I’ll just have to have something to brag about then.” You smirked, leading her out of the bathroom and out into the cold of winter. Your breath floated through the air as Wanda wrapped her arms around you, long coats forgotten about as you began to trek toward the car, eager to get home and help her reach her own high.

#minors dni ৎ୭ #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fic #library 🂱

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negrolicity · 16 days

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Margaret Bonds - Montgomery Variations (1964)

youtube

#negrolicity #music #musicians #margaret bonds #montgomery variations #black composers #black woman composer #Youtube

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readyforevolution · 3 days

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She was called Phillis, because that was the name of the ship that brought her, and Wheatley, which was the name of the merchant who bought her. She was born in Senegal.

In Boston, the slave traders put her up for sale: “She's 7 years old! She will be a good mare!”

At thirteen, she was already writing poems in a language that was not her own. No one believed that she was the author. At the age of twenty, Phillis was questioned by a court of eighteen enlightened men in robes and wigs.

She had to recite passages from Virgil and Milton and some verses from the Bible, and she also had to vow that the poems she had composed were not copied. From a chair, she underwent her lengthy examination, until the court approved her: she was a woman, she was Black, she was enslaved, but she was a poet.

Phillis Wheatley was the first African-American writer to publish a book in the United States.

✍🏾: Black History Studies

#phillis wheatley #blacktumblr #black history #black liberation #african history

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yuri-is-online · 10 months

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The Quiet Part (Azul, Jade, and Trey x Yuu)

"Oh can I help you? You seem to be lost." You attempt to cheerfully ask the vaguely familiar looking person in front of you. As if he is deliberately trying to rub salt in your wounds, Crowley ignored your request to leave campus for NRC parents day and is instead making you and Grim run errands. The person in front of you, blissfully ignorant to your inner turmoil perks up at your attention.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you the magicless prefect?" You and Grim exchange a confused glance. "You've got to be right?" They're practically glowing with how happy they are to see you. " Oh I'm sorry, I've just heard so much about you!" Wait, what?

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, in-law fishing (Azul and Jade) vs sibling smack down (Trey), if you liked this please check my master list here.

Azul

"Well aren't you just darling!" You fold your clipboard just a bit closer to your chest, you don't think this excitable plump lady is intending to intimidate you but she is all up in your personal space. Her pearlescent hair frames her face perfectly, nicely complementing her large black hat that reminds you of a Victorian aristocrat on her way to the opera. She just lacks the fancy cigarette case.

"Hey lady back off my hench human! You're spooking 'em!" Grim pouts with his hands on his hips but only succeeds in changing her attention to him.

"And you must be the dire beast! Simply marvelous I didn't think Zuzu would let me have a chance to see you two at all." She sighs, clearly happy in a vaguely sinister way where her familiar looking smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Oh where are my manners? I'm-"

"Mother!" A very flusterd octopus runs, well more like flails, his way up the main street towards the woman your speaking with, but she doesn't do more than wave before returning to her conversation with you.

"-Mrs. Ashengrotto! Say darling are you free for a bit?" She's back to crowding you once again while Azul moves in between the two of you. "I have been so looking forward to meeting my poopsy's friends."

"Mother please, the prefect is extremely busy. There's no need for them to show you around campus, what sort of son would I be if I-"

"That's besides the point." Mrs. Ashengrotto's smile doesn't fade but the warmth of her voice most certainly does. Still Azul remains firm, extending an arm to keep you from moving towards his mother, or maybe to keep her from closing in on you? "You can't expect me to not be curious! You never have written such glowing things about-"

"That's enough mother." Grim yanks on your pant leg and points towards the path to Sam's shop.

"It is not poopsy you can't just ask for advice and then refuse every opportunity to use it." Mrs. Ashengrotto huffs in disappointment and elegantly shakes her finger as you and Grim begin to slowly inch away.

"I have no idea what it is you are talking about mother," Azul pushes his glasses further up his face, silently pleading with you to run faster "and I am certain the prefect doesn't either so please, allow me to escort you to the Monstro Lounge that you have been so eager to see." His mother pouts, pouts! At him puffing her cheeks up with air before finally looking behind him and realizing you aren't there.

"Oh absolutely not, I am not letting this fish out of my net." She mutters muscling her son out of the way. "Yoo hoo! Darling are you certain you can't at least stay for dinner?"

"Mother!"

"Or maybe forever?"

"MOTHER!"

Jade

"Well now, this is a surprise, watcha doin here Jade?" Grim asks as you step foot into the Pomefiore lounge. Normally asking Jade anything is akin to sticking your foot in your mouth but you have to admit, you are sort of curious why Jade and Vil, the two most composed people on campus, are standing awkwardly in the corner clearly a bit out of place while two men you assume are their father's seem to be having a grand time chatting it up on the couch. Disturbingly, Jade makes eye contact with you with a look you almost think is screaming for help.

"Yoooo!" The Leech father is tall, and the speed with which he snaps up off the couch and approaches you does not help at all with his naturally intimidating aura. "You've gotta be the prefect right? Mr. Leech!" He extends a hand and you look at Jade who just smiles at you as you gingerly take his father's hand and immediately regret it with how he nearly snaps your arm off with his hand shake.

"Um yes that's me, can I help you?" You wince and try to avoid rolling your wrist too much. Mr. Leech looks a bit confused.

"Mhm? Don't you have any folks visiting today?" You look at Jade who reluctantly draws attention to himself with a cough.

"Their situation is a bit unique father." You're thankful Jade doesn't say more than that

"Well why didn't you say that? Now I look like an ass." Mr. Leech claps the back of his head and mutters. "And here I had everything I wanted to say to the in laws planned out already, shit." He turns back to you with a smile and Vil's dad lets out an elegant laugh.

"From a certain point of view that makes your task easier no?" Vil's father says as Jade reluctantly moves out of the corner towards his father, clearly looking for an excuse to get him out of Vil's hair.

"If you are done saying hello to your friend, would you like to see some of the mountain lover's club projects?" Jade asks, already gently herding him towards the door as his father shrugs.

"Sure, you coming kid?" Why is he looking at you and why is Jade giving you that strange look again? "Jade's told his mom all about your hikes, gotta admit I don't really get the appeal myself but it sounds like you two have a grand old time with it."

"The headmage technically has me-" Mr. Leech wraps one arm around your shoulder and another around Jade's and resumes the march towards the door.

"Aww don't worry about that!" It's clear you aren't getting out of this with just how terrified Grim is, he's practically rooted to his spot as Mr. Leech loosens his grip to wave over his shoulder at Vil and his dad. "See ya next Sunday Eric!"

"Good luck! Don't scare them off!"

Trey

Two small children stare up at you with sharp eyes, judgmentally you think but you can't be too sure. "You are the prefect right?" Asks the little boy, definitely judgmentally. "I thought you would be prettier or at least more handsome."

"Hey!" snaps his sister, who doesn't hesitate to hit him in a display that you are sure would give her parents a headache. "Big brother never lies to us about stuff!" Her brother scowls and rubs his head.

"Big brother lies all the time, what else do you call those 'secret ingredients' of his?" He goes back to staring you down and you and Grim exchange a look.

"Yeah but not to us." The little girl crosses her arms and stares her brother down sternly. "He would never lie about something like that. Besides did you see how dopey he looks when he talks about them?" The little boy looks away from you with a pout, almost like you stole his toy or something while his sister rolls her eyes. "It is so obvious- you would absolutely know if you were a girl."

"That's got nothing to do with it! I'm just worried you know, it's important to make sure they pass the sniff test." He looks like he is questioning if he can get away with hitting his sister in front of you as you desperately look around for any sign of these kids' parents. "You would totally know if you were a boy."

"Uhhh hench human," Grim poorly whispers "you don't think these two are..." he doesn't finish his sentence but as you both examine the bickering duo you start to note all the little similarities between them and-

"Hey you two aren't causing problems on purpose are you?" Trey looks down sternly on the two kids who completely ignore his tone and jump on him immediately.

"TREY!"

"Are you gonna show us the hedgehogs?!" squeals the little girl.

"Forget that, I wanna see the Coliseum!" cheers the little boy. You breathe a sigh of relief, and wave to Trey getting ready to continue your patrol when the little girl looks after you confused.

"Aren't you gonna come?" She asks, so sweetly in comparison to the heat you're taking from her brother. Trey smiles at you, but he can't really bring himself to keep eye contact.

"The prefect's busy, I'm sure. They don't need to be running around after us all day." He sets them both down and starts herding them towards the mirror, shooting you a wink over his shoulder as he flicks his little brother on the forehead for sticking his tongue out at you. His sister sighs and you swear you hear her whine that-

"You just want to keep them to yourself. You can't keep me away forever, I swear I'll be a good wing woman, you're waaaay too lame to get a date yourself Trey!" You awkwardly look back down at your clipboard as Grim desperately tries to do the math in his head.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #trey clover x reader #i think azul's mom should be like #the mom equivalent of smooth jazz #she deserves to cover her mouth with her hand and go “ohohohoho”#“please marry my son I raised him so he knows how to cook <3”

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chuluoyi · 22 days

Note

only if you are up for a challenge. Naoya Zenin x f!reader in which he got her pregnant, then she left out of fear and he found her again and won't let her go :)))

when you loved me

- zen'in naoya x reader

you loved him... but you have had enough of the shit you've experienced—his arrogance, horrible family and another woman—and decided to leave him for the sake of yourself and your child

genre: angst to comfort, implied cheating, most likely ooc, honestly i almost made it a vs naoya fic with no consolation, happy ending aka naoya is decent

note: this ask... has been collecting dust in my askbox for about SIX MONTHS HAHAH, so sorry anon. i'll just leave it here and let it burn however just bc i don’t want to delete what i’ve written :’)

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

"How... how could you?"

Once, you thought, you were in love with Zen'in Naoya.

Well, you couldn't deny that he had personality flaws, but deep down, at one point in your life, you still believed that he too loved you.

You stared at him through tears brimming in your eyes, and he was just there, looking at the little being in your arms with a mix of shock and... something else you couldn't name. Dismay? Disappointment? Black rage?

"Go away, Naoya," you declared through your gritted teeth, pulling the baby in your arms even closer to you, as though fearing he might do something drastic. No way in hell would you let him after what he made you go through.

His eyes twitched as he tried to hold himself back from losing it. He took a few deep breathes in order to stay composed.

“Y/N, answer me,” he growled, still with the same condescending tone you remembered nine months ago, when you resolutely decided to leave him. “Is that baby mine?”

This was absolute madness. You had driven him insane. Naoya was certain he would go feral on you after you boldly left him without a trace, and when he found you, you were cradling this baby in your arms—which he was absolutely sure, enough to bet on his life, that the little thing was also his.

The woman he loves has given birth to his child.

You had imagined all sort of scenarios in which this very event would occur. This was one of them actually.

“No,” you firmly replied, gaze hardening. “Not yours. So kindly let yourself out of my house, Naoya.”

“Absolute bullshit!” he shouted and you flinched. His sudden rise of voice also woke the poor baby in your arms.

His heart hammered inside his chest. There were many things that made a mess of his head. You running away from him. The nights of madness he went through, wondering where you were and if you were alright. And now, the fact you had his baby without him ever knowing.

“Where were you? Why did you leave— you were having my—”

Fuck, he didn’t even know if he had a son or daughter.

You tried to console your child, now tears also streaming down your cheeks too. But it was more of frustration and anger rather than fear. “Can you blame me? Zen’in Naoya, you have made my life hell!”

“Hell?” It felt like an total insult to his pride. “How—!”

“You!” you screamed at his face. “I’ve had enough of your shit! And not to mention your father—that horrible drunkard who always looks down on me and treats me as if I were some gold digger! And also the whole of your goddamn, entitled clan—they always harass me right in front of my face!”

All of this stunned him on this place. Truth to be told, he knew a little to nothing at all about what his kin had done to you.

“I don’t need your family’s wealth! I can live on my own just fine even with your bastard!” Your tirade still hadn’t ended, but you had to put your baby on her cot first and dismiss her ever growing cries because you were tired of all of this. This life. This absolute nightmare that was caused by one fatal mistake of falling in love with Zen’in Naoya.

“But what the fuck? You’re asking why I left? How dare you ask me that after what you did!”

“What did I even do?!” His denial made a blood vessel about to burst inside your brain. “You never fucking told me what my father did! If only you did, I would have—”

“Look, you don’t even acknowledge it!” You were so tired of this. You wished you could die and just end all of this mental suffering. Why did this have to happen to you out of a billion people out there?

And yet, still, ultimately, you were happy with him. Those memories of the two of you together, just idyllically spending time together, or sometimes even playfully clashing opinions— to you, they were irreplaceable.

So, that's why...

Your heart shattered at the screeching cries of your baby. But you had to slam this in Naoya’s face.

“That was the last straw—seeing you with that fucking woman, you insufferable, demented, cheating bastard!”

That string of profanities you screamed at his face made Naoya finally lost it, as he gripped you tightly and his eyes flared with pure white-hot anger. “Say that again—say that again, you—!”

A toe-curling scream ripped out of your baby and you wrenched yourself out of his grasp through sheer will. Naoya was left reeling as he watched your horrified expression, as you plucked the baby into your arms again.

“Shh, shh,” you shushed your child amidst your own quivering lips. “Mama is here… Don’t cry…”

Right at that moment, it was as if something had pierced his chest and left a gaping hole. He really had a living baby. That baby was crying because of him.

The sting of the anger was still there, but now guilt started to overpower it as he regained his cool somewhat. “Is that a—” his breath hitched. He had to know. At the very, very least he had to know.

You didn’t immediately answer. You were still absolutely heartbroken by how it all turned out. But above all else, you could no longer deny him of his own child.

“A girl,” you sniffled.

A daughter. A daughter— in the one split second after knowing that, Naoya made the quickest decision of his life.

“Come back. Live with me,” he said, resolute. “You’re the mother of my child—I won’t let anyone lay their hand on you again. You have my word.”

Women are pain in the ass. That was what he used to think. Until you. Not when it's you. It astounded even himself how the sight of you like this was enough to drive knives into his chest.

“Look, that’s not it,” your tears were now falling free and fast, unable to hold it back longer. “How can you ask me that—when you went behind my back with another woman? Naoya, I love you—loved you. But isn’t this too cruel? How can you do this to me?”

“What woman are you talking about?” He tried to compose himself, but your accusation of him with someone whose existence he didn’t even know was getting in his nerves. “I have never been unfaithful to you! I know we don't always agree to things, but do you really think that low of me?”

“Evidently, I saw you with her. Your father made it a point that she’s your next plaything—or possibly even, fiancée!”

There was a memory that sprung into his head when you mentioned that. He recalled that vain, stupid woman, and he definitely remembered telling his father that he refused her. It wasn’t long before you disappeared.

Now everything clicked.

“Listen to me,” Naoya started, jaw clenching. “Whatever my father told you—those are all lies. I turned her down right there and then. I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that. You should have known that.”

Sobs wrecked your body and soul at this point. You knew where your place was. Zen’in Naoya was a man outside your league, his family made it so clear to you that you were nothing but dirt in their eyes. And perhaps that was why, back then, you chose to protect yourself and left him, believing he was capable of that too.

And now before you, you could see the man you loved once again.

“Come back to me.” His gaze burned you. “This time, for sure, I won’t let anyone touch you— I won’t let them even say a word about you! I will marry you, and we will raise our daughter together.”

“I… I don’t want to live there, Naoya…” you sobbed. You hated that place. Like hell would you have your pride stomped and deceived again.

“Alright, if that’s what you want. We won’t live there. You won’t have to see any of their faces again.”

Gazing into your face, marked by trails of tears, he finally, finally felt his heart break. And he thought, that in front of him now was the only woman who could upturn his whole trajectory.

“Just… come back. To me. I will take care of you. I swear it.”

#zenin naoya x reader #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk angst #zen'in naoya x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #zenin naoya #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk fic #jjk naoya #jjk x reader angst #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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luminiamore · 30 days

Text

ghostface armin arlert x black witch reader

warnings: minnie is psycho & stalker ish, murder (not reader), possessive, mention of branding, minnie has a big d!ck!

a/n: i just wanna say that scenario is crazy, but it’s armin!!!

masterlist

New York City, renowned as the place where dreams come true, the city that never sleeps, but also, unfortunately, the city where danger lurks. Recent events have shaken the East Side with a series of gruesome murders, each marked by the presence of a Ghostface mask. Residents, be vigilant: lock your doors, stay armed, and avoid deserted alleyways. Let’s unite to ensure the safety of our beloved city.

Armin remained indifferent as he listened to the static emanating from the car radio, his expression unmoved. Tsk. As if that would save them. On that dark night, a vast moon cast its glow across the sky. A faint swoosh of cold water could be heard from the harbor directly beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. The cream-colored 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air he had stolen roughly 20 minutes earlier emitted a creaking sound before finally coming to a stop.

He forcefully shut the fragile car door before moving deliberately to the other side. With swift motion, he dragged the unconscious, thin man, securely bound in the passenger seat, onto the freshly laid cement pavement. Two sharp punches to the face jolted the man awake.

“Damn it!” The man grimaced, holding his now bloody nose. “Listen, I’ve got about a grand in my wallet. Just take it! Please, I haven’t done anything!” Armin listened to the desperate pleas, his oceanic eyes rolling in irritation. He contemplated shutting the man up with another punch. With a sigh, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him towards the edge of the dock.

“D’you want to know why you’re here?” Armin coolly asks, unfazed by the tears the man started dropping. His patience was wearing thin; just looking at his face made him itch to kill him.

“N-no! Please, I just started college! I have-” Armin lands another punch on his jaw, a resounding crack at his sheer force echoing across the empty dock. The man groans as his eyes twitch slowly, open and close. Armin crouches down, bringing himself to eye level with the man on the ground, his gaze fixed on the screwed-up, bloodied, frowned face.

“Does the name Y/n L/n ring a bell to you? You wouldn’t like the outcome if you lie, so try not to.” He asks yet another question with a flat face. The man looks up with a shaky breath; in fact, his entire body is shaking. He nods, trembling.

Armin gives a hum, “I thought it did. Do you remember the interaction with her just yesterday?” He calmly tuts, tilting the man’s semi-dislocated jaw as if examining him.

“L-Listen-” The man gets cut off again with a forceful grip on the same jaw. He cries out at the pain.

“Think about your next words, Porco.” His voice deepens by an octave, and Armin’s demeanor is noticeably less composed this time, his anger slipping beyond his control.

“I was high out of my mind, man! I don’t- I don’t remember anything!” The dirty blonde-haired man sobs. He was petrified for his life. Tonight, Armin wasn’t even adopting his other persona, Ghostface; he was acting solely as himself. He didn’t want the police to suspect —what could he even call her?

The woman he stalks every day? The woman he kills for?The woman who causes him to beat his dick red every night at just her aroma? The woman he craved incessantly, day in and day out? The woman he’s in love with?

“No? That’s okay, I’d love to refresh your memory.” The moment Porco gazes up in desperation, his breath catches at the sight of a knife—the same knife he had seen on TV after the news reporter detailed yet another gruesome murder by the man in a ghost mask. Am I about to die? That same thought again and again was at the forefront of his mind; it was a broken record.

“You approached her pretty arrogantly, might I add. You tried to take her home, but naturally, she denied. You got upset,” Armin drags the knife slowly against the blue vein on his neck. Lightly grazing, barely applying any pressure to make a mark. He draws closer to the petrified man.

“You touched her.” He seethes. “But my girl is strong and pretty special, too. So, she handled you. I’m sure you remember that, there’s the bruise right here to prove it.” He applies pressure with the tip of the knife to a purple bruise on the left side of his throat. A slow trickle of blood falls down the inside of Porco’s shirt.

“S-She already made me apologize, man. I don’t k-know how many times I can say sorry-” The sound of gurgling pierced the stillness. Armin, tired of listening, drove the infamous Bowie Knife into the man’s neck, then glanced to the side.

The man feebly tried to grab Armin’s arm; he was nowhere near stronger, though, and once Armin twisted the knife, the struggle abruptly stopped. He pushed the knife deeper. Porco, too deeply penetrated, fell limp on the ground.

Armin paused, taking out his phone to check the time. ‘10:47’ Shit. It was almost time to check on his girl. He still had one more kill left before he saw her again tonight. He swiftly pulled out the knife from the dead man’s neck and kicked him right into the freezing water below. This was one kill he didn’t want Ghostface to be responsible for.

This next kill, though, he did. He strolled over to the classic car, retrieved the black hood and cloak with jagged edges, and draped it over himself. The ghost mask rested on the leather seats, its eyes fixed on him under the moonlight. With a slight smirk on his pink lips, he picked it up and disappeared into the night.

Quite to the contrary, New York wasn’t your birthplace. Your parents were esteemed practitioners of witchcraft in Cap Haitian, Haiti, renowned for their formidable abilities throughout the country. However, their prominence also drew numerous adversaries. When you were born, they resolved to shield you from the harsh realities of their world and allow you a childhood free from the burdens of survival. Thus, they made the decision to move to the mystical city of New Orleans.

There, they taught you their practices. Every day was dedicated to honing your powers, relentlessly training until you surpassed both of them following their passing. Despite possessing the ability to prolong their lives, your parents chose to embrace their human existence and concluded that their time on Earth had reached its fulfillment.

The pain was too bearing for you, and so you decided to move to The Big Apple. Impulsive decision on your part, really; you just wanted to get away. But your life in New York proved to be incredibly peaceful, your only concerns being your powers and the three cats you lived with.

It started off being peaceful, but your beauty unfortunately came with repercussions, too. With senses finely attuned, you remained acutely aware of your surroundings, quickly detecting a figure shadowing your every move. At first, you believed he was stalking you with intentions of abduction, and though you suspected he was a killer, three months passed without him making any advances towards you.

It was a game. You noticed him watching you closely, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was aware of your awareness as well. Armin knew you wouldn’t address him first, and he was fine with just stalking you. But Armin was just a man. A man who got captivated by your beauty every time he saw you. A man who noticed that killing everyone who approached you would be a never-ending task. A man who made the consecutive decision to claim you instead.

Claims come in different forms, Armin knew that. He could brand you, permanently etching his name into your body so you knew you were his. He could mark you, letting the world know he was the only one who had the pleasure of painting your skin like a canvas. His favorite idea so far was to dump his seed past your pretty brown pussy lips daily.

Would you let him? Who were you kidding? You were aware of someone monitoring your movements nearly around the clock, yet you still chose to wet your sheets almost every week with the help of your Rose toy. He’ll make sure to punish you for that. The only time he ever wanted you to come was with him. You even leave your windows open as if inviting him to perform such a task. He knows you’re not stupid; your actions had a purpose.

You sat on your silk cream sheets, arranging your supplies and ingredients for another round of setting up a protection spell. The lavender and rose sage aroma filled the air, leaving a potent scent of smoke in the background. You were genuinely fatigued from constantly performing various iterations of the same spell each day. Why weren’t they working?

Black salt, Rosemary, Cinnamon, Bay Leaves, Mint, and Sage ashes. With the black salt, you draw a circle around you and light tall black candles in the dim light of your room. You start chanting.

Elements of the moon,

Elements of the night,

Come this way

And grant me with your might.

Powers of night and day,

I summon thee,

I call upon thee,

To protect me.

So shall it be.

The flames coming from the candle become stronger, whooshing rapidly. An unseen gust extinguishes the flames and sends the sand you placed around you swirling into the air. Huh? That wasn’t supposed to happen. That shouldn’t have happened. Why the fuck did that happen?

As rustling outside your window catches your attention, you glance sharply but see nothing. Returning your focus to your sacred space, you raise your hand, ready to relight the candles, only to be halted by a gentle yet commanding voice.

“You look pretty tonight, Y/n,” Armin catches your attention as he stands from behind your closet door. You had yet to spot him. You understood the importance of maintaining composure and clarity in moments like these. The awareness of being followed had long been present, ever since it began. The protective spells were intended to deter him, yet frustration mounted as they proved ineffective against his persistence.

Armin wasn’t really thinking of any of that; rather, he fixated on how the red robe you wore accentuated the curves of your ample chest. The way you knelt emphasized the softness of your thighs, he wanted to drown in between them.

“Come out. You’ve stalked me enough,” Your honeyed voice calls out. You survey the room, your gaze shifting from the cabinet housing your altar to your queen-sized bed and then to the wooden door of your walk-in closet. Your gaze settled on there a few seconds longer before shifting away.

You hear a small chuckle, and your frown only deepens, “The fuck is funny?” You’re about to get up from your position on your carpeted floor, only to be stopped by a large hand on your shoulder. When did he even move? Armin sits on the edge of your bed, eyes taking in every inch of you. When he firmly presses down to keep you still, your breath hitches.

You sense his presence drawing closer, the fabric of your silk robe brushing against him. Though you didn’t know what he looked like, his energy alone had you on the verge of surrender, prepared to relinquish control of your mind to him. You always knew you weren’t normal. After all, you are a witch. Getting sticky from a man that smelled like Baccarat Rouge 540 and commanded attention from just aura alone, though? That was beyond you.

“Relax, love.” He whispered gently in your ear, as if not to scare you. You were anything but. Your nerves were racking up in a different way, and small tears of sweat were forming on the inside of your pressed thighs. You had no panties on, and when Armin leaned down into the crook of your neck to smell you, his eyes caught sight of this.

“E-excuse me? Nigga if you don’t-” You continued to resist and shuffle out of his grip, and Armin understood the reason behind it. Your pride stood as a barrier to your surrender, but he remained undeterred. He’ll break you soon enough.

He silenced you abruptly with a firm grip on your delicate throat. He couldn’t afford to lose his cool with you—not unless he was fucking up your insides. You weren’t in control here. And the problem was, you still thought you were.

“That’s wasn’t nice. Be nice, Y/n.” He squeezed tightly, restricting your airway a bit. You knew you weren’t normal when you felt a long trickle of your slick slip down the side of your soft brown flesh at the action.

“I want you, y’know? I think-” He pauses and sucks in a breath when he brushes his nose right against your sweet spot. You shudder. “I think I like you?” He seems confused himself, Armin really never felt this way before. He couldn’t even describe precisely what he was feeling with accuracy. Infatuation? Obsession? Devotion? He doesn’t know, but what he does know is that he would gladly offer you the world on the finest silver platter if you so desired.

“I’d like to show you. I want to give you everything I’ve been feeling for the past three months. Let me, baby.” He tilts your head in his direction, your lips a hair away from each other. When you steal a glance at his face, your slick only gets heavier. Fuck, he was pretty. His porcelain face is adorned with small dried splatters of blood, his oceanic eyes framed by long, hooded lashes, and his medium-length blond hair gently brushing against your cheeks.

This wasn’t a good idea, you knew that. Armin couldn’t share the moral compass you thinly held onto because he was just so consumed. He was entirely taken by you, believing that you might have staked a claim on him before he had the chance to do the same to you.

Any doubts and moral compass you held vanish through your half-opened window as he tenderly presses his pink lips against your full ones. Initially gentle, as if testing your response, he gradually presses harder when you offer no resistance, deepening it with intimacy.

You gasp when he squeezes your throat once more, allowing him to slip his skillful tongue into yours. The force of his kiss caused you to moan out in slight desperation. He smiles at this without pulling away from your addictive lips. He presses into you even more.

The way you gave in so easily felt completely out of your will, this wasn’t like you. You usually had more self-control, but before you even caught a glance at this man, he had you captivated. There was something about him, the mystery he held, the danger that clinched onto him just by breathing. It made you curious, eager to know more about the man who didn’t bother to hide his intense desire for you. And you alone.

Armin had a reputation for his patience, remaining consistently composed and collected. But, you and your perfect face had a way of unsettling him, causing him to act out of character with every move you made. He was keenly aware of this, finding himself compelled to do things for you that he had never considered doing for anyone else. Tonight, he learned that patience might not be his strong suit anymore.

Your skin felt like it was being electrified as his right hand traced a slow path down your body. Starting from your neck, trailing down to the center of your chest, and finally arriving at the fat of your pussy. You almost instantly grind against his middle finger, wanting him to do more.

He noticed of course, he noticed everything about you. “I want you to beg, baby. Can you do that for me?” His whisper makes you shake in anticipation. You were wet, dripping all over the fabric of your carpet.

“P-Please-” You abruptly cut your whimpers off, realizing something that had completely slipped your mind: you didn’t even know his name. You snapped back into reality in a split second, struck by this realization.

Once more, he noticed. “It’s Armin. Moan it real pretty for me, kay?” The way he knew what you were thinking made you less hesitant to give him what he wanted you. What made your control slip was when he slid his finger down to the top of your sopping clit and rubbed lightly, enough pressure to make you squirm. He liked teasing you.

“S-Stop teasing- Ah!” He shuts you up when he presses two fingers harder, his rubbing making tight circles. Your breathing starts getting heavier at the bliss he’s making you feel.

The blonde asshole only smugly tutted at you, “What was that? I didn’t hear you beg, Y/n. Come on, you’re a smart girl.”

He was teasing as if his heart wasn’t beating outside of his chest, just being this close to you. He was internally scrambling at how your slick was so much it fell off his fingers. He wanted to taste you. He wanted you to beg so he could taste you.

You would’ve kept quiet, not feeding into his antics. But, he made you feel so.. good. The way his fingers rubbed up and down your slit, not quite going inside your tight walls. His rapid kisses all over your face and down your neck. The way you could feel his print, pressing heavily on your silk fabric. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Please just- Shit. T-Touch me, Min.” He groans and exhales sharply at the name your blank mind mustered. Min. You called him Min.

Without warning, Armin hoists you up from the floor and gently places you onto your ice-cold sheets. Lying on your back, your red robe barely clung to your brown skin. You were completely exposed to him, your freshly painted white toenails grazing his shoulders, your soft thighs spread so that sticky pussy was on full display for him.

You must’ve been an angel or a goddess that he’d gladly worship. He could make a religion out of loving you, you were just that enchanting. He leans into your inner thigh and presses a kiss. It burns your skin. He presses another kiss, this time on your twinkling pearl. You jolt.

Maybe teasing wasn’t the best option for him. His erection was painfully hard in his black sweats, his impatient longing hidden from you as he bucks on the edge of your bed. You were too busy choking out pitiful cries when his lips latched onto your sweet nectar. “Oh, fuck!”

You started to feel hazy, your heart pounding and your brown eyes dazed at all the attention he was giving your pussy. Your hip began to spasm and twitch when he sucked harder, teasing your creamy opening with his long finger.

“Say my name, mama. You remember it, right?” His husky plea fills the air. This time, you didn’t hesitate to let anyone within a 5-mile radius know who was eating you as if he starved himself all day just for this.

“A-Armin- Oh shit, Min! Please, more!” You sob, begging him to drench himself in you. He obliged, more than happily. He was at your disposal for the night and many more to come.

His ring and index finger find themselves nestled deep in your core. He stimulates your sensitive parts fast, quickening his pace inside of you. He relishes in the loud cry you make, latching on your pretty clit again. He knew how messy you could get, I mean look at how you were leaking. You had to be tired of changing your, no doubt, expensive sheets when you ruin them like this.

You felt a burning pressure in your gut, were you coming already? Armin answers your thoughts for you. His movements speed up, and the sounds of light smacking from how deep he was penetrating your g-spot echoed in your room. Your back tries to arch off the bed, the pleasure becoming too much for you. Armin makes you take it, pressing his large hand over the pudge your stomach made. You squeal.

“Fuckk,” Your moans get dragged out when a clear sprinkle of your cum escapes you. You were in a frenzy, the loud, lewd squishing sound of your pussy filling your ears. It was like a dam bursting, and what kept your eyes permanently in the back of your head was when he didn’t stop sucking. How could he? It was like you tasted better when you came, and Armin wasn’t a fool. He was determined to not let a single drop go to waste.

He removes himself from your lips with a resounding pop. “I’m going to fuck you now. So, don’t run.” Your eyes widen at his statement, your jaw almost dropping at his sheer size when you realize his sweats are carelessly scattered on the floor. There’s no way that’ll fit inside of you.

Armin knew what you were thinking, he surveyed the way your eyes wandered around nervously. He grasps your chin and plants a gentle peck on your slightly pouting lips, intertwining his fingers with yours to calm your nerves.

“Breathe, mama.” He softly grunts. His kisses start getting heavier, blocking you from letting out a loud scream when he pushes into your weeping walls, inch by inch. He was making sure you felt everything, every vein, as he penetrated you. He blesses your ears with a breathy moan, caught off guard by how fucking tight you are.

He had to remind himself to breathe. Your muffled moans against his lips consume him, making his entire body tremble on you. You were being pushed to your limit, and Armin only paused for a second to let you adjust before his animalistic tendencies got the best of him. He wanted to fuck you up, bad.

His hips begin to snap against your twitching legs at a desperate pace. The position he had you in was honestly mind fucking. Your thighs were firmly pressed to your chest, his hands caressing the balls of your unusually soft feet. Was everything about you so smooth? So beautiful and perfect. He answered his own question when your frantic mewls got louder. Yes.

Your pussy was dripping all over his chest, all over the fat cock rapidly pushing in and out against your cervix. Your pretty tits bounced under him, matching the forceful thrusts he fed you. They looked too... bare for his taste. He wanted you to be covered in his love marks, he wanted to make it impossible for you to remove them. He leans down, somehow pressing your shaky thighs closer to your upper body.

His wet tongue laps around your dark areolas, biting and pulling at them with his teeth until you push your hands into his hair and pull hard. Armin becomes drowsy, losing himself in the comfort your body gave him. He sucks and bites on the fat of your pretty tits, leaving behind deep purple bruises.

Was this heaven? You thought you saw the pearly gates as he continued hitting your G-spot with extreme accuracy. Every deep thrust he made you take caused you to let out helpless, euphoric shrieks. You press your hands against his rock-hard chest, running away from the pleasurable torture you are receiving.

Well, you were trying to. You’ve convinced yourself you couldn’t take it, but Armin knows you can. So, why are you playing with him?

Armin grappled your wrists, pinning them above your head, and sucked his teeth, “You don’t listen?” He heatedly addresses you, trying so hard not to fill your perfect cunt with his seed.

“Why you running, mama?” He questions you softly as if he wasn’t splitting you in half with his girth. He listens to your jumbled screams with a sly smile, pressing a delicate kiss right next to your diamond nose ring.

“I- I can’t, Ouuu shit Min! Can’t take it- Oh god!” Your sweet voice wails out. He makes a tsk sound, and to prove that you can take it, Armin reaches a hand down your stomach. Not once stopping his merciless rhythm, he rubs your engorged clit, desperate to see you cum again. You keen, and in an instant, your sweet juices spray all over him, your creamy essence coating his cock.

“See, there you go. Fuck, you wanna take my cum, pretty? Want me to fill you up?” He deeply murmurs in your neck, sucking lazily. Your body falls limp against him. He was so close, so close to showing you just how much you have an effect on him. You nod frantically, mind not even on planet Earth as he overstimulates your now bruised pussy.

“Please, Min! I-I want it!”

How can he deny when you beg him like that? When you gaze up at him with tears in your eyes, as if he’s your sole lifeline. You look at him as if he’s your deity, as though you can’t exist without him. You’re almost sure that after tonight, you can’t. His thrusts start getting sloppy, his hips stuttering as they leave a resounding slap against yours. Armin tenses and whimpers pathetically in your ear, unable to take the ecstasy your wet cunt made him feel.

He gives you everything, all his cum, all his passion, and pumps in and out of your warm hole slowly. He shudders, his eyes clouded with pure infatuation as he leans down to force you into a nasty kiss. The kiss was incredibly messy; Armin seemed to be devouring you, with saliva escaping both your mouths as he began sucking on your tongue. When he notices you sucking in heavy breaths, he pulls away from you.

Armin pulled out of you, watching as his cum overflowed out of your sobbing slit. What a sight. He flips you over, on your stomach this time. You let out a long whine when he presses your back into a deep arch. What is he doing? His following words cause your breath to catch in your throat.

“You didn’t think we were done, right? Ass up, mama.”

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