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rottenbrainstuff · 3 months

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BG3 playthrough - CAZADOR

Spoilers and my thoughts on spawn vs ascended Astarion below.

But let’s begin with a disclaimer, because everyone is taking this discourse way too seriously: these are MY THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS, I am talking about MY PREFERENCES AND MY OBSERVATIONS. I think everyone should play the game however they like and leave everyone else alone. YES, EVEN IF they are doing things you don’t agree with.

My poor little computer continues to chug its way through the city, but I’ve been getting a bit bored with the little random arbitrary quests of act 3 and I wanted to do something fun this weekend, so I decided to go to Cazador’s palace.

It definitely does feel like there was initially a plan to have more content in there that they weren’t able to get around to finishing… stuff like the unresolved threads with Amanita Szarr, stuff like the bizarrely empty basement, stuff like the aftermath of the big party, Victoria’s body (which I understand you used to be able to talk to, which was since cut out since her lines contradicted the plot in other spots?) sure, unfinished, but I’m really not THATbothered by it. I dunno. I’m still enjoying the game a lot. I can feel how much work and care went into it, I understand how long it was in development for and what a risk they took with it and how they almost went bankrupt trying to get it finished. In a perfect world I wish they could have had all the time and money that they needed to make act 3 as slick and organized as act 1, sure, but am I still enjoying myself? Am I still emotionally invested? Do I appreciate the work they did? Yes yes and yes. I’m not bothered.

Ok thoughts. The lore here is only fragments so you really have to flesh it out in your mind. It’s interesting how long Cazador managed to survive compared to his ancestors. I think it can be assumed that this is because Cazador was much more reluctant to make other vampires than his predecessors. We get only a tiny glimpse into what Vellioth was like, and I think it’s very interesting to think about how the game shows us that Astarion was punished with a year of being locked away, while Cazador was punished with eleven years of impalement. I’m sure in Cazador’s mind he is a more benevolent master, and his ungrateful spawn don’t understand how good they have it. It’s like an abusive parent who doesn’t understand why you complain so much, because when they were a kid they got the strap, look at how much nicer they are to you, you’re just being ungrateful! Cazador is really strikingly unimpressive for all the buildup he got, and I can’t decide if that’s funny, or a lost opportunity. Ever since I since I started playing, I wished there was an element of cycles of kindness and apology mixed in with Cazador’s abuse, because in real life that’s such an important part, these moments of calm where you think things might get better and things could work and you want to believe the bullshit that they’re saying. There’s none of that at all with Cazador, but maybe it just would just make the narrative more complicated, and also more disturbing, so that’s ok if it’s not there, it’s just a thought.

The fight was a lot easier than I was expecting and I found that a little disappointing. I skipped ahead one night just to see what the fight at the House of Grief was like and I was really challenged by that… Cazador is a whiny little asshole, comparatively. I wouldn’t have minded a bit more of a challenge. And yes I know I can bump the difficulty level any time I want, but I haven’t had to do that for any other fight. I’m just saying, I think the fight could stand to be a little trickier.

So here’s Astarion’s big choice - similar to Wyll, and different from Shadowheart and Lae’zel, you can’t just leave him to decide by himself and see what he picks to do. You must decide either to help him, or you must decide to talk him out of it.

I did the spawn choice first, because this is what my Tav would do. Wow, beautiful scene, so emotionally satisfying and cathartic. I really like that there was no attempt to be like, well, you can’t kill Cazador because then you’d be just as bad as him… no, even with the spawn route you are able to at least get that piece of revenge. I like it. I chose to release the 7000 spawn. It’s supposed to be a difficult choice, and for sure it is, but for me there really isn’t any other option in the end. After learning it isn’t 7 souls on the line but 7 fucking thousand, Astarion stubbornly tries to justify his commitment to going through with the ritual by saying these spawn are so far gone they’re better off dead now, but I disagree. That’s not at all the impression I get talking to Sebastian and talking to the Gur girl. I think that’s him feeling uncomfortable with suddenly being shown the consequences of 200 years of collecting victims. 100%. Sebastian has been there almost since the beginning and he is coherent and can express that he doesn’t want to die. It’s heartbreaking. I can’t condemn 7000 people to death because they MIGHT hurt people later. Look, I know, 7000 spawn loose in the underdark, they are going to hurt people. I’m not naive. But the last time I checked, even in places where capital punishment is a thing, you’re not actually allowed to execute someone preemptively because you think they MIGHT do something wrong EVENTUALLY - you have to actually wait until they do something wrong! It’s not a good situation, for sure. I can totally understand why other people in the world would be angry at me for it. I can totally understand why the Gur are angry at me for it. Totally get it! But like. The bottom line is, I can’t decide to destroy 7000 sentient people.

(I’m ok with the Gur being angry, but I DID really appreciate that at the very very least, Gandrel is talking about wanting to go and find their missing children. Yes thank you, at least one single person who wants to at least TRY and see if something can be done)

Everything after this is just so breathtakingly lovely: Astarion’s confusion about feeling numb afterwards, which ties nicely back into Aylin’s feelings after she cracked Loroakan in half, and the beautiful act 3 romance. Man. Like. It all really got me thinking about just how much Astarion has changed since act 1, how he’s being so honest here, so vulnerable, so sweet. His act 3 romance is all about moving forward and becoming free and why it isn’t easy. I’m so proud of him. Man. Man.

After this, his conversation dialogue changes yet again, and a dark urge has the option to try and break up with him because you’re afraid you might hurt him, which prompts him to give this amazingly sweet and supportive dialogue, man. Just. Babe is so sweet with a dark urge tav, I can’t stand it.

So some people have said they wish Larian had added in an option to hug Astarion while he’s wailing after killing Cazador - adding my disagreement here. This moment is all about Astarion. He’s letting out 200 years worth of grief and anger and pain, this is his moment, it feels really odd to me to insert myself into that, leave him alone with it. He wants to let it out, not have a hug. There is plenty of time for comfort later, there are two conversations about it post-fight, even.

Some people have also expressed discomfort with how Astarion uses the line “I could be persuaded” (to have sex). Personally I do not have an issue with this line the way it’s used here. I think his word choice is meant to be funny and to deflect the seriousness and significance of this milestone he’s suggesting, because he’s still working on this whole vulnerability and honesty thing, and I think people are getting too hung up on the literal wording and missing the contextual cues. I think Astarion’s intentions for the night were clear in his mind from the beginning. I think his entire plan for the evening was to have this chat with Tav and try sexual intimacy again. If you tell him you’re not in the mood, he acts surprised. If you go along with it, he is very much in control and setting the pace. “I could be persuaded,” he says, as if he wasn’t the one who asked Tav to meet him there, as if he hasn’t just turned to them expectantly and taken their hands like he wants to talk about something very important, as if telling him you don’t know what he means causes him to clarify that he wants to be sexually intimate, as if he doesn’t express surprise if you say you don’t want to. He doesn’t need persuading, this is the whole reason he’s set up the little graveyard date. I think……. I think people place too much emphasis on literal words. In real life things are rarely so neat and efficient. That’s totally valid if some people are bothered by the line, but I do think it was NOT the intention to suggest Astarion HAS to be persuaded. This is just how Astarion likes to talk.

While talking to the imprisoned spawn, a certain path of dialogue leads to Astarion having a bit of a revelation about how up till now he’s always clung to the reassurance that he’s not responsible for any of this because he was enslaved by Cazador. “Yes this was horrible what happened, but it’s got nothing to do with me, I couldn’t help it. While we’re here we might as well make the best of a bad situation, right?” But now he realizes… it’s very true that back then he didn’t have a choice, and I don’t begrudge him that at all, not for a second… but now he does have a choice. And he needs to think very very carefully about what he is going to CHOOSE to do. I’m so happy he realized that. He’s always clung so stubbornly to this rationale as we learn worse and worse things about the ritual, and I think this is the first little light shining through the crack that he needs to challenge himself.

After that was all done, I decided to try letting him ascend.

I knew what happens, I knew how things change, I’d seen clips of the alternate romance so it’s not like I didn’t know what was coming. Somehow though I was still surprised, much more than I thought I would be.

Cause ouch, it hurt. It hurt WAY more than I was expecting.

And hey kudos to Neil, A+ acting, this is why he’s winning all the awards: man, ascendant Astarion is a totally different character. Immediately, and completely. He immediately begins speaking to me differently. He SOUNDS different. He talks different. As soon as I heard him laugh for the first time I knew that I would never be able to do this in a normal run.

Ascended Astarion is very sexy. He’s very much now the hot bad-boy vampire, the bad guy from the movie that everyone writes fics about. He’s now very much the sexy bastard with the delicate little love interest sitting demurely on his lap while he rules a kingdom with an iron first type thing. I’m all for that, normally. If this was the Astarion we met in act 1, I’d probably still love it.

The problem for me is that IT’S NOT the Astarion we met in act 1, and that HURT MY FUCKING HEART.

The Astarion I have traveled with for two and a half acts is a bit of a bastard, yes, but he’s also silly, and cranky, and insecure. He’s been struggling with allowing himself to be vulnerable around me, and as he’s gotten more willing to drop his guard, this really beautiful personality has been emerging. He has a capacity for empathy that Cazador couldn’t even torture out of him after 200 years. The BEAUTIFUL things he’s said to my durge! The BEAUTIFUL thoughts he has in the spawn romance scene!

That is GONE. It’s dead. As soon as I heard him laugh for the first time, I knew how much of a mistake this would be. My precious, mean, beautiful, sharp, silly, sad Star was gone. Ascended Astarion will never be honest or vulnerable ever again.

I was shocked, very shocked, how quickly and completely Astarion changes with his dialogue and how much of a bad taste in my mouth it left. He sound different but he is also very much above everything happening, very much above me. After we left the palace and I had the chance to have a conversation with him, at first I tried to roleplay the conversation naturally, and I responded to him in a less than enthusiastic way, the “wrong” way, and he fucking shouted at me, and it just. It made me sick, absolutely sick. It reminded me of accidentally saying the wrong thing to my abusive ex husband and suddenly I’ve triggered a fight and I’m scrambling to say all the right things to placate him. I hated it. I hated it. I hated it SO much more than I was expecting.

The ascended romance has some of the same beats as the spawn romance and I think it’s obvious that’s on purpose. Again, it’s a contrast that hurts my heart. Rather than taking the lead because he is exploring his desire, allowing himself to HAVE desire, here he is taking control because he’s enjoying the feeling of having you underneath him. Rather than being honest and vulnerable and sharing this last piece of his history with you and pondering the trajectory of his life and his future, he’s talking to you in this syrupy voice and putting on a grander performance than ANYTHING he ever did in act 1 and there’s nothing behind it except possession and control. HURT! MY! HEART!

Astarion is strong and powerful now, and no one will ever hurt him again, that’s for sure, but here’s the thing: being alive means being hurt sometimes. You can’t make yourself strong by stepping on the backs of people the same way you were once stepped on, and you can’t prevent your heart from being broken by just burning out your heart. That’s not freedom and that’s not happiness. Without honesty and vulnerability, there can be no love, and it makes the act 3 romance feel depressingly hollow.

My resisting durge tav’s entire story has been about how he’s trying to resist his dark urges, resist his biology, and be a new, different person, and Astarion has been helping him. Similarly, my tav has been trying to help Astarion to do the same. The only reason my tav would ever NOT stop Astarion from ascending is if he tried and failed to convince him, and he now has to watch sadly as his love makes this terrible choice and lets his fear win.

So yeah. That’s my thoughts on that. I’m usually 100% all for the bad guys, I love the bastards. If that was the bastard we started with, I’d probably love it. But I fell in love with a different bastard who is already beautiful exactly the way he is, and who is basically totally destroyed if you go down that route. It hurts me to see him change like that. I do really enjoy that the game gives you both options, so you can play how you want to play, and so you can explore and see what happens down each path. I love how people have different reactions, I get how some people find a kind of catharsis or satisfaction in putting Astarion down that darker route. For me it’s a hard pass, hard pass, a much harder pass than I was expecting. Kudos to Neil and kudos to the writers for developing everything so beautifully.

Phew.

I still can’t get over how silly and sweet Astarion is being in the dialogues with me now though. I think as they explore more sexual intimacy, my tav would tease Astarion a lot about how it must feel to be a little vampire spawn who has bhaal’s own son at his complete and utter mercy and I think Astarion would get off on that, haha. Up next I guess I’m going to head over to the Elfsong and do the Emperor’s bullshit errands. Man this is such a good game. I’m so glad it’s being so recognized with awards, but I also hope it’s been selling a lot?

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion #Cazador #bg3 playthrough #baldur's gate 3

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mermaidsirennikita · 3 months

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ARC REVIEW: This Could Be Us by Kennedy Ryan

4/5. Releases 3/5/2024.

Vibes: heroine-forward, single parents, finding yourself, and discovering a person who actually *sees* you

Soledad lives the affluent good life in Skyland--though she certainly relies emotionally more on her friends than her husband, Edward. The mother of three girls, she's a planner, a fixer, and the model wife. Which is why her life is so thrown into chaos when she discovers the depths of Edward's secrets--secrets exposed by his coworker, Judah Cross. At first, Soledad resents Judah for his part in the downfall of her perfect life... But as she rebuilds and rediscovers who she is independently, she finds herself growing closer to the man who's never seen her as a pretty object on a pedestal.

Both of Kennedy Ryan's Skyland books have been deeply emotional and focused on tough, realistic subjects (though they certainly aren't without humor and fun drama). This Could Be Us is definitely more heroine-forward than Before I Let Go, which I found to be more of a balanced heroine and hero's journey. That's not a critique--Soledad's a compelling, likable heroine I was instantly rooting for, and that never let up. And that's not to say that Judah isn't a hero; we see his POV, and Kennedy maps out a rich backstory for him.

I'd call this one a sort of blend between women's fiction and romance. You do get all the romance beats, and the story does center Soledad and Judah's love story. It's a slow burn with simmering tension from the moment they meet--and they do in fact meet and initially feel that tension before Soledad recognizes the depths of Edward's betrayal, and that tiny hint of dirtybadwrong is delicious. But I would say that the novel centers Soledad's individual journey just as much, and definitely more than it centers Judah's. If you're looking for a book that really makes you feel that sense of like... I don't know. Maybe A Waiting to Exhale vibe? With much more romance? This could be exactly what you want.

Quick Takes:

--Personally, I really like having someone truly hateable in a romance novel, and I kind of feel like a lot of recent releases have sort of let up on having a hardcore dickwad who just needs to go die in a fire. Well! Kennedyn certainly did let me down with Edward! The guy is a Grade A jackass, and I think the novel does a great job in the beginning of showing us how certain men can wear a woman down over the years without raising a hand against her. And in fact, because physical violence doesn't happen, emotional violence and neglect is excused because we as women have been societally conditioned to think "well, at least he doesn't hit me".

In general, I've thought a lot over the past few years about the grossness and the less-critiqued epidemic of men who just can't fucking stand being with women that shine. That's what you see here. Soledad is everything--beautiful, caring, talented. Not flawless; she's deliciously human. But she's far above her stupid husband, and rather than just being happy that he punched above his weight and won, and enjoying the woman he managed to catch, he's constantly trying to bring her down to his insecure level. Dude, that is so real, and so awful.

I kind of had a feeling pretty early on that I knew where Edward's damage was going, and you don't wait long to find out about it. But there was another thing on top of it that just made so angry for Soledad. Which speaks to the investment I had in the story, right?

--I do think.... and this is me being someone who loves a dirtybadwrong read... that while Kennedy set a strong pace by having Edward's misdeeds revealed early on, we could've used a bit more time and interactions between Soledad and Judah when she's still fully in her marriage. There's an immediate spark between them, and having some of that tension build while she's truly forbidden fruit would've been fun.

--In contrast to how shitty Edward is, Judah's ex-wife, Tremaine, is lovely. She's not a conventional ex-wife/single mom figure, and I so appreciated that on several levels.

And the thing in romance novels and the romance-reading community.... There's a real fear of depicting exes, especially female exes, in a positive light. Like, I know there are bloggers who will categorize Tremaine as an "other woman/OW" simply because she slept with Judah in the past. Never mind that she was in fact fully married to this man and had two kids with him, and has now fully moved on and supports him as a co-parent in moving on as well.

I just really loved seeing this positive but realistic depiction of co-parenting. It was also kind of a fun contrast to Yasmen and Josiah's co-parenting relationship in the previous book, as they were very clearly still in love, and Judah and Tremaine are very clearly nOT.

--A big part of Judah's side of the story is that his twin boys are both autistic. I am not an expert on the spectrum by any means, and I can't speak to the accuracy of that. Kennedy does discuss her research in a note, and it seems like she made a big effort (and she has an autistic son herself). Just wanted to call that out for curious readers or reader who hear about this but are uncertain about the perspective from which she's coming.

The Sex:

This is a sloooow burn. As in, no kissing until about the 70% mark. I'll admit, I did kind of want some action before then, but the sexual tension is great. It's just a different take than some of the other Kennedy books I've read.

After that point, you do get a few very good scenes. I really loved that one aspect of Soledad's relationship with sex was getting over some really shitty things Edward said about her body and made her feel, and the worshipful way in which Judah treated her was super great in that respect.

Also, always nice to see people who aren't like... 20-30... having hot sex in a romance novel!

While this was a slower-moving and more women's fiction-adjacent book that I expected, it's still an absorbing and deeply effective story. I really enjoyed reading about Judah and Soledad's love story, and it's definitely a great story for those who need something that meets them where they are in a journey of rebirth. Don't we all need that sometimes?

Thanks to Netgalley and Forever for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

#romance novel blogging #netgalley #arc reviews #book recs #book reviews #books #romance novels

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moki-dokie · 22 days

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I'm..... torn on that Shogun ending. it was VERY satisfying in a VERY unconventional way that i appreciate the more i sit on it. but i was left very unsatisfied with other elements of the story that i think they could have done just a hair better with.

one, i would have liked a little more indication of how much time had passed between events. i legit have no fucking idea how long anything took except the overarching story itself. there definitely wasn't enough time spent on some important bits nor enough time for the audience to really sit with and absorb some of the more powerful moments. i was left wanting so much more in that regard, and had a very hard time being emotionally invested in the things i should have been.

secondly, the romance was just eh. i think it was well done, especially in the context of this time period, but again the lack of time spent on people and in certain moments really hindered that. i need to read the book tbh i'm sure there's so many little things throughout it we simply didn't get to see. but there just weren't enough.... influential moments between them to sell there was more than a bit of lust and fondness. and then when the big moments did happen that were meant to sell it, i couldn't buy into it. idk how to explain it other than nearly the entirety of the show it felt very shallow and more like they had a crush on each other and then ep 9 comes in with a wrecking ball of some hella deep emotion and love out of nowhere. i can tell they meant to build them up for that particular moment to hit as hard as it was intended but it just completely missed the mark for me. but, again, i think that ties into the way time was handled and not so much the way the romance itself was.

I'd have liked just a TINY bit more action. Just a smidge. a crumb more. and not even necessarily in the sense of fighting. A scene of anjin being a clumsy but serious oaf trying to learn how to use his katana properly after that scene with yabu and buntaro for example, would have been great. hell, get mariko in on it to correct his form and turn up the heat between them a little more. sure, her weapon is a naginata but she's still know the basics he doesn't. and it bothered me immensely he was never shown to be WTF about her being a Very Skilled Fighter when, yknow, european women are not, at all. Or, idk, let this master pilot of ships actually have more chances to show off his skills they talk up for the duration of the show. idk, there just needed to be like two or three more small scenes of something else happening.

for all the ways lady ochiba was built up, she ended up being such a letdown and boring as hell. they could have cut about 80% of her screentime and still had the same outcome honestly. i saw that ending twist coming the minute she accepted the proposal but the whole damn time i was expecting her to have her own cunning agenda and games to play. but nope she's just. there. serving looks.

and then there's mariko. i haaaaaaaaaaaaaate the trope she ended up being in with such a burning passion. dear god do i hate a classic fridging. the only redeemable part of it is that it was, essentially, what she wanted. that said, i don't think it could have been pulled off any other way since she was based on her real life counterpart. buuuuut, then they go an skip her funeral entirely??? yeah now that pissed me off something bad. it's one thing to fridge the girl but then just brush past it like nothing was just an unacceptable way to have handled that. I'm also miffed to find out she was supposed to be much more toranaga's advisor than what she was in the show. why the choice to downgrade her to just a translator?? why do such a vitally important character who carried the story such a disservice? idk man, THAT alone almost ruined it for me. it was just poorly handled. period.

BUT, as a whole? beautiful and amazing and fun and very very intriguing. I think the rather anticlimactic ending is kind of gorgeous in a strange way. and the weeaboo nerd in me enjoyed the fucking hell out all the meticulous attention to accuracy. I'll probably rewatch it a few times just to watch things in the background and admire all the detail they put into everything lmao i think it's definitely worth the watch even with my disappointments. i really hope we get some cut scenes released too cause i'm sure there's a hell of a lot that didn't make it in the show.

#shogun #shogun spoilers

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latigrat · 5 months

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Getting something off my chest

So I was briefly a patron for Jimes Sumerton (trying not to appear in the tag lol idk if that even works but I tried)

I wouldn't say I had a massive para social relationship or that I was deeply invested, oslr even that I gave that much money

I just liked some of his ("his" lol) work and was impressed at how fast he was putting such interesting video essays out (lol @ me haha)

So I thought to myself "this is so high quality and being out out so fast that I should probably contribute a bit. I'm really impressed. I wanna see more of this"

Never did I consider that he was blatantly stealing everything. Like not once did I think "let me just Google some random passages word for word" because never once would I think someone would have the sheer audacity to plagiarize quite this way

Well

Even when Hbomberguy's video got to him (I was shocked!) I thought "surely, this will be more subtle and questionable"

I like Hbomberguy's work but I also wouldn't call myself emotionally invested in him. I'm a 34 year old adult with a job, I don't have energy to form massive para social relationships with internet celebrities. I was gonna hear out Hbomberguy with an open mind, thinking it was not gonna be such blatant plagiarism

To be fully transparent, I'd stopped being a patron of the other guy a few months back. Not for any dramatic reason, but because I'd felt he'd gotten big enough that I wanted to shift my (tiny lol) financial support to smaller creators

I still feel like an idiot

I'm looking back at all missgivings I had about other dude, trying to reassure myself that I Knew All Along. . . But the truth is I didn't. And considering the revelations in Hbomberguy's video, chances are any disagreements I had were actually with the views out forth by the people That Guy plagiarized

Anyway, I don't have a major point to this. Just that I'm trying to work through how hurt I feel, likely because my ego has been bruised. I feel like I should have been smarter than this. I'm an educated person. I have a doctoral degree. I know how to site, and I should have noticed that That Guy wasn't citing correctly.

I guess the lesson to learn for myself is to be more critical of the stuff I hear online, even when presented in a "professional" manner, and seemingly agreeing with views I already agree with.

I also should try to remember that even if I was dumb, that doesn't justify someone taking advantage of me (my 1 dollar a month for a few months lol)

Anyway, I hopefully I get over this soon

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esor-ogramira · 9 months

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Update on the status of The Fenrathae Saga! And Other Stuffses!

TL;DR: I'm putting The Fenrathae Saga on mostly-hiatus due to burnout relating to it, and am gonna start working full-blast on another project of mine that involves my former RWBY OCs. I'm also gonna make a poll to see if anyone within my tiny but sweet following wants to watch me fail miserably at playing survival mode in Minecraft with cheats and certain gamerules enabled!

To read the whole thing, click on the "Keep reading" thingy below!

Sooooooo, I've realized that I'm very burned out with writing for The Fenrathae Saga. As in, I've been finding significantly more enjoyment in writing in my other projects and playing Minecraft than working on anything relating to The Fenrathae Saga and Volume 1, lately. I've also been thinking about my other projects much more often than The Fenrathae Saga, itself.

So I've decided to put The Fenrathae Saga on the back burner for the time being, aka, put it on a mostly-hiatus! For the most part, I won't be working on it as often as I have for the past 2 years, but I'll probably still chip away at the comic script every now and then. So no, the webcomic is not cancelled at all! This just means that the webcomic will come out a lot later than I anticipated.

The reason I'm doing this is because I know that if I force myself to work on something that I don't want to work on at the moment, then that something won't be done very well. I don't want The Fenrathae Saga to not be done to the best of my abilities, and I especially don't want that for the webcomic. Plus, I've been working on this iteration of The Fenrathae Saga nonstop since March of 2021. I've discovered that my way of working is to work on something full-blast for a few years, then pick up something else that I'd like to work on, set the first thing on the back burner, and then work on that something else full-blast for a few years. I definitely don't plan on abandoning The Fenrathae Saga anytime soon, another project that I've been working on on-and-off has just caught the rest of my attention when I really needed to switch passion projects for a while.

And that something else involves my former RWBY OCs! Yes, former RWBY OCs. Back when I was still really into RWBY, I developed some fan characters for a bit. I never really wrote down the story, but by the time I thought to write it down, the trailer for RWBY Volume 7 had come out, and just watching it made me realize that I'd gotten wayyyyy too emotionally invested in it to continue watching it. And then that one Twitter/X teaser where Team RWBY and Them were suddenly wanted by the government for canonical reasons really turned me off. Don't get me wrong, it's a pretty good show! Maybe not the best of shows, but it's still decent! Buuuuuuut, I just decided from that point on that I would not watch RWBY anymore and not follow any of the RWBY Official social media accounts, for my own mental health.

So after that, I decided to take my RWBY OCs and make them actual original characters and make their story and actually original story. And that's what brings us to today, where I've decided to work on their story and worldbuilding full-blast! So far, I have a good portion of the lore worked out, and most of the basics of the magic system (where there's actual magic and lots of magically-inclined mortal races of people). The story itself is still a major WIP, and I'm not sure what I'll do with the story once I feels it's ready to be shared.

OH! Also, I'm considering recording videos of me playing Java Edition Minecraft, either in survival mode with cheats and Keep Inventory enabled and no Wardens/Phantoms/Pillager Raid Parties spawning and Mob Griefing disabled, or in creative mode with all of those gamerules inplaces and cheats enabled. I know, I know, that's "not what real gamers do!" But I'm a very casual gamer, and I think the world needs more casual Minecraft YouTubers. Plus, I'm not gonna be playing to fulfill every last whim of every last potential subscriber, I'm gonna be playing Minecraft to make myself happy and to show the world how I play Minecraft. Those gamerules and cheats exist for a good reason, and that's to make the game more accessible for casual players who don't like dealing with certain annoying/scary aspects of the game! If you don't like the fact that I'm playing the game with those gamerules enabled and/or disabled, then... don't play in your Minecraft singleplayer worlds like that?? I don't know what else to tell those who don't like games being accessible to anyone who doesn't want to play games in constant fear of dying and losing all your stuff.

But since this post is so long already, I'm gonna make a separate poll to gauge interest within my small but sweet following about watching my hypothetical Minecraft videos! They'd all be uploaded to my second YouTube channel, which is @/EsorOgramiraMisc on YouTube!

#long post by esor ogramira #updates by esor ogramira #The Fenrathae Saga #The Fenrathae Saga Status Updates

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bulkhummus · 2 years

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the ambiance in the archive kitchenette is bonkers i reckon // a jonmartim commission for the lovely @grimniknil ♥️

#we could of had it all #if they liked eachother even remotely in the actual podcast lmao #the one thing i wish is that they were all a little friendlier before it all went to shit #its remarkably funny that they all kind of just has a surface level friendship that u habe with ur coworkers #and then had to trauma bond / hate each other for real LMAO #but i think i would have been a tiny bit more emotionally invested had they been friendlier ?#you know what i mean?#i adored the show dont get me wrong i just have Thoughts haha #anyways enjoy this! was fun to draw ♥️♥️♥️♥️ I love tim so much hes so fucking funny and Hot™️#tma #jonmartim #timothy stoker #jon sims #martin blackwood #the magnus archives

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thechekhov · 3 years

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Alright, alright, I caved.

After a slot opened up in me to be able to take on another show emotionally, I decided to invest in OwlHouse. I thought I would probably like it, but it won me over faster than I thought it would.

I’ve already watched a few episodes, but I realized that it might be more fun to do liveblogs, so here I am - with a liveblog...

I will be doing this episode by episode, and probably releasing them every once in a while. Everything will be under a cut, however, to save you all dash space.

If you’d like to follow, please track the #chekhov watches owlhouse tag!

(I’d also like to dedicate this post to the Tumblr Staff Rob, who did his best to restore this post for me when tumblr queue ate it.)

Without further ado...

Episode 1!!

Fair warning - this is technically not a ‘live’ blog, because I have already watched some of the show before deciding to do this, but I’ll still react to them to round things out.

Immediately, this reminds me of Little Witch Academia... Anyone? No? Only me? I feel like maybe I’m getting my wires crossed, but there HAD to have been some inspiration taken from there?

“No-- my only weakness! Dying!!“

Same, big snake monster. Same.

Oh, backup snakes? This girl is READY.

Please don’t mistreat the snakes.

Spider breath... This kid is on my wavelength. That griffin seems to be waiting to be put out of its misery though, and I don’t blame it.

My child... where did you get that pigeon head though.....

Nurse mother, do you REALLY think signing up your spider-summoning daughter for summer camp will actively make her antics slow down instead of ramp up to 60?

Awww, baby makes AMVs... But also, NO ONE TOLD YOU TO THROW AWAY THE BOOK??? I know it’s symbolic, but goodness, isn’t that a bit much???

wait a sec, is that Eda????

Love the realistic bilingual kid experience of replying in English when your mom talks to you in your native language. Universal.

Love this introduction of Eda’s character. She’s got that little green scarf on and everything. Like a tiny trash grandma.

Oooh, okay, let’s extrapolate...

Lots of bones everywhere. I kinda love the aesthetic here - it’s gross and visceral, kind of like what Luz was making with her school projects. Yet in the middle of it all we have a rather clear gothic looking structure. Is this a power imbalance in the supposed kingdom?

The five circles of stained glass seem to perhaps indicate something like Hogwarts houses? Several different types of magic?

But Luz has no reason to freak out as much as she is - she LOVES weird stuff! Haha... No, I kid, I kid. I get it.

“Am I in the bad place?“

Eyyyyy, gotta love shows referencing other shows. :)

“Oh dear child... I’m not like you.”

Wow, what a DRAMATIC reveal for some pointy ears. :) I love her.

We should all aspire to have such cool and stylistically well put together wanted posters. You can tell the commissioned artist really respects her craft.

Steven Universe fans watching this:

I’m looking too.

Okay, okay, enough shenanigans, let’s have some LORE.

I love this landscape. Teeth or bones, or whatever they are, this is one of the more unique settings we’ve gotten, though maybe I’m prejudiced because I love body horror and bones. The darker orange and red themes fit really well here.

Things I’m desperate for: Giraffe Lore

Things I’m more desperate for: Eda lore. Why do her limbs fall off? Is she a zombie?

Things I’m not quite as desperate for: Hooty lore. He can keep that to himself.

well hello there mysterious chekhov’s glyph which will DEFINITELY not be relevant in the second chapter (or end of season? Maybe? Idk it just seems important).

Ah, yes. That would have been my reaction as well, to be fair. Somehow I didn’t expect to see this guy so early on. I figured he would be a low stress early villain that got assimilated into the Found Family. Kinda psyched that he’s just there from the start.

....I’m just gonna presume this is all true and accept it at face value.

Old Escape The Cops Lady and Tiny Little Demon King, I need your backstory. How did you meet.

I love looking at background details, because like... you can tell the BG artists had fun. I particularly love how the 3 eyed toad doesn’t actually have any reward attached to her. Though the Knife Baby does intrigue me!

“I write fanfics of food falling in love.”

Why am I being called out...

“Noo! My weak nerd arms!”

Finally, a realistic portrayal of a protagonist thrust into a fantasy setting!

.....................

Okay but. If only humans could pass through the barrier... wouldn’t that mean a human had to have deposited those things in there? Do they have a human on staff in this weird pseudo-prison??? Suspicious....

Confession - when I initially saw ads for this show, I expected Eda to be a villain, not a loveable middle aged witch aunt figure. I am shockingly even MORE drawn to her this way. I expected betrayal. I expected her to be a lowkey threat?? But no. She’s just wholesome in the way a solid raccoon is.

“Eda, are you okay?!”

“Yeah, this just happens when you get older...”

“........does it..?”

If I had to pinpoint the exact moment this show won me over...... it would probably be this one.

I know it’s probably the wrong thing to focus on, but what is that insignia? Wings??? Like.... the kind OWLS HAVE?????

COINCIDENCE??? I THINK NOT!!!

I’m really loving the landscape here. And those fireworks are... hmm... intricate?

Gotta love the old tried and true Witch Apprentice Actually A Live In Intern trope. :)

Hold up...

Is that

Is that Hooty? I thought he was just a door....

Eda: This is my room for human stuff. I will also put my human in there.

. . .

Overall rating: I think this is a cute overall beginning. The prison break went hard! I enjoyed the characters and it kind of surprised me in a lot of ways. It definitely does a great job setting up a world with a lot more to explore while giving us a small taste of cool magic stuff and witchy battles. :)

Now on to Episode 2!!

Read the liveblogs in order by clicking here!

#the owl house #owl house liveblog #chekhov watches owlhouse

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horsesandhockeyplayers · 2 years

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When Life Gives You Lemons-- Part 7

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic, not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 3323

Word Count Total: 26,109

Author’s Note: Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Thank you SO much to @hockeylvr59, @newlibrary, @itisawitchesworld, and Nora, who I can’t seem to tag. The rewrite of this fic wouldn’t have happened without all of you. Thank you for indulging my impulsivity. All of you can see Mark in action during the upcoming Olympics! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. This part is entirely Mark.

`Part Seven

*~*~*~*~*~

I was staring at the phone in my hand after she hung up, wondering why it felt like I just cheated. Stephanie had gotten dressed in her best clubbing clothes from the night before and was waiting for her Über of Shame, looking 0% sorry for me. And actually, 0% ashamed. In fact, she looked slightly pissed.

She slipped on a high heel and it put her close to my height, which was a little unnerving. She balanced on it while she put on the other one and informed me, “You know, I have fucked a few professional athletes, but I really try not to mess with the taken ones because I do have morals. I don’t appreciate the fact that you’ve made me into a homewrecker and you deserve everything she throws at you.”

I sighed, “She’s not my wife or girlfriend.”

“Uh...ok,” she said skeptically, “You should probably tell your face, then. Cuz from the look on it, I assumed. You look like you’ve been caught with your hand in the cookie jar.”

I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to share with Stephanie because come on, what kind of relationship advice could a rando puck bunny dole out to her failed booty call from the night before? This was completely outside of the scope of normal and I felt totally in over my head and with all of that running through my mind, I didn’t know what else to do so I blurted out, “I… like her.”

The whole thing was so hard to fathom that you would think I had just confessed to axe murdering an entire sorority house or something equally atrocious. Though, being a thirty year old man harboring a fangirl-like crush on this beautiful and complicated woman with whom I worked felt comparably as damning.

Stephanie looked at me, unbothered, and quipped, “Well, then you should probably fuck her, not groupies at bars.”

She made it sound so simple. I ran a hand through my hair and tossed my phone on the bed, “It’s not… she’s not…I don’t…”

Stephanie sighed, a newfound understanding illuminating her face as she supplied , “Ah, this is a relationship girl and you’re not a relationship guy.”

In my mind, it was a little more complicated than that, but I guess if you put the problem in a nutshell, that’s all it was. Relationships were not something I’d taken a whole lot of time to think about and all of a sudden, I was emotionally invested in this woman and I had no idea why or what to do about it, and furthermore, I didn’t know how to be a relationship guy, or even if I wanted to be. Casual hookups were my sweet spot, and plus, even if I wanted to be in a relationship, what could I offer her other than money and a spotlight? I didn’t know how to help her emotionally.

Stephanie flipped open a small compact mirror she pulled out of her clutch and studying her reflection, said to herself, “Yikes.” Taking a wipe out of her tiny purse, she wiped the makeup from under her eyes and scrubbed her face then looked at me and said, “Yikes,” again, this time presumably referencing the feelings I’d caught regarding Clementine. She turned to face me after putting the compact away and said “Ok, Barberio. I am feeling generous after that amazing cunnilingus last night, so you’re going to give me coffee and I’m going to walk you through some of this emotional turmoil. But first, put on pants and probably a shirt.”

Ten minutes later, she was sitting at my kitchen island, heels hooked over the rungs of a barstool and nursing a hot cup of coffee. “Ok,” she said plainly, “So what’s your hang up on this girl?”

I frowned and rubbed the back of my head like friction would make the answers come to me. “Uh... well, I mean, I think it starts with her name, Clementine and she hates it.”

She almost spit up her coffee, “Her name is Clementine? Is that why you called me Orange? She set her mug down, a loud clunk emanating from the granite countertop. She shook her head, eyes wide as she told me, “This is worse than I thought. You need to get your head on straight. Try therapy, damn.” I don’t know what look came over me, but she picked up her mug again with a sigh and took a sip. “You made me cum like 3 times last night so I guess I can do some of your emotional labor. Lay it on me Barberio.”

Since I didn’t have anyone else to talk to, I unloaded everything on this poor girl. I spent 20 minutes talking -- about how I’d never met anyone named Clementine, I’d never met anyone LIKE Clementine, about how amazing I thought Clementine was from her hair to her car and even the information from yesterday that set me spinning and caused this whole situation. I set out creamer and sugar and kept refilling Stephanie’s coffee mug.

She paused mid-sip, “Wait… You said her name was Clementine?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

Stephanie’s brow furrowed in confusion, and honestly, I was shocked that after my verbal diarrhea, that was the detail that seemed to puzzle her. She pulled her phone out of her clutch and tapped on it wildly for a few seconds before turning it around to face me and asking, “Is this her?”

She was showing me an article from the newspaper a few years ago. A gaunt, blonde woman with Clementine’s face was holding the arm of a cop. Her face was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes; the effect was eerie, and without any warmth present on her face, she looked almost soulless It took me a minute to realize that the woman in the photo was indeed the same woman I knew, the difference between the two of them was so striking. The officer in the photo was accepting some kind of award.

The headline on the article read, “Allegations cause decorated officer to transfer out of Colorado.”

I pulled the phone from her fingers and skimmed the short article that followed; to my dismay, I soon found out that it did not paint Clementine in a very favorable light. It glossed over the things she had hinted at: emotional abuse, physical abuse, rape, and controlling behavior but instead of extending any sympathy towards her, it focused on how she was ruining the career of a decorated police officer and some other yadda yadda blah blah blah thin blue line crap and it trotted out her multiple hospitalizations and stints in mental healthcare facilities.

I felt sick reading it, and only part of that stemmed from realizing the severity of Clementine’s situation; somehow, it felt inappropriate reading about something so personal in the newspaper, like I was intruding into a part of her life where I didn’t belong and that, even though it was none of my business, I wasn’t getting the information directly from her. I knew that the media could be nosy and that some reporters were scum; hell, being in the NHL had taught me that and when you’re a professional athlete, it’s just part of the gig, but when you’re a victim of domestic abuse? That was low. “Whatever happened?” I asked Stephanie as I handed her phone back to her.

Stephanie shrugged, “Not sure,” she said quietly. “They went to court and ended up settling, I think. I think the department paid her off and transferred Officer Williams somewhere else. No one really knows what happened to her-- She never gave an interview with her side of the story. The only info that came out was all conjecture and then his version of events which wasn’t, of course, the same story. It was a big deal on the local news for months a few years ago.”

I was furious and horrified and I wanted to beat that guy into a bloody pulp and build a cage around Clementine to protect her so she never got hurt again. And, I felt even more awful when I realized that this just made my situation with her about ten times worse.

As I mulled over these thoughts, Stephanie took a sip of coffee and studied me from over her mug, watching my face change. “So,” she said, after a moment, “you just went from furious frowning to looking like someone kicked your puppy.”

It was my turn to shrug as I finally found words to put to my feelings. “This just makes her even more unattainable for me. I can’t fix it. I don’t know how to deal with this.”

“Maybe that’s not your job,” she said simply and took another sip of coffee

“What?” I really wished I knew what she was talking about. But honestly, I had no idea. Obviously, if I wanted to give things a shot with Clementine, I’d have to find a way to get past all of this stuff and figure out what to do about it and I had absolutely no idea where to even start.

“Maybe it’s your job to handle YOUR emotional baggage, which includes how you deal with what happened to her, but it’s not your job to make her better. She is doing that herself. It’s your job to just be a decent human being, and do your own work, while you let her do hers.”

She set her empty mug down and I filled it again, before taking a good look at her. With the veneer of the team floozy stripped away, without the makeup, with her hair up in a messy bun, She was actually quite pretty and perceptive and I realized I was an idiot which was a theme lately. Putting the coffee carafe away I felt like a broken record as I asked again, “What?”

I had to give it to her; Stephanie was being incredibly patient with me, considering it was becoming all the more clear that I had the capacity to handle these types of emotions with the same aptitude as your average fourth grader. That must have been some head I gave last night. She smiled at me as she said evenly, “She is responsible for her own baggage. Just treat her like a normal human being. I bet that’s really all she wants anyway, to be normal.”

“But how?” Had I been any less desperate, I wouldn’t have even asked. But I was, so I did. Cuz I had no idea how to treat her normally, not after hearing about all of the stuff she’d been through. I wanted to treat her like the finest china.

“Just be yourself,” Stephanie informed me, as if the answer was obvious.

I tapped my fingers on the counter, still troubled by this. “But what if that isn’t enough?”

She gave me a droll look before she snapped her fingers in front of my face “THER. A. PIST. That’s your confidence problem not hers.”

All of a sudden, her phone vibrated; after taking a look at the notification, she informed me, “My car is here. I guess if I see you around, I’ll know you didn’t get your shit together.”

She climbed off the barstool and walked toward my front door, waving casually as she said “See ya, Barberio.”

With that, I was alone in my apartment again and it felt like a yawning cavern without the peppy blonde. There was no skate, so I did a light workout by myself in the building’s gym then attempted to go over some paperwork from my agent. But, it didn’t matter how long I stared at the papers in front of me, I didn't see any words; I just saw Clementine’s face. Not her real face, but the one from that article, that gaunt, fake, Stepford wife face with haunted eyes. I realized that her eyes didn’t look like that anymore-- there was weight behind them, sure, but they looked jovial and full of life, and despite the flickers of self-doubt I’d seen them occasionally possess, they had a host of emotions behind them. The woman in the picture looked empty, broken, hopeless. Numb. The lights were on, but no one was home. I wanted to rescue her more than anything.

I had a feeling I had ruined any chance I may have had with that phone call this morning. She seemed like the type to dip her toe in the water and if it was too cold, she wouldn’t try again. I didn't know how long I was staring out of my front window, but it was only when my phone chimed, reminding me of the thing at Landy’s, that I got my shit together and went to get ready for this shindig. I made a note to ask my agent about programs that helped women escape abusive situations before ripping the sheets off my bed and disappearing into the closet to throw on party clothes.

While I drove over to the captain’s place for what I expected to be part player meeting/part football and beer, I stared at the small bouquet of flowers in the passenger seat of my truck. I didn’t know much about flowers and shit, but when he had said “centerpiece” I had imagined something a little more grand than the small, but obviously tasteful, bouquet next to me.

But I seriously didn’t know about this stuff, and even more so, when Gabe was involved in party planning, the overall plan was anyone’s guess, so maybe it was part of some larger masterpiece. Or they could have given me the wrong flowers. When I turned down his street, there were cars lining the sidewalk; this was definitely more than an informal team meeting and I wondered who the schmuck was that was about to get tricked. I had to park halfway down the block and I was gathering the flowers and getting ready to get out of my vehicle when I heard the familiar rumble of a classic car park behind me; next thing I knew, it stopped and I heard the door slam; my heart started galloping like a herd of stampeding bison.

It wasn’t particularly hot in Denver--a dry 80 degrees--but I felt a drop of perspiration drip down my collar anyway. Grabbing the flowers, I got out of the truck and I was met with the single hardest metaphorical dick punch I have ever experienced in my life. I felt the air leave my lungs and I couldn’t refill them. Clementine was in a knockout dress, her hair falling in a dark blue waterfall down her back. Daze had a matching yellow collar with a bow. This must be what having a concussion felt like.

She blinked at me and Daze offered a half-hearted wag of the tail. “Clementine,” I greeted her with a nod. My voice sounded strained, even to my own ears, probably because I still couldn’t breathe.

Hers was decidedly more self-assured, and she responded, inclining her head in my direction as she stated, “Mark.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, at in that moment I was filled with self-loathing.

I tried to swallow the boulder lodged in my throat, but couldn’t so I choked out around it, “You look amazing.”

“Thank you…” she said evenly, “You look,” she gestured toward my outfit of a plain tee and jeans, which I had put exactly zero effort into, “stupid hot. Emphasis on stupid.”

An insult! That was good, right? If she didn’t care, she wouldn’t bother to call me stupid to my face. I felt a slightly hopeful smile creep across my face as I nodded and complimented her, “Everyone is an idiot compared to you, Lemon.”

It didn’t fail to cross my mind that she didn’t look a single thing like that photo I had seen in the article. Her face wasn’t gaunt and her hair wasn’t stringy and lifeless; she had curves I wanted to sink my fingers into, her face was so so expressive and full, her lips always tinted red from her favorite shade of lipstick long after it had worn away, and then there was the crinkle she got between her eyes when I called her Lemon; I’m pretty sure there was a word for what I was feeling, but it wasn’t coming to my mind.

Finally, she seemed to focus on the flowers in my hands and all of a sudden, that mask I had seen in the photo slid across her features and into place, as she concluded, “Flowers, huh? Must have a hot date.”

The self-loathing settled in for the long haul. Shit. Fuck. I was mad and confused and embarrassed and also, fairly unsure I had ever felt so many feelings at the same time “No. No.” I backpedaled, “No… seriously no. These are for Landy.”

Her eyebrows arched with veiled amusement as she chuckled, “Oh, I mean, he is pretty hot. But I think he’s taken, Mark. Sorry to be the one to tell you. Or is that a hockey thing? Flowers for the captain?”

Jesus titty fucking Christ, I cursed interally, if I could pull my foot out of my mouth for like 2 whole seconds that would be great. “No.” I clarified, “He asked me to pick them up. This is for a centerpiece or something.”

Her face transformed again and I felt the knot in my stomach unfurl just a bit. “Mark,” she laughed, “That’s like the worst lie I have ever heard.”

“It’s not! I swear!” This was getting worse by the second and five minutes ago, I didn’t even think that it was possible for things between us to get worse. That is, if there had been an us. Or if there was still one. I wasn’t sure. But I knew one thing, and that it was that I was going to fucking kill Landy.

She shook her head and with the kind of assessment that only someone knowledgeable about flowers (aka not me) would be able to make she confirmed, “Those are not centerpiece flowers.”

I knew it!!! Fucking Landy. I couldn’t help the little hop I did in frustration, “I thought that!” I blurted out, trying not to sound defensive, or self righteous, “Honestly, Landy just asked me to pick them up, I swear.”

She gave me a look, obviously still skeptical and unconvinced, I didn’t blame her.

“You know how Gabe is!” I sputtered, hoping she did indeed know what I meant. “He asks you to do something and you do it and you don’t know what you’re doing and then it’s not even what you thought it would be but he works his Swedish magic and next thing you know, you’re, like, here.” I finished, rather lamely. She offered me a sympathetic smile, which I took as a good sign. Recomposing myself, I took a deep breath and offered her my arm, venturing, “If you’re not too disappointed in me as a human being, may I escort you to the door?”

The Clementine I knew slipped out from behind the mask and she rolled her eyes, relenting, “I can’t exactly keep my moral high ground when you’re so polite.”

I rolled my eyes skyward in return, and thanked the Lord that my mom pounded some basic human decency into me from a young age.

She took my elbow, setting her hand on my forearm. It felt ridiculously natural and I loved how, unconsciously, she circled her finger in my hair. Daze sat as we reached the stoop and I pressed the doorbell.

When Landy threw open the door, it was with his phone already in hand and before anyone could do anything to stop him, he snapped a picture of the three of us. Oh, I was the schmuck.

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eponymous-rose · 3 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E133 (April 13, 2021)

(Little distracted tonight! Please excuse any and all omissions.)

Tonight’s guests on Good Morning Quebec are Marisha Ray and Travis Willingham!

How are Beau and Fjord feeling about their leadership responsibilities among the Nein? Marisha: “Beau has always admired Fjord and respected his ability to speak like an adult. It does feel like-- are Beau and Fjord the only adults in the room?” Travis points out Caduceus and Caleb’s leadership as well. “In that conversation, at least, just because I want it to be a tiny bit meta, a lot of it’s just mindset. Fjord knows that Beau is a world-breaker, can kick that ass, and the idea that part of the focus would be diverted towards how can we get out here, it was feeling a little bit more like we’re done for rather than we can do this. It was his way of doing the old coach reminder of stop thinking of the ways you’re going to get out of this and start thinking of the ways you’re going to dominate this.” Marisha mentions that Beau and Travis are kind of the two who aren’t saying goodbyes, and yet they’re two of the only ones who just have the Nein. “Even Caleb was allowed to say goodbye to his cat! We don’t even have that. It’s just the Nein. They are the ultimate goodbyes for us, if it comes to that. But hopefully it won’t come to that.” Travis: “There’s a certain drive that comes with not having wrapped it up in a pretty bow.”

On Fjord’s decision to have the Rangers engage: “Yeah, that one stings. I was suffering from the good ol’ regurts almost as soon as it happens. I realized it was just Essek and Fjord, and he was just asking me, and boy there were a lot of horseshit RP things going around my head.” He kept in mind that the captain has to be decisive and focus on his people. “I in no way thought of Dagon at all. Fuck, did I send Dagon to his death? Did that headstrong dude go, nah, I’ll do my own thing and get out of there? I hadn’t really experienced that kind of instant regret in a gameplay situation yet. But in leadership moments, or when you have to make a decision like that, sometimes it’s important to take a fucking minute and think about what you’re doing. Even in D&D. I wish I had taken a moment to say, how far away are they? If you engage them from afar, can you slow them down long enough? Set an ambush if you can, but at least be at max.”

On Beau’s meditation attempt that ended in contact with Lucien: “I think I know exactly what he was trying to do. He was trying to put another fuckin’ eye somewhere on me. I was remembering Keyleth putting her hand in the spinning black orb of death under the Ziggurat and I rolled a natural twenty.” Travis asks if she thinks she and Caleb are “next up in the queue” now that so many of the Tombtakers are dead. “Yeah. I’m gonna get turned.” Travis: “I’ll kill you real good, Beau. I’ll take Caleb first because he made me promise, but I’ll get you good, too.”

On Fjord now having more information about Vandren: “I love it. I feel like such a fuckin’ moron. It never occurred to me for one second that a shipwrecked person that survived would have maybe just wound up on the nearest island. Nope. Didn’t even bother to do the Castaway grid and check the nearest body of land. I’m a fuckin’ terrible D&D player.” Fjord washed up extremely far away from the wreck. “I love that he’s there. I cannot wait to go find him and have a conversation. I just don’t know which will come first: going to Darktow and confronting Sabien or going to see Vanden. But both of those things are on the list, for sure. Just for closure, I mean, damn.” Brian asks if Fjord is okay with Jester having reached out. “Yeah, totally. Fjord is a big dummy in a lot of ways.” He mentions that Fjord has a lot of ideas in his head about what it means to “be a man” that keeps him from asking for help when he needs it. “When Jester did that, it just reaffirmed his feelings for her and how she feels for him. It’ll take those kind of people in his life to help him along to the things that he wants when he’s too stupid or shy to acknowledge it himself.”

How about that alliance with Essek? Marisha: “Here’s the thing. Beau wasn’t like, ooh, allying with Trent, that’s icky because of moral reasons. It’s not that. The more allies, the better in this moment. Teaming up with Magneto kind of situation. But Beau’s whole concern was is this going to distract you from the overall mission. I couldn’t imagine walking alongside someone who had just tortured me in the way that Trent has. We spent so many episodes watching Caleb have these post-traumatic flashes of when he lit his family on fire. Caleb’s a shotgun, he’s such a good damage-dealer, and if he can’t cope with it. That was Beau’s concern.” Travis: “And just to go along with your Magneto reference, Essek is one powerful person. Trent brings the acolytes. But we recognize that if we stop the Tombtakers and Lucien then we probably have to stop Trent and the Vollstruckers. But I wanted to open it to Caleb, because we gotta face that motherfucker at some point.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Yasha! (krisjaded on Instagram, photography by adambenfer on Instagram)

On Beau’s plan to put a possible eavesdropper off their trail at Pumat’s: “I mean, everything is a long shot.” Taliesin suggested the idea. “I said Darktow because I thought, hey, if he tries to follow us to Darktow, he’ll probably get murdered. He’ll never make it back. We have no idea. It could have been completely transparent, or maybe he’ll be stupid enough to actually try it.”

Fan Art of the Week: a lovely Caduceus! (by arcanum.dice on Instagram)

How’s the relationship with Yasha been going? “It’s so new! And fresh and weird, and she’s trying to remember to be like, oh, that’s right! You’re my girlfriend! I owe you some attention, that’s right. It’s nice to have somebody. We were talking about not really having anyone to say goodbye to in this round of goodbyes, Beau is looking to the future and those relationships are keeping her afloat.”

On seeing more of Aeor, looking forward to it? Travis: “I really want them dead first. If collections of explorers and expeditions from the Cerberus Assembly and the Dynasty have turned up stuff they don’t know what to do with yet, what the fuck are a bunch of chuckle-dicks like us going to do with it?” They’re interested in a distant sort of way - there are bigger issues at hand.

Travis mentions that he’s never been quite so emotionally invested in the game before and notes that was at the root of his competitive attitude at the end of the last episode. “The lines were so blurred in that way. It’s just a testament to the never-ending learning process that comes from this game that I underestimated my entire life.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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trentaafcsblog · 3 years

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NSFW Alphabet

Mason Mount

A - aftercare You’d be lying if you said that this wasn’t sometimes your favourite part about having sex, something about how soft and caring Mason becomes once the two of you have reached your highs just making you feel like the only girl in the world, and don’t get me wrong, he looks after you in the best possible way when you’re doing the business, but he’s just so much more attentive afterwards and he’s happy to kiss, cuddle and play with your hair as long as you need him to

B - body part Your ass, god he’s got an obsession with it, always catching him licking his lips whenever you wear *those* gym leggings or a tiny pair of shorts, and it’s got to the point where it feels weird not to have his hand glued to it twenty-four-seven

C - cum At the start of your relationship you were super strict about Mason wearing a condom, so it’s only recently that you’ve started to be a bit more adventurous when it comes to your orgasms, letting him try out all kinds of different things to see which you both prefer, whether that’s cumming on your ass, your your tits, in your mouth or inside your pussy, you’re still trying to figure that your one out, but it’s honestly the hottest thing knowing that at least one part of your body is decorated with his seed

D - dirty secret You’ve recently discovered the world of sexting, and it’s quite possibly your favourite thing, loving how you can pass your thumbs tapping away on your screen as ‘oh I’m just messaging my boyfriend’, when actually you’re begging him to be balls deep inside of you tonight whilst he fucks your pussy raw

E - exposed Not to jinx it but you haven’t been caught yet, there was one time where his mum came home from work early and you were face down on the mattress whilst Mason fucked you from behind, but that’s as close as it’s got, and fingers crossed it stays that way

F - foreplay Again, it’s something that’s taken time for the two of you to get into the swing of doing, but now it’s become an essential part of your sex lives, sometimes not even bothering to do the actual deed and instead just letting Mason eat you out whilst you suck his dick, loving how the other person can bring you so much pleasure in the most incredible ways

G - goofy At the start of your relationship there were a couple of times when you ended up in a fit of giggles, mainly because you were both worried incase you got ‘too’ into it and the other person wasn’t ready, but now you’re so much more comfortable around one another that it’s rare that you have outbursts of random giggles anymore

H - horny Mason finds it hard not to be when you’re his girlfriend, always wandering around with a boner because you look so good all the time, looking at you with a twinkle in his eye each time you come down wearing a tiny top or a little pair of shorts in the hope that you catch on to what he’s thinking

I - intimacy It’s such an important part of your relationship, taking you a little while to feel completely comfortable around one another but now you’re both so close, both emotionally and sexually, which obviously helps when it comes to the bedroom

J - jack off Normally he tries to keep himself under control, especially since he knows that his hand has nothing on yours, but there have obviously been times when he’s been caught out and he just has to relieve some of his tension, sometimes struggling to keep himself sane when you’re busy spamming him with messages explaining how you’ll be sucking him off later

K - kinks Mason’s got the biggest praise kink, loving how he thrusts deeper into your pussy or groans in your ear each time you call him your good boy, finding it so hot that those kinds of compliments just roll of your tongue without you even thinking, his brain fogging over with pure pleasure each time and causing his cock to almost explode

L - location You usually stick to the bedroom, obviously there have been occasions where you’ve had sex on the sofa halfway through a movie or let him bend you over the kitchen whilst you’re making dinner, but you much prefer to keep it under the covers

M - moaning That boy knows what he’s doing so it’s practically impossible for you to hold back your moans, always turning into a complete whimpering mess for him when he’s slamming into you, and Mason’s just the same, always grunting and groaning in your ear with each thrust because you make him feel so good

N - nudes You’ve both sent and received a fair few, Mason always choosing to pass his over when you’re out for lunch with your friends or sat at work, a series of photos of his rock solid cock appearing on your screen and causing the most furious blush to sweep across your cheeks, Mason finding it hilarious how you’ll get so turned on in an environment where you can’t do anything about it, only giving you a reason to punish him when you’re home

O - oral His favourite thing in the whole wide world is seeing you knelt before him with his cock in your mouth, fucking your face for hours on end just so that he can hear you gagging and spluttering around him, your eyes streaming with tears and rolling back into your head as his cock hits the back of your throat

P - position Mason’s got two favourites - doggy and missionary, his choice of position depends on the mood that he’s in, opting for doggy if he wants to be a bit rough and reach his orgasm quickly, but choosing missionary when he wants to be a bit more intimate with you, loving how he can be so much closer to you and how you can feel his thrusts so much deeper

Q - quickie You both prefer longer sex sessions but obviously when the seconds are counting down on the clock then you’re making the most of the time that you have together, letting Mase fuck you at the most ridiculous speed before he needs to go to training or before you’re about to head out for dinner with your mates, loving how you can go about your day afterwards as though you haven’t just had your brains blown out, nobody knowing what you’ve been up to other than you two

R - risk You’re not the biggest risk takers to be honest, preferring to keep your sex life exclusively between the two of you rather than sharing it with a whole car park or holiday complex, but saying that, you have let Mason fuck you on the balcony in the early hours of the morning and you’ve also sucked him off in one of the back rooms at Stamford Bridge, yet other than that it’s pretty much safe sex in the company of just you and Mase

S - spit/swallow Swallow, always, why would you want to waste the aftermath of all of your hard work? Mason finding it the hottest thing ever that you don’t even have to contemplate your next move when he cums in your mouth, giving him your best innocent eyes or a little wink before you’re swallowing it down without any hesitation

T - toys You’ve got a vibrator that occasionally makes an appearance when you feel like you’re missing something in the bedroom, but nine times out of ten, you just let Mason do the work, his cock hitting all of the places that no toy could and his fingers rubbing your clit in a way that feels so good that you can’t even compare it to a vibrator, both of you preferring to be the people that bring each other pleasure, rather than letting a toy do the work

U - unfair Never ever ever, Mason’s honestly the sweetest person when it comes to sex so he’ll never cum before you, and even if he’s desperate to reach his orgasm, then he’ll try and hold off until your pussy is spasming around his cock first, hating seeing you begging and whining for him to let you cum so he’s always making sure that your needs are met well before his own

V - volume You can be prettyyy loud, which isn’t really hard when Mason fucks you so well, loving how you can scream his name as loudly as you want when it’s just you and him, your moans bouncing off the walls and echoing in his ears for hours afterwards, honestly finding your whines and whimpers so fucking sexy, especially since he knows he’s the only one making you feel that way

W - wild card Mason’s recently invested in a Polaroid camera to try and capture some of your best memories together, and somehow it’s managed to make its way into the bedroom too, resting on his bedside table until the perfect photo opportunity arises, taking a few snaps and hiding them away ready to look at when you need a bit of inspiration

X - x-ray It’s a good size, a veryyy good size, well and truly filling you up and managing to hit all of the right places, so you definitely aren’t complaining, even if it does sometimes take you a while to adjust to his length, much to Mason’s satisfaction

Y - yearning He’s always in the mood to fuck you, I mean, who wouldn’t be when they’ve got such a pretty girl as their partner? Always catching him staring at your ass or letting his mind run free when his gaze brushes over your tits, but you don’t mind, because secretly you’re doing exactly the same to him

Z - zzz It’s hard not to fall asleep after sex, particularly your longer sessions, and regardless of whether it’s emotion-based or rough, it’s still wearing you both out and you can’t help but collapse in each other’s arms and drift off into a deep sleep afterwards, staying in the same position until the sun starts rising and you’re woken up to the memories of last night

#mason mount #mason mount blurb #mason mount imagine #mason mount smut #trent alexander arnold #dominic calvert lewin #jadon sancho #jack grealish

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wolfstar-in-color · 3 years

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July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that.

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him.

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things.

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation.

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit.

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do).

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster.

Colorfully,

Mod Theo

#wolfstar #disability in fandom #disabled remus #crip remus #please write me some crip remus #I beg of you #fandom meta

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silviakundera · 3 years

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My very unofficial official book review for Lord Seventh, now that I've had time to "sit" on it.

Context: I watched 25 eps of Word of Honor before halting to go back and read the novels.

Now my take-aways: On the whole, I truly enjoyed Lord Seventh and at times it moved me emotionally. By the end I was very invested in the protagonist, the Crown Prince (Helian Yi), and Zhou Zishu. The plotline of Jing Beiyuan being reborn and having to deal with all the baggage of his previous 6 life times and the fascinating, fraught relationship w the ex-love of his life... and his decision to still commit himself to supporting the Crown Prince's faction despite all that messy past: fantastic! In another novel, this would be your standard reborn revenge tropes. But that is ABSOLUTELY not at all the dynamic in play here. Best aspect of the novel for me and made it stand out. So many options to walk away cleanly and he never does, until he is certain that the dynasty has been secured. The complicated, deep mutual misunderstanding & distrust between him and Helian Yi... and yet how they never put all that baggage ahead of the duty they feel to the people as a whole... Dedicating themselves to something greater, beyond love, affection, pride, self-satisfaction. Do I admire them? Hell no. These mofos are screwed up and do terrible things. But do I find them compelling af? YES.

"Helian Yi paused, then slowly took a few steps forward. Under the impression that he wanted to say something, Jing Qi leaned over, only to be caught off guard by the other hugging him. A cheek that had been blasted ice-cold by the night wind was pressed close against his neck, as if he was about to be roughly dragged off his steed and firmly forced into Helian Yi’s arms.

The horse took a few tiny steps in place.

Jing Qi was stunned for a second, hand still clutching the reins, and didn’t know how he ought to react. Three hundred years… he had once waited three hundred years just for this hug. Yet, now that he had long refused to wait any longer, he had been put into this awkward position without warning. His shoulders were pulled down low, pushed into the hollow of Helian Yi’s own. It wasn’t the least bit warm, solely causing sorrow to emerge in one’s heart.

If only… if only, in the previous life, you weren’t the Rongjia Emperor, and I wasn’t Prince Nan’ning. "

The relationship between Jing Beiyuan and Zhou Zishu is also so subtly interesting. There is this quiet respect and rapport between them, always. Late night chats and promises to reunite for another drink, another future day. This unspoken understanding of each other so deep that Jing Beiyuan doesn't blame ZZS for bringing forth the charges to set him up for death in the 1st life. tbh if not for watching some WoH first, I probably would have shipped them and hoped for post-canon Get Together fic.

I must admit I just never really got very invested in the romantic subplot in this one. There some nice shippy moments towards the end, when the lil murder teen becomes a safe place for Jing Beiyuan, but they never thrilled me like the couple in Golden Stage, for instance.

I think one problem is, I just finished watching Nirvana in Fire. I was just far more interested in the political plotline and the romance arc was mostly disconnected from it and happening on the sidelines of the action. I have no issues w this narrative choice and it makes thematic sense. Didn't detract from my enjoyment of the novel. It just ended up that I was "ok" with the romance arc. I could see why that's how the protagonist's story ends and I agree it's a happy ending for them. I was satisfied. Just never felt the hype on the canon otp. But I completely see the appeal for others.

I do recommend the novel to anyone who plans to read Faraway Wanderers. He's not the main character but it gives you so much context for where ZZS is coming from and why he would vibe with the Valley Master so well, why he's so lackadaisical about all the chaos and violence happening around him. (And Jing Beiyuan is a WAY more intriguing MC than comes across in Faraway Wanderers. If I'd read that book first, never would have thought I'd love a whole book about that dude lol.)

tmw I'll put together my thoughts on TW 🤔

#qi ye #jing qi #qi ye spoilers #lord seventh spoilers #lord seventh #faraway wanderers #word of honor #jing beiyuan is so tired of everyones bs 24/7 #jing beiyuan #zhou zishu #zzs

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dreamsatdusk · 3 years

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Analysis: Baghra and the Apparat

I received an Anon ask a while back and accidentally published it before it was done a while back. Privated the post but decided to have the final product as a new post just in case; I don’t want it buried in tags from way back.

The Ask:

Hello! Can you do a breakdown on Baghra's character and the Apparat's? I'm interested in reading your thoughts about them

Thank you for the ask! And apologies for the delay in response.

Baghra

One of the first Grisha meta posts I wrote years ago was about how the way Baghra and her hut are portrayed evoke the impression of Baba Yaga. Her appearance, hut in the woods (likely amidst birch trees), and something of her attitude all lend themselves to it. Since then, I’ve also come to think there might be a bit of tie in to the tale of Vasilisa the Beautiful, who was forced to go and bargain with Baba Yaga for a light against the darkness.

Looking past that surface, in the trilogy we are presented with Baghra as a figure both ascetic and penitential, as well as bitter and unkind. The latter traits are well explained by what we learn of her history: she has had a long life filled with a great deal of loss, with countless threats to Grisha and particularly to she and her son, different as they are even from other Grisha. Her childhood was a sad one brimming with trauma and what she recalls of her parents to Alina causes me to think that she did not feel truly loved by either one of them. I think their treatment of her and behavior toward each other shaped her perspective on life in profound ways, ones she never got past.

But the former traits don’t have so obvious a cause on page if you look more deeply. Her lifestyle is very austere despite the fact there is no need for it - she is not on the run and in hiding any longer as she was in the Darkling’s youth. Her conversations with Alina in regards to her son are couched in religious terms: she is worried about his being beyond redemption, she speaks of merzost as abomination, and so forth. In R&R, she has Misha read religious parables to her to pass the time.

This clashes with what we know of contemporary Grisha. It is said at one point in S&B that Grisha don’t put much stock in religion and we see the Darkling does not seem to either. Not to mention the fact that he and his mother knew at least several Grisha who later became considered saints. I find it likely they suspected other saints could also have been Grisha - Grisha and martyred for it, their true identities obscured so later people could pray to them and not have to consider the ‘unnatural’ people they were. It makes a lot of sense that neither Baghra nor the Darkling would invest much consideration in Ravkan religion as it is presented on page. In fact, it seems like they’d find it more infuriating than anything. And yet.

The Second Army has no need to lead lives of deprivation. Yes, they eat ‘peasant-style breakfast’ and such, but their rooms are gorgeous, they have beautiful clothing, sugar for their tea and so forth. Baghra surely wouldn’t be living in a tiny dark hut in the trees unless that is what she wanted.

There’s also the fact that she shows signs of not using her summoning powers. Even before S&S, she’s apparently quite chilly a lot. It makes sense she wouldn’t show she could summon shadows where other Grisha could see. But the indication is she isn’t using her powers at all. That is another way she seems to have chosen to deprive herself, to the point of impacting her health. Perhaps she even hoped that it would lead to her death, but apparently it has not been enough to override the impact of her amplification talent.

Looking back at the woman seen in Demon in the Wood and was glimpsed in the tale she tells Alina of her past, it very much seems to be something happened to turn who Baghra was into who we see in the trilogy.

I suspect much of the true reason is that she is pretty much a plot device in the story. She needs to spook and horrify Alina into running. Her talk of ‘redemption’ and ‘abomination’ are peculiar in terms of many other elements we see in the books. I’m writing a meta on the amplifiers and merzost and such that goes into this further, but I’ve also written some in the past about how there’s no real reason to believe merzost is inherently bad. Baghra has clearly decided it is though and speaks of it and her son’s actions in absolutist terms. Because she needs to in order to have the narrative run how it does, more than once.

And again, what reason would this character really have to put so much faith in Ravkan religion?

What’s a possible in-universe explanation for this? I think the creation of the Shadow Fold works well for that. We find out that what the Black Heretic was actually trying to do was recreate Morozova’s amplifier experiments and something went wrong. (This is the focus of the upcoming meta I mentioned above.). The Fold happened and all of the people within its bounds were transformed into volcra. All in all, a horrific situation, however much an accident. This could have functioned as such a systemic shock to Baghra’s worldview that she sought solace and perhaps forgiveness in religion. I suspect she felt guilt, which is pointed to in things she says in the trilogy. Also, she’s the reason the Darkling even had Morozova’s journals - she went back to the village she was born in and found them, per R&R.

I still think her being invested in the Ravkan religion itself is a weak point, but could be generously explained by just how traumatized she was by the Shadow Fold situation. She may have desperately wanted something to believe in. That said, the lack of any sign in the books of what more lies behind Ravkan religion than Saints and the fact that Baghra knows that at least several of those Saints were actually Grisha, doesn’t make this the strongest argument to me.

I also wrote some weeks back on how Baghra was portrayed as emotionally and physically abusive to Alina and according to their own accountings in R&R, other Grisha as well. In the early days of the fandom, I never really saw that acknowledged, though it has gotten far more recognition this year with new people reading the books since the release of the tv show.

Overall, she is a very bitter person and I think a lot of what we see of her is driven OOC by her being largely a plot device and IC by guilt. She feels guilty about the Fold’s creation and so forth and lashes out at others in misdirected anger.

I think this also relates somewhat to her treatment of Alina in S&S and R&R. She blames Alina for not ‘adequately’ running away (went after the stag instead), blames her for the Darkling putting himself beyond redemption (in Baghra’s mind - like too many people IRL, she seems to not understand what redemption actually is), blames her for the sea whip, for wanting to find the third amplifier. She blames Alina for these things, but it is likely a mask for further personal guilt. Of all people, Baghra is likely the one who would have been most successful in stopping the Darkling before things took the path they did. He trusted her.

But her nasty treatment of others obscures that Baghra is largely a passive character in the trilogy. Whether out of love or some variety of religious concern, she doesn’t try to kill her son. She doesn’t remove Alina from the situation in a more final way, only tells her to run. And in the end, she commits suicide rather than more directly confront the Darkling.

The Apparat

Okay, after all that, I don’t have near as much about the Apparat. *L*

If Baghra’s surface details are meant to evoke Baba Yaga, then I think the Apparat’s point to Rasputin. His physical description was practically a caricature (if you’ve only seen the show, he looked far less revolting in that than he was described in the books) and he starts out as a trusted advisor to the Ravkan royal family.

One of the big questions about the Apparat is about what he truly believes. He was in cahoots with the Darkling around the coup against the Lantsov dynasty in S&B, but he later swung his support behind the Sun Summoner. I think it would be a believable reading of the text to suspect he may have planned to do so since learning of Alina’s existence. There’s no real reason to think he truly supported the Darkling’s cause or cared much for Grisha themselves; on the latter point, I think the greater support is for the idea that he does not care about the Grisha and just used them to get what he wanted.

His presentation is a mix of True Believer and power-seeker and a great deal of the questions around him relate to where one thinks he falls most strongly on that spectrum. Alina’s interactions with him in S&B have the hallmarks of a fanatic, but then, these signs are also seen through Alina’s eyes and you have to consider whether she is seeing reality or a careful act. I think the case could be made for either. But either way, I also think he wanted power. I suppose you could argue he wanted power on behalf of Sankta Alina, but I think his actions in R&R show that an Alina who wasn’t going to comply with his wishes was deemed more trouble than she was worth. If she had died, I don’t think he fundamentally would have cared. She had established enough of a reputation, was known to enough people, that he could have exploited her as a martyr without having to deal with the reality.

The Apparat was the sort of character I tend to really dislike (religious manipulation, etc.). Something that struck me in all the books is how more than one character was strangely...tolerant of him. He backstabbed people more than once and yet nothing was every truly done about it.

#Grishaverse #Grishaverse Meta #Baghra Morozova #Baghra #The Apparat #The Grisha Trilogy #Shadow and Bone

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mrslilyrogers · 4 years

Text

Betrayal Part 7

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: (AU) Set in New York. You and Bucky have been married for 5 years. He’s the love of your life and you are his. At least, you thought you were until he started slipping away from you, coming home late and smelling of another woman’s perfume? You are in denial. Are you just losing your mind or are you really losing him?

Author’s notes: I’m so so sorry this took so long! I redid the whole thing. We’re going to back up a bit in this chapter and visit the past. Please check the warnings before reading. Also, my requests are open. Send ideas if you’re feeling particularly angsty! Or even fluff, I’d like to try my hand at it. As always, let me know what you think of this chapter! For tags, please send in ask!

Warnings: Cheating, Angst, Abuse, Swearing

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

2 years ago.

Bucky tapped his fingers on the table as he checked his watch again. 8:15. Forty-five minutes late. Again. He let out a huge sigh, barely able to hold himself from scratching his eyes out. The curly-haired waitress went back to him with an apologetic look on her face, “I’m sorry, sir. My manager told me I really need to take your order now. There’s already a line waiting outside…” she let her sentence trail sheepishly. Bucky tried to ignore the heat creeping up his cheeks and gave her an unconvincing smile instead, reciting his order. When she left with visible relief on her face, he picked up his phone and called his wife again. He had tried to call and text her earlier but she hadn’t picked up.

“Hello?” Y/N answered, sounding frazzled and irritated as she cleaned up after her rude customer. He just had the audacity to leave a mess after complaining and whining about the wifi three times. She could barely keep her eyes from rolling.

“Hey, babe. Where are you? I’ve been waiting for you at the restaurant,” Bucky’s defeated voice on the other line replied.

“Oh shit!” She shrieked, attracting the heads of the other customers as she glanced at the clock on the wall. She had lost track of time. Bucky had been waiting for her for almost an hour. On their anniversary. Oh crap, crap, crap.

“Oh my god, baby. I’m so sorry! I’m understaffed and I lost track of time! Could you please wait for me? I’m so sorry!” She quickly took off her apron and changed into the dress she had brought with her that morning for their date. Bucky had been planning this. He arranged for Lizzie’s babysitter and everything, practically bouncing off with excitement for this night. He wanted to try out this new restaurant and between raising Lizzie and making sure Winter Bakery was still making a profit, they haven’t seen much of each other lately. She just couldn’t find the time whereas Bucky’s stable position in Shield gave him more authority to delegate. And he literally had been trained for this for years. All those late-nighters at the university and all the grunt work he and Steve went through have finally paid up. They were at the top of their game, one of the youngest to acquire their positions. They were heroes in the investment banking world. Life was easy for him now, cherry on top of the cake. He only wished Y/N could be there with him. But she was still on shaky ground with her business and he fully understood that.

“Of course! I already picked our appetizers though. They were trying their best to kick me out gently if I didn’t order anything,”

“Oh, my poor Bucky. You should’ve flashed them your smile, charmed your way. They would’ve made you stay,” she replied, fixing her ponytail, not having the time to retouch her makeup anymore. This’ll just have to do.

“Really, now. It was a waitress, you know.” He teased back.

A beat before Y/N replied in mock seriousness. “In that case, don’t you dare. I’ll be there in 15!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. See you, babe. I love you--,”

But before he could even finish his sentence, the line had dropped on the other end.

_______________________________________________________________________

1 year ago.

“Daddy, look, apples!” Lizzie pointed from her seat in the grocery cart. Her legs swinging as she giggled at the heap of apples on their side. “Yeah, baby, you’re right.” Bucky replied absentmindedly, not even bothering to look as he stared confusedly at the bunch of green vegetables in front of him. The list Y/N gave him said scallions, but how the hell was he supposed to know which was which? Scallions, spring onions, green onions, they were all the same right? He suddenly regretted volunteering to do their grocery shopping alone, having no clue what half of the list Y/N prepared even meant. It was the weekend, they were all supposed to go together and then have a quick visit to the toy store after, for one more of Lizzie’s birthday gifts. She had just turned 3 a week ago and he couldn’t help but promise to let her pick out another doll. When Y/N had given him a pointed look while Lizzie clung on and gushed to him, he couldn’t help but to just give her a tiny shrug. He grew up with nothing, he was gonna give his little girl everything. But that morning when he thought the three of them finally had time to spend together, Y/N couldn’t make it again. She was having problems with her manager and had to go into work unexpectedly. Now, she wasn’t even answering his calls when he had to ask her about the most complicated grocery list he’s ever seen in his whole life.

“Daddy, when are we getting my doll?” Lizzie asked again, looking up at him as she clutched her favorite white wolf stuffed toy.

“After this, sweetheart.” He answered, preoccupied and calling Y/N again. This time when she didn’t answer, he gave up, grabbed the one nearest to him and hoped for the best.

When he’s gotten halfway through the list and let Lizzie point at the snacks she wanted for school, he let his mind wander, when the hell had they become like this? He barely saw his wife anymore. Her problems with her bakery cafe, always dragging her away from them. He wished she could find competent people who would stay but if it weren’t her manager, it was her baker and so on. And if she was finally free, he’d be the one who was busy. It was hard and annoying but coupled that with taking care of an over-enthusiastic three-year-old, it was also exhausting.

He missed Y/N and he wished he could spend time with her. He completely understood that she was always needed at work. He had been through that in their early 20s, but they didn’t have a kid then to compete for their time and understanding it was different from actually living it. Their marriage had become stagnant. The banality of their everyday life, a stark contrast to how they used to be when they were just a couple of kids off college who rented a too-small apartment with his little sister, Becca. Time has flown and he’s finally achieved the life he’s always wanted; a big duplex apartment, a steady high-income job and a family he had always yearned for but never really knew he needed. All of the things he promised himself when he was younger and had nothing, he had now and more, yet there was still something missing. He missed the thrill of his life, chasing his dreams had always kept him motivated, distracted. Now that he had it all, he was at his wits’ end. Maybe it was because they were also growing apart, he could feel it. Y/N had always been able to make him happy and whole; he had always been able to rely on her emotionally. She was the better part of him and now that she was becoming distant, he hung onto her like a lifeline but his insistence on going on vacations as a family wherever his wife and daughter wanted went unheard, all his attempts at romancing cancelled.

Even as he lined up now for the cashier, he whipped out his phone to text her. His hands had been busy typing when a brooding, dark-haired man stood behind him dressed in all black. His arms were muscled despite his age and the sagging skin on his right arm holding a tattoo of an odd skull with tentacles extending out of it was barely covered by his shirtsleeve.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t little Bucky,” a familiar husky voice mocked from behind him.

Bucky immediately felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the voice sending a deep chill down his spine, making him go rigid as he slowly turned around, the blood draining from him when he went face to face with the man who had made his life a living hell, the man who not only broken him physically but in spirit as well. Repeatedly.

“You some errand boy now? I didn’t raise you to be like that, you know,” He continued to mock, tipping his chin to the cart with Lizzie still on it.

“Do you know him, daddy?” She asked, holding her little wolf tighter as she watched the stranger warily.

“Hey there, sweetie. Your daddy didn’t tell you about me? That’s weird. I raised him and your aunt Rebecca a long time ago. My name is Rumlow,” he flashed her a chilling smile, stepping closer to offer his hand. That’s when the fog in Bucky’s brain cleared. He moved with a lightning fast reflex, stepping in between them as he got in Rumlow’s face, fisting his collar harshly in one hand,

“Don’t you dare go near her,” his dark and low voice had threatened, dripping venom. His eyes had dilated, almost turning black as he shoved him hard. Rumlow’s grating laugh echoed around them, bringing back all those awful memories he had buried deep inside his head.

“I’ve taught you well, boy. Can’t say I’m not proud,” He clapped and actually smiled at him smugly. At this point, Lizzie had started crying making Bucky even more furious.

“I don’t ever want to see your face again. And if you go near my daughter again, I’ll make you fucking regret it. Do you understand?” His threats went on deaf ears as Rumlow broke out into a full-fledged grin.

“I’d love to see you try, James. You’ve grown soft,” He accused, eyeing Lizzie and the grocery he had still lined up, several heads already looking at them.

“Lucky for you. I have a new son here,” He continued, tilting his head to the boy standing by his mostly empty cart-- save for the beer and the liquor. Bucky flicked his attention to the boy and he felt his world spin as he saw himself in him with his eyes haunted, wary and afraid. He couldn’t have been older than eight. Rumlow smirked at the look on Bucky’s face, already detecting the turmoil brewing inside him. He had succeeded. He always knew Bucky was weak, his emotions his downfall. The fear and guilt clearly written in Bucky’s eyes made Rumlow gloat as he talked to the boy,

“What did I say, Bert, huh? You’ll only have food if you go get it yourself. Why are you still standing there?”

The boy looked around the big grocery store, mentally taking note of the stalls and where they were currently at, memorizing it in case he got lost but still, he didn’t move. Bucky looked at Rumlow and he saw the same look he’d always had directed at him before, his taunting eyes daring the boy to go or face the consequences.

“But I’m scared,” the boy replied, his voice small and frightened. Rumlow moved to him, bending his knees to get to his eye level. “Well then, you just won’t have to eat,” he told him in a hushed voice, pouting and mocking.

Bucky didn’t have to hear it to know the exact words, buried memories rushing back to the surface. He heard it countless times directed at him. The boy ran to the nearest stall, his heart pounding and hoping Rumlow would still be at that same spot when he came running back. Bucky knew the feeling, it was like he was living it all over again. As much as he wanted to help, he was rooted to the spot, even Lizzie’s crying couldn’t move him. Rumlow stood back up and faced him. “You were always my favorite,” he told him proudly as he pushed his own cart away from them, no doubt to give Bert an even harder chance of finding him.

Just before he got too far, he swiftly turned around, feigning innocence as he said, “Oh and by the way, say hi to Rebecca for me,” His lips twisted up into a sneering smirk as he left, whistling without a care in the world. And just like that Bucky was moving, grabbing Lizzie and getting out of that store as fast as he could, hoping Rumlow would stay out of his life forever.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m never letting you do the groceries again!” Y/N screeched, a horrified look on her face as she stared at their fridge. After the incident with Rumlow, Bucky had brought Lizzie to the toy store, allowing her to buy all the stuffed toys and dolls she wanted instead of just the previously promised one doll. They had gone to lunch after, he kept Lizzie distracted as much as possible to forget the man she had just met. When she brought him up again, he told her it was just a friend he didn’t like very much and that she shouldn’t bring it up to her mom because it was nothing, he promised he never had to see that man again. Lizzie seemed satisfied with his answer and went back to her usual chirpy self. On their way home, they passed by another grocery store. He had mindlessly strolled the aisles and grabbed whatever he thought they needed, his head at a different place, much as it still is now.

“Bucky, we don’t need four cartons of milk, why would you even get this?” Y/N asked incredulously, shaking her head as she chuckled.

Bucky had been staring off into space, not hearing what his wife had been saying. “Uhm, hello Bucky, you still with me?” she teased, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Oh sorry, what was that?” He asked, glancing up at her from his perch by the kitchen counter. The coffee he had brewed, now cold in his hands.

“Hey, you okay?” she asked, looking at him with concern in her eyes.

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well,” he waved dismissively. Y/N felt a pang of guilt. He’d been bugging her to spend more time together, planning outings and dates that she never seemed to find time for.

“Well, I finally have the day free. Why don’t we go out, watch a movie or have a picnic? It’ll be fun,” she suggested, draping a hand over his shoulder while her chin rested on the other, her elbow propped up on the countertop to keep an eye level with him.

“I can’t, I’m sorry, babe. I promised to meet up with Thor,” he moved away from her touch, standing up. Y/N looked at him confusedly, “Okay, how about after?”

“Gotta go over some accounts with Sam, sorry love. I’ll be back before dinner,” He gave her a quick kiss to the cheek before heading out. Y/N stared after him, brows knitted, before shrugging. She’ll just get her errands around the house done then.

After pounding the punching bag in Thor’s gym incessantly, Bucky found himself aimlessly walking around the streets, he just needed to clear his head. The little boy’s face was still etched in his mind as he opened the door to a bar. A little too early, he knew but he couldn’t shake off the nagging thought plaguing his mind.

How could he have let that monster roam free while he had lived his life without even a glance back?

_______________________________________________________________________

Years ago.

Bucky held Becca’s hand as they ascended the rickety steps of their new home. They had just lost their parents and were now moving into an unfamiliar house. The case worker had told them they were lucky not to be separated and that they shouldn’t worry; they were getting a good foster father who would take care of them from now on.

“I had interviewed him myself, you see,” She told the children, beaming with pride.

“I couldn’t have found a better one for you guys, why, this area is still very close to where you grew up in. You could still visit your old haunts,” She ruffled Becca’s hair, trying to lighten the mood while the little girl just moved farther away, hiding behind her big brother. The worn-out door which at once might have been painted pristine white but now had chippings hanging off of it suddenly opened with a creak, a man with a charming and easy nature stepped out with a warm smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You guys are here! Welcome, welcome, please come in!” He gestured humbly to his house. Becca squeezed Bucky’s hand tighter which he squeezed back in return, reassuring her. There was something about this man that wasn’t quite right. He seemed relaxed and easy-going, a smile continuously plastered on his face but there was a lethality to him that the children couldn’t seem to shake off, almost as if it was buried deep inside waiting to be unleashed. The case worker hung on his every word, giggling as they talked. She slapped his arm with the horrible looking tattoo that gave Becca a fright. The children barely moved from the sofa they were seated at after the introductions.

“It’s usually like this. Don’t worry. They start to open up after a while,” the case worker sympathized with Brock, the man who introduced himself as their new foster father; he would treat them as his own, he had promised.

“It’s alright. I understand. After my wife, I’ve been all alone and this, this is a blessing to me,” He told her as he turned to the children. Her hand strayed to his arm again and lingered there.

“Oh, Brock, you are a good man. They’re great children, they won’t give you trouble.” She replied, patting his arm for reassurance. It didn’t miss Bucky how she hung off his every word.

“But I should get going, I will check up on you in a week. Children, be good. You have my number if you need anything,” She stood up, smoothing the wrinkles on her blazer.

“Wait, you’re leaving us already?” Bucky couldn’t help the whine that escaped his voice. He didn’t miss the darkness that spilled over Brock’s face for a split second before he carefully put his smile back on again.

“I’ll be back in a week, Bucky. Don’t you worry,” the case worker smiled before she walked out the door leaving him and Becca to a stranger.

When she was out of sight, Brock had suddenly changed his demeanor. The smile on his face had turned into a scowl when he faced them. “Alright, listen up both of you,” he boomed, his voice cruel. “Grab your things and get on to your rooms. I don’t want to hear any noise. No running around, and if I see you making a mess. You bet your little asses, you’ll pay for it,” He stood up and left them to their bags.

“But Mr. Brock, I’m thirsty,” Becca piped up, looking up at him timidly. The man’s grating laugh rumbled as he threw his head back, shaking it.

“That’s Rumlow to both of you, you hear me? Don’t make that mistake again. Now, come here,” He said, beckoning both the children to come over. Once they reached the kitchen, he pointed to the high cupboard. “You see that?” He asked Becca, dropping low to get to her eye level. When she just nodded her head, he continued, “That’s where the glasses and the plates are. If you want something in this house, you go get it yourself. I’m not your nanny,” He held Becca’s face in his hand roughly. His fingers wrapped around her cheeks tight as he held her by the chin. Bucky felt his fists clench at his sides, pushing Rumlow as far as he could with his eleven year old might.

“Stop that!” He screamed. Their parents never hurt them. How dare this man think he could do this to his little sister?

“Oh you wanna be the man of the house?” Rumlow jeered, shoving Bucky back making him fall to the floor. Becca’s sniffles grew louder as she tried to stop her crying, her shoulders shaking from her effort. As Bucky lay sprawled, Rumlow scooted down menacingly to him,

“You dare push me when you were just whining like a little bitch a while ago, you wanna man up? Alright, I’ll allow it,” he taunted, pondering it for a moment before his sinister smile came back on. “Let’s see how long you’ll last protecting your little sister.” He gripped his face by the chin, fingers squeezing exceedingly tight on his cheeks before he pushed him off and he hit the floor.

“I won’t be some parent to you that you could twist around your little fingers, no. I’ll make you into the best man you could be. I will teach you about order. And order only comes through pain,” He drilled into him like a soldier as he stretched his legs back up, his measured steps going to the fridge to fish out a beer. He took a long gulp before he continued,

“And the sooner you learned that, the better,”

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Bucky sat alone at one of the benches by the field at his school, choosing solitude over the roar of the cafeteria after a particularly bad morning at home. Their foster father had woken up drunk and had haphazardly thrown things at them when Bucky accidentally burnt the eggs he had been cooking for his and Becca’s packed lunch for school. He picked on the peanut butter sandwich he prepared, not having the appetite to eat when he heard jeering voices from a group of boys and sounds of flesh being hit again and again with accompanying grunts of pain. He felt his feet move on instinct when he found them by the bleachers, a scrawny boy at the center of a group huddling over him, they were laughing as he tried to fight them off, not once being able to land a punch. The blood pumped in Bucky’s veins, a constant beating in his ears, as he grabbed the biggest of the bullies by the collar and harshly yanked him off the tiny, blonde boy now sprawled on the floor with his skinny arms covering his face. When one of the other kids tried to punch him, he deftly moved out of the way and delivered a swift blow to his stomach, making sure to spare his face so as not to get in trouble. That was how Rumlow did it, might as well use the same trick right?

“What? Who wants to go next?” He threatened, loving the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the power he had with defending someone so helpless. The lanky blonde boy stood up beside him, blood dripping from his mouth as he held both his fists up, “I can do this all day,” he said, catching his breath but his stance clearly indicated he could barely stand up straight. Bucky just looked at him weirdly, not knowing whether to find him stupid or brave. The bullies stood against them, unsure. Bucky was the same age as them, only slightly bigger. Him and the blonde boy were still clearly outnumbered but Bucky’s eyes held a lethal strength in them, his body coiled with unleashed brutality, ready to fight. The bullies scrambled out of there as fast as they could, their feet tripping over them.

“Yeah next time, pick on someone your own size!” he hollered before looking back at the blonde boy who looked younger than them but held himself with such maturity that it didn’t seem possible. He decided right then and there he was going to make him his new friend. Rumlow had always taught him about his belief of the natural order of the world, that strength and might always won the day and that order could only be achieved through pain. If you could inflict it on others, you were stronger, better. Weaker men were useless, had to be beaten up and put in their place. “That’s just the way of the world,” he had said. But Bucky was old and smart enough to see right through his facade. He was a bully, feeding off of people who couldn’t fight back. Bucky was going to be different, he wouldn’t bow down to his will. He just needed to protect his sister, spare her from the taint of Rumlow’s anger and prove that he wouldn't become the man Rumlow has been conditioning him to be.

“You alright?” Bucky asked the boy standing beside him who was touching the bruise forming on his forehead.

“Yeah, thanks for helping me,” he replied sheepishly, ashamed he couldn’t fight for himself.

“Next time, just don’t provoke them, they aren’t worth it.”

“But they were wrong. Bullies, I’d always stand up to them,” the blonde brushed his hair back from his forehead, determination steeling his voice. Bucky smiled, maybe he could learn a thing or two from this boy too.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Steve, what’s yours?”

“Bucky. Steve, you’re a little punk. You know that?” he said teasingly, laughing.

Steve grinned back, “Jerk,”

_______________________________________________________________________

Present

The light filtered into the room as the curtains were drawn back harshly causing Bucky to groan on his bed, flitting a pillow to cover his eyes.

“Buck, come on. Get up,” Steve’s firm voice spoke through the fog in his mind.

“Get out, Steve, I’m sleeping.” he replied, turning his back to the hand shaking his shoulder.

“How long are you going to do this? It’s been two weeks. Have you even talked to your family yet?” Steve’s judgmental voice rang out, hard and unforgiving.

“She doesn’t even wanna see me,” he huffed, anger at himself boiling in his veins. He hasn’t seen his daughter in two weeks. Y/N’s short, cold replies to his messages were just updates on how Lizzie was doing, anything regarding Y/N, he had no idea about. He didn’t even know what sort of excuses she made up for Lizzie, how his “work trip” kept getting extended. When the hell could they keep that charade up? He was lucky enough she was letting him talk to his daughter on the phone for a few minutes every once in a while. He sat up on the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he reached for the bottle of whiskey at the bedside table. These days he could only fall asleep when he’s had one too many to drink and even then, he’d still wake up with a headache that could only be dulled by alcohol. He barely even made it to work everyday. Sam had been good enough to cover for him, staying on neutral ground with everything that’s happening to his marriage although his eyes said otherwise, disappointment etched in them. All the while Steve had ignored him the entire time since the hospital. No amount of apologies moved him from his stance except today, when he suddenly barged into the hotel room Bucky has been renting like he owned the place.

“Jesus, Bucky, stop that!” He swiped the bottle Bucky held between his lips, splashing amber liquid on his shirt and bed.

“Damn it, Steve! Look what you did! Give that back,” Bucky held his arm out, his reflexes slow as he tried to grab it from his friend.

“Jesus Christ. You smell terrible. How much have you had to drink last night?” Steve fanned the air around him trying to rid the stench of alcohol and sweat.

“How the hell did you even get in here?” Bucky’s pissed off voice grumbled but one look at Steve’s intense stare with his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, standing straight as a drill sergeant, arms crossed at his chest with his muscles bulging out of his fitted gray Under Armour shirt; he knew. The punk had intimidated his way in. No doubt leaving a poor breathless, flustered receptionist in his wake.

“You could get that receptionist fired, you know?” He tried appealing to his best friend’s better nature.

“You wouldn’t tell. Plus, it isn’t as if she didn’t get a hefty tip. Go take a shower, Buck, you stink.” Steve didn’t budge, staring him down with a disgusted look on his face. Bucky just scoffed,

“And then what? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Y/N kicked me out, man. Just go home, you’re wasting your time.”

Steve’s hardened face softened as he looked at his friend. His eyes were puffy, his skin pale as he scratched his wildly unkempt beard, his greasy hair sticking out on one side. What the hell had happened to Bucky? How had it gone so bad for his friend in a matter of days? He suddenly moved out of instinct, collecting clothes strewn everywhere and packed them into the suitcase at the corner of the room.

“Steve, what the hell are you doing?” Bucky exhaled loudly. It was too early for this. Where the hell was his drink?

“Get your ass moving, Bucky. You’re staying at my place,”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #steve rogers #betrayal #marvel fic #marvel x you

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Text

You want more from your situation-ship with Grayson, but does he?

5.8k lol so buckle up if you have the time

inspired by this pool floatie I bought a while ago and last Saturday when I got drunk in the pool by myself.

warnings: tiny bit of angst, smut, too much fluff

also I’m sorry if this long ass post clogs you your feed; the website on my laptop never works anymore for some reason so I do everything through mobile and have no idea if/how to put the keep reading thing on here through the app. Pls lmk if you do!

***

Few things in life are more mundane and yet more pleasurable than lying in the sun on a hot, balmy summer’s day. It’s by far one of your favorite pastimes — letting that omnipresent warmth seep into your pores until your skin glows and glistens, waving goodbye to your anxieties as they’re carried away with a cooling breeze, enjoying some time alone to think.

That alone thinking time was much-needed today as you lie back in your pool floatie, drifting gently atop the nearly-still surface of Grayson’s pool. You could have gone to the large communal pool at your apartment complex, or the beach, or even to a less…complicated friend’s house to have your day of thinking in the sun, but there were several factors that played into your choice to come here instead.

Not smart factors, admittedly; was it smart to come to the home of your best friend/fuck buddy to think about maybe telling him that you maybe want more? Fuck no. That’s the problem when you’ve got two voices dueling in your head, though, and one ends up decidedly louder than the other. You’ve got the Rational voice at the back of your mind telling you coming here wasn’t a good idea, that you’re somewhat-inexcusably pissed at him and it isn’t fair to dump that on him without figuring things out before you see him again.

But then you've got the Dumb Bitch voice in the forefront, reasoning that your ‘regular’ friends are simply too busy, your apartment pool is always way too crowded to avoid distractions, and the beach on the weekend has the same issue with the added downside that alcohol is strictly forbidden.

Despite the twins’ dislike of the substance, going without it wasn't an option for you today, and so as you walked out the door of your apartment you had shoved a few cans into your oversized tote bag. You take a satisfying sip of the sponsored drink of all Dumb Bitches everywhere, a lime Whiteclaw, and sigh, relaxing against the raised back of your floatie. You’re grateful for the cold, crisp bubbles tickling the back of your throat as little beads of sweat start to stipple at your temples, and you dip a foot into the water for added coolness. It’s the equivalent of sleeping with one leg under the covers and one out, ensuring your body’s temperature is perfectly balanced as you glide soothingly across the flat surface of the water, your mind wandering.

You like to think whatever you have with Grayson is complicated and dramatic, for the sake of your own rationale, but it’s really not. You started as good friends, which turned into the casual and inevitable flirting that happens when anyone becomes close with the opposite sex, which turned into an unexpected and amazing fuck on his couch one night a few months ago.

Which has turned into: two people who tiptoe around the obvious any time they're together to avoid the messiness that comes with relationships and, ultimately, ruined friendships. It’s obvious to everyone that the two of you care about each other deeply. It’s even obvious to you and Gray yourselves: you’ve had the ‘what are we’ talk; the ‘you’re the only one I hit up’ talk. But that was it — just sex. It’s what you both wanted, what you both agreed on after that first time was so good. You’re both terrible at relationships and staying emotionally invested and owning your feelings. So it seemed like a good idea at the time.

The irony of it all is that you’ve found yourself in the predicament that afflicts almost every fuck-buddy situation-ship — it’s gotten messy. You’re not ignorant enough to ignore that certain things have triggered the realization that you potentially have stronger feelings for him beyond those brought about by having amazing sex together. But you’re not sure you’re willing to lose him from your life completely if he doesn't feel the same. You can live with some emotionally one-sided boning if it meant you got to see him, be close to him, like you are right now.

You sigh and your eyes close as you zone out for a bit, trying to push your worries away and enjoy the simplicity of this moment in the sun, willing your mind to become as clear as the blue sky above you. Willing the universe to shine some guidance down on you.

“Can I join you?”

You startle with a little gasp and your eyes shoot open in surprise. Your head jolts up to find Grayson standing at the side of the pool in his too-short swim trunks that cling to his thick thighs appealingly, and nothing else. He and Ethan had been filming earlier (one of the reasons you justified coming over, he’d be out of sight and out of mind) but apparently he’s done now. He’s got a hand covering his face to shield his eyes in the bright light, and if you didn’t know their voices so well or have a familiarity with their tattoos, you would have had to do a double-take to discern him from Ethan; you’re still not used to his short hair.

You liked it better longer, but you won’t tell him that; it’s not your place. You’re not his girlfriend.

“It’s your pool, you can do whatever you want,” you answer with a shrug, ignoring his amused grin that you presume is from scaring you. You don’t mean for it to come out so short and clipped, but now that he’s here in front of you, he’s suddenly a proverbial thundercloud in that clear sky of your conscience you were so close to achieving

His presence reminds you of why you’re unjustifiably mad at him, and also what drove you to this crisis point at all: the mystery girl in his private Snap story from three days ago, when he and Ethan had gone to the skate park with some friends while you had to work. You think of how she had laughed too obviously when he bombed a trick; how she had clung to his veiny forearms much too long while he helped her balance on a board; how close she had snuggled up to him in the group picture.

And who even was she? You didn’t recognize her, and you thought you might have detected some kind of accent…British or Australian maybe?

He’s not your boyfriend, you remind yourself sternly, realizing you’re sliding down the same rabbit hole you've been avoiding ever since you viewed the story. You’re not his girlfriend.

You’ve been repeating that mantra for the past three days though, and it hasn’t changed a damn thing in your head. Especially when he comes out looking like this, all broad and sculpted and familiar, and the thought of another girl even coming near him makes you want to throw hands.

But he doesn’t know that — you barely recognize that. What you are able to recognize is that bratty attitude is uncalled for, but your mind is revving again, fueled by all of your conflicting wants and insecurities.

He seems to pay no mind to your moodiness, though, and shrugs too with a little hum as he dunks a large foot in the water curiously. He looks back up at you, and even though you still can’t quite see the look in his eyes, his voice is telling. “How’s the tan coming?”

You can feel his focus glued to your tits and fight the urge to roll your eyes because you know what he’s doing, and you know you shouldn’t be mad because you’ve been fine with it until… whenever. You don’t really know when things changed in your head. Certainly mystery girl was a catalyst for getting it through your thick skull that you like him. But as of now he’s going by what the two of you know: show up, flirt, fuck. And you don’t have the right to be pissed at him for doing just that. You showed up here by your own free will.

So yes, you’re well aware he’s initiating your usual routine with each other, and you make the quick decision to go along with it rather than face your feelings. It’s easier that way.

You raise an eyebrow at him knowingly and tuck the fingers of your free hand into the triangle top of your bikini to pull it completely aside, exposing your whole breast for him. Despite yourself, you hide your victorious smirk when you see him swallow hard by ducking your head to check the changes in your skin tone; boys are too easy.

“Pretty good, I guess,” you answer truthfully, actually satisfied with the notable difference. You gaze back at him, unable to wipe the smugness from your features as he conspicuously adjusts himself in his swimsuit. “What do you think?”

“Looks good to me,” he agrees with a smirk, giving your chest one last look as you readjust the material back in place before anyone else in the house might come out and see. He shakes his head as if to clear it and turns around to rummage through the little storage shed that houses all of the pool supplies. He retrieves a thick foam floatie and tosses it into the pool with a mischievous smile.

“Grayson!” you shout, half annoyed and half amused when he lunges onto it head-first into the water. His big body causes tidal waves to erupt all across the pool, jostling you roughly in your own floatie as you lift your drink in the air to avoid getting chlorine water in it.

He chuckles and shakes his head when he sees what you're doing, rolling his eyes as he settles on his stomach. His arms and back flex enticingly as he does an imitated breast-stroke to paddle over to you. “Really?” he deadpans, looking pointedly at your Whiteclaw.

“Yes, really,” you reply, kicking your foot so water splashes in his face as you take a deliberate gulp. You don’t elaborate, genuinely not in the mood to get into this debate with him.

Grayson wraps a big hand around the edge of your floatie and pulls until your heads are even with each other, even though your’s is sitting higher. He keeps a grip on the inflated plastic so you don’t drift away from him, leaning over and planting a strangely affectionate kiss to the top of your arm while looking up at you with those sweet hazel eyes. You’re a sucker for them, and he knows it; he must sense your attitude, after all.

“You’re cranky,” he confirms, his lips brushing against your skin when he speaks.

His tone isn’t accusatory, but you can’t help but take it as such, and you finally do roll your eyes when you raise the can to your lips once again. “Yeah, well, I had a long fuckin’ week.”

He hesitates. In your peripheral you can see his face working as he tries to remember what he might have done between letting you in his house a couple hours ago, and now to warrant your scorn. The two of you rarely argue, and he’s clearly unsure of how to proceed.

Finally, his hand shifts to caress your thigh, and you can’t stop the warmth that spreads all within you, especially to your pussy. You know he can feel the visceral twitch of your muscles beneath your skin when your thighs clench. It’s simultaneously comforting and maddening that he has this hold on you — there’s both security and fear there.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Do you? Absolutely not. Should you…?

“Not really,” you answer, but soften your words by scratching your fingers through his hair. You can’t help it; he’s trying, and it’s sweet, and reminds you of how you might have gotten to the point of wanting more from him after all.

Satisfied for the moment that you’re not too pissed at him, a little content smile graces his full lips and he lets out a small, appeased groan. You lose sight of his eyes as they droop closed and his head rests on his folded arm, the other still curled around your leg. It makes a little fuzzy ball of happiness grow in your chest as you indulge him for a few minutes, dragging your nails against his scalp, down the nape of his neck, across his broad shoulders. Mystery girl doesn’t get to do this.

You’re tracing his lion tattoo with lingering water and sweat droplets on his skin when he turns his head, eyes fluttering open to stare up at you. There’s a heat behind them that you’re more than familiar with, and it makes you flush more than the sun already does.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice low, eyes glued to your face.

His fingertips start stroking a path from where they’re resting on your thigh, down to the equally sensitive patch of skin on the inside of your knee, and back up again. You can’t hold back the shiver down your spine or the throbbing in your clit even as anger flares within you.

“Are you serious?” you challenge, throwing your sunglasses to the top of your head so he can get the full effect of how mad that question makes you. This topic was probably you’re main point of contention with Grayson, and you were already a little testy with him. You shake the can in your hand to indicate it’s still about one-third full, and barely discern your floatie hitting the side of the pool. “No, I’m not Grays—”

Before you can process what’s happening, he's lunging from his own float to crawl over you and plant his hands on the pool ledge. He’s holding himself above you, trapping you in this weird cocoon of hot, sticky plastic and his wet, muscled torso as he dips his head to kiss you soundly.

He accepts your inadvertent moan with a little knowing smile against your lips, and his tongue wastes no time slipping between them to find yours. He licks into your mouth, around your cheeks, sliding against your tongue, tickling your hard palate. Always thorough, always perfect. You moan again because he just kisses you that fucking good, and can’t stop your hands from diving fully into his hair, your drink plunking into the water.

What were you so mad at him for? You don’t remember and you don’t care, and if he didn't have this amnesia effect on you, you’d realize that this is exactly where your problems are stemming from. Burying everything in both a proverbial hole and a literal pile of discarded clothes.

Grayson starts to slow down and sucks your lower lip into his mouth, releasing it with a little smack as he pulls away to look at you in the eye. You replace his teeth with your own, dragging the swollen pink between them as you trail one hand over his defined pec. He looks fantastic like this, all his muscles working easily to support himself while he lets you lean over and suck hot little kisses down the thick column of his neck.

His skin tastes clean and salty and it’s addictive on your tongue when you add it to the mix, sucking and nibbling at the junction of his neck and shoulder. He moans and you smile, your pussy clenching when you think about the mark that will definitely be imprinted into his tan skin, how it’s in the perfect position to be mostly hidden while still peeking out of the collar of his shirt tomorrow if he isn’t careful. The idea causes a surge of possessiveness to electrify your body, and you bite down harder into the same spot without even realizing.

Grayson gasps and pulls back, looking at you questioningly. You offer nothing in return, daring him with your eyes to keep going. It’s his move now.

He does nothing other than continue to search your face, until finally he speaks. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

You’re a little surprised, but it’s not like he’s this douchebag with no emotional intelligence. He’s obviously able to tell somethings wrong and that it involves him. You just didn’t expect him to be so concerned still, when you’re both willing to carry about like normal.

“Nothing.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t do that. Come on, talk to me.”

“I said it’s nothing, Gray. Can we keep going, please?”

“Not until you tell me what’s the matter,” he says. He dips his head, and you think he’s going to kiss you stupid again, but his lips just barely find the corner of your mouth in the tiniest of kisses. It feels good in a different way, sending tingles across your scalp and down your neck, and your eyes shut when he moves to the other corner. Then your nose, then your eyelids, until he’s nuzzling his nose in your cheek. “Please?”

Oof. You love that word coming from Grayson; it doesn’t happen too often.

“Dude, I’m fine,” you sigh, rubbing his bicep and gazing at his collarbone distractedly, completely unable to meet his eyes. You’ll crumble if you catch the concern there, and right now you just want an uncomplicated orgasm. “You have to be getting tired holding yourself up like that.”

“I’ve held myself above you for longer,” he retorts, half smug and half matter-of-fact. He’s not wrong, to be fair.

“Well, remind me for real. Inside, in bed,” you insist, finally looking up at him.

Grayson just stares back at you, his eyes searching your face intently. After what feels like an eternity, he pushes away from the pool ledge and sinks below the surface of the water. You think you’ve won, and a little thrill rushes through you like it often does when you know you’re about to fuck him. You start to roll off of your floatie, when you feel pressure at the end of it.

“What—?”

Grayson is suddenly popping his head up in the opening at the foot of your floatie, then squeezing his Dorito torso through the smallish hole as well. It’s clearly a tight fit, but it keeps his head and chest securely above the water.

He shakes his head out of habit, as if to fling the hair out of his face, and it does something to your heart and your vagina. You miss the strands that would hang in his eyes like he was straight out of a Giorgio Armani ad or something. Not that he’s not still model-like, but something about that hair just hit different.

“Scoot,” he says, reaching his arms out to grasp your ankles and tug, indicating for you to slide down the plastic.

You look at him suspiciously, curious as to why he seems to be giving up so easily, but oblige him anyways. Like you aren't going to pass up the chance of getting eaten out in the pool.

A sudden thought occurs to you when he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your high-cut bikini bottoms. “Wait…”

He cocks an arched brow. “Gonna talk to me?”

“Where is everyone?” you ask, ignoring his question.

“E and Sterling dropped me off then went to run errands. They’ll be gone for a while,” he says, pulling down on your swimsuit. He growls when your smooth pussy appears bare for him at last, and he flings the scrap of material behind him so it lands somewhere on the concrete.

He wraps his giant hands around your hips and pulls again, and this time you listen, wiggling down with some rather unattractive squeaks of your skin against the plastic, but you end up flat on your back with your pussy in his face. The heat of the sun bakes your skin in the best way, almost arousing in and of itself, but Grayson’s warm breath against your sensitive lower lips definitely does the trick. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, gasping when one of his fingers comes up to delicately trace the softness of your freshly waxed skin.

You can’t see him between the brightness of the sun above you and the precarious support of the floatie, which only makes the featherlight touches of his fingers and now his tongue that much more impactful. He barely holds you open with two of his fingertips while the softness of the pointed tip of his tongue licks the slickness from you with a barely-there pressure that leaves you so frustrated and turned on your eyes just roll back and your thighs quiver.

“God, Grayson, please,” you moan out when you finally can’t take it anymore, your hand sinking into his wet hair. You need more. You need all of him, in every way.

He hums, and the vibrations melt you, so sensitive that the simple noise makes your thighs clench around his head with a sharp gasp. His hands move to push your legs away, and he dots little kisses to the skin there instead.

“I like your manners,” he says, “but if you want to cum, I need you to tell me why you’re mad at me.”

You pout at the sky, your chest heaving with nerves and arousal and irritation. “I can’t.”

You expect him to argue back, but the next thing you feel are his fingers parting you again, and his lips planting a soft kiss to the swollen bud of your clit. It jolts you, the surprise and the pleasure of it a heady mix, especially when he tickles you with that featherlight brush of his tongue.

“Tell.” Lick. “Me.” Kiss.

He’s a persistent little bastard, you’ll give him that, but your stubbornness is a wonder, too. You let him tease you while you stay radio silent other than some uncontrollable whimpers of pleasure, until he breaks down and suckles your clit into his mouth, hot and wet and full of saliva from his glands watering at the taste of you. Your noises immediately get louder, desperate, pleading.

It’s when he suddenly backs off and just kisses your outer lips chastely, no real intent to please you but still there, that you finally give in, unable to stand the constantly building and waning pressure in your pussy anymore. Your grip in his hair tightens and you cry out in frustration. Feelings and worries be damned; you need to cum.

“Fucking…fine! Who is she?”

Grayson pauses, and leans away from your center. His voice is full of genuine confusion when he speaks up. “Who are you talking about?”

Anger and embarrassment flit through you. You didn't expect this conversation to happen at all, let alone when you’re bottom-less, needy, and having it sexually coerced out of you. But it’s out there now, and you can’t let yourself look even more ridiculous by backtracking. You try to sit up, and thankfully his weight on the end of the float balances out your efforts as you settle back into more of a sitting position with your legs folded to preserve some modesty.

You almost lose it when you gain sight of him again. His lips are shiny from your pussy juices, his thick eyebrows drawn in concern, his shoulders and biceps bulging from how they’re bent on the floatie. All of your biggest weaknesses in one image.

“That girl from the skatepark. Who is she?”

He thinks for a moment more, and his face suddenly lights up with understanding. “Millie? The blonde chick?”

You nod, and your blood boils at the thought of her with a name now. Somehow, ‘mystery girl’ made her less threatening. “She was all over you. I just want to know who she is to you.”

Grayson doesn’t laugh at you. You feel like he should, but of course he doesn’t. He just continues to stare at you with worried eyes.

“She’s a friend visiting from the U.K., and E and I wanted to show her around LA,” he says quietly. “She’s just a friend, I promise.”

The assuredness behind his tone makes you swallow. You duck your gaze to piddle with a leaf that had floated onto your leg when you changed positions, distracting yourself from his intense gaze. It’s now or never, you realize. “I’m just a friend.”

He’s silent again and it’s so fucking nerve-wracking. Grayson is usually so impulsive with his thoughts and his words, and the time he’s taking to soak in everything you’re saying is unnerving. You can only imagine that he’s trying his best to come up with the best way to let you down easy and never speak to you again.

“You… you want more?”

You nod again, biting your lip.

His hand covers yours on your leg, and interlaces your fingers so your palms touch. You finally allow yourself to look at his face again, shocked to see a wide smile on his lips.

“Is it not completely, embarrassingly obvious that I don't want you to be just a friend either? Or a fuckbuddy, or whatever we’ve been doing for this long?” he asks, squeezing your hand as he laughs incredulously. “I’ve been trying to ask you out for weeks. But I just…couldn’t do it outright; I was being selfish. I figured I had you all to myself, even if it was just sex, and didn’t want to scare you away by bringing up the idea of being more.”

You smile brightly and your heart soars, your head spinning at this newfound information. You want to articulate how you’ve had the exact desires and concerns he’s voicing, but your mind is racing too fast to form the words, and all that come’s out is, “Same.”

He bursts into that belly-laugh that makes you giggle too, and you hide your face in your hands with a groan as he ducks back into the water only to reappear at your side a moment later. “Come here,” he says, arms outstretched to help you down.

You clutch his biceps and sink into the cool water with him, immediately wrapping your legs around his waist and drawing him to you for a deep, meaningful kiss. He sighs into your mouth, and chases it with his when you pull back, making you laugh again. The fingers of one hand play with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, the others tugging on his chain. “Does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend now?”

He grins and nods. “Absolutely.”

You watch his face with a smirk when you grind down on his semi in his swim trunks. His eyes darken and he clutches tighter onto your bare ass. “Then I want my boyfriend to fuck me right here, in this pool. Right now.”

He doesn't need more convincing. Grayson groans and latches onto your neck as he starts to walk you both towards the steps of the pool, and you feel his dick grow harder as you squirm against him. When you reach them, he sits on the shallow sundeck above the very top step, keeping you firmly in his lap as your knees settle on the cement beneath the four or so inches of water.

He kisses you, and his fingers slip through your pussy, his touch direct and purposeful now, all thoughts of teasing you gone with the wind.

“Want you to cum first,” he whispers heatedly, two of his thick fingers slipping inside you as his thumb plants itself on your clit. A tried and true method he knows will get you off in no time. “Like I promised.”

His fingers pump steadily and curl into your g-spot, rubbing and thrusting at the perfect tempo to make you hunch into him as you cry out and cum hard on them. Your hips thrust down on his hand, your teeth sinking into the skin of his shoulder to keep yourself quiet, your little whimpers floating into his ear and making him shiver as you come down.

When your thighs stop shaking, he takes his fingers out of you and traces your lips with them, smearing your wetness on them like lipgloss until you open them with a tired, grateful smile and suck his digits into your mouth. You both moan, and once you’ve gotten all of your taste off of his skin, you release them with a pop and work your hands into the waistband of his trunks.

You lower them just enough to get his dick out, hot and hard and heavy in your hand as you give him a few steady strokes before sitting up enough to position him at your entrance. You slide the blunt tip across your slit, settling it at your hole and dipping down just enough to encapsulate the sensitive tip in your wetness, only to drag him up to your clit again with a gasp and a smile. Payback is fair game, you reason, thinking of how much he had teased you earlier.

He growls deep in his chest when you do it again. “Baby, please.”

Baby. That’s new. It makes your body heat with possessiveness and pride and the thought of ‘I’m your’s’ as you finally give in and position his cock where you can sink down on him slowly.

Your hips settle on his lap once again, and you note the concrete already scraping your knees when you start grinding against him. You plant your feet there instead, which makes his eyes light up with excitement.

“Fuck yes,” he breathes, tugging the material of your bikini top aside so both of your tits are out for his viewing pleasure before reclining back on his hands so you can support yourself on his shoulders. His jaw drops open and he moans with you as you start bouncing on his dick, the angle amazing and the depth he reaches even better. You pick up the pace, and his teeth grit together with a hiss. “God, your pussy’s so fucking tight.”

His eyes are glued to the way your tits jiggle and sway with your movements, and he leans forward to capture one of your nipples in his warm mouth. You clutch his head partly for leverage and partly to just keep the suction on your sensitive breast, and throw your head back to bask in the sun and the overwhelming pleasure oozing through your body.

Eventually, your legs start to tire, and you drop your knees back into the water with two little splashes so you can grind on him again. You tug his hair to pull him off your chest, looking deep in his eyes before dragging him into a fiery kiss, your tongues dueling and lips smacking sloppily.

“Gray,” you whimper against his mouth, begging for more. More, more, more. This man, in all his beauty, is yours, and you want all of him.

He understands, urging you off of him and standing as he turns you to lay back in the shallow water. He takes advantage of being stood up to tug his swimsuit off the rest of the way, reaching down to do the same to your top and tosses both scraps of fabric onto the ground.

You recline back on your elbows and admire the way his dick stands tall and proud and shining with your juices. The way he looks down at you makes you feel sensual and pretty in the bright light of day, long hair swirling in the water around you, your body glistening in both elements as well. One of your hands travels down to your swollen pussy as you bite your lip and stare up at him as he moves above you. The sundeck is a big circle, and he pushes you further away from the steps so he can crawl over you and have plenty of room to lay you back with an arm pillowed under your head to keep it above the water.

Grayson hooks an elbow under one of your knees and sinks back into you with an easy thrust, your back arching as a whimper of his name breaks past your lips. His mouth finds your neck, and he sucks and nibbles the delicate skin there as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. The coolness of the water encompasses your back, contrasting with the heat of his body and the afternoon sun, and you wrap one arm around his shoulders while the other wedges between your bodies so your fingers can find your clit again.

“You’re so big,” you mewl into his ear, circling faster as his hips thrust harder. He loves when you talk him up like this, and you’re happy to do it, especially because everything you say to him is true. Your nails drag across his golden skin, leaving bright red welts in their wake and eliciting a loud groan from him as he tugs on your earlobe with his teeth in return. “So fuckin’ big, filling me up so good, baby.”

The pet name slips easily from your lips now, too. He grunts and pulls his head back to look into your eyes, and you melt at the pure lust and affection you see in his darkened orbs. His thrusts are now impossibly deep, jolting your body with each one as he brings you rapidly to the peak of your orgasm with his steady pace.

“You’re mine, Gray,” you whisper brokenly, your breaths getting knocked out of you as he fucks you hard and perfect. The realization and just saying the words out loud pushes you over the edge, eyes rolling back, your fingers faltering on your clit as your pussy flutters and spasms around his thick cock. “Oh my god, I’m cumming!”

Grayson moans loudly, and fucks you hard and sloppy for a few more beats until he’s right there with you, shooting inside you with whimpers of your name and boyish whines that you want to listen to on repeat forever.

His head falls onto your heaving chest as he comes down, and you hug him to you with a happy, satisfied grin on your lips. You feel weightless in a physical sense from the water and the high you’re still riding, but also emotionally as you grasp the reality of the shift in your relationship with this man. He is yours. He has been yours, even if neither of you were able to put a finger on it until now.

He sits up with a groan, and meets your grin with his own crooked smile before dipping his head down to kiss you softly.

“You’re mine, too.”

“Good.” You hum and smile bigger. “Now that we’ve got that settled, can we talk about growing your hair out again?”

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