#not very good except for the two or three places that are fucking divine

[bitegore]

i do not need to shower today on account of i showered two days ago and was conscious for all of six hours yesterday. However I think I would like to shower which means I need to do that literally right now or my groceries will ccome when i am still showering

#i woke up still stoned after yesterday night and was like damn i really want milk and to be able to fry some potatoes #so i ordered some basic groceries from the internet #the things i want have become so simple lol #once upon a time id get like sushi cravings or something but the only sushi that will sate me is basically the entire state away #and the other food up here is like #not very good except for the two or three places that are fucking divine #but also like ive been to the one really good mexican place in this city three times in the last two weeks #and every time has been phenomenal! however. it is enough

[eirichele]

i tried out engage here's my thoughts. (really mild spoilers)

• honestly alear is like... corrin on steroids. its insane how much they get praised for pretty much being just...mid. i played fates cq and still found this ridiculously distracting because there are parts where the characters say something like "oh, divine dragon, you're (kind/wonderful)" every two or three lines. please sir this is a wendy's

• the worst part by far in this game are the visuals. the character design is kind of all over the place. they look jarringly modern, you can't guess ages, sometimes you can't guess their class. i feel terrible for mika pikazo because they didn't work closely with her, gave her little to no direction and now she's left to get the backlash. that's no way to treat an artist.

• her art is just unfortunately not translated well to 3d, which is a shame because her celebratory art that she posted on twit was very pretty even if its personally not to my taste for a fe game. the models themselves are technically superior to houses, theres very little pixelation. but all the shots and cgs are just....... so badly compositioned. very much 3h vibes with the "characters spinning in a microwave". at some point they split the screen in half to show two characters in different places and it looks so awkward dkjkgfjkk

• the environments are MUCH better, and you now get to explore them after each battle to talk to the characters in them which is something i criticized of houses a lot so that's cool to see. unfortunately they're kinda stiff in cutscenes for some reason? like i said in-game cutscenes look pretty atrocious i just wish we'd go back to 2d illustrated portraits, especially when you have an artist who shines in that medium.

• sexualization is... pretty bad. def not fates level but it's there. your mom is introduced in a direct shot of her chest and she dies in an angle where you can see her boobs. i am not joking. there's an aversa expy so evil sexy woc is unfortunately a trope they still haven't let go of, and there's f!alear's whole chest situation too even though she's a minor..... mess.

• the dialogue is terribleeee. i think the vas did a GREAT job for what they were given but this is unfortunately an anakin skywalker situation where they're going to blame them for how bland and stilted the script is. it's just disjointed at times and so the deliveries can feel weird but how the fuck are you going to deliver "oh divine dragon, you're so shiny when you sweat!" (ACTUAL LINE BTW) they were set up!!!

• story-wise they don't really do much with the emblems. the lords are kind of just there. this mechanic is tbh a little disturbing to me because these spirits are just trapped in these rings and are... very happy about it. they go on and on about how they're gonna save this world and how they're gonna support their respective characters but there's zero mention of their own emotional situation. no missing their friends or reflecting about their lives or wondering what's next or anything, they're just kind of vassals to their characters. the one exception was sigurd who just kinda drops the bomb that he died as a young father and everyone is like "haha anyway moving on...." DUDE. very weirdly implemented imo but i guess they couldn't character assassinate this way so. double edged sword i suppose

• the gameplay kinda reminds me of awakening the first few chapters because the maps are ridiculously simple and a lot of focus is placed on the engage gimmick but it thankfully got better once you reach the somniel. then there's actual maps. which seem pretty fine to me tbh? unfortunately this game is just easy. you get really really good units early on and the emblems are BUSTED. i breezed through like 5 chapters in hard classic and when i saw my friend play they turtled relatively unopposed so its like. i'm not feeling the gameplay. it's just ok. maybe if i do actually decide to play this game one day i could do maddening but i honestly dont want to keep going lmfao

overall its like. exactly what i expected from the previews and i'm really glad i didn't even consider getting it lmfao. like always it just makes me kinda sad to see the potential in these games and all the inklings of ideas that were just kinda forgotten in favor of pandering to the player because that sells.

#t #trying to be fair rather than funny on this one but dw i will probably bully this game later

[darthwheezely]

dating fred weasley and being a ravenclaw

wow i am a SIMP for this man! this ain’t new info but! he is truly such a divine man and like…yeah i had to- also this might be longer because Fred has a lot more things to cover in terms of this and his own issues sksksjjs

warnings: light smut, angst at parts, wicked hot men named frederick gideon weasley, mentions of sexual degrading and not the hot or kinky kind :/ basically dudes being scumbags

people that might like this (?): @whiz-bangs78 @wand3ringr0s3 @gcdric @thatdumbbitchxx @pansydaisy​@vogueweasley @slytherinsunrise @thehufflepuffwife @theweasleyslut dm me to be on the twins taglist or for requests for blurbs/ships/one shots :)

fred thinks you’re an actual literal on god 111% angel sent by god

i swear-

he basically runs into (…literally) when escaping from filch, and knocks into you coming out of transfiguration

and i shit you not, he catches you by the waist like mid dip

oh my GOD please I’m in love with him

Fred Weasley, professional jackass, looked down at you hand still on your waist. He grinned at you and winked and you swore to god you heard the sparkle sound effect. “Hullo, gorgeous.” He heard filch scream “WEASLEY!” and broke away from you, pulling you up and pushing you off of him, leading a running filch to slip in the middle of the hallway, the hall erupting in laughter: including you. Fred inhaled harshly, heart pounding at you laughing at something he managed to pull off. “I’ll…I’ll see you again, yeah?” You froze smiling in place. “Um…yeah…yeah you will?” “Yeah?” He grinned. “Yeah.” With another wink he sped off down the hall…

he couldn’t stop thinking about the wicked hot girl in the hall

god what house was she he thought?

oh shit she had blue on fuck she’s a ravenclaw he thinks. why does he think like that?

she’s outta my goddamn league, he thought before he could stop himself

“Freddie, I know you’re not giving up on the idea of this girl this easy.” George shook his head smirking in the Hall.

“I’m not giving up on anything - she’s just…too good for me.”

“Mate, you know nothing about her except how her eyes ‘sparkled like the stars’ or some whack Tolstoy shit like that…besides, you always did love a challenge, yeah?” At that Fred grinned.

“Georgie, I was thinking exactly the same thing…”

frederick gideon weasley knew what he had to do

FUCKING RUN AROUND THE CASTLE AND LOOK FOR YOU DUH

i swear he probably skipped like a half a day of classes just running from classroom to classroom tryna find your gorgeous self

he also probably was like “anyone seen a literal angel around” and everyone was just like ~please shoot this kid he cannot be deadass~

anyway, he’s starting to run out of breath guys, pobrecito is about to give up for the day and throw in the towel but then

then, fellas and foals-

he sees you

sitting in the center of the quidditch pitch

reading a book and writing in your notebook

and god when i tell you he physically had his ass floored

i mean, Jesus Christ, it’s the way you were just serenely sitting in HIS favorite place in hogwarts, not even in the stands, just absorbing life in the ACTUAL PITCH just

just being there

“What are you doing here, love?” You look up and see Fred, chest heaving, rosy cheeked and fucking glorious. He looked otherworldly with the sun at his back, seemingly glowing. “Knitting a sweater.” You said coolly, and gave a small smile. He bit his lip and made his way over to you and sat down in front of you.

“I’d like that sweater somewhere else, gorgeous.”

“Where, in your mum’s dirty laundry?” He scoffed

“No silly, on me but I’ll take that option too ;)”

You scoffed back and rolled your eyes. “On you? Please, this is made to fit an actual person with a body, Fred.”

“And I don’t have a good enough body for it?”

You bit your lip, gathering courage to look straight back at him. “I wouldn’t know I haven’t seen it.”

and that alone has Fred Weasley garnering a massive tent in his pants

He gulped. “Whats your name, darling?”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

He grinned, blushing wildly. “Y/N, you’re never getting rid of me now”

that, my dear, was the truth at its finest

for the first time, he’d found a woman that matched his energy

his banter his intellectual mind was finally satisfied by this beautiful, honest, blunt girl that made him

HIM, THE MAN THAT CAN NEVER SHUT THE FUCK UP, be still.

be quiet. be at peace

“freddie, don’t fucking prank first years you’re better than that”

“Fred, please don’t be a bully. You’re not an unkind person so don’t act that way, okay? Come on”

it’s about three to five days of just non stop flirting

constantly leaving him breathless and without a rebuttal, again something no one has ever been able to do

after this period, he’s eating in the great hall, not having talked to you today and bouncing his knees violently

and he sees you get up and leave the hall

this prompts him to get up and run after you

“Y/N!” You turn to see him running full speed behind you, and you smile widely, blushing a fair ton as he stops in front of you, chest heaving. Your smile falters as he doesn’t say anything “Fred, w-what’s wrong?” He then bites his lip “I’m sorry but I have to” and presses his mouth to yours. You kiss back immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck as he backs you up against the wall. The kiss is hungry, passionate, and after a few moments he pulls off you and leans his forehead to yours. “I need you.” He says hoarsely. “And I need YOU, Freddie.” He smiles and you wrap your legs around his waist…

from that moment, you two are inseparable

we are talking handsy too

oh fuck this about to get fluffy as hell

freddie basically waits until you’re out of class and then will pin you against the wall and kiss you like he hasn’t seen you in years

“My angel, it’s been far too long.” He says breathlessly, smiling wide before giving you a kiss attack, sending ammunition of kisses all around your face, making you giggle uncontrollably. “My love, it’s only been an hour,” you say in between full body laughter. He then stops, looking at you very seriously. “Darling, that simply will not do,” he clucks and then throws you over his shoulder, sending you into fits of laughter again as he takes you to your next class.

you and fred have so much sex

empty classrooms

in his dorm

in your dorm

in the locker rooms

in the library

“Freddie, harder baby, please” you gasp out as he’s thrusting inside of you at a rhythmic pace, him slipping into you like hot oil, skin slapping as he has you in the shower. “How much do you need me, angel? Cmon love I wanna hear your words...” “yes, yes I need you please” you moan as he hits a new angle “That’s my princess, taking me so well, do you love it when I fill you up? Fuck you so good you can’t walk?” You nod and throw your head back. “Freddie, I’m gonna come” “Good girl, princess, come all over my cock” He growls setting a faster and harder pace, as he chants your name like a hymnal, his hips and movements getting sloppier as he finally releases into you, chest heaving and presses his lips to your forehead.

“Where should we try next, gorgeous, hmm? I think snape’s office should do it, he won’t even know us from the grease stains from his nose” this earns him a smack on the arm

fred marks you up constantly too

wants everyone to see how much his “good little princess” really feels

anything that says “I choose/belong to fred weasley” he’ll make you do

and you adore it and think it’s hot as fuck

he’s also marked his name onto your thighs and boobs before

george basically accepts the fact that you’re his new baby sister too, and when fred isn’t there will protect you like it ashsajdsahjsa

by this i mean fred has employed him to (but mainly george just does it because he loves you too)

but basically

during potions, draco slides in next to you and propositions you:

“How about we strike a deal, Y/L/N?” He looks at you smugly. You roll your jaw. “Yeah I agree, you shut the fuck up and let me pass our project, and I get all the credit without you destroying my handiwork?” He flares red and grabs your wrist. “I know Weaselbee the fourth probably tastes like the rest of his family - trash - but how I about I let you try something different, hmm?” You immediately pull away from him when he releases and make an attempt to focus back on your book. 

fred obviously hears about this because some slytherin guys in the hallway are talking about how much Y/N wants to suck Malfoy’s dick

he’s not stupid, he knows you get sexualized by that dumbass constantly, even before y’all started dating

basically he finds draco in the boys bathroom, corners him, and beats the fuck out of him 

“if you ever get near my girlfriend again, i swear to godric i won’t be so nice next time - don’t wanna get your balls cut off before 17 do you?” 

oh and he’s stupid hot when he’s mad btw but we all been knew

he finds you where he always finds you once you start dating, in his dorm stop his bed

He swallows thickly at the sight of you clearly upset, watching you sit up immediately tears welling in your throat as you begin to apologize. “Freddie, love, I didn’t do anything I promise I didn’t want him to come onto me-“ “Y/N, it’s never your fault. You have to trust me with that I...I hate seeing people hurt you love.” He pulls your body into him whne he reaches the bed, touching you like you’re porcelain, careful not to break you. “I know I get violent and angry or pouty when guys do that to you because I feel like you’ll either choose someone else or I can’t protect you and...you mean everything to me, my angel.” He whispers into your hair, tears stealing on his cheeks. “I promise no one will hurt you anymore because I love you and loving someone means you do anything for them.” He babbles like a small boy, convincing himself of everything until he realizes he’s said it and he inhales. “Y/N y-you don’t have to say it ba-“ “I want to say it back. Remember? I love you and I need you, Fred.” You look up at him softly, chin on his chest and he smiles through tears on his face. “And I love you and I need YOU, my love.”

fred knows you love him and choose him over everyone but again

he gets insecure

in the way George is scared people won’t see him as Fred

fred is afraid you’ll find someone better

someone more stable and less quick tempered

you guys have fights sometimes that end in frustration or angry sex

but fred is always there an hour later sitting outside your dorm door praying to god you forgive him for his mistake

he’s never abusive or malicious

he just gets impulsive with pranks or doesn’t consider feelings sometimes

ON TO THE BURROW!!!!

molly is so thankful for you and hugs you immediately as you walk through the door whispering

“Thank you for making my son feel how he deserves” and your eyes water lightly murmuring a thank you

you instantly catch bill’s attention as he notices the way fred is so much calmer and confident with you around

he seems more sure of himself, and not as angry

his temper too is calmer with your presence, as if the very essence of you is soothing to all youre around

he is, so so in love with you

and yes he can be brash

and yes he can be insecure

and yes he can be impulsive

but yes he would do anything for you

but yes he sees you like no one else can

but yes he knows you struggle and he wants to be there

fred weasley is absolutely incandescently in love with you

and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader #Fred weasley imagines #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine

[theoreticslut]

Summer Lovin’ // Part 2

part 1  / morning after

pairing: fred weasley x reader 

 requested: yes - by so many of you!! 

word count: 3.1k

warnings: 18+ SMUT, degradation, teasing, swearing, hint of thigh riding

A/N: Y’ALL WANTED A PART 2 SO YOU GOT A PART 2 & IT IS HOT AF! Like seriously, I didn’t even know I could write anything like this. So please, please, please leave comments/reblog/etc etc. I hope I have fulfilled all your fantasies with this part 2 because god damn is it s p i c y *chef’s kiss*

Also, check out my ✨End of the Year Party✨ to say goodbye to 2020 once and for all! I’ve tried to include a little bit of everything so we can all have fun! I have it running now until Jan 3rd, so get your asks/requests in!! Xx

Taglist: @justmesadgirl @xuckduck @yikesyikesyikes95 @filipi-yes @aestheticwh0r3 @siredkai @matsuno-nadeshiko @msmarklee1213 @immajustreadwritereblog @msmimimerton @perfectlysane24 @mischievous-queen @bunnyboo7 @grandeoptimist @kaitlynw011 @daddystevee @slytherinxhunter @streetfighterrichie @sarcasticallywitty15 @isthereanymorejello @karushinekomiya @p0gue420 @hogwartslut @sebby-staan @darthwheezely @slytherin-7 @callmelilone @teenagesublimefan @midsummernightdream @weasley8800 @hopefullhearts

^let me know if you’d like to be added/removed (or add yourself here)! Xx

Fred smiles to himself as he walks down the stairs, having sent you up to percy’s room to wait for him. He can’t quite believe what just happened but Merlin is he happy it did. He’s wanted nothing more for a good year now, if not longer.

He makes his way back out to the bonfire and his friends and siblings sitting around it. He can’t help but smirk knowing that they have no idea what just happened in the bathroom.

Fred takes his place next to George who shoots him a smile before looking around in confusion.

“Where’s y/n?” He asks, leaning into Fred.

“She’s getting a migraine. I told her to go lie down and that I’d be up to check on her in a few minutes.” He replies, smiling as his brother nods.

Fred knows you’re going to hate him when he does finally make his way up, but he quite enjoys making you wait. He only hopes you’re being good and obeying his wishes.

~.~

You groan out as you sit there in percy’s bed waiting for Fred to come back up. He said he’d be right back, didn’t he?

The little shit is probably trying to tease you and you hate to admit that it’s working. You are so bloody needy for him that you’re literally squirming. He just had to fucking tease you there in the bathroom and then leave you.

You huff out, whining as you try to find any sort of friction. You want to be a good girl and not touch yourself, but as each minute drags by you’re finding it to be more difficult.

“Fuck you, Freddie.” You whine, squeezing your thighs together and throwing you’re head back as you want nothing more than to feel him inside you again.

“That’s not very nice, princess.” He chuckles, smirking at you as he closes the door, making sure to lock it and cast a silencing charm just in case.

“What took you so long?” You pout, watching his every move and shivering in anticipation as he makes his way over to you.

“Well it’d look a little suspicious to disappear right away wouldn’t it, sweetheart. We don’t want to make them wonder, do we?” He chuckles, stopping when he’s standing right in front of you.

You shake your head, whimpering. Godric you wanted him so bad. You needed him.

“Is the little princess needy? She get herself all wet sitting up here thinking of me?” He asks, smirking as you whine, watching as you shake your head.

You wanted to feel him more than anything but you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“No? Well that surprises me.” He chuckles, pushing your knees apart so you couldn’t get any more friction unless he gave it to you.

“Freddie!” You gasp, it turning into a moan as he slides his knee against you.

“You like that, baby? You want me to touch you? Want me to make you feel good?”

“Freddie...”

“What, princess? What do you want me to do?” He smirks.

God he loves having you a whiny mess. It was certainly hot to see you take control, and is definitely something he’d like to do again, but all he’s dreamed about since he realized he liked you is to have you whining for him, begging him to do something.

“Kiss me, please. Touch me.” You beg, your head rolling backwards as he presses his knee against you.

“Anything you want, love.” He smiles, leaning down to catch your lips with his.

He smiles into the kiss, loving the feel of your lips against his. They’re so soft and plump, he knows he could get lost kissing them if he wanted to.

Slowly he pushes you back on the bed, gently climbing on top of you as he continues kissing your wondrous lips. You moan into the kiss, loving the feeling. You never thought you’d get to kiss your best friend, but it’s everything you’ve dreamed of and more.

“Fred,” you gasp breathily as he moves his hands up under your hoodie, resting on your waist.

“Yes, princess?”

“I love you.”

He smiles, catching your lips with his again as he feels himself relax. He’s more than ready to please you, but hearing you say those three words makes him melt. He’s wrapped around your finger and he doesn’t care one little bit.

“I love you too.”

You sigh, calming down a bit as he massages your hips, trailing warm, soft kisses down to your neck.

“Tell me what you’ve thought about me, Freddie. Please?” You beg, whining as he removes his lips from your skin, drawing up a smirk on his lips.

“You want to hear how hard you make me?” He teases, an eyebrow quirking at you.

You nod, begging him with your eyes as you watch him for his reaction. He smiles, leaning down to kiss you as he trails his hands up your sides.

“You’re just so beautiful, y/n. It’s hard not to find you attractive. You know how to flatter yourself without even trying.”

“Yeah? How so, Fred?”

“Those swimsuits you wear....godric they’re magnificent. The one you wore today especially. Do you like to parade around with your ass hanging out, darling? Do you try to tease me?”

You can’t help but whimper as Fred grabs ahold of your legs, separating them once more as he fits himself between you, not letting you get any pressure aside from his hips pressing into you.

“N-no.” You whine, wanting Fred to touch you or grind against you. Just something.

“No? Oh, I know you don’t try to, darling, but you look absolutely divine in them.”

“Not to mention your shorts you like to wear, princess. You just love to highlight your ass don’t you?” He chuckles, grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks as he lays on top of you.

You squirm, feeling yourself getting wetter at his words. You were already so turned on and now he’s just teasing you. It’s so unfair, you can’t help but whine.

“I love your ass so much, princess. I want to be able to hold it whenever I want. And your chest. Merlin, sweetheart, I go crazy whenever you wear your pajamas. You wanna know why?”

“Why, Freddie?” You whimper.

“Because your shirts are so bloody thin. I can’t think about anything else except what you look like underneath them. I nearly came in my pants the first time your nipples pressed through. Godric, I wanted to latch onto them right then and there, princess.”

You let out a particularly loud groan as he recounts this, your hips attempting to buck up. You want nothing more than for him to attach his lips to you. You’ve only been thinking about how bloody attractive he is and how much you’d love for him to take you for at least two years now.

“You like that idea?” He laughs, dragging his hands up your sides again, this time reaching for your chest. He’s yet to have a chance to hold them.

“Bloody hell, princess.” Fred groans, grabbing at your bare breasts under your hoodie. “Didn’t feel like wearing a bra I see.”

You whine, trying to buck your hips up into him once again only to have him tut at you.

“My pretty girl is so needy, aren’t you, y/n?” Fred teases, pushing his hips down into yours to keep you still as he massages your chest.

“Freddie, please. Please.” You beg, nearly wanting to cry at how turned on you were.

You just want his dick inside you again, his hands feeling your body as he makes you cum.

“So needy, princess.” Fred chuckles, kissing your neck a few times before pulling himself away to remove your hoodie.

He smiles as he admires your chest, finally getting to see it for the first time. He can’t help but let out a groan as he commits this view to memory. Almost in a trance, he leans down and sucks at the place where your neck and shoulder meet before trailing his lips down across your collarbones and then to the tops of your breasts before finally attaching to your nipples.

“Freddie,” you gasp, letting out a soft moan as he pays ample attention to your breasts.

Moaning in response, he circles his tongue around your nipple once more before sucking it into his mouth as he pulls away so when he releases, it makes a small ‘popping’ sound.

“Oh, Godric.” You moan as he works on your other breast, making sure both are equally attended to.

“So pretty, y/n. So so pretty.” Fred mumbles against your skin as his lips trail down your stomach, the knot that’s been building only tightening.

“Freddie,” you breathe out, “please do something.”

“Patience, princess.” He smiles, kissing just below your belly button.

He’s loving all the sounds falling from your lips; your breathless pants, your needy moans, your whines and whimpers and content sighs. He loves all of it, only loving it more when he remembers that he’s the one drawing them out of you.

You whine, feeling him lift himself up from you so he can unbutton and remove your shorts. This isn’t fair. You helped him out with very little teasing, why is he drawing this out for you?

Sure it feels heavenly, but you’re just so damn needy. You need him to touch you. You need to feel him inside you, whether it’s his dick, his fingers, or even his tongue. You just need him inside you.

Maybe next time you will have to get him a taste of his own medicine. Oh how you would love to hear him whine and moan for you, begging for you to please him.

You go to close your knees as a wave pleasure runs through you at the thought, but Fred is quick to hold them down.

“Be a good girl, y/n. We’re so close to what you want. You don’t want me to have to stop do you?”

“No.” You whimper, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes and a pout.

“Merlin, you’re stunning.” He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before focusing his attention back on your bottoms.

Within seconds he’s got the button and zipper undone and he’s pulling them, along with your underwear, down your legs. You whine as the action lets cool air hit your folds.

“Freddie!”

“Sensitive, baby? It’s no wonder. You’re so fucking wet for me.” He smirks, trailing a finger through your folds.

You whine, your hips bucking up at the contact. You want him. Scratch that, you need him and he’s still being a bloody tease.

“Fred, please. Need you so bad.”

He smiles, leaning down to lick at your clit, gently holding your legs open for him as he eats you out.

“Freddie, want your cock. Please.” You cry, not able to contain it anymore.

“Who knew my best friend was so desperate. And for my cock no less. I love it, baby. Tell me what you want.”

You huff out, your back arching against the bed. Fred smirks, leaning back so he’s sitting on his knees. He loves seeing you so desperate and needy, and all because of him. No lie it gives him such an ego boost knowing that he and he alone can get you like this.

You heave out a breath as you become impatient. Before Fred can realize what’s happening, you’re sat up and kissing him as you paw at his body, trying to remove his shirt and pants as quickly as possible.

“Godric, baby.” He chuckles, taking the hint and removing his shirt.

He stops just as he gets it over his head when he hears you let out a particularly loud moan. Looking down at you he sees you leaning back, eyes shut tight as your head is thrown back.

Trying to figure out what happened, he grabs ahold of your waist, pulling you up into his bare chest.

“You alright, princess? What happened?”

He stares, heart racing in nervousness as you fail to answer. Instead a trail of soft, deep moans leaving your throat. He’s thoroughly confused until he feels a cold spot on his leg.

Looking down he can’t help the smirk that grows on his face and the shiver that runs straight to his cock. When he had gone to remove his shirt, you and him must have moved in just the right way for your clit to rub against his clothed thigh. It must have felt amazing, too, looking at the moan you had let out and how you’re still trying to rub against his thigh.

“Oh for merlin’s sake.” He groans, pushing you off his thigh as he quickly unbuttons his trousers and removes them, leaving the both of you completely naked for each other.

“You ready, princess?”

You nod, whining as his cock drags through your folds. You couldn’t form words even if you wanted to at this point.

“Princess, I gotta hear your words.”

“Yes, Freddie. For fucks sake, please.” You cry.

He smiles, sliding himself inside you. He loves the sound you let out; something between a high-pitched moan and a sigh.

He can’t help but grunt out as you almost immediately clench around him. This is so so much better than what he’s been imagining for a year now.

You can’t control the sounds falling from your lips anymore. You’re in such bliss. Sure it felt amazing riding Fred, but having him fuck you? You’re pretty sure this is the closest thing to heaven you’ve experienced yet.

You can feel every movement of his. You can feel every inch of him as he moves and you can feel him hitting the very insides of you. You can feel his grip on your hip as he hovers over you. It’s all so intoxicating and you’re nearing you climax faster than you ever have.

“Freddie, I-I’m so close.”

He nods, being able to feel the clenching of your walls as he thrusts.

“It’s alright, princess. You can cum. Cum all over me as I fuck you. Show your best friend who you belong to.”

“Oh fuck, Freddie.” You whine, walls clenching at his words. As much as you would love to be more than friends with him, you have to admit how hot it is to hear him utter the words to you in a sexual context.

“That’s it, darling. Just like that. I know you’re close, sweetheart.”

You whimper as you feel yourself hitting you’re peak but not quite falling yet.

“Fr-eddie.” You cry, wanting to cum so bad.

“It’s alright, baby. I know. Let’s try this, yeah?” He asks, lifting one of your legs and wrapping it around his waist.

“Oh fuck.”

“That feel good? You think you can cum for me? I know how much you want to for your best friend, darling. You wanna cover me in your cum so bad.”

You whine, your thighs clenching as he talks. Who knew you liked things to be so inappropriate?

“Cum for me, princess. Show me how good I make you feel.” Fred coaxes, snapping his hips faster into you as he brings a hand down to rub your clit.

Before you can register it, you’ve reached your high and are coming all around his cock. You just barely hear him praising you as everything is muffled in the height of your climax.

“Ah fuck, fuck fuck fuck.” He groans as you feel him release inside you, slowly pulling himself out of you and lay down beside you when he’s done.

For a few minutes the both of you just lay there, trying to catch your breath and make sense of what just happened. Obviously this changes things, but to what? Were you two...dating now? Or were you just going to be someone you could each go to for a fuck when needed?

“Y/n, I swear to Merlin. Stop thinking so much.” Fred chuckles, wrapping his arms around you as his chest presses against your back.

“I can’t help it, Fred. You know this.” You sigh, burying your face into the pillows to avoid looking at him.

Why you were embarrassed now, after he just fucked your soul out of your body you have no idea.

“Hey. It’s nothing to hide over. Come on, look at me please?”

Slowly you unbury your head, turning around in his arms so your breasts are nearly pressed into his chest.

“I love you.”

“Really? Like it’s not just the post orgasmic bliss talking?” You question, not quite believing that someone like your best friend, Fred Weasley, would like you, let alone love you.

“Maybe a little bit.” He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide the frown that takes ahold of your lips.

“Hey, I’m kidding, y/n. I do really really love you. And I’m not just saying that because we had sex.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Cross my heart.” He smiles as he watches his words bring a smile to your lips and a blush to your cheeks.

He is so in love with you. To him, you are anything and everything he could ever want from life. There’s nothing in this world he wouldn’t do for you.

“So what does this mean for us, Freddie?”

You watch him as he watches you fidget in his arms nervously. He smiles, placing a soft kiss to your forehead, your eyes closing as you savour the feeling of it.

What would you say to being my girlfriend if I were to ask?”

You think about it for a few seconds as he continues watching you. You smirk, his expression changing to one of confusion.

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask and find out.” You tease, giggling as he shakes his head, smiling at you.

“Oh you little-“

You quirk an eyebrow at him as he smiles wider.

“I knew there was a reason why I fell in love with you. You’re just as cheeky as George and I. More so some days”

“Yeah? Well where does that leave us?”

You’re waiting for him to ask you, but he keeps going around the topic.

“Godric, I love you. Will you be my girlfriend, y/n?”

“I’d love to.”

He smiles, pulling you into a kiss as he wraps his arms tighter around you.

“Well let’s go get ourselves cleaned up, princess.” He mumbles after a few minutes. “Hopefully everyone is still outside. Then we can go cuddle in my bed, yeah?”

You nod, smiling at the idea. You weren’t honestly sure if your had the strength to move yet, but as long as you were with Fred you didn’t think it would make a difference. After years of pining for him, you were finally his and he was yours. There’s nothing that could spoil this moment for you.

———————

Morning After

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #hp character x reader #hp smut #hp fanfic #hp imagine

[bomberqueen17]

here is a delightfully trashy fic idea

ed note: i just found this in my drafts from like..... close to two years ago? anyway it seems a shame to delete it. I have no memory of this and wonder where that draft went.

I published this instead, which is fine but has almost nothing in common with this idea, LOL.

(for Good Omens) I brainstormed this wonderfully filthy wallowy id-tastic fic and even semi-outlined it and then I tried to write it and I’ve got literally 5,000 words with three scene-cuts and zero smut and have wildly deviated from the idea, so I’m just going to release this summary free to a good home so I don’t feel like I have to try to wrestle whatever the fuck I’m writing back on course. It’s not going, it won’t do it. Someone else can write it, if they want, and please do and tell me when you do because I want to read it, but I absolutely am not equal to the task of writing it.

It’s wonderfully angst-filled smut with mutual pining, which is like, my catnip, and it’s nice and dirty, which I also like, and yet somehow, I just can’t do it. 

(Seriously, it’s been a thousand years and Aziraphale is meditating on free will. For fuck’s sake.)

So here’s the premise. I got as far as literally the first paragraph here, and then the whole thing went off the rails, so. Mine’s something else now.

Pretty early on in their acquaintance, pre-Arrangement, Aziraphale stumbles across Crowley in a bad neighborhood among prostitutes, who have recently invented their trade. Aziraphale is righteously offended by the concept, and Crowley defends it, and Aziraphale assumes Crowley invented it for the humans, and of course he did not. 

At any rate, in the course of their discussion (during which Crowley is wile-y [though there’s some great potential for an unreliable narrator here, where the angel is perceiving the demon as being far more seductive than he is actually trying to be, because he is attracted to him and doesn’t understand that] and Aziraphale is righteously but confusedly Into It despite himself), Crowley winds up giving him a demonstration of just what it is that’s so great and why humans would choose this sort of thing of their own free will rather than being demonically wiled into it. 

There’s a humorous instant where they’re both suddenly terrified that angelic emissions might have a holy-water-like effect, but they don’t, and after that moment’s terrified pause during which Crowley doesn’t dissolve and Aziraphale doesn’t get Smitten By Divine Wrath, Crowley dusts off his knees and Aziraphale puts his bits away and they go their separate ways in a sort of mutual well-that-got-out-of-hand embarrassment, each intending never to speak of it again.

Which lasts a while, but not really. Sure, most of their meetings can stay respectable, but every so often, Aziraphale just happens on Crowley in an alley looking shady or whatever, and they wind up repeating it, and Aziraphale tells himself he’s just diverting the demon so he doesn’t tempt any humans, and has zero clue that Crowley is only doing this for him, isn’t actually using his body to tempt humans at all, only shows up in those places because he knows Aziraphale’s going there looking for him in that moment. 

Potential here for a wonderfully sleazy dynamic, of Crowley always passively receiving, taking whatever Aziraphale will give, very clearly not seeking his own sexual gratification at all in this, and Aziraphale never really contemplating just what it is that Crowley’s after instead. (Except maybe in his darker hours thinking the demon is trying to seduce him to Fall, or something, and being a real self-righteous dick about it sometimes.) Maybe, eventually, at some point, Crowley lets it slip that what he gets out of this is that when Aziraphale fucks him he can feel divine Grace again, or something like it, and it gratifies him on an entirely different level than the physical. Maybe he says so and Aziraphale doesn’t understand it, or refuses to really contemplate it. 

Or maybe Aziraphale does get it, and then he’s even worse; instead of being self-righteous about Crowley trying to tempt him, he’s kind of horribly pitying about it, and it’s gross, and Crowley attempts to quit but can’t actually make it stick and before he knows it he’s lurking in the back rooms of clubs again when he knows Aziraphale’s just wandered in the front door. (Potential here for wonderfully juicy angsty sleazy scene of Crowley getting absolutely railed in a pub toilet by a complete stranger he’s trying to pretend is Aziraphale, and then slinking in a desperate haze of lust on his knees to the angel begging for the sacrament only Aziraphale can really give him.) (Right? Right? Argh, I wish I could write this story.) (What I’ve got so far is all strict close Az POV and it’s almost better because you’d only indirectly get that that’s what Crowley’s just done; A would just assume Crowley’d been off doing his demonic job instead of trying desperately to break his addiction.)

#this was lost in my drafts #for over a year #maybe two? #anyway #good omens

[qm-vox]

So You Want To Play A Fairest

(Portrait of Erin Peters by cantankerousAquarius. The character originally appeared in Night Horrors: Grim Fears, published by White Wolf; catch my take on her in New Avalon)

Previous Articles: So You Want To Play A Beast, So You Want To Play A Wizened, So You Want To Play An Elemental, So You Want To Play An Ogre, & So You Want To Play A Darkling

You ever wonder, flipping through a Monster Manual for D&D, or a Bestiary for Pathfinder, why nymphs and hags are both always, always, women? It’s older than you know. Dig into the sordid history of tabletops and you’ll find sylphs that Gary Gygax wrote, Chaotic charmers who use mind control to reproduce with non-sylph men; you’ll find the legacy of the matriarchal drow, who follow a mad goddess, and you’ll find the medusae, whose sexual dimorphism is so complete that their men are beautiful and can turn stone into people.

Dredge deeper and you’ll find the tales that Gygax and his wretched ilk based such creatures off of.

You ever wonder why we assign such powerful Gender to creatures of beauty and horror?

Fairest don’t. They know, every time they wake up from a nightmare that is also a wet dream. They know, every time they get hit on at the bar and have to decide how they’re playing this. They know, every time they look in a mirror and see not their own face, but the ten thousand horrors that made it beautiful.

If you are very patient, and lucky, and kind, they might tell you why.

If you aren’t, they may show you.

This article draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost and Winter Masques, as well as Swords at Dawn and Night Horrors: Grim Fears. Other sources, when used, will be cited. It requires Content Warnings for sexual violence, sexual slavery, abuse, gaslighting, addiction, substance abuse, self-harm, self-image problems, mentions of fascists & fascist ideology, and just, so very much incel bullshit.

Bonus Material Part Two: The Seeming Part

The end of this article, just past the customary Sample Fairest, will include some additional material intended to help you select a Seeming for your character and otherwise build them up as one of the Lost, much as So You Want To Run A Spring Court included material for Courts as a topic.

Take Me To Wonderland - Fairest Overview

Fairest is the fourth Seeming presented in Changeling: the Lost and possibly the most confused about its own identity. Its sections in Winter Masques present depths and nuance that are completely absent in core, essentially making Winter Masques required reading for Fairest players in a way that no other book is - especially since Fairest keep getting written in a particular way alluded to in the Ogre article, which I will expand on later in this article. Fairest is numerically well-represented in canon and popular in the fanbase, home to many memorable character concepts, but its bones with folklore and tradition are weaker than it fronts as.

Ogres and Darklings claim an innate relationship to physical violence; so too do the Fairest claim a relationship to violence. The violence of Perception and its dark twin, Judgement; of Rumor and its mad dog, Prejudice, the violence of Lies and their merciless master, Truth. Fairest, alone among the Lost, have casual access to the resources of a society that refuses to service or acknowledge Changelings, and with access to that society comes both opportunity and temptation. To be Fairest is to wield power that many other Lost cannot, but the opportunity that power offers is a lie; a Fairest can smile until her face breaks like a mirror, but she’ll never be “sane” enough for the masses to see her as anything but a useful pet.

Life’s Lush Lips - Homecoming As A Fairest

Fairest can make the dubious claim of having the least clear memories of Arcadia amongst all the Lost, with Darklings and Beasts jockeying for second place. This isn’t to say that the experiences Fairest have are necessarily more intense or more inherently traumatic than that of other Lost, but rather that the abuse Fairest suffer is so emotional, so targeted at their perception of their selves and their situations and their self-image, that the memories which do form are inevitably colored by those emotions, coloring the dreams they have of Arcadia with both the emotional resonances they had at the time and with their later attempts to grapple with their own trauma and transformation. For many Fairest, who cannot trust even their strongest memory dreams, attempts to understand their own Durance must rely either on the word of their Keepers (and Faeries lie, oh, how they lie), or on reverse-engineering their own behavior to try and conceive of a trauma that could cause it.

Inevitably, however, some things are seared into their minds. For almost all Fairest, their Keeper is high on the list of things they remember with absolute clarity. Other facts, shattered and scattered, vary more widely. Erin Peters remembers stretched years kept in a cold, dark room lit only by her own hatred; every detail of her cell is scorched onto the back of her eyes, but the otherworldly balls her Keeper took her to blur together like food coloring in syrup. The slaves of the Candle Countess have terrible nightmares of the choices they were confronted with, the decision, offered over and over again, to become complicit in the Countess’s cruelty or to be victimized by it. Metallic Flowering from the Shining City struggle not to use drugs to mimic the rush of pleasure they’ve grown used to receiving for performing their jobs well; they also scream in terror if people touch them. A Draconic and a Shadowsoul both remember being used for the sexual pleasure of alien horrors; the one dreams of coiled scales and terrible teeth, the other a lifetime of lurking in an alien maze, tasked to perform the duties of a living trap for the “wicked” and “unwary” who had not yet shed the last vestiges of kindness.

There are no “wild” Fairest. For worse and worse still, to be Fairest is to have been defined by the inescapable and all-consuming attentions of your abuser, and it is this more than anything that other Lost so often fail to understand about the Fairest. Their Keepers heap them with reward and punishment, manipulating the Fairest with honeyed praise, godly wrath, gaslighting, neglect, withholding food, wondrous rewards, drugs from beyond the realms of earthly pleasure, and other hooks and crooks designed to make the Fairest dependent upon their abuser. It is hideously effective, and the first obstacle, maybe even the mightiest, that a Fairest faces to their escape is the simple horror and joy of being alone again. Their masters will try other tricks to keep them in place - tempting them with pleasures, horrific punishments, oh-so-sincere apologies - but before a Fairest can escape into the Hedge she must face, in her mind’s eye, the lonely flight back to the Iron Lands.

The memories that draw Fairest home often have parallels to their experiences in Arcadia. A slave in the Shining City bites into an otherworldly pastry and recalls her grandmother’s pie in its place; the bride of the Demon Lover, curled up under the sheets, thinks about the broken smile of the boyfriend she left behind at home. A Dancer remembers the roller rink where he fell in love with skating, while across the endless tides of the Fairest of Lands, a Shadowsoul holds on like grim death to years of work at haunted houses, scaring kids for fun and for Halloween. Fairest, so famous for their skill at words, struggle to articulate to other Lost why this should be so. Darklings assume it’s because these memories are less intense than Arcadia, and that the Fairest are fleeing to safety. Beasts get it a bit more right by thinking that these memories taste like home. The truth of the matter is that those memories have an intrinsic and nameless meaning; the highs and lows of Arcadia are divine, flawless, absolute, and therefore worthless. They are the proclamations of merciless gods. What draws the Fairest home, more than pain and pleasure they can have on their own terms, is the understanding that those gestures - for weal or for woe or for anything else besides - were made because someone cared about them, personally. Once they fully internalize that their abuser views them as disposable, the Fairest comes home to someone who won’t.

Three Kiths And Flowering Is One And A Half Of Them - Fairest Kiths

Yeah we’re about to be like that about it.

All Fairest can excel in the social arena; their Blessing can be used to flare almost every social roll in the game, and Fairest can never be caught off-guard in a social context (they suffer no untrained penalties to social rolls). With the sole exception of Empathy (usually rolled with Wits) and sometimes Streetwise, there’s no time a Fairest can’t fall back on their words and expect to win through or at least buy time. This is, as you might imagine, a godsend when it comes to attempts to pass in mortal society; Fairest can usually front, charm, bluff, or Manners(tm) their way through things like renting an apartment, nailing a job interview, asking their roommate to do the FUCKING DISHES, or getting stopped by a cop, but both the books and the fanbase miss something here. While Fairest are superb at active social events, they’re no better at keeping a lid on themselves (Composure-based rolls) than mortals are - and given both the nature of their trauma and the fact that they are, you know, Lost, Fairest have a lot more to keep a lid on day-to-day than the human society they’re trying to blend into. Thankfully, Fairest are pretty good at being able to politely leave a situation and go somewhere else to scream, shout, cry, or have a psychotic break, as appropriate.

Of course, Fairest can’t make something from nothing. As discussed in So You Want To Play An Ogre, you can’t win a social game someone else refuses to sit down to, and social rolls shouldn’t be mind control. All the Glamour in the world can’t make your roommate do the FUCKING DISHES if they’re deep in the throes of executive dysfunction, nor can it make the cashier at Walgreens fail to card you for wine when their computer literally won’t advance without an ID. People who are keyed up about honeyed words or whose own trauma came at the hands of manipulators and abusers might refuse to play that game on the terms the Fairest is setting, which makes it hard to, as it were, turn this problem into a nail. Lurking down this path as well is the specter of becoming like the masters who made you this way; if you get used to saying what will get people to listen to you, eventually you start seeing people as enrichment puzzles that dispense the things you want. Madness waits down that road, and it waits for Fairest with a giant spiked bat, thanks to their Seeming Curse.

There’s no pretty way to say this so I won’t: Fairest are always on the verge of losing their minds. Their curse hits them with a flat penalty to all rolls against losing Clarity, which means that Fairest lose Clarity faster than other Lost and they do so more consistently. This necessitates a balancing act with avoiding becoming heartless manipulators; Fairest must engage in control-seeking behavior in order to stay mentally well, must be able to trust and rely on people close to them, structure their lives, and anticipate important changes or they end up on the fast way down. Other Lost often don’t understand this need or the Fairest curse to begin with, and so Fairest end up in unofficial support groups for one another, similar to those run by Darklings except no one will admit it’s a support group even at gunpoint. Woe fucking betide the friend or life partner who gets between a Fairest and her “book club”, “girls’ night”, “D&D campaign”, or other excuse for this vital community support.

Fairest Kiths are...bad. They’re bad. This is the part of the article where I’m supposed to talk about thematics and symbolism and metaphor, and I cannot do that here, because they are bad. Fairest has three viable Kiths that are actual Fairest Kiths, one that’s a Beast Kith who got lost and wound up here by fucking mistake, and a pile of garbage bigger than my self-esteem problems. I’m almost tempted to only talk about those four Kiths and save myself the time but I suppose I should show the work like I’ve done for all the other Seemings, so here we fuckin’ go I guess.

Flowering - This is it. This is the Fairest Kith. If you want to roll any other kind of Fairest you must first pass the trial of justifying why you’re not playing Flowering. In theory, Flowering draws its mythic heritage from nymphs and dryads, charming flower sprites, Knights of Flowers, and the like, but in practice Flowering’s only mechanical effect is 9-again on Persuasion, Socialize, and Subterfuge with no qualification or requirement, which doesn’t just make you better at everything Fairest is good at, it makes you better when you spend Glamour to flare it too. Want to represent a biobahn sith’s hypnotic dance? Flowering works. Want to create a vampiric Fairest with a sultry voice? Here comes Flowering. The siren at the bar who smells like sea air and gunpowder? Flowering. Everything is Flowering. Even the things that aren’t Flowering are Flowering because all Fairest Kiths have a social focus, which is Flowering’s undisputed arena of mastery.

Bright One - In theory, Bright Ones represent beings of light in the vein of Victorian fey (which...ugh...Victorians), but their Goblin Illumination is, how you say, useless, only becoming vaguely useful for a total of 2 Glamour as a passive defense that took you 2 turns to set up. Anything you want to represent here can be found in Flowering and with Elements or Communion (Light).

Dancer - You know how Flowering gives you bonuses on all social rolls? Would you like those same bonuses but on 1 less skill and only on rolls that “involve physical grace”? No? Run Flowering here and give your character a Dance specialty in one or more skills.

Draconic - One of the game’s premier melee options and a Beast Kith who took a wrong turn and ended up getting a free makeover intended for someone else. Draconic in theory represents Fairest as dragons, monster girls, demons, and in general at their most physical, but that idea sorta...falls down a bit? Draconic’s bonuses are all about Brawl and all the sample Draconics are swordsmen, which might suggest to the discerning reader that someone in the office wasn’t reading their own fucking game. Draconic Fairest don’t make bad melee boys if you invest in Lethal Mien, but honestly this is Dual Kith bait; slap it on your Hunterheart or your Razorhand and go apeshit.

Muse - Close but no cigar. In theory Muses are, well, muses; figures of inspiration, mentorship, teaching, creative fire. Their Kith Blessing is strong but requires access to mortals, which is complicated and roundabout on the best of days. If you have an idea that you think is Muse-shaped, use Playmate instead.

Flamesiren - Behold, we enter the realm of Okay(tm). Flamesirens are what Bright Ones wanted to be, and their hypnotic aura is actually a pretty neat tool; with cunning you can make it a one-sided penalty, and even if you don’t it’s an interesting method of de-escalating a social or combat situation by subjecting everyone to the tar pit that is your presence. If your concept involves light and color and you’re resistant to Flowering, Flamesiren will do more than nothing.

Polychromatic - Polychromatics don’t have a lot of roots in mythology; their modern inspirations are, well, Manic Pixie Dream Girls. But they get a shout-out here for being the only Fairest Kith who can muster up decent emotional defenses; not only can they magically boost their Composure rolls (and non-Composure rolls to resist magical and mundane emotional attacks for that matter), but others get a flat penalty to Empathy rolls against them, which makes them talented dissemblers. You’re still probably better off with Flowering - in a world of passive Kith Blessings, Polychromatic’s is extra passive - but I can see this Kith passing muster, and even being worth the two dots to Dual Kith in-house.

Shadowsoul - This one’s insane. Ostensibly Fairest Does Darkling, Shadowsouls get their Wyrd to Intimidate rolls which could be the whole Kith on its own and still be worth the slot, but in addition to that they get 9-again on Subterfuge (matching Flowering and Darklings there) and access to Contracts of Darkness, one of the most powerful in the game line, as an Affinity Contract. Is your Fairest spooky? Would you like them to be spooky? Here’s your one-stop shop.

Telluric - This is a Kith made of ribbon bonuses. In theory related to stars and celestial light, Telluric’s bonuses to rolls “with precise timing” isn’t...really worth considering. Run ‘em as Flamesiren and move on.

Treasured - In theory also able to muster emotional defenses, Treasured are Fairest who are literally made into works of art. They’re Okay(tm) but in their niche are beaten out by Polychromatic with a better effect for less resources.

Playmate - The last Real Fairest Kith(tm), Playmate appears in Night Horrors: Grim Fears where White Wolf tries to sell it as Peter Pan, but its powerful team-oriented bonuses mean that Playmates are useful anywhere Muse is wanted and more places besides. The front woman of an indie rock band could be a Playmate; so too could be an idealized baseball captain, the director at your local theater, the middle manager of a sinister conspiracy, or the night shift lead at a research lab. Do people do a thing in teams? Playmate does that thing.

And She Had Huge Titties, I Mean Massive Badondadonks, Absolutely Enormous Bazoggahoggas - Lost’s Canon Fairest

Remember when I said we had to get back to this after So You Want To Play An Ogre? Now we’re getting back to this. I’m not gonna re-state my caveats from that article and I’m not really gonna go back over the bit about So White Wolf Was Run By Fucking Nazis because, in all honesty, I do not have the fucking time to restate all of that in new words. Give thanks that OPP got out alive and let’s get right down to it.

Fairest have a very consistent characterization in canon that is only really challenged in Winter Masques; the narrative put forth in Lost is that Fairest, being attractive, have an uncomplicated power which privileges their lives. Which is a rather bloodless way to describe how White Wolf kept writing and publishing Fairest as heartless abusers and manipulators getting their jollies and emotional needs met by casually destroying their fellow survivors, manipulating them through sex appeal, outright lies, cattiness, cruelty, and betrayal. Much as simply queering Ogre does not help Ogre in and of itself, queering Fairest only takes you from incel and Nazi propaganda about women into...incel and Nazi propaganda about twinks, femmes, & in general anyone with the temerity to be found attractive by straight white people.

I’m not bitter, you’re bitter.

So what do you do at your table, with your Fairest concept? Lemme open up by saying that like, Fairest qua Fairest is perfectly solid, and if it wasn’t there wouldn’t be an article here; Fairest has a lot to say for itself about feminized violence, about your personhood being reduced to a product for the consumption of others, about emotional abuse & neglect, gaslighting, and sexual assault, but the conclusion White Wolf arrives at (”Fairest have unalloyed power over mortal and Lost society and they abuse that power”) is super fucking obtuse and betrays a serious lack of concern for what the Fairest undergo. It ignores the way a Fairest’s ordeals will force her to confront her relationship to her own gender and alter her willingness and ability to be consumed, disconnect her from her former society while also isolating her from her new one, and these questions are important for you if you’re looking to play a ‘classic’ Fairest.

But that leaves some hanging questions. Male Fairest face the almost inescapable fate of “failing” maleness on patriarchal terms; even the most strapping, broad-chested, athletic Adonis of a Fairest has become a man of layered words and reflexive empathy, whose Manly Stoicism(tm) is a cracking facade at best and entirely abandoned in a more typical circumstance. Men who become Fairest thus face a second journey after their escape from Arcadia; confronting what being men means to them and building their gender identity back up from the rubble it’s become. The temptation to accept success on society’s terms is always going to be present, and it’s always going to be offered like it’s possible, but it’s a losing game for these Fairest; they simply cannot be the men that other men demand they become.

Now, the discerning and loyal reader is surely about to ask, hey Vox, where’s the butch Fairest I was promised back in the Ogre article, to which I respond WE’RE GETTING THERE but I gotta use this as a bridge to talk about something that cuts across Fairest of all genders, be they cis or trans. Lost 1e makes a lot of hay out of the idea that Fairest “are rarely conventionally attractive”, and core even provides some interesting written concepts for that...which make it into exactly none of the art. Every published Fairest is conventionally attractive for various definitions of conventional, be it as a supermodel or a waif, but that leaves the question of Fairest who genuinely are not - and, tragically, Fairest who were not, and were then made into someone more easily consumed by their Durance. You know what I’m about to say, and I know you know I’m about to say it, but I’m gonna say it anyway: all bodies are beautiful, but Fairest know well that beauty and attraction aren’t the same, and neither are beauty and happiness. All Fairest, from the roundest bear to the most wide-eyed waif, are the products of Keepers who valued their bodies in that state, and that idea is going to haunt them day in and day out for the rest of their extended lives. There is no such thing as a Fairest with an uncomplicated relationship to their body, and that White Wolf seems to think that an uncomplicated relationship is their default state is...disgusting, frankly.

Which brings us, at long last, to butch Fairest (also bear Fairest but I’m gonna stick with the one set of terms or I’m going to go mad and this will never be published), who have a complicated journey ahead of them. On the one hand, the assertion of control and ownership over their own bodies, their own identities, cannot be overstated. On the other hand, elements of those bodies are going to be completely out of their control; a nascent butch Fairest may well hit the gym to get swole only to discover that she literally, physically cannot, that she has been Assigned Dex Build At Durance. Hauling your corpse out of Arcadia with an extremely feminine appearance shaped by your Keeper might complicate attempts to present in a more masculine manner or even just to appear androgynous, and those complications can be discouraging. For those that stick to it, this journey will take them two places; one is the bared-teeth, bloody-knuckled assertion that this life is theirs and you can have it if you can fucking take it, and the other is into the ranks of the Freehold’s retained warriors, usually in Summer or Autumn, though a vibrant representation of Spring knights will make it seem as if Spring has more butch Fairest than it actually does. These Fairest are aware, or will become aware, of how much of their job involves de-escalating or pre-empting violence; a focus on Physical stats or skills is not necessarily common, but hyper-specialization therein likely is. A butch Fairest is a lot more likely to have, say, Brawl 4 (Multiple Opponents) and no other Physical skills than she is to have Brawl, Weaponry, Athletics, and Stealth, in part or in whole because her first weapon of choice is going to be an Intimidate roll.

At every turn you’re able to, challenge White Wolf’s narrative about Fairest by asking yourself what your Fairest wants, why they’re this way, what they’re frightened of, and how the way they behave relates back to these. They’re not products; they’re people, just as hurt and Lost as the rest of their peers.

Princesses And Pastries - Fairest In The Courts

Fairest have a complex relationship to the society of their fellow Lost. On the one hand, they have the same need for community, support, companionship, understanding, honesty, and material aid as all Lost; a Fairest is not magically proof against being homeless, against starving, against the dangers of existing in the modern world without things like a photo ID or car insurance, and Freeholds provide all of these things. On the other hand, the thing most Fairest fear most, even if they can’t articulate that fear, is their own power - social influence, emotional trust and betrayal, status, political power, and authority. Fairest are all too aware that being good at this game does not make them immune to it - after all, that’s the lesson they learned at the hands of their Keepers.

What follows from this is a complex dance of interactions that each Fairest in some ways has to feel like she’s managing on her own, even if she’s not (and she rarely is; those support groups exist for a reason). If you give a Fairest a doughnut in a social setting, she will lick that doughnut even if she doesn’t intend to eat it right away, solely to hear someone else say something along the lines of “well it’s yours now”. As Fairest filter into Freehold society and take up social roles at all levels of power - officers, messengers, ‘ambassadors’ to mortal society, secretaries, pledge-smiths, teachers, monarchs - their responsibilities and rewards become their doughnut. That Fairest make a big deal out of both their job and the benefits that come with it is rarely, as other Lost sometimes think, about aggrandizement or reveling in power for its own sake; it’s about the sheer relief and assurance of hearing someone say, to the Fairest’s face, that this is her doughnut and no one is going to take it from her.

Younger Fairest tend to flit between two or three Courts; their initial selection may be based entirely on friendships, Vibes, or a gut-check decision based on an initial pitch by that Court, and Fairest can go quite far even in a Court that doesn’t quite actually fit their needs. Eventually, though, those Fairest who survive their youth will gravitate towards a Court whose ideals speak to them, even if its current social order isn’t living up to those ideals. If they’re going to be condemned to live as exiles in the world of their birth, the Fairest can at least be the person she wants to be, god damn it. Fairest aren’t any more or less vulnerable to a toxic Court environment than other Lost, but they’re good at detecting it beforehand. Unfortunately they’re also good at telling themselves they can change it.

Spring - Though early Spring joiners are of course rare in general, Fairest are among those Lost who more commonly choose Spring as a first Court. Spring’s highly social focus and chaotic internal organization is almost tailor-made for the skill set of your average Fairest, but therein too lies a sense of threat; for many Fairest, Spring can remind them of their Durance, and their joining of the Court is as much motivated by fear of a powerful cultural body as it is by any genuine Desire, maybe even more so. Many such Fairest end up caught in Spring’s middle-road trap, spinning their wheels without recovering or worsening more or less until they finally die, but when Autumn can sniff out the fearful ones it puts a lot of work into cooperating with Spring to get them out and where they can be helped.

Summer - More Fairest dabble with Summer for dreams of glory, or because they want to believe in Summer’s apolitical sales pitch, than ultimately stick with Summer. Those that do stay often serve as officers, as the Sun’s Tongue or the Arrayer of Distant Thunder, and as Court sorcerers. Fairest skilled in Contracts of Separation can make for surprising Jaegers, hounding their prey down more like a private investigator or a serial killer than a traditional hunter, but while striking this is fairly rare. Fairest who stick with Summer are those who are looking for its high ideals and are often among those rare Summer Courtiers who can competently articulate both those ideals and their pitfalls without falling prey to cynicism and bitterness.

Autumn - For those Fairest who hurt others to feel safe, Autumn is waiting. The Leaden Mirror can be attractive to young Fairest because it’s easy to perceive Autumn as atomized, defined by personal relationships rather than webs of political influence, but when the Fairest discovers those webs the existence of Option Two: Resort To Violence as an acceptable tool to the Ashen Court is perversely reassuring rather than threatening. The image of the Fairest as a witch, tempting and threatening, clings to them in Autumn but it’s honestly not their most common role; Autumn employs its Fairest as rumor-mongers, the Other Woman who seems a little too familiar with your husband, therapists & counselors, oneiromancers, and ambassadors to Hedge communities. The work Autumn does is harsh on Clarity, and Fairest are especially vulnerable to that harshness, but if the Court invests the time in helping its Fairest members, the self-awareness and self-confidence it offers can be a godsend that no other Court can give them.

Winter - As the Court which is actually selling what Fairest think Autumn has - to wit, the ability to simply say “no” to all social interactions with no justification required - Winter has a strong undercurrent of Fairest membership at all tiers of its power. Fairest often end up directly involved in Winter’s money-making enterprises, and flourish as Squires and Armigers with their fingers on the pulse of the Court’s morale. Winter’s hands-off approach displays a tremendous amount of trust in its Fairest from their perspective, and the demeanor of the Coldest Court - Winter’s indifferent equality - has a potent, merciless appeal. The trap of drowning in Sorrow sucks more than a few Fairest under, but if their peers can be there for them there’s always a way back out.

This Is Not A Pipe - Fairest And Lost’s Themes

My many thanks to Izzie M for her extensive help on this section. I’m not sure I’d have been able to grapple it down, emotionally or intellectually, otherwise.

Fairest go through some intense shit, and the shit they go through can never fully be addressed, never fully be recovered from. It’s no mistake that Fairest, like Wizened, are among those Lost likely to never fully gain resolution with or from their Keeper, and this is because they embody the dark truth that no matter how much progress you make, how much you heal, your trauma has changed who you are as a person and you will be dealing with it until you die. But, as alluded to extensively above in the discussion of Fairest and gender, Fairest also embody the way in which society will attempt to stamp you, mold you, turn you into a product to be consumed or an archetype to be placed into its churning machine, and its attempts to reshape who and what you are and can be are, in themselves, a form of trauma and abuse.

Fairest deal a lot in expectations. They’re expected to be perfect victims, they’re expected to be happy (because they’re beautiful and attractive, because they can front as Doing Okay, because they have a form of access to ‘normal’ society), they’re expected to want romance and sex (since everyone else wants those things out of them), to perform emotional labor, to be available, intimate, understanding, to keep up appearances. Fairest escape the chains of their Keeper only to be clapped in the chains that extend into the eyes and minds of their peers, and they cannot move without hearing the clink of them.

Fairest are primed to represent victims of ongoing emotional abuse and neglect; sex slaves and victims of child abuse might find themselves in Fairest, as might husbands or wives of abusive partners (and boy, re-living my bullshit there was a bonus prize I didn’t want to receive for writing this article), children pushed to over-achieve (here overlapping with Elemental) until they break, pastor’s daughters and cult kids (here overlapping with Beast), and others. However, Fairest also hit their thematic stride when talking about trauma from a society that will not give you an exit. A trans person is first punished by society for “failing” to perform their assigned gender, then made to perform their new one to expectations that they cannot set, do not control, and do not consent to; such a person might easily be Fairest, as might a man breaking under the expectations of Maleness, a college student losing their mind in finals week with no one to help, or even more ‘ordinary’ sex workers expected to perform emotional and physical labor for a society that rewards their work with violence and dehumanization.

Fairest are people with complex internal worlds and they damn well know it, but the temptations to let others define them are numerous; society promises all manner of rewards for being who and what it wants you to be, for wanting the things it tells you to want, for being the kind of person who wants and does those things. To be Fairest is to know at any time you can start faking it and receive those rewards insofar as they’re actually on the table, but it is also to know, every second of every day that you’re performing that role, that it is fake. If you can’t find a community with which you can be genuine...well. You can always get more hurt, and in this way Fairest also bring another theme of Lost into focus: that the Lost owe compassion and understanding to their fellow victims, because failure to care can only hurt both them and everyone in their blast zone.

Feet Pics For Legos - Coping As A Fairest

Fairest are among those Lost who are most concerned with their day-to-day social interactions and safety rather than their immediate, very physical environmental safety. They are perhaps the Seeming most likely to live in a group setting (in an apartment with roommates or romantic partners, in a house shared between multiple households, splitting the bills in a condo, with their parents), and are definitely the Seeming most comfortable with the idea of living with mortals who aren’t ensorcelled. Indeed, Fairest don’t tend to do well living alone; even a Fairest who wants or needs a private place to be, choosing to keep a home in which others cannot lay a claim, will likely crash at friends’ places, sleep over at the Freehold commons on some pretext or another, stay the night with a lover, or otherwise have a place to flop down while surrounded by other people. Having other people - their greatest reality check - around the place helps keep the Fairest centered in the real reality, better able to pick apart the mortal from the Wyrd from their own unrelated hallucinations, and a Fairest who is isolated - or who is permitted to isolate herself - quickly begins to dissociate and may soon be incapable of caring for herself until someone can get her back into the present.

Those invited over as guests to a Fairest’s home may note a lot of concern for those she lives with. She likely schedules the event well in advance, is clear about the boundaries of those she lives with (”That’s Brenda’s room, the door stays shut.”) and in general treats her communal home with a lot of respect and love. Respecting these boundaries and in turn having her own respected is very validating for the Fairest and is vital to be able to feel safe and at ease in her own home, and impressing their importance on guests further reinforces that this is, as it were, her doughnut. While not dismissive of their own literal physical safety per se, a Fairest’s anxieties rarely center around her body being violently attacked by strangers. For those that do have such anxieties, they may choose to solve that problem by simple expedient of rooming or living with someone large and scary.

Another detail of note which is touched on in Winter Masques is that Fairest tend to seek out life’s little pleasures. Though they are not necessarily wealthier than other Lost, how a Fairest chooses to spend her money tends to follow particular patterns. Rare is the Fairest who doesn’t have clothing they like, a phone that works, a wallet or purse that can actually hold all of their stuff, and in this regard most Fairest without a special interest in fashion as a hobby in and of itself will have an aesthetic that is self-expressive but serviceable and hard-wearing, but any place the Fairest haunts, frequents, or lives in will get little touches everywhere. Fairest spend the little bits of extra money for good toilet paper, soft soaps that won’t hurt the skin, good shower supplies, high-quality razors, boots that won’t wear through - and they spend their serious money on their hobbies and preferences. A Fairest with a passion for cooking scrimps and saves to get a fully-stocked kitchen; a Fairest who likes building and connecting invests in Legos or Hot Wheels and creates elaborate environments for them. A gamer Fairest has headphones that can vibrate your constipation away and a fiber optic connection to ensure that lag will not stand between her and your doom. The reasons for this are manifold, and Lost’s canon writing suggests that Fairest seek pleasure to alleviate a desire to return to Arcadia. This is, to put it mildly, a stupid assertion; rather, the Fairest provides her own pleasures in part because it is one of the most emotionally clear ways to lick the doughnut, and in part because it reminds her that she can be happy under her own power, can seek pleasure, stimulation, engagement, without placing herself at another’s mercy - ironically making it easier to go out every day and do exactly that as a member of her various societies.

As a Fairest settles in she tends to look for “her” people, and quite often they’re good at compartmentalizing this, wearing different hats and having different feelings about those hats without feeling fake or distressed about the bare fact of that. She’ll have her personal friends and family, like her housemates, her girlfriend, maybe her mortal family, her neighbors, and then folks like her Motley (which are like her personal friends and family, but In The Know), her fellow Fairest and the Freehold broadly, her work friends and fellow hobbyists. A Fairest who does, say, sex work, thinks of herself as a Sex Worker and understands herself in the context of that broader social group. It can be a lot! Many Lost barely have a handle on being a member of both the Freehold and a Court, and the way Fairest flit to and fro between many communities, slipping seamlessly from one role to another, can be exhausting to watch - but by doing so the Fairest also builds bonds between those communities, highlights their common needs and interests, draws them together over their similarities and strengths. Darklings and Wizened get a lot of the work on the ground done, but it’s often a Fairest in the role of whistleblower, figurehead, and champion all at once.

After all, this, too, is her doughnut.

Example Fairest - Clara Belltower, Spring Playmate

Clara Belltower is a mime.

Well, no, not exactly. Clara Belltower is a self-employed porn actress, erotic script writer, and director, whose primary thing is mimes, clowns, and more broadly circuses and performance venues. She came back from Arcadia eight years back fleeing life as her Keeper’s Stepford Wife, and ran face-first into the money issues that haunt the Lost in general. What started out as a practical choice in new career - and an attempt to find and express an identity not created for her by her abuser - became a creative passion that has stayed strong with Clara and propelled her to status in the Spring Court, which retains her keen eye for decoration, direction, and theatricality in service to its high rituals and revels. Clara’s livestreams and online presence are also a convenient avenue for the Freehold to launder its less legal revenue streams, which has endeared Spring’s “silent siren” to the Winter Court and cemented her as a mover and shaker.

Clara’s ambitions reach beyond erotic miming, as talented as she is at both creating and purveying such. She has her eyes on four different strip clubs in Freehold territory alone whose owners and operators need to fucking go, and she wants Winter’s help making it happen; further, she wants the Freehold to take over operation of those establishments for the benefit of the workers. Clara’s vision is popular in Spring and has its supporters in Summer too, but the Declining Seasons have been cool on the concept, citing a need to maintain subtlety and avoid entanglements with the mortal world that might invite the eye of, say, the IRS - or mire the Freehold in a protracted war with local police departments. Clara’s passion burns with a righteous simplicity, envisioning a Freehold that is active in improving the city around it - if the cops want to throw down, bring it on! Her influence over Winter means the Coldest Court cannot simply dismiss her desires, but neither is it willing to go to war. Something is going to have to give, soon.

This concludes the Fairest portion of the article. Some additional thoughts on Seeming follow.

Bombing Your Own Position - Choosing Your Seeming

So it’s been six articles and I’ve talked about the ways various Seemings can represent responses to the things which traumatize us; neurodivergences for which society abuses us, the machinery of capitalism, violence, prison, and more. But how do you go about choosing your character’s Seeming? The obvious choice is to make a character that puts a lot of yourself at the table; to seek out a Seeming that reflects your own traumas, your own issues, your own anxieties and struggles, and then grapple with them in this fictional context. But RPGs can be an emotionally challenging medium, and you may well not want to deal with your own bullshit during your magic trauma fairy game. That’s valid!

Now, the second obvious piece of advice is to think about your proposed character’s themes and traumas and then select a Seeming from there, but this can get complicated. Many Lost players feel as if they need two Seemings, and to those players I say: no the fuck you do not. But it is true that people are messy and do not fully resolve, that the broad spectrum of the world of sorrow and loss is not easy to fit into 6 discrete categories whose creation was often managed by, not to keep repeating this point, fucking Nazis. I have found in my experience that it can be helpful, when you’re torn between two Seemings or you have a character you’re sure is this Seeming even though they look like or could be that one, to ask yourself why the character is not the other option. Why is this alluring and sensual Darkling not a Fairest, what makes this brutal and violent Wizened not an Ogre? This question naturally leads to others about their abuse and their reaction to it, and can start your momentum for writing your concept out.

As an addition, while I’ve spoken of various Seemings as being well-equipped to represent specific traumas, they don’t own those traumas. Elementals are metaphorically autistic, but there’s nothing stopping you from running an autistic Fairest or an autistic Beast instead. Rather, those Seemings outlined as being “for” or “about” certain traumas are those whose selection will make those traumas thematically central, cause you to return to them as a topic over and over by virtue of being who and what they are. Real people have complicated problems which intersect with one another, spawning new problems that are more strange than the sum of their parts, and it’s both valid and interesting to write your Lost that way - just keep in mind that it’ll still be complicated at the table too.

Van Helsing Hate Crimes - Seeming Politics

White Wolf spent a lot of time waffling back and forth on whether or not Seemings represent distinct cultural and political identities in a given Freehold, drifting towards ‘yes’ when the writers thought about the way Blessings and Curses create consistent, measurable differences between Lost of various Seemings, and towards ‘no’ generally whenever they were asked to actually outline a Lost society such as a sample Freehold or Entitlement. Some Entitlements are locked to specific Seemings, often times with little thought as to why, while other times Seeming-based power blocs are alluded to as worldbuilding elements (such as in Lords of Summer) without much in the way of supporting detail. Why should these things happen, when, how, what does the buildup of this violent fracture in a Freehold society look like?

On the whole, I have taken the stance in these articles and in my own worldbuilding that some amount of fantastical prejudice exists amongst the Lost, but that the systems of oppression have not taken root. Maybe it’s idealistic of me to view the Lost as unwilling or unable to produce internally racist power structures that create an underclass for the benefit of an appointed elite, but in general I feel as if Freeholds are too small, each individual member too precious by simple dint of being a living being in a physical body, for this kind of evil to flourish. That said, you may have also noticed that I identified two Seemings - Darklings and Fairest - as explicitly self-uniting and in some senses self-governing on the basis of common traumas that they often cannot fully explain to outsiders, and indeed community with people that understand your bullshit without you having to say it aloud - that is, those who share a Seeming with you - can be invaluable to all Lost. Ultimately, however, I want to advise against looking at Seemings the way that, say, Vampire: the Requiem looks at Clans, and instead to treat them as reactions to trauma rather than a kind of alternate racial identity.

Next up: So You Need To Write A Fetch

#Changeling: The Lost #rpg #fairest #trauma #abuse #seemings #violence

[wonderduorising]

Bakudeku Fic Recs

Wonder Duo: Rising has reached 500 followers on twitter! To celebrate, we decided to come together and create a list of Bakudeku fic recommendations. All fanfics on this list are SFW, are within the range of 300 kudos or less, and were recommended by one or more of the anthology’s contributors!

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Fic: stones at the starlight by Shousanki

Length: 2.9k

Summary: Katsuki and Izuku struggle to survive in an adult world not kind to (not-quite) childhood sweethearts as they search for the small and good things amidst petty indignities.

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Fic: to the moon and back by Rejectimate

Length: 1.4k

Summary: Training camp has nothing on Katsuki's strict sleep schedule. But Deku's embarrassing ass sure does.

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Fic: don’t misunderstand by Kokushibo

Length: 1k

Summary: three times that kacchan addresses him. one time that he does it differently.

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Fic: Twin Stars Week ficlets by Hollyandvice (series)

Length: Varies

Summary: A collection of Bakudeku ficlets for Twin Stars Week.

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Fic: CORDIPUGUS by Greatcloudninja

Length: 3.2k

Summary: Katsuki Bakugou, a slave-turned-gladiator, has one more fight to win to earn his freedom. His goal? To be able to marry his beloved Izuku Midoriya, noble son of Senator Toshinori Yagi. But first, he has to get through his toughest battle yet.

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Fic: when the saints by Flapkack

Length: 2.5k

Summary: In Bakugou Katsuki’s humble fucking opinion, parade blocks were one of the most effective forms of torture. Telling someone to walk straight forward, eyes ahead, shoulders square, rolling their feet, playing the exact same damn cadences over and over and over again was already bad enough. But then, toss in a string of other people to keep in line, bad marchers and freshmen, to make matters even worse.

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Fic: Small Town Change by CommanderSipShady

Length: 12.2k

Summary: They say nothing ever happens in this sleepy town, but that night everything changed for the better. 40 year old BakuDeku real world AU. 

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Fic: At the Mountain’s Edge by Anzul

Length: 30k (multi-chap, WIP)

Summary: Muromachi Japan, 1465. Soulmates - once nothing but a flightful fancy among the Heian nobility - have become the political currency of the century. Blessed with telepathic communication and the ability to sense each other regardless of their geographical distance once a bond has been established, they are an invaluable commodity to any warrior hoping to amass power in the wake of the Ashikaga's weakening rule.

Bakugou Katsuki is no exception. But no matter what matchmaking house his family visits, they all tell him the same thing: that at the end of his red string, there waits no one. Katsuki is destined to walk his path alone.

Now forced to become a candidate for political marriage, Katsuki must learn the traditional arts and proper courtship etiquette to attract more suitors. Izuku, the adopted protégé and matchmaking master of the Midoriya House, is hired to be his tutor. Izuku himself is not only without a soulmate, but Bondless - someone without a red string at all, but capable of seeing everyone else's.

[Or: An alternate soulmate x historical AU where everybody has soulmates except Katsuki and Izuku.]

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Fic: all the savage soul requires by Majjale

Length: 50k (multi-chap, WIP)

Summary: Bakugou seems to have exhausted his patience for words and no longer acknowledges that Midoriya exists, so Midoriya crosses his legs, stares down at his hands limned in firelight, and makes a list of things he knows.

One. His name is Midoriya Izuku.

Two. He is a Godmarked, future god of life, heir to the divine throne.

Three. The gods have been fighting Death for eons, and now he's coming for recompense with everything he’s got.

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Fic: to measure a year by Shousanki

Length: 4.7k (multi-chap, complete)

Summary: The dance of two leaves around each other. Collection of Katsuki/Izuku drabbles, originally written between the winter of 2017 and summer of 2018.

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Fic: we run in antiparallel by Kokushibo

Length: 1.1k

Summary: there are different ways in which a boy can be saved.

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Fic: this is not a night for tragedy by Keigeyama

Length: .6k

Summary: Katsuki looks at him, forehead creasing, his expression somehow at once angry and soft—then he smiles, simpering. “Well, aren’t you just the best”.

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Fic: once more, with feeling by OneshotPrincess

Length: .8k

Summary: He’s not Yamikumo, Katsuki tells himself fiercely. He’s not Yamikumo, he thinks as he watches him play in the grass with a kite with Kouta and Eri. He’s just fucking Deku.

So why does he still make Katsuki feel this way?

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Fic: of all kinds by Coldbones

Length: 4.3k

Summary: A story is never just a story, and a dragon can never change its scales.

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Fic: I Don’t Have Any Roses But I Have A Rabbit? by Teaandtumblr

Length: 3.3k

Summary: Midoriya has just stepped into the world of rabbit showing only to run into his childhood friend...who is apparently also into the same thing. Lucky his rabbit is so cute!

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Fic: Starshine by Blueslove

Length: 1.3k

Summary: Deku’s eyes always light up when he talks about that book.

It’s as if his being lives to praise the pages, like his lips don’t know how to form any other words. He speaks of the characters like they’re friends, the story as if he’d lived it himself, and the place like he’d seen it with his own eyes.

Katsuki can’t stand it.

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Fic: another old space odyssey by Sorethroat

Length: 2k

Summary: “Car-di-o-meg..aly,” Deku fumbles around the words. “I can’t see the moon with you.”

He stands there, Deku smiling tight like if he moves his tears will spill over, and they’re too young to laugh at the idea that the insurmountable obstacle in front of them is a heart that’s just too big.

Bakugou is an astronaut but he's forgotten why. Midoriya wants him to come home.

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Fic: Butterfly Wishes by Sushirapper

Length: 4.2k

Summary: Deep in the middle of a forest out back of a little town in the country, there lay a wishing well.

It was not particularly pretty, nor particularly deep. It was not even that magical. But it was, at the very least, old—and all folk knew that with time came the strangest of truths, best left unbelieved or unseen altogether.

Izuku was one of these truths.

Or, Izuku can grant wishes, Katsuki is a mortal who doesn't know any better, and even the most innocent things always come with a price.

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Fic: Beyond the Veil by Seeress

Length: 11.9k (multichap, complete)

Summary: A locked door. A ghostly presence. A long forgotten name.

Katsuki goes back to his grandparent's old house and finds a presence he barely remembers, still waiting for him.

His grandmother’s stories all had the same cautionary theme: Do not stray off the path. Keep your hands to yourself. Be polite to those you meet. Be wary of undeserved generosity. Do not be deceived by masks. Remember your way home.

But Katsuki was a child of skyscrapers and 24 hour convenience stores. He walked on streets lined with man-made lights that turned on before the sun goes down the horizon and never went out until the sun rises again. He lived in a house full of noise, in a city full of living, breathing people.

He had never known true darkness; nights when even the moon sheds no light and the world is silent, but you know deep within your bones that you are not alone.

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Fic: Nowhere I’d Rather Be by Dat_heichou

Length: 1.8k

Summary: It’s 3 a.m. on the coldest sunday of the year and Izuku is too excited to feel tired. It’s release day of the newest All Might figure and he made sure he woke up early enough to buy one.

It’s freezing and dark and Izuku is sore from the rigorous training that U.A. third years go through, but he still excitedly shifts from one foot to the other. There’s nowhere he’d rather be.

“It’s cold as fuck out here,” Katsuki gripes beside him, burrowing his nose deeper into the collar of his thick, thermal lined jacket.

*

Fic: solar by Kindaopps

Length: 7k

Summary: Here he is, a god, wanting a mortal.

*

Fic: Sunlight Moving by Peredhils

Length: 3.8k

Summary: The night air was cool but not as damp and depressing as it had been when leaving England. The sea breeze was refreshing and it was crisper than it smelled standing from the shore. Although the rocking of the boat made him a bit nauseous, coupled with the unease that came with being unable to see any land on the horizon, Katsuki liked it more than he thought he would. Standing at the ledge and looking up at the stars, all so bright and clear, was easing the day’s troubles.

He wasn’t alone for long.

Katsuki, a duke organizing the creation of a new university in England, meets astronomer Izuku on board a voyage overseas.

*

Fic: let me hurt you, until we don’t by DeKatsu

Length: 3.3k

Summary: Deku decides that using his quirk with his hero license suspended is a smart idea. Katsuki doesn't understand why he's thrown into the holding cell as Deku's accomplice.

And then they talk about feelings.

Which isn't even the weirdest shit, considering that their cell mates end up giving them the push they need.

*

Fic: last days of war by antisora

Length: 38k (multi-chap, WIP)

Summary: When the first Kaiju climbed through the portal to their world, Izuku and Katsuki were six years old. And from the tender age of six, they knew they were going to be rangers.

All Izuku wanted, all he ever wanted, was to save the world alongside his best friend.

#bakudeku #bkdk #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #bnha fic recs #wonder duo #wonder duo: rising #bakudeku fic recs

[nico-twix]

the prisoner of my enemy is my prisoner

Hey guys, sorry if this ain't your thing, but in honour of star wars day, I decided to post a little blurb of a fanfic I've been writing!

Kylo Ren x Reader

Words: 1.5K

Tags: second-person "You", no (y/n), force choking, mind invasion, blasters, mechanic reader, a poor attempt at humour, slow burn

When the First Order raid a Resistance Base, the last thing they expect is to imprison their prisoners, but as will become common, Commander Ren makes an exception for you.

May the Fourth be with You!

“Wake up, prisoner.” Cool blaster metal digs into your arm as you are gracefully awoken.

You would be lying if you said this was the first time you have been captured, but this has been by far the worst treatment.

You’re not quite sitting or standing, and as far as you can feel—because you certainly can’t move your head to look down— you are bolted to this “seat” of kings. What you can see: grey wall, white trooper, and emo creep in the corner.

They excuse the trooper and stand in front of you. Their black helmet softly reflects a red light that is outside your vision.

“You were a prisoner of the Resistance.” Their, his, voice is modulated, but you can still pick up his annoyance. Short. Clipped.

“I’m well aware of that, bud.”

His mask diffuses what you could only guess to be a growl into static. Scary man did not like that answer. “You are now a prisoner of the First Order.”

Ah fuck. If it were possible, you would have stiffened in your binds. You have heard of the First Order—everyone has. But you knew them as the largest arms purchaser in the galaxy and had no clue who, what, or why they are how they are.

He steps even closer to you; his helmet is obscuring all of the grey walls in your vision. “The resistance wanted you enough to keep you alive. Why?”

Barely alive. Their prisoner for 100 days and all I got as food were some dry-ass crackers. “Look, bud, if I knew I would tell you.” You attempt to shrug your shoulders, but all it does is bring a dull ache.

“No, not bud.” This close, the helmet voice sounds scarier, deeper, more alive. The hairs on your arm start to tingle like they are static.

“Not bud, read you loud and clear, pal.” As soon as the word leaves your mouth, he’s got his hand around your neck.

“If I didn’t need you alive to invade your mind, I would have killed you by now.” He places a finger on your forehead as he tightens his hold further and your eyes roll back into your head. Your brain feels like it’s getting pushed out of your nose and chopped open like a Koja nut simultaneously. Your lungs burn and you are powerless to stop him. If only I had a choking kink to make this somewhat enjoyable.

Images of your life flash past, leaving you little time to process what’s going on. Finally, you see your time with the Resistance. All 100 days, although each was the same. Your guard telling you to build it. You don’t know how. You don’t even know what it’s for. The visions stop. He seems to find what he is looking for at that moment as he lets you go. You’re inhaling air faster than a vacuum cleaner as blood rushes throughout your body, black dots dancing in your vision, pounding headache wrecking your brain.

He calls the stormtrooper back in. “You can move her to a lower security cell,” he turns to look at you, “she really does know nothing. Resistance Scum.” Even against the modulation, you can hear his leering sneer. What an ass.

The trooper releases your head bindings and you can only see your interro(r)gator’s backside. What an ass.

The new cell is much better in that you have full motor control, but the good things stop there. They sure went over budget on decorating. The whole thing is painted in the same soul-sucking grey colour as before and there wasn’t even a window. I thought I booked a room with a view. All that was in there with you was a mat for sleeping and an air vent on the floor that was pumping in only what you could assume was unfiltered space vacuum it was so cold. Maker, I know I complained about the Resistance prison, but this is bad.

If you had to stay in this cell for another day, you were going to commit homicide. This leaves two options: either one, escape, or two, hope that the next trooper that walks in here has a nicely written will. One seems easier. How hard could escaping be?

Apparently very hard. You have been going at this for hours. But try as you may, your arms will never magically extend far enough through the cell bars to grab the keys off of the guard. Which leaves the vent. Vents are nice, but not the safest thing in the world. For all you know, this could lead you out into space or through fan blades or to the trash receptacle. But fuck it, Maker damn you if ever saw your “pal” again.

The vent luckily had no screws, and with just a light tug, the door flipped open unveiling a straight shot down. How far down? Who knows, not you! So, with one last look at the guard, you slid to your freedom.

You couldn’t have been sliding for more than twenty feet when you collided with more metal venting. You landed as lightly as an elephant and your ankles burned with shooting pain. You got to down to your hands and knees to falter through the next set of passageways, eclipsed in darkness and dust. Every so often, you would come across another vent opening and you would peak to observe where you were. You have passed by three trooper quarters and figured you were in their wing of the ship. Meaning that their armoury should be nearby. The plan from here on out should be simple.

Step 1: Get to the armoury

It took what seemed to be two hours to finally find the armoury and it certainly didn’t help that you got lost. Twice. You wondered how long you still have before your “pal” realizes you’ve escaped. Based on prior experience, prisoners generally get checked on every six hours, so you should still be safe. You pop open the vent door below you and fall on your ass into the armoury.

Step 2: Steal some of that zesty trooper armour.

The armoury in the dark was creepy. Every couple of steps, you would feel a solid limb of their armour smack against your legs or shoulders. Your hair even got caught in one of their belts. None of them seemed to be in your size. What am I, in the Men’s section? You duck behind a container of spare helmets as you hear the familiar schwoop of blast doors.

“Poor bastard didn’t deserve that though.” Various clicks and hisses went through the air as two troopers stripped off their armour.

“None of us do. He’s lucky he only broke his leg, gets a free trip to the med bay.” The light streaming in from the open door allowed you to see them discard their armour pieces under a “repairs” sign.

“He better not take the last blue lollipop; I’ve been eyeing it.” They both chuckled at that, grabbed new armour, and left.

You let out the breath you were holding in. You weren’t spotted, everything will be okay. You try to remember the layout from earlier and make your way over to where the broken armour was dumped. One of the troopers looked your size, so you borrow it and hope they won’t miss it terribly.

Step 3: Find their weapons stash. Walk around like a headless chicken looking for their weapons stash.

Every good escape needs good weapons. And this will be a damn good escape. It would be if you could find the weapons. I feel like I’ve seen that door before. You probably have. You’re just following the gaggle of troopers in front of you, hoping this won’t look suspicious. It definitely did. If the clocks on the walls were anything to go by, it has been around 4 hours since you escaped, meaning that you have been lost on this ship for at least an hour and a half. 1000 rooms on the Starkiller base, 1000 rooms on Starkiller. Enter one, I am so done, 999 rooms on the Starkiller base. Your slightly too large armour makes awful clicks and you pray to Maker that your hell would end soon. And then, almost as if Maker heard your pleas, you found the room you were looking for.

Step 4: Escape!

The weapons room was more like a weapons sanctuary. All along the walls, beautiful blasters polished to perfection, and yet they had some of the worst specs you’ve ever seen. This is outrageous! They expect me to escape with a blaster pistol? It’s not even modded.

What used to look divine, now just looks pathetic. You huff, having taken offence at their poor supply, and “borrow” a couple of weapons from the shelves, a repeater here, a stun baton there, and a trusty set of standard-issue repair tools. With precision unmatched by even the finest droids, you get to work, soldering and welding, stripping and joining, and hoping and praying that what you have only tested out in dreams would work.

And you might have been able to test it, had the blast doors stayed shut.

Step 4b: do not get caught. It’s a little late for that

“Trooper, report.”

Please let me know what you think and if there are any mistakes! This blurb is available on AO3 if you want to subscribe for more updates!

#kylo x you #kylo ren #ben solo #drabble #prison break #force choke #star wars #sequel trilogy #may the fourth be with you #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #slow burn #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers

[yyxy-seph]

Post Insane! Sephiroth X Black girl! Reader

𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓈𝒾𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀𝓈 pt.3

Part 2

Part 1

Warning: SUPER fucking cheesy! And I’m a relatively new FFVII fan so some of my wordings might be kind of weird. But if you want more content like this from me, just hit the heart!

Also, I’ve changed some of the events in the storyline. Avalanche hasn’t attacked Shinra just yet! But Sephiroth has already had his insane streak.

Context: Zack & Cloud set Y/N up on a blind date w/ Seph! Here, we will discover an interesting history between Seph and the reader as well as witness their adorable date!

———

We continued on, running like kids to the closest battle destination. We chuckled while running, letting the wind breeze through our hair. And must I say, he is so gorgeous when the wind blows pushes his hair from his face.

We finally reached a point in the woods near a camping site. For a minute, I caught my breath while he just stood there, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Are..you not tired?”

“Not at all. My vitality is no joke.” By the end of his sentence, he was shirtless.

My eyes couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Is this a fucking ten pack?? He was unbelievably ripped.

“You’re not about to go all sexy beast on me, are you?”

He frowned. “No, no, no. Hey I’m a modest man. I would never do this on the first date to a beautiful, deserving woman like you.”

He lifted his suspenders over his shoulders and pulled over his coat with their astonishing, silver pauldrons.

I smirked. “In that case..”

I unbuttoned my dress, teasing him. The man who is always comfortable with a straight, unchanged face began blushing, nervously.

Next, I started sliding it down my slim and fit figure.

He turned around immediately, being respectful.

“No need, honey.”

He turned around again slowly.

Under the black & silver dress were my fighting clothes. My leather shorts were exposed while I slid on my black gloves.

The transformation made him speechless.

“I-I... ah”

“Sephiroth??”

“Your outfit is different from the last time we spoke.”

“Yeah, a girls gotta grow up right?”

“But, an outfit this sexy?”

“And just as affective!”

“Marry me now.”

“Now, hold your Chocobos, Simperoth! Like you said to me that night, “If we were to have a relationship, I need to have a good fighter and a good kisser. If you fail at one thing, you must perfect the other. Otherwise, we never know what could be.”

He made a determined smile with challenged eyes.

“You better prove yourself, right here, right now.”

He got into position, and so did I. The time was now for him to really earn my heart.

He ran swiftly toward me, clashing his sword against mine. I blocked it instantly and ducked, as I saw his next swing coming right before me. I kicked him off his feet and got right back up and over him, aiming my masamune over his face.

I retrieved it back to my shoulder and helped him get up.

“Hmm, I see you’ve gotten much better.” He said.

“Yup. Round two?”

“That wasn’t even a round.”

“Technically, it was.”

We went at it again. I ran his way while he came toward me. I hit his sword in and undercut motion, making him have more force on top. Trying to get from under his grip, I leaned to the right.

His blade almost caught my feet but I jumped up in time, and slid mine under his chin.

“You’re good. Very, very good.” He informed. His eyes had narrowed, indicating a bit of arousal.

“Are you... turned on?” I asked, giggly.

“Quite likely.”

We continued once more. He extended his blade to the ground to catch me off guard. Instead, I ran on his thin blade and jumped over his head, landing perfectly to aim at his back.

With quick movements, he turned around and pressed his masamune over mine again. The pressure was quite strong as his was longer than mine.

I fell to my knees with a little pout of failure.

He extended his hand in front of me. I grabbed his and he kissed mine.

“Round 3?”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes.

It started with me lunging at him. He blocked it by pushing me away with his blade. I ran back and clashed my sword with his at different angles. This went on for a while until I jumped high, hitting his blade with an over head attack.

He hit mine back at a lower angle, pushing my blade up too high for me to reach. It eventually slipped out of my hands and fell tip forward into the soft grass and dirt. Panicking, I ran to retrieve it while he ran after me.

I wanted him to win but I also wanted to prove myself.

I gripped the sword quickly and securely with Sephiroth not too far behind. Our swords clashed some more. The battle was getting more intense. Suddenly, he lifted his foot and did a roundhouse kick. I ducked, eyeing his every move. While getting back up, I met his shiny masamune in my face while my purple one also clashed with his perfectly.

It was one of those moments where both of our forces were strong so our swords stayed in place as we held cocky, love driven stares.

In no time, I was unexpectedly being lifted off the ground and up in the air. He was flying with his wing, tightly holding my waist.

“S-seph, you’re cheating.”

He just ignored me, while still flying until he reached a spot in the clouds that he felt was perfect.

“It’s not cheating if I already have your heart.”

“That’s-“

I got cut off by the feeling of his tender lips, melting into mine and fitting perfectly. He tightened both arms around my waist, making sure I wasn’t scared and ensuring comfort.

He tucked my hair behind my ear and bit my lip, asking for tongue access. I agreed and we were making out just like that night seven years ago. Except this time, there is more passion and desire. More hunger to be together. I felt the connection.

Our lips parted at once. We were still in the sunset with clouds surrounding.

We stared in each other’s eyes, lost in our minds. Until I finally spoke.

“Wow...”

He instantly laid his head on my shoulder, hugging me tighter. I could feel all his pain from the past few years up to this moment.

He lifted his head up and then started kissing my neck. Then that led to sucking and biting. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut from his actions. It all felt too good. I was moaning like crazy.

He finally ceased.

And I was honestly amazed at his work.

“You really are the full package.” I stroked his ego.

He chuckled and smirked. “For the record, back then, you were a really good kisser. I just had to get my kissing together.”

I blushed at his words. “Well, you certainly did. I wanted more.”

“I heard. Can’t wait to hear how you sound when you’re under me-“

“Seph!” I giggled shyly as he flew us back down.

“But that’s for another day. I just wanna take my time with you and treat you right.”

“I love you.” I said right out.

“I love you more. Gaia, you don’t know hold long I’ve been wanting to say that!” He stressed.

He took me on home, as this was the final destination wrapping up our date.

“I had a lot of fun with you, tonight. I’m glad we did this.” I told him.

He nodded. “Me too. What should our next date be?”

We strolled through the small crowd of people in the SOLDIER dorm territory.

I could hear in the background that some people were freaking out and gossiping because it was Sephiroth. But I guess they figured not to interrupt since he was being normal and minding his business.

Until one guy interrupted...

“Hey! Sephiroth! You’re not supposed to be out here if you’re not a SOLDIER! Why don’t you just leave and go be an evil bastard somewhere else!”

I stood there, waiting for something to pop off immediately afterward. Thus, Seph just stood there, brushing it off. His only reply was, “You see me minding my business, so mind your damn own.”

The man was taken aback. With one more threatening glare from him, the man ran off.

“I suppose you keep training. Your combat is shit from what I remember!” He yelled jokingly.

We laughed up until we reached my dorm with Zack. Cloud hung out here sometimes even though he’s an ex- SOLDIER.

With three knocks from me, blond, spiky streaks of hair fell above me.

“Hey, Cloud!”

“Hey, how was your date?” He questioned, glaring at Sephiroth a bit.

“It was divine! I loved every second.” I explained while Seph tightened his grip around my waist.

“And you?” Cloud asked again, hinting a Sephiroth’s quietness.

“I loved it just as much, if not more. She has charms and a personality that I can’t resist.”

I turned around hugging him fully before going inside. He said goodnight to us all after small-talk with Cloud.

The night ended quite pleasantly. I didn’t expect this but I’m so not mad at it. I can’t wait to be enveloped in his warmth as each day goes by.

Once I settled in, Zack couldn’t stop asking questions. He wanted to know everything we did and said. Cloud wanted to know as well even though he pretended he didn’t care.

After all of that, we watched movies and headed for Midgar in the morning. The next day, I’d be an ex-SOLDIER and Sephiroth’s woman.

“Umm...Y/N??”

“What?”

“Is that a hickey???”

“Maybe???” I smirked.

Oops.

#ffvii sephiroth #ffvii #sephiroth x reader #sephiroth #final fantasy 7 #imagine #yyxy-seph

[draayder]

Omi Pins Tojo Pins

okay onto the final part: everyone else! as with the previous two, mild spoilers across all the games

Atobe Family

Do you remember these guys? no you don’t. if you said yes you’re lying. This is a family from Asakusa who shows up for approximately 10 minutes, has their name mentioned once, and you see their pin once. That’s right, this is the family involved with that part in Y1 where you gotta deal with the Florist’s shitty kid. A really great pin, shockingly, very striking and good use of silver black and grey as well as breaking the circle. I would have expected this to be from a major player

Ryudo Family

Not to be confused with the Omi Ryudo, this is the Okinawan family from 3 featuring Nakahara, Mikio, and of course Rikiya. I.............. don’t think any of them actually wear it though, so you only see it as fight intros. A stellar pin, the use of the shisa is great even if it is a little hard to read. The way it encircles the family kanji really gives off the protective vibe of the shisa

Ueno Seiwa Family

so normally I complain about gold on gold being hard to read, which is true, but the shape of this is so different than anyone elses’ that you can tell at a glance exactly what family you’re dealing with. A good pin

Yamagasa Family

This pin has always slapped. It’s bold and geometric, easy to read, and looks great on a formal hakata. It’s very sleek and modern imo, which is once again funny for a very traditional family like the Yamagasa out in Nagasugai, but overall just a top tier pin

Yahata Family

It makes sense that the direct subordinates would just tweak the design, but adding in the calligraphy 八 clashes a little with the nice geometry, making this a worse pin. It’s also extremely hard to tell from a Yamagasa pin, but that’s fine since they’re part of it and they benefit from people thinking they’re higher up than they actually are. Still a pretty good pin

Kitakata Family

Y5 really went off on its pins, this one’s for those guys up in Tsukimino. It’s bold and easy to read, but not quite as good as the Yamagasa pin. Very effective still though

Yomei Alliance

Time for these assholes out in Onomichi. So obv we got that rising sun iconography kind of going on which is Not Great but does tie thematically with what that family was founded on. Definitely very good at conveyance, you’re not going to mistake it for anyone else in the area

Masuzoe Family

Remember this dude? I sure didn’t. The Yomei guys don’t really stick to a theme, which is fine, and this pin is pretty good. It’s a little busy, I think the center kanji could use a little more room to breathe and feels slightly off center due to how the line on the left almost touches the edges unlike every other part of it

Koshimizu Family

Remember this guy? Maybe you do, he was a lot more memorable than Masuzoe. His pin is actually really great. I love the evocation of a sword hilt and how the scalloped edges are cut out internally to slot in the calligraphy, it gives a very nice organis flow to the whole thing. The color balance is also very good. 10/10 pin, one of the best in the series imo

Hirose Family

Simple, effective, unmistakable. Hirose has a good pin. The edges remind me of a government organization, which gives it a nice sense of authority despite being a tiny little group. The use of the grass lines helps break up the space so it’s not just a boring circle and draws the eye up to the top kanji, which has the lines to draw the eye back down. A good pin

Kyorei Clan

An Osaka based group that isn’t Omi! It’s from judgment and most famously Shioya is a member. Really cool pin! I like the angles a lot, and it’s a very unique shape! very cool, great pin

Seiryu Clan

what no I totally didn’t forget this one the first time. shut up. So this pin has a lot going for it. The swirling waves leading the eye in, and the fact that it has the full family name + clan sets it apart. A fun fact on this one is that the patriarch is  星野 龍平 (Hoshino Ryuhei) and this family takes the first kanji from his family and given name to make  星龍 (seiryu) which is a homophone with  青龍 (seiryu), the blue dragon of the four legendary beasts (also the one Kiryu is represented by!). However while the blue dragon’s kanji is literally blue+dragon, this family is star+dragon, which is fucking baller as hell. A great pin on that aspect alone, and a solid design to back it up

Non-Yakuza Organizations

Peace Finance

Okay so all the non-yakuza “pins” are out of Y1 (with 2 exceptions), because they just fucking loved making pins and icons and shit during that game. No one actually wears this one, it just flashes during one of the very early fights in Y1 when Kiryu helps Shinji deal with some shitty loan sharks. It kind of reminds me of a cult? It’s definitely trying too hard to be non-threatening, which ends up making it threatening, which is perfect for the organization it’s used for

Purgatory

Damn do I fucking love ho-o’s. Nagoshi please put a ho-o on someone’s back. You can have my oc. Please. This isn’t a pin, it’s the floor of the colosseum, and it looks great

Snake Flower Triad

Another one that no one wears, it’s very effective. You got snakes. You got a flower. There’s three things. Got it in one, everyone go home. The shape is unique enough that even being the worse kind of gold on gold you can tell whose it is

MIA

This one does get worn! It’s effective as a weird government shadow group, with the military look to it alongside the divine looking wings/halo/rays of light. It’s super hard to read from a distance, but that’s okay for a group that isn’t trying to advertise itself to anyone who doesn’t already know them

Jingu

Jingu’s personal pin. It’s very government-y, being not far off from the royal family’s pin or a lawyer’s badge, and the kind of purpley look is really nice. A good pin for an awful guy

Dragon Heat

This is from Kurohyou, and like the Purgatory design it’s what’s on the colosseum ring. It’s got two dragons fighting each other, what more could you want for a bloodsport? It’s scuffed and faded, showing that this place either gets a lot of use or isn’t making that much cash, which is some nice environmental storytelling

Ashura

Same deal as before but this time it’s for Kurohyou 2. Another fighting ring, another scuffed up floor, this time featuring an asura, beings in a state of constant battle with the devas of hinduism, which is fitting for a fighting ring that’s supposed to be even more brutal. a good design, though I wish it had a little more of the depth that the dragon heat one had

and that’s all of them! except for whichever ones I missed! But we can ignore those!! I’m sure they’re not important

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza crests #seriously did the Y1 team just have someone who really liked making crests #I don't blame them because I would do the same #but they made a LOT of crests for absolute nobodies!!

[musashi]

i've been meaning to ask... so fi is in botw so that means the sword from skyward sword is the same one in breath of the wild? i know link and zelda are sorta continuously reincarnated, so is the master sword also "reincarnated", or is it the same sword in every game?

OH same sword reincarnation anon again. i thought of another question lol. maybe i'm misremembering but like since fi is a sort of spirit, does that mean only link can see her? or can others see her as well? maybe something like "if it's convenient for someone to be able to see her they can"? so if only link can see (or hear) fi, how is zelda able to sense that link can still be saved in memory 17? are link and zelda that connected that maybe she can understand fi as well? i'm sorta just rambling now but i hope i was able to get my question across haha

the master sword is always the same! functionally it cannot be destroyed, i’m pretty sure? the goddess hylia made the sword herself with her divine powers, and then on top of that sky!Link tempered it in sacred fire via the other three goddesses. its holy power is p much unmatched by any other artifact, and Link is straightup the only person who can even really touch it let alone wield it, so it persists through millennia.

BOTW pretty much implies that the sword is self-healing, so even though Link wears it down to rusted tatters fighting guardians in blatchery plain, all Zelda really has to do is place it back in its dais and it’s good as new by the time Link’s 100 year nap is over. In BOTW every weapon can break except the master sword, which just has a timeout on it instead.

Zelda and Link are pretty much written within the threads of fate to always be mortals themselves because only mortals can use the triforce, but their souls are immortal because Hylia loved her first Link and essentially willed his soul to never die. So they HAVE to reincarnate. The blade is a different story, and technically Link doesn’t always NEED the master sword to seal the darkness, but Fi very genuinely asked her goddess the honour of being Link’s once more, and so it was written that the two of them almost always wind back up hand-in-hand somehow.

i love all these questions about zelda lore and my favourite character you’re making my day fdgsf

everyone can see Fi back in skyward days when she was able to manifest her spirit form! other characters will occasionally comment on her or talk directly to her and sometimes she startles them by suddenly being present too lol. she is a spirit but not of the ‘only my chosen one can see me’ variety, just in the ‘magical floating entity’ one. when she wants to keep things on the d/l she just chooses not to manifest, she’s telepathic so she can talk to link without appearing, sometimes she just stays inside the sword and communicates with him and sometimes she manifests if she feels the need to like... direct his attention somewhere or simply out of social customs lol. Fi does a lot of things she doesn’t need to just because data tells her it’ll unsettle people less sdfghsfhg

after the events of skyward sword, tho, as far as we know she loses her ability to manifest a physical form. she describes herself as entering a sleep without end and is never again seen after that. nothing in canon necessarily contradicts the idea that someone like Link could still see her spirit form, but like physically in game it never shows up again so it’s up to interpretation haha.

all we really get to know about Fi in BOTW is that somewhere along the line, her existence as the spirit of the sword was documented (”Legend says that an ancient voice resonates inside [that sword]...”) there are a lot of ways to take that! truly, it could have just been that sky!Link loved Fi so much he made sure that her place in his story was passed down forever and turned to legend. or, other reincarnations of that Link who wielded the master sword could have heard whispers of her voice throughout the years and spoke of those whispers. but either way, Fi has a VERY tenacious grasp on her place in the legends, because BOTW is so late in the zelda timeline it’s, like... it can’t even be touched by its predecessors, it is SUCH a late-game Hyrule, and still the legends speak of Fi’s voice.

so in BOTW, my personal interpretation was that while Fi could no longer manifest her physical form, she can still very much talk to some extent, but it’s not something that’s easy for her as she is. i think her involvement in memory 17 was a failsafe programmed into her in the event of the hero’s death, and she only ‘woke up’ and started making noise because if she didn’t Link would very much have died. my interpretation of that scene is her doing what she does--running calculations, finding the outcome with the highest probability of survival, and using a precise combination of words to snap Zelda out of her despair and motivate her forward. Fi is incredible at all that, being both a computer who’s seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations, and an empath with a naturally calming/grounding presence. As for why Zelda can hear her then, it’s 100% because she’s just awoken her powers as Hylia. Hylia created Fi, so it would stand to reason she can hear her daughter(tm)’s voice lmao

the trial of the sword that i was just rambling about is the first time the game really implies, for certain, that Link can hear Fi too. Zelda talks openly about how she can, but when she asks Link if he can in his memories he doesn’t answer because he’s Link. once he’s beaten the trial, though, Fi ‘talks’ again, and Link closes his eyes for a lingering moment that imo, tells us that he is listening to something we can’t really hear. this scene is especially a love letter to Fi herself--there’s a panning shot of the sky she came from, a slow rendition of her theme music playing, one more iteration of her unmistakable chiming sound effect, and that moment of Link taking her in. i said before that Fi in BOTW wasn’t really able to communicate and only did so because Link was dying, I think the trial of the sword and all its talk of Link being able to wield the sword’s “true power” was Hylia’s attempt to remedy that. Like, alright my chosen, you’re going to need all the help you can get, prove the strength of your heart without my sacred blade by your side, and I’ll give her to you with her tongue unfroze and her power radiant and rest easy knowing it’s the right choice.

i’m ALSO rambling but i just love the choice to involve Fi in botw so much. the end of skyward sword really sets it up for her to never show up again but the way they keep her alive just in this... subtle Presence(tm) is so fucking good and doesn’t at all take away from saying goodbye to her in that game and AHHHHH

#wendy rambles #I LOVE FI THE SPIRIT OF THE MASTER SWORD #Anonymous #wendy answers

[blouisparadise]

We recently received a request for enemies and lovers recs. We already have an enemies to lovers fic rec list here, but after looking at that list, we realized we had much more to add to it and therefore decided to make a part two.

Happy reading!

1) I Couldn’t Get Away From You | Mature | 5185 words

Suddenly in the heat of the moment, Harry’s eyes turned darker as he pushed Louis’ back more and more towards the wall. “Fine.” He plants his lips on Louis’ and begins to roughly kiss him, soon enough turning it into a make-out session.

“Fuck you, Styles,” Louis moans and grips onto Harry’s shoulders, hands trailing up to the taller’s hair and gripping that as well.

“We’ll see about that.”

2) There's More Than One Place To Call Home | Explicit | 8416 words

Harry never asked for much from his neighbors - he didn't care about barking animals during the day or loud talking during the night.

The only thing he needed was silence when he was writing. And that was the only thing his new neighbor wouldn't give him.

Deciding to confront the loud guy who lived next door, Harry found himself ringing his doorbell one night. And that decision just may be the best thing that's ever happened to Harry.

3) Make A Run, Cause Some Rebellion | Explicit | 8824 words

As a general rule, kitten hybrids are small and disinterested in what other people want them to do, slightly evil and at least a little manipulative. Louis prides himself on being all of those things to varying degrees, but especially on being uninterested in what other people tell him to do. He’s still human goddammit, despite his pointy ears and penchant for curling up in the sun and taking naps.

He’s going about his daily business, knocking things over where he sees fit and leaving a trail of mess in his wake. As exasperated as it makes Liam he’s used to it by now, having shared a flat with Louis for almost three years now, and if Louis whines enough he’ll even clean up after him. It’s a great life, really.

With the exception of Liam’s stupid, broad shouldered, entirely too big mate, the one who always comes over to watch sports with him. Louis hates that guy. His hair is always greasy and he brings weird hipster beer with him when he comes that tastes like shit. And he won’t even let Louis have any of it, either. The only reason Louis even knows what it tastes like is because one time he stole a bottle from the fridge and fled to his room before Harry could catch him.

4) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

5) Where Do We Go Now | Explicit | 10617 words

Louis goes off to college ready to start a fresh life away from the oppressive alphas of his pack.  The odds aren't in his favour when his new dorm mate turns out to be an alpha.  Louis hates alphas.

6) Enjoy The Ride | Not Rated | 11103 words

The one where Louis, an omega more than tired of being treated as lesser than alphas, is forced on a road trip by his beta besties only to meet Harry who might just be the alpha he never knew he wanted.

7) I Didn’t Fall For You (You Fucking Tripped Me) | Explicit | 20681 words

These days Louis tends to steer clear of dating alphas. He’s dated too many knotheads in his time, and he’s ready to just focus on school and his friends and his pet monitor lizard, of course.

Too bad the alpha next door won’t take a hint and stop using the worst pick up lines of all time on him. He’s really got to stop laughing with him--and talking to him and walking to class with him and letting him bring him coffee and tea and gifts for his lizard and watching Netflix together and...

8) Written In The Stars (That’s You And Me) | Explicit | 22632 words

Louis pushes himself up on one elbow and stretches enough to just barely trace his fingertips over Harry’s jawline. Harry’s eyes drop to track his movements as he does it again. “D’you feel that?” he whispers.

To him, it feels like all of the universe’s magic lives just beneath his skin when he touches Harry with intent. It feels like something special. Louis watches Harry’s lips part and wants to touch that too. He almost does, but then Harry shakes his head. “Feel what?”

6) Middle Ground | Explicit | 23516 words

Note: This fic has been locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry moves to a new town for work where he meets the enigma that is Louis Tomlinson.

10) When It’s Late At Night | Mature | 25597 words

The Late Late prompt that we all need to get through this excruciatingly hard time.

11) Supposed To Be | Explicit | 26100 words

The Geek Charming AU where Harry's a film geek, Louis' a popular jock, and they both need each other to get what they want.

12) Magical Soup | Explicit | 28850 words

Slytherin prefect Louis Tomlinson's seventh year at Hogwarts takes an immediate turn for the worse when he's made to be potions partners with Harry Styles, Hufflepuff's resident heartthrob and class clown.  Louis has always considered Styles to be a terrible show-off who coasts by on his charm and good looks, but the more they work together, the more he questions that idea.  As term goes on, will Louis be able to admit to himself that he might actually like Harry Styles after all... and maybe, just maybe, as more than a friend?

13) Building Me Up (But Buttercup, You Lied) | Explicit | 31007 words

Harry’s mouth felt dry just saying those words. What he had with Louis was so much more than a simple ‘fuck buddies’ situation. It was slow kisses in the morning between soft sheets and shy smiles, it was holding hands in the afternoon while walking and eating ice cream. It was breakfast for dinner, laughing and licking honey from each other’s lips as they shared goals and even some secrets, it was happiness, it was glow.

To Harry, what he had with Louis meant everything. Until Louis decided it meant nothing.

14) You’ve Set On Me | Explicit | 31100 words

Louis' in an obscure band. Harry's an international popstar. Their paths aren't meant to cross, not like this, but when Louis' band signs on as Harry's opening act, both Harry and Louis are forced to confront the open wounds of their shared past.

15) Nicotine | Explicit | 32245 words | Sequel

"We're two different types of people, Liam. He likes sex and drugs, I like theater and tea. Trust me, we'd never date." Except they would, they do, and neither of them plans on letting go anytime soon.

16) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat | Explicit | 34572 words

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

17) Close To Nowhere | Explicit | 34589 words

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

18) Make This Feel Like Home | Explicit | 42032 words

The house on West 28th Street in London is twice the size of Louis', more expensive than the price of all of his house and car payments combined, and is falling apart at the seams.

19) Strangers in Love | Explicit | 42207 words

Louis wakes up to find himself in a marriage with the last man he thought he'd ever end up with.

10) Why Can’t It Be Like That | Explicit | 63567 words

A fashion AU with a royal twist, where Louis doesn't need a stylist, Harry's thrilled to have a real life Barbie doll, and they're both very wrong about each other.

21) I Want You So Much (But I Hate Your Guts) | Mature | 83648 words

AU in which Louis gets accepted to play for the Manchester University Alpha-Beta Football Team. The only problem: Louis is actually an Omega. He is determined to make it big in the football world, though, and he can't do that bound to an Omega team. With the help of a faked doctor's certificate and some pretty strong suppressants he is ready to fight for his dream.

That Harry Styles (Alpha, second year and youngest football captain of the A-B team in ages) doesn't seem to like him complicates matters, though.

22) For Reasons Wretched and Divine | Explicit | 94655 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Ten years ago, Harry Styles was just a nerdy kid with one friend and a debilitating crush on the captain of his school’s football team. He thought the stars were smiling down on him the day he and Louis Tomlinson were paired for their end-of-term Literature project. But because Harry’s life is decidedly not a fairytale, the budding friendship quickly leads to the least happy ending of all time.

Now, Harry Styles is a household name. Barely twenty-seven with two Grammy nominations to his name, the singer-songwriter is poised to take the music industry by storm with his highly anticipated third album. So, what happens when the best producer in the business is also the only person Harry’s vowed never to speak to again?

23) You Drive Me Crazy (But It Feels Alright) | Explicit | 102306 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

“Harry is not short for Harold,” he corrects, his voice as thick as molasses. He lowers his eyes to Louis’ sequined lapels, rubbing one between two fingers. “Is this small or extra small? It looks lovely.”

Louis breaks away from his grip with a petulant huff and pushes him back with two fingers.

“You’re mocking me. Again.”

Harry smiles and it's a real honest swoop of his lips this time. Louis’ stomach swoops with them.

24) Tainted Saints And Velvet Vices | Mature | 126056 words

A self-fulfilling Hogwarts AU in which Louis is new to seventh year and Harry is the resident devil-may-care Slytherin set to make his entire experience a living misery. Due to less than favourable circumstances they're forced to forge an unwilling, tentative relationship for their own survival. Repressed emotions, decidedly unromantic ballroom dancing, Triwizard Tournament tasks, creative jinxes and twilight flying above the Forbidden Forest ensue.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #enemies to lovers #hate to love #fic recs #blp #blp fic recs

[howdoyousleep3]

Hello. Could we get some daddy!james being all sweet and tender for the first time with twink Steve and baby doesn’t know what’s got into James that he’s in such a mood but he likes it, so very much

I like to imagine this happened the night that Steve asked James to be his Daddy and when they made things official, hehe. They definitely haven’t said “I love you” yet. 😘

James always keeps Steve on his toes. He’s a constant source of reliability in the sense that there is trust and mutual respect and a sense of love between them, but he keeps Steve on his toes with surprises. Steve never knows what is going to come out of James’ mouth, what is in his hands behind his back, where they’re going to end up when they get in James’ car.

Steve may not be able to anticipate many things with James, but one thing is for sure—

Daddy always likes things rough and sloppy and hard.

Steve is a fit guy, works out, takes care of himself, and thank fuck for that because James puts him to work. He is left sore most mornings after, marks on his body he proudly wears, twinge in his back or between his legs. He would never dream of complaining, loves how intense things are between them, how electric they are, enjoys what they have. All of this considered, one could see why Steve would be so startled then, when he finds himself on his back in Daddy’s bed, James’ lips running over his pulse point, three of Daddy’s fingers fucking slowly into his cunt, and vibrating with soft need.

He’s overwhelmed but he’s overwhelmed in layers he’s never felt with James before. Because Daddy is never this soft, is never this caring and loving and fiercely soft. Steve can’t say anything but “Daddy” in every which way, mainly devoted, shocked, and questioning. When Steve had reached from James’ belt damn near an hour ago, Daddy had pushed his hands away.

”No, doll—not tonight.”

It isn’t like Daddy never pays Steve attention or leaves him unattended, Daddy always makes sure he’s okay and satiated, but this attention has Steve on a different plane of existence. He isn’t sure they’ve loved like this before, with tender touches and hushed words, gazes that had a physical presence between them. Daddy has been quiet with his words but extremely loud with his actions. Strokes and grazes and glides of his hands and lips and tongue driving Steve to the point of disbelief and pleasure so intense he keeps opening his mouth to say something, to question, but all he can do is gasp.

“Daddy…?” he’s wanted to ask but his tongue is too heavy in his mouth, his chest too constricted, and he’s been unable to lift his head with his neck so boneless and lax. All he can do is look up at James above him, eyes wide and head nodding frantically, a nonverbal “yes, Daddy yes anything, yes”, something that had James chuckling under his breath.

Steve starts to feel himself slip a little when James slips into him. He has already come once, his belly messy with his own come all completely unintentional but Daddy has murmured it was all okay, “Daddy wants it, baby…”. There have only been a few times he has reached this headspace but when he had he was pushed there, shoved there, taken there all at once. This has been such a gradual approach he didn’t even see it coming, this foggy sweet cloud-like place.

“Look at that, honey. Never seen a sweeter face, never fucked a sweeter cunt,” Daddy purred on his lips, fingers tight on his jaw, and James could have basically said he was in love with Steve because that sure is what it felt like in this sweet headspace.

If Steve had felt like he could barely breathe during this build-up and breakdown he was entirely unprepared for what it felt like to have Daddy inside of him. He felt divine between Steve’s spread thighs, broad body engulfing Steve’s own large form, lips never leaving Steve’s face, his shoulders, his goddamn neck. He’s so very heavy inside of Steve’s ass, so heavy and thick and—

“Daddy…”

His words are slurs, complete garbled nonsense, his hands tight in James’ dark hair, fingers carded up and through the back.

“I know, babydoll I know, feels so good, doesn’t it? Should’a been lovin’ on you like this the whole time, fuck look at’chu.”

James’ hips never slam or slap, all rolls and presses, all sensation and pressure. Steve knows James had opened him up real well, moreso than that, had spent damn near an hour turning Steve into a pile of mush, but it still doesn’t feel like it. Daddy is so big, so thick, makes Steve feel all warm and slick like he has a pussy, grazing against his sweet spot like he owns it.

Steve does what he can to hold himself open, to hold his legs wide, but Daddy both does it for him and prevents it from happening with how close he is. James drinks him in with ever breath he takes, holds him impossibly tight with every thrust. He’s greedy but he’s greedy, unable to take what he wants but only because, as each minute passes, Daddy makes him hungrier and hungrier. Mouth sucking at his bottom lip, lips on his cheek, teeth at his neck and his ear; Steve can barely stand it.

It makes him realize he’s been fucked up to this point, that this is what making love is.

Just like the slow movement to his headspace, his second orgasm builds so gradually he almost suffocates on it. Daddy is a quiet lover, always has been and is now, but the older man is loud in Steve’s ears, loud to his eyes, loud on his lips. No words are said but his heavy breaths and nose nudges are encouragement enough, same with the tight grip on the back of his knees and the rub of Daddy’s tummy on his leaking cock.

He’s looking in Daddy’s eyes when he comes, noses bumping as he nods and lips smearing messily. He watches those stormy eyes as long as he can before they’re rolling back into his head and he’s left sobbing into the side of James’ face. His body quakes under such attention and such pressure, dick drooling, cunt trembling, legs vibrating. He hears Daddy telling him how beautiful he is, how Daddy has never seen anything as gorgeous as Stevie Baby coming on his Daddy cock, but all Steve can do is wail and tug on Daddy’s hair weakly.

He’s under water when Daddy tells him he wants to come, whispers a mess of filth onto his lips, onto his chin. Just like earlier, questioning Daddy’s change in behavior, he can’t seem to get words out of his open mouth, tells himself to nod and hopes he does. Daddy comments on how sweet he is again, how he’s such a perfect boy, the best boy for Daddy, and Steve almost feels like he comes again. He wants Daddy to fill him up, wants to be used in such a way, and this time it feels different.

This time he doesn’t feel like a toy or an object; he feels like a treasure.

When Steve comes to it feels a bit like he’s waking up except he never really went to sleep in the first place. He’s a mess, wet all over from come and spit and he thinks tears, but James has him wrapped up so nicely he can’t find himself to care about anything else. Just like during sex, they don’t speak now, James’ forehead pressed against Steve’s temple, thick bicep under his neck, hand under his jaw. It’s intimate. It’s raw and it speaks loudly even though the two of them are quiet.

Steve can’t be certain, but he thinks things are different now, feels it somewhere on his insides, maybe his heart. Things won’t go back to the way they were before such a shared experience but Steve isn’t sure he cares.

He likes this side of Daddy.

#askK

[luisjuanmilton]

lewis & charles…….don’t have a song in mind really but let’s go with best part by daniel caesar?

That song makes me so soft so this is pure fluff, thanks for finally requesting Lewchal anon bestie <3

Charles hummed softly to himself as he methodically went about preparing two espressos, going through the motions of measuring and then grounding up the coffee beans, tampering the now fine powder and placing it on the preheated machine.

As he left the matching teacups to be filled by the rich coffee, he went about cutting up a couple of mangoes in cubes, smiling fondly as Roscoe’s little paws tip tapped in the wooden floor as he circled him in the hopes of catching anything he might drop.

If you’d told him a year ago that he’d be so content with a life of domesticity, he would’ve thought you were insane.

But as his eyes fell on a sleepy Lewis padding onto the kitchen, rubbing at his brown eyes to get the sleep off them, still dressed in an oversized sweatshirt and tiny shorts, he knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

“Morning babe, the coffee smells divine” Lewis greeted, wrapping his arms around his waist and leaning his chin on his shoulder, after giving Roscoe some pets, of course.

Charles turned his neck in silent request for a kiss, a kiss he smiled into as Lewis immediately obliged.

“It does, and don’t think I didn’t notice it’s the brand I gushed to you about, the one from Firenze that’s notoriously hard to get”

A shiver ran down his spine as he felt his boyfriend’s lips trace kisses over his neck, eyes fluttering shut as he put the knife down on the table to avoid a horniness-induced accident.

“It wasn’t that hard to get”

The Monegasque scoffed, turning around in Lewis’s arms so he could face him “You’re a shit liar chéri, Seb tried to get Britta to find it and she couldn’t. And Britta can do anything”

Lewis chuckled, the near melodic sound never failing to make the butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach start fluttering.

“I only had to call in a favour, promise”

Charles didn’t for one second believe it’d been that straightforward, but he knew Lewis was even more stubborn than he was when he wanted to, so he only buried himself into his embrace, resting his head over his heart.

“You’re too good for me Lewis”

“Don’t say that darling,” Lewis sighed, pressing a kiss over his messy black hair “sometimes I worry about the kind of people you were dating before me darling”

He gave a noncommittal shrug “They weren’t all bad, but I think it’s kind of unfair to compare anyone to you”

And it really was.

When Charles had first found himself on Lewis’s bed, he’d never imagined he could have anything with the man that lasted for longer than one night.

Except that somehow Lewis had actually been interested in dating him, him. A twenty three year old mess of a human being that had been described more than once as a chaotic little demon.

Charles remembered how Seb’s eyes had nearly popped out of his sockets when they’d told him. He knew the German was fond of him, but he could also understand his bafflement.

He was pretty sure few people would understand why they worked, but they just did.

He’d never felt as good about himself as he did when he was with Lewis, because he honest to God managed to bring the best out of him.

The older man grounded him whenever his insecurities or his anxiety threatened to be too much to handle, soothing him and praising him and reminding his his time would come.

And Charles tried his damnedest to show Lewis how fucking special he was, whether with big or small gestures which he hoped demonstrated how lucky he felt to be able to call him his.

Because let’s be honest here, Lewis could have anyone he wanted, and the fact that he wanted Charles was the single biggest ego self confidence boost ever.

(And something he had very immaturely rubbed in Pierre’s face. His best friend hadn’t spoken to him for a whole week)

“Hey I just remembered, dad was wondering if we were free to have dinner today. He’s dying to see you”

His whole chest filled with warmth at that, the fact that Lewis’s family actually liked him still feeling a bit too good to be true.

Anthony in particular was never shy about publicly praising him, and Charles would always blush Ferrari red when that happened, much to Lewis’s delight.

His own family also loved Lewis, of course, and he was pretty sure all Pascale, Enzo and Arthur liked him more than Charles.

“Of course, you know I miss him too”

Charles leaned back so he could find Lewis’s lips again, meaning to give him a chaste kiss but giggling against his mouth when the other man pulled him closer to deepen it.

Not that he was complaining.

“I love you Charlito”

The Monegasque gave a content sigh, bringing his arms to wrap around his neck, gently playing with those braids he loved so much.

“Je t’aime encore plus”

And as their overtly loving bulldog broke them apart to demand their attention, making Lewis give that laugh of his that made his eyes crinkle adorably, Charles wished with all his might that every morning of the rest of his life could look exactly like this.

#also known as the one in which I live vicariously through charles #lewis x happiness is the one true pairing #my writing #lewis hamilton #charles leclerc

[artsoupsoupart]

Me, hoping this encourages you to write more Madney smut because 🥵🥵

Lol~ I started writing one thing and then got an idea for another thing and then settled on this, the third thing. So yes it did and here goes some smut. Proceed with caution readers. I call this: 

After Workout Workout 

The tips of her fingers tingle and she’s flushed red with sweat clinging to the edges of her hairline. Maddie is still catching her breath as she makes her way up the three long flights of stairs (she hadn’t wanted to take the elevator) up to Chimney’s apartment after her morning workout and run. Picking up boxing with Buck had been an amazing stress relief and the run she always did afterwards gave her time to simply be with herself for a few minutes. It had been a great workout day. She was quicker on her feet, her punches felt more solid and overall, she just felt pumped and ready for a relaxing day with her boyfriend after her brother had encouraged her to have an earlier workout session on their day off.

Her breathing begins to normalize as she opens the fridge, the pitcher of filtered water calling her name. She’s pouring a glass when she hears the door to the bedroom open. As always, his face brightens when he sees her and he's still shirtless as if he's just gotten out of bed.

His lips meet hers and he tastes of minty toothpaste. “Welcome back. How was the workout?”

“Good. Buck was Buck and did a lot but good otherwise.” In a swift move, he’s trapped her between himself and the counter, his hand sweeping her hair away from her neck. “I’m sweaty, Chim,” she laughs, halfheartedly pushing him away. She really is very sweaty and it’s not the best look and she’s not sure how she smells though she knows he is barely even considering either of those things. His lips press to her neck, nipping and she’s so gross how could he ever think whatever it is he’s thinking. Then his hands are on her shoulders, pressing into the spots that have already become sore.

“What kind of plans do you have today,” his hands are still massaging but have trailed down to press against tense spots in her back and gosh, that feels so wondeful. She begins to relax at the constant pressure and circular motion, melting into his touch and oh, he’s good. He’s got her right where he wants her, and it happened so fast she could have gotten whiplash from it. Maddie hadn’t known just how intense her workout had been but if the knots that are being released are any indication she may have gone a little overboard.

“Nothing much,” she winces but then sighs when his thumb presses on a particularly sore spot, leaning further into his touch. “I figured today we’d relax, catch up on that one show you said was so great.”

“Mhm,” he mumbles against her shirt just between her shoulder blades.

She makes a sound that definitely something between a grunt and a moan when his hands find another sensitive area on her side. Maddie can’t help bending slightly to place a steadying hand on the counter. “I should shower first.”

“Mhm, may I join you” and there really is no reason to say no. She raises a brow at him, the hopeful smirk on his face making it easy to say yes. What’s one more workout before she can really relax?

She grabs his hand and leads him to the bathroom, undressing along the way as she shakes her head at herself at how easily she just gave in. But the water feels divine on her sore muscles and her boyfriend is close behind her, his eyes hungry though she can't see them at this exact moment. Chimney behaves himself for all of three minutes as she drenches herself in the hot water. He helps her lather up, soap covering her shoulders, dripping down her body. They make eye contact, and he smiles before returning to his task. She's covered neck to toe in soap when he spins her to face away from him. Chimney's body presses against her, both of them under the spray of water, his hands touching and stroking and caressing as the soap washed down the drain.

His lips connect to her neck as his fingers circle her nipples. He pinches just enough, and she sucks in a sharp, stuttering breath. He encourages her to lean a bit more fully into him, her head falling into the crook of his neck as one of his hands travels down to her waist, to her hips, then to her plump lower lips. She briefly tenses, lets her lips kiss his to stifle a bit of a moan that slips through as his fingers pick up speed. Their kiss turns clumsy quickly as she gets lost in the pulsing of those lithe digits that have learned her body so well.

“Touch yourself, Maddie,” his hands stop what he’s doing and finds her own, guiding her fingers to her clit. If she had time to think about it, she’d dwell on how wet she is. She'd wonder if it was the added shower, but the truth is that it's because of him. It's always because of him and she wants to tell him to fuck her instead because this teasing has to stop, and it has to stop right now. She says his name, but he shakes his head, knowing how impatient she can be. The hand on top of hers encourages her own to circle her clit, to stroke herself until she finds a rhythm she can get lost in. Their breaths fill the air, combining with the sound of the shower. Chimney watches her, expletives and encouragement falling from his lips to her ears.

Suddenly he turns her and presses her back to the cool tile, ignoring the sound of her whine when her hand falters at her center and he drops to his knees. Maddie continues stroking herself for a second because he didn’t tell her to stop and at this point, she's so close she doesn’t think she can. She definitely doesn’t want to. Chimney's lips press to her stomach, his tongue dips into her belly button and she shivers despite the heat of the shower. His nose nudges her hand out of the way and his lips connect to her core, tongue stroking along her slit. Her eyes roll back, and her hands rake through his wet hair. Nothing compares to Howie’s mouth on her. Well, nothing except him being inside of her.

Chimney loves the way she rides his open mouth, rocking her hips against his tongue. He watches her from below, breast jiggling with each gasp and shudder and moan. He licks and circles her engorged clit. Her mouth drops open in an "O", her lips tremble. He laps up the taste of her as two fingers spread her open before entering her. She writhes against his fingers, pulses around them as his tongue continues to work her closer and closer to the edge. She flinches and rocks as he reaches further and further inside. Maddie can't speak, can't handle any more stimulation, can't handle his mouth against her, his fingers inside of her and she cums and cries out and cums and cries out some more.

With heavy breathing, Maddie turns off the shower before roughly attaching her lips with his, moaning at the taste of herself. They kiss sloppily as she leads them out of the shower and to the bedroom. They fall onto the bed, Maddie straddling his waist, still dripping with water as they become more fully lost in each other. They are definitely going to need another shower before their tv marathon.

#smut #madney #now i have two other smutty wips #and i guess i'm into water stuff rn #chakayla’s royal decree #maddieandchimney #fic #maddie buckley #howie chimney han

[pikapeppa]

Samson/Roman Hawke smut and fluff: Trash

A little Satinalia special for @schoute featuring her divinely cranky Roman Hawke and Sammyboi! Including PARTY BANTER, fluff, and as always, NSFW smut. Note: the smut may appear dubcon for those who aren’t familiar with this pairing, so read at your own risk.

~8000 words; read here on AO3 instead.

*************************

Roman gazed balefully at the entrance to the Hanged Man. The usual tavern racket was way louder than usual — so much so that she could hear the music and laughter and singing emanating through the door. 

She didn’t want to go inside tonight. She usually liked coming here, insofar as she liked being anywhere in Lowtown. But tonight, the Hanged Man was somewhere that Roman would rather have avoided. 

She couldn’t avoid it, though, not without hurting Varric’s feelings. She gritted her teeth, then finally pushed through the door. 

The noise and heat hit her like a tidal wave. The Hanged Man was packed with at least fifty more people than usual, and their laughter was more boisterous and drunk than Roman was accustomed to hearing. The troupe of musicians in the corner was louder and livelier than usual, playing a cheerful driving song that was, unfortunately, prompting people to dance — very badly, by Roman’s estimation, not that she was an expert dancer herself or anything. It was smelly in here too, like hot cider and roasted meat and sweat from all the people dancing, and Roman wrinkled her nose as she slunk over to the bar.

The bar, too, was more crowded than usual with people clamouring for attention. Luckily, Roman was enough of a fixture here that one hard look had the bartender hurrying over. “Champion!” he panted. “Er, I mean, Miz Hawke, um—” 

She cut him off. “Two fingers of whiskey,” she said. She glanced around at the writhing bodies in the tavern, then turned back to the bartender. “Make it three.”  

The bartender nodded, and a long minute later, he slid a tumbler along the bar. “Happy Satinalia,” he yelled over the noise. 

She nodded brusquely and left him a gold royal for a tip, then gulped down her drink in two big swallows before looking around the room more carefully. Now where the fuck was Varric?

She didn’t bother looking at the dance floor; Varric was about as fond of dancing as she was. She scanned the tables, and when she finally spotted him, she couldn’t help but smirk.

He was sitting at the head of a long rectangular table toward the back of the room, in the comfortable padded armchair that usually sat in his suite at the back of the Hanged Man. He was overseeing a game of wicked grace, looking comfortable and happy and giving the distinct impression of being the man in charge.

He kind of is, she thought. He’s hosting this big fucking party, after all. Ever since the Arishok had sacked the city three years ago, Varric had started sponsoring a Satinalia party at the Hanged Man. The first one had been to celebrate the reopening of the Hanged Man, seeing as it had been partially destroyed by the qunari. But for the following two years after, he’d continued to host these Satinalia parties every year, paying for the food and the drinks and the entertainment — a small fortune, given how much the greedy residents of Kirkwall could eat and drink.

“Why do you do this?” Roman had asked him one year. 

“Why not?” he replied. “It makes people happy. We can always use a little happy around here, especially in Lowtown.”

Roman curled her lip. “It’s not like it makes a difference. They’ll eat all your food and drink all your booze today, then go back to talking shit about you behind your back tomorrow.”

Varric shot her a sympathetic look and patted her elbow. “It’s one night, Hawke. A night where we can forget all that shit and have a good time. You should try to join in.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance, and Varric chuckled. “Besides, if you’re worried about me losing money, don’t. I’ve got a special fund I keep specifically for this party, and you know what it’s made up of?”

“What?” she said suspiciously.

His smile widened. “Winnings from wicked grace.”

Roman gave him an incredulous look. “You pay for all of this with your winnings from wicked grace?”

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his belly. “What can I say? I’m a lucky guy.”

Roman actually laughed at that, and since then, she hadn’t questioned him about throwing this party every year. Besides, it was nice to see Varric looking all happy indoors, rather than looking all disgruntled while trampling around the fucking countryside with her.

She slunk through the crowds toward him. “I’m here,” she yelled. 

He looked up from his cards and smiled. “Hawke,” he yelled back, and he waved for her to join the table. “Come on, sit down, I’ll deal you in the next round.” 

She shook her head; she didn’t know anyone sitting at the table right now, and she wasn’t in the mood to make chit-chat with strangers. “Just wanted you to see I’m here. And now that I’ve shown my face, I’m going home,” she said, only half-jokingly.

Varric smiled. “Ha ha. Seriously though, get some food, enjoy yourself, find the others. I think the whole crew is here except for Blondie and Choir Boy.” 

She nodded. Of course Sebastian wasn’t here, since he never did anything involving booze or fun. And Anders was probably stuck at the clinic in Darktown.

I wonder if Samson is here, she thought. Then again, she wasn’t sure he was even going to come. He’d shown up at Varric’s Satinalia party only once in the past three years, so there was no guarantee he would come this time. Maybe he’d just gone straight to Roman’s mansion to go to sleep.  

Lucky asshole, she thought. “I’m stealing this,” she said to Varric, and she took his mostly-full stein of lager from the table. 

He waved affably, and Roman made her way toward the nearest wall, intent on getting out of the crowd. But the revelry in the tavern was so uncontained that by the time she was pressed against the wall away from the worst of the people, a big mouthful’s worth of lager had gotten sloshed over her hand and onto her skirt. 

“Fuck’s sake,” she muttered. She gulped down the drink as quickly as possible, then swiftly placed the empty stein on a passing waitress’s tray and grabbed a fresh drink from the tray at the same time. 

She sniffed the drink, and a faint aching feeling tugged at her ribs. The stein contained mulled wine, and the distinct Ferelden smell made her feel both homesick and resentful at the same time — kind of like being at this party made her feel.

Roman had never been fond of parties. The cheerfulness and the jollity always made her feel as though there was something wrong with her. The bigger the party, the more isolated she felt, like the divide between her own moodiness and other people’s carefree cheer was even more stark and glaring, and she had never known how to bridge that divide — not that she really wanted to, since most people were shit and she hated small talk. 

Still, sometimes she wondered what it would be like to have a gift with people, like Varric had: to be comfortable around people, to see the good in them and chat with them and not be braced any second for them to suddenly decide that she was an evil piece of shit for being an apostate with a temper and a foul mouth that even sailors would cringe away from.

She took a big gulp of mulled wine, and the aching feeling in her rib cage swelled even more. Then someone sidled up beside her — someone she wouldn’t have expected to seek her company willingly. 

Fenris nodded politely. “Hawke,” he said.

She nodded in return. “Surprised to see you here,” she said.

“Varric insisted,” Fenris said dryly.

Roman scoffed. “Yeah, he’s pretty fucking persuasive.”

“That he is,” Fenris said, and he took a sip of his wine — normal, non-mulled wine.

Roman curiously eyed his glass. “Is that that Aggregio shit you like?”

He shook his head. “It’s Orlesian. A bit on the vinegar-y side, but I will take what I can get.” He gave her an odd look. “Besides, they don’t import goods from Tevinter here.”

She scoffed and swirled her drink. “Not legally, maybe. You should ask Varric to hook you up, get you some black-market fancy wine. He knows people.”

Fenris huffed in amusement. “That is an understatement. That dwarf knows everyone and their mother.”

Roman smirked at him, and she was surprised to find him smirking as well. Then she was surprised to find herself feeling this relaxed in Fenris’s company. They usually spent any time together walking on eggshells to avoid falling into the kinds of shouting matches he and Anders usually had. He must be pretty fucking drunk. 

She glanced down at her half-empty stein of mulled wine. Then again, she was pretty tipsy already too.

She took another deep drink, and Fenris sipped his wine as well. Then Aveline joined them. “Fenris, Hawke,” she said with an officious little nod. “Happy Satinalia.”

“And to you,” Fenris said. Then he raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to see the captain of the guard here.”

“I’m here for Varric, as you well know,” Aveline said testily. “Although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have a member of the city guard here to keep the peace. Just in case.” She frowned at the boisterous patrons in the room.

Roman rolled her eyes. “Don’t fucking bother. If you get involved in any fights here, you’ll only make things worse.”

“She’s got a point,” Fenris said. “It would be prudent for you to not get involved.”

Aveline pursed her lips, then sighed. “Donnic said the same thing,” she admitted.

“He is a wise man,” Fenris said.

Aveline shot him a resentful look. “You’re only saying that because he goes to your house every week to play cards.”

Fenris shrugged. “If you wish to rejoin our games, take it up with your husband, not with me.”

Aveline harrumphed and folded her arms, and Roman hid her smirk in her stein. Then Isabela and a pink-cheeked Merrill pushed their way through the crowd. 

“Ooh, hello everyone!” Merill said breathlessly. “Isabela was teaching me an Orlesian two-step! It’s very hard work though, a lot more hip twirling than I would have thought.”

Hip twirling? Roman thought. She didn’t think that Orlesian dances were known for their hip action. She glanced at Isabela, who winked at her. 

Merrill was looking around the tavern with wide eyes. “I’m so thirsty. I wonder if I can get a glass of water here?”

“Not likely, kitten,” Isabela said. “But here.” She plucked a stein from a passing tray and sniffed it, then handed it to Merrill. “Cider. Not water, but close enough.”

Merill beamed at her, then took a big gulp of cider, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You ought to eat something,” he warned.

Merrill lowered the stein and gave him a chiding look. “Don’t fuss, Fenris. I can hold my liquor, you know.” 

Fenris pursed his lips and looked away, and Isabela chuckled. “Now children, don’t fight, just dance. Who’s going to dance with me next?” She tilted her head cheekily at Aveline. “What about you, big girl? Care to dance?”

Aveline frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

Isabela grinned. “No, actually. Why? Are you a bad dancer?”

“I never said that,” Aveline said — defensively enough that Roman knew she must be a terrible dancer.

“It’s all right if you are,” Isabela said soothingly. “If you’re dancing with me, nobody will be looking at you anyway.”

“I’m not dancing with you,” Aveline said stiffly.

Isabela sighed. “Fine, fine. What about you, Hawke?”

“Not a fucking chance,” Roman said, and she finished off her mulled wine.

“Oh come on,” Isabela coaxed. “I can sense that you have moves.”

Roman sardonically lifted her eyebrow. “Ask me again and the only moves I’ll make are toward the fucking door.”

Isabela laughed. “All right, sweet thing, no need to get sassy.” Then, finally, she gave Fenris a slow and salacious smile.

He lowered his mostly-empty glass. “What?”

“What about you?” she said silkily. “Care to dance?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t dance.”

“Not even with me?” Isabela simpered.

“No, Isabela,” he said patiently. “Not even with you.”

She sauntered right up to him and trailed her finger down his chest. “How much do you want to bet that I can change your mind?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, and Aveline stepped away. “All right, I’m going, er, elsewhere.”

“Me too,” Roman drawled.

“Me too!” Merrill said with a nervous giggle. They all dispersed, Aveline toward the opposite side of the room and Merrill toward Varric’s table and Roman back toward the bar, all of them chased by Isabela’s husky laugh. 

Roman carefully pushed her way through the crowd at the bar and held up three fingers. A moment later, the bartender handed her a tumbler of whiskey, and she deftly flicked him another gold royal for a tip, which he caught in mid-air with a smile.

A deep, sarcastic voice spoke behind her — one she didn’t recognize right away. “Ain’t that flush of you, Champion.” 

She turned around and immediately stiffened. The person speaking to her was a tall and pasty fellow that she instantly recognized as one of Meredith’s more loyal Templars, accompanied by a shorter man who was also a Templar, both apparently on shore leave. 

An instinctive flush of anger bloomed in her gut, but she forced herself to ignore it. She might be half-drunk, but she was sober enough to know that getting in a fight with Templars at Varric’s party would be a shitty thing to do.

“Yeah, it was,” she said. “Fuck off and enjoy the party.” She started to step around the Templars, but they shifted in front of her.

Roman gave the taller Templar a flat look. “Get the fuck out of my way.”

Unfortunately, he didn’t listen; instead, he and his crony stepped closer. “We heard you’re a blood mage,” he growled.

The anger in her gut curdled, and she lifted her chin. “You heard that, huh?”

“Yeah,” the shorter Templar said. “So? It true?”

She laughed nastily. “You think I’d tell you if it was? How fucking stupid are you?” She tilted her head. “Oh wait, you’re Templars. Never mind, I answered my own question.”

The shorter Templar curled his lip and took a step toward her, and she tensed her fists, ready to hit him if he took another step. She wouldn’t use magic, not during this party, but she had no fucking qualms about punching someone in the face. 

The shorter Templar stepped even closer, and Roman bared her teeth in a snarl. But before she could raise her hand to strike, another voice interrupted. “Evening, fellas. Is there a problem ‘ere?”

Samson, Roman thought, and her shoulders loosened. He was standing just behind her with one hand tucked in his pocket and the other holding a stein, and his lips were curled in a polite smile — or seemingly polite, at least, though Roman could see the hint of mockery at the corners of his lips. 

The Templars were looking at Samson now instead of her, and the taller one sneered. “Samson. The fuck are you doing here?”

“Having a drink, same as you,” he said, and he lifted his stein. “Happy tidings and all that.”

The shorter Templar snorted, and the taller one folded his arms and jerked his head at Roman. “You friends with this apostate cunt or something? That why you’re stepping in for her?”

Roman swelled with anger. “Cunt?” she snarled, and she took a step toward the taller Templar. “Who the fuck are you calling a—” 

Samson grabbed her arm, and the shorter Templar laughed. “Oh ho, look at ‘im, putting the brakes on mages like he thinks he’s still a Templar.”

Roman wrested her arm away from Samson and glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her; he was looking at the two Templars still, and there was a quizzical look on his face now. “Does Cullen know you’re here?” he said.

The taller Templar went tellingly still, and the shorter one’s face crumpled into a scowl. “What’d you say?”

Samson shrugged and tucked his free hand back in his pocket. “Just askin’ if Cullen knows you’re here. Last I heard, the Knight-Captain had forbidden all of you from going to the Hanged Man or the Blooming Rose on your nights off.” He smirked. “Too much of a distraction, I heard.”

The shorter Templar stared at Samson. “How the fuck d’you know—”

The taller one elbowed him. “Shut it, you dimwit,” he hissed. He shot Samson and Roman a venomous look, then pulled his crony toward the door, and a moment later, they were gone.

Samson turned to her with a half-smile. “Bird,” he said, and he sipped from his stein.

She tutted. “I was handling that just fine without your help,” she said, but without any real heat. She hadn’t expected him to come, and frankly, it was kind of a nice surprise that he was here. He was wearing a rust-red shirt that was unbuttoned partway down his chest so she could see his chest hair, and… okay, fine, if she was being totally honest — an honesty she would entirely attribute to the mulled wine — he looked pretty attractive.

She took a gulp of her whiskey, then squinted at his chest. His shirt wasn’t unbuttoned, actually; he was just missing a couple of buttons. 

“Something wrong?” he said.

She scoffed and plucked at his open shirt. “You look sloppy as fuck.”

He twisted his lips ruefully. “Yeah. Nicest shirt I’ve got, if you can believe it.” 

“You should just let me buy you something new,” she said, for the umpteenth time. “Then you don’t have to go around looking like shit.”

“If I look like shit, why’re you staring?” he asked.

She tore her eyes away from his chest and scowled at him. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure you are,” he said.  “It’s all right, Bird. You look good too.” His eyes travelled from her low-necked top to her knee-length skirt, and he smirked. “There’s a stain on your skirt.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know. Someone made me spill my fucking beer.”

“And you’re nagging me about being sloppy?” he said archly.

She gestured emphatically at her skirt. “This was an accident! You showed up looking like this!”

“Give me credit, will you? I tried,” he said plaintively.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You did not. You didn’t even shave. You’re all whiskery.”

He tsked. “You and the whiskers. I can’t figure out if you like them or not.”

“They look good,” she said without thinking. “They feel like shit on my skin.” Oops, that was more candid than she’d intended. 

She frowned resentfully at her half-empty tumbler, and Samson chuckled — a rough little heh-heh-heh that lifted an annoying buzzing sensation between her legs. “That doesn’t help me decide whether to shave the bloody whiskers off or not,” he said.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Just do what you want. It’s your face. I don’t care what you do.”

He sighed and shifted a little closer to her — close enough that their arms were touching. “You’re a bloody pain in the ass, you know that?”

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, fuck you, too.” She tapped her tumbler to his stein and finished off her drink.

He grinned at her, then took a gulp from his stein before speaking again. “You’re in a good mood. Having a nice time then, eh?”

“Not really,” she said. “I don’t like parties.” 

“Me neither,” he said. “Never really felt right when I was at them. Always got the feelin’ like there was something I wasn’t quite in on, even if I was right in the thick of it.”

She looked at him in surprise. That was exactly how she’d always felt at parties.

He met her eye, then rubbed a hand over his chin. “What? Something on my face?”

“If you don’t like parties, why did you come to this one?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I knew you had to come, for Tethras. Thought I’d keep you company.” He gave her a crooked little smile. “Misery loves company, or so they say, and I figured you’d be pretty bloody miserable.” He drank from the stein, and Roman watched the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. 

He lowered the stein and looked at her, then lifted his eyebrow. “What—”

She grabbed his shirt and dragged him into a kiss. 

He grunted in surprise and wrapped his arm around her waist, and Roman twined her tongue with his for a moment before pushing him away. “Your face is scratchy,” she said.

He stared at her stupidly for a second, his half-bared chest rising and falling as he panted for breath. Then a broad smile stretched across his face. “You bloody minx,” he said.

She smirked. Then a tall burly man bumped into her shoulder hard. 

She stumbled slightly, annoyed but unfazed; this fucking tavern was way too crowded, after all. A second later, however, the man’s disparaging tone made it clear that the bump was definitely not an accident. “Look at this,” he drawled. “The Champion’s a whore for the beggar.” He bared his yellowed teeth at her in a semblance of a grin. “Times so desperate that you’ve got to fuck the trash on the street?”

A ringing rage suddenly burst in her ears. Without thinking, she swung her empty tumbler up and smashed it across the burly asshole’s face. 

“Roman!” Samson barked.

The man stumbled back with a howl of pain, and the people around them cried out in shock and tried to shuffle away. Roman ignored them and took a threatening step toward the burly asshole, and Samson grabbed her arm. 

“Roman, stop,” he hissed. 

She twisted out of his grip. “He said you’re trash,” she yelled. “You’re not fucking trash. He’s the trash.”

Samson opened his mouth, but before he could reply, the burly man’s big hand squeezed her shoulder in a painful grip. “You fucking bitch—”

She viciously clawed at his hand, and when he whipped his hand back with a yelp, she raised the now-cracked tumbler, ready to smash it across his face a second time.  

“Stop!” Aveline shouted. She pushed through the crowd and stepped between Roman and the burly man. “Hawke, what’s happening here?”

“She hit me in the face, that fucking bitch!” the burly man bleated. 

Roman snarled and took another threatening step toward him, but Aveline held up a hand. “Enough,” she said loudly, and she turned toward the burly man. “Outside, now. Unless you want to come with me to the holding cells.” 

“Yeah, get the fuck out of here,” Roman spat. “If I see your fucking face again—”

Samson grabbed her hand and pried the tumbler from her fingers. “Come on,” he said in exasperation, and he started pulling her away toward the back of the tavern. 

She tried to pull her hand out of his grip. “What are you doing? Let me go!” 

“Getting you somewhere quiet to calm down,” he gritted.

“I am calm,” she yelled. “It’s that asshole who isn’t calm! You heard him, he fucking started it!” 

Samson didn’t reply, and he didn’t let go of her hand. He kept pulling her through the tavern, out of the main room with its music and its noise and through to the inn area at the back, which was much quieter. 

She sighed loudly and smacked his arm. “Let me go. I’m fucking calm.”

“No,” he said, and he kept tugging her through the corridors until they were in a secluded back corner of the inn, where a few dilapidated crates and barrels sat there waiting to either be repaired or thrown away. 

Samson finally released her hand and folded his arms. “I told you not to get into fucking fights for me.”

She glared at him. How dare he scowl at her like he was the angry one? “It wasn’t my fault. He was looking to start a fight!”

“You made the fight happen,” he accused.

“I did not!” she retorted.

He gave her a chiding look. “You hit him with a bloody tumbler, Bird.”

“You’re not fucking trash!” she yelled.

He wilted and rubbed his forehead. “Bloody Maker’s balls…”

“You’re not trash,” she railed. “There’s nothing wrong with you. He doesn’t even fucking know you, how can he just go around—”

Samson suddenly clasped her neck in his hands and pinned her against the wall, and Roman gasped at the impact of her back striking the wall. “You’re lookin’ for an excuse to fight,” he said roughly. “You say you’re not, but you are.”

She glowered at him, stung by the injustice of this accusation. “I am not,” she retorted. “I don’t want to — I don’t want to be this way! You think I like being all — fucking pissed all the time?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying. I just…” He sighed. “Maker, I don’t know what I’m saying. I just… don’t want you to get in fucking fights for me. I can fight for myself.”

“But you don’t,” she said. “You don’t fight when they pick on you, and I hate it.”

His eyebrows rose, and he released her neck. “Right, right. Because I’m a coward, right?”

Her frustration ratcheted higher. “You’re not a fucking coward!” she shouted. “You’re — there’s nothing wrong with you!”

He scoffed and folded his arms. “Are you blind or something? I’m a lyrium-addicted beggar with missing buttons on my best bloody shirt.”

She glared viciously at him and prodded his half-bared chest. “There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t wrong with me too. If you’re fucking trash, then so am I.”

He stared at her without speaking, and Roman’s belly twisted; his expression was softening from anger into something far softer and more unnerving.

She curled her lip. “What the fuck are you looking at me like that for?”

A little smile lifted the corners of his lips. “That was almost romantic, Bird.”

She recoiled slightly, then shoved his abs. “Don’t be fucking stupid. It was not.”

He didn’t move. “It was, sort of. You going to be giving me roses in the moonlight next?”

His smile was broad and his tone was playful now, and Roman’s annoyance swelled, along with the hot feeling in her cheeks. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, and she shoved him again.

He grabbed her wrist and pinned it back against the wall, and a sudden hot rush of lust flooded between her legs. She twisted her wrist, and Samson stepped closer, close enough that she was trapped against the wall by his body. 

He stroked her cheek with his other hand, and Roman twisted her face away. “Quit it,” she snapped.

He gripped her jaw and turned her face to look at him, and her heart thudded between her legs at the force of his hand on her jaw. She slipped her free hand into his open shirt and twisted his nipple, and he gasped in pain and released her jaw. 

His hand on her wrist only tightened, however, and Roman gasped with excitement at the firmness of his fingers around her wrist. Then he captured her other hand and forced it back against the wall as well. 

“Bloody wildcat,” he growled. “Just calm down, will you?”

“Then let me go,” she snapped breathlessly.

He huffed. “See, I don’t think you really want me to.”

“Yes I do,” she said belligerently.

He lifted his eyebrows skeptically. “You sure? Then tell me again to let you go, and I’ll do it. Go on, say it again.”

His tone was taunting, and it was like tossing oil on her flaring temper and her lust. She sneered at him but didn’t speak, and he let out a smug little laugh. “Didn’t think so. I know what you’re really looking for.”

“You don’t know shit,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I do,” he said, and he pressed his hips to hers.

His cock was a hard ridge pressing against the vee of her thighs, and her lips fell open with a gasp. Then Samson pressed his mouth against her ear. “You want me to fuck you,” he whispered. “That’s why you’re wearing this skirt, isn’t it?”

She dragged in a breath and wriggled in his grip, rubbing herself against his groin in the process. “What the fuck are you talking about?” she panted.

“This skirt,” he murmured in her ear. “This is the one you had on when we first fucked in the alley outside.”

His voice was low and sly, and the heat in her cheeks and her abdomen swelled even more. He was right, unfortunately; this was that same skirt, the same one Samson had shoved up before pinning her against the wall to fuck her from behind, and she’d be lying if she hadn’t thought about it when putting it on this evening. She wasn’t very well going to admit that, though.

Unfortunately, it seemed that she didn’t need to; Samson was laughing softly against her ear, that smug and knowing little chuckle that both enraged her and riled her up to a maddening degree. “Aw, you got dressed up for me tonight, eh?” he teased. “That’s romantic too.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “Fuck you, fuck you, I hate you—”

He released her wrist and slid his palm up along her thigh, and Roman broke off with a convulsive gasp. Then he was rubbing her sex, his fingers sliding against her throbbing pussy through her smalls, and he was talking in her ear once more.

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bird,” he murmured. “I picked out this shirt for you, too.”

His fingers between her legs, his voice in her ear, his whiskers scratching her face… She fucking wanted him, and it was so annoying. She gasped in a breath and tried to gather her scrambled thoughts. “You picked the shitty shirt with missing buttons for me? Fuck you,” she moaned.

He laughed softly and pressed his fingers against her clit. “No, you daft idiot. I picked the one in your favourite colour.”

Her heart squeezed, and she scoffed. “Whatever. You’re the idiot.” 

“And you’re a bloody pain in my ass,” he purred. Then, without warning, he pushed the crotch of her smalls aside and slid one finger inside of her.

The unexpected pleasure of his finger drove a cry from her throat. She twisted her free hand in his shirt, and he released her other hand and covered her mouth. “Shh,” he hissed. “Keep your voice down, eh?”

His finger was curling relentlessly inside of her, striking at a spot inside of her that was making her legs feel shaky, and she couldn’t stop herself from moaning against his palm. She thrust her hips eagerly toward his hand, and he exhaled hard.

“Maker’s balls, Bird,” he groaned. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

She twisted her face away from his palm. “Fuck me,” she rasped. “Fuck me right now.”

“Where am I supposed to do that?” he said quietly. “There’s no furniture here.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” she said.

He smiled slowly at her, then suddenly pulled his finger free. Before Roman could protest or say a word, he was lifting her up and depositing her on a dusty barrel at waist-height. 

He roughly reached into her skirt, and she lifted her hips so he could pull her smallclothes off. “If I get a splinter in my ass, you’re helping me get it out,” she threatened.

He shot her a reproving look as he shoved her smallclothes in his pocket. “Look, d’you want to fuck here or not?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Then stop complaining and spread your legs,” he commanded. 

She glared at him as she parted her knees. “Don’t fucking tell me what to do.” 

He gave her a reproachful look as he unbuttoned his trousers, but Roman ignored it; she was too focused on his cock, the thick hard length of it straining against the fabric of his smalls, and now he was pulling his cock out and stroking it with one hand while he stepped closer to her…

She eagerly shifted closer to the edge of the barrel, and Samson’s eyes dropped to her thighs. “Come on, Bird, let me have a look at you,” he breathed. He lifted the edge of her skirt to look at her pussy, and Roman spread her legs wide so he could see her better.

The look on his face grew hungry, and Roman stared at his lustful expression with a growing hunger of her own. “Pervert,” she accused.

He looked up at her and grinned. “Takes one to know one,” he teased. He stepped closer to the barrel and grabbed her hip, then thrust into her hard.

She gasped and jolted, then wiggled closer to the edge of the barrel so he could fuck her deeper, and he groaned and grabbed her thigh. “Put your legs around me,” he urged.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles together at the small of his back. He thrust into her again, and this time she was forced to cry out with pleasure; the edge of the barrel was digging into her ass a bit, but with her legs wrapped around him, it felt like he was striking much deeper inside of her with every thrust. 

He gripped her hip with one hand and the edge of the barrel with the other and slammed his cock inside of her, and Roman moaned again.

“Shut the fuck up, Bird,” he groaned, and he slammed into her again. She gasped and sank her teeth into the side of his neck, and he groaned and thrust into her over and over, rapid deep thrusts that sent ripples of pleasure through her fingers and her toes, and she greedily sucked and bit his neck to stop herself from moaning at how fucking good it felt. 

After a couple of blissful minutes, Samson gasped fitfully and dug his fingers painfully into her thigh, and she grunted against his neck as his cock grew even harder inside of her. He came a moment later, shuddering and painting against her collarbone as he thrust into her a frenzied blur, and Roman savoured the forceful striking thrusts of his cock as he rode out his climax. 

A long moment later, he sighed heavily and nipped her neck, and the feeling of his teeth on her neck sent a little shiver down her spine. He patted her thigh, and she untwined her legs from around his waist with a little grimace. 

“My ass hurts,” she complained. 

He smirked at her as he stepped back and tucked his cock into his trousers. “Sorry,” he said.

“You are not,” she accused. 

“Ah, you’re right, I’m not,” he said unrepentantly, and he helped her down from the barrel. She immediately felt his seed dripping down the inside of her thigh, and she quickly untied the red scarf from around her wrist to wipe it up. 

“Hey, I’ll do that,” Samson said affably, and he reached for the scarf.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Why?”

“Because I’m a gentleman, o’course,” he said. “Gentlemen clean up their messes.”

His face was lit with a broad shit-eating grin, and Roman couldn’t decide whether she wanted to laugh or to smack him. Instead, she shot him a flat look as she wiped the inside of her thigh. “You really want to be a gentleman? Then you can go down on me.”

His grin fell into a look of surprise. “Eh?”

“I didn’t come,” she said. 

He grimaced. “Oh. Balls. Sorry, Bird.” He eyed her uncertainly. “You… you really want me to go down on you? Now?”

She paused in her wiping and raised her eyebrows. “What, you’ll fuck me at the back of the Hanged Man but you won’t go down on me?”

“It’s not that,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just…” He scrunched his face up a bit. “I already came in you.”

“So?” she said.

“So I’m not really keen to, uh, eat my own cooking, if you get my meaning,” he said.

Roman gave him a withering look. “Are you fucking serious?”

“Yeah…” He sighed and wilted. “You want me to do it anyway, don’t you?”

She clicked her tongue. “You’re the one who was saying you’re a gentleman.” She went back to wiping the inside of her thighs.

Samson rubbed the back of his neck. Then, to her surprise, he kneeled in front of her. “All right, twist my bloody arm,” he grumbled. He pushed her skirt up to her hips, and Roman felt a fresh thrill of heated anticipation pooling between her legs. 

He leaned in and kissed her hip, and her pussy pulsed at the nearness of his mouth. Then he sighed. “Can’t believe I’m doing this,” he muttered, and he drew his tongue along the length of her cleft.

She gasped and sank her fingers into his hair. Despite his reluctance, he was doing just as good a job as he always did: his tongue was circling smoothly around her clit, teasing her with the exact amount of pressure that felt fucking good while making her crave an even firmer touch of his tongue.

She dragged in a shaky breath and rolled her hips toward his mouth. He drew his tongue firmly over her clit, and the firm pressure sent a shock of pleasure through her body.

She gasped and clenched her fingers in his hair. He lapped at her clit again, and she bucked toward his mouth. He reached up and placed his palms on her bare thighs to push them wider apart, and the heat of his hands on her skin sent another thrill of pleasure through her limbs. 

She rocked her hips toward his tongue, and within seconds she was grinding against his mouth, her rapture rising steadily with every smooth hot stroke of his tongue against her swollen clit. She gasped convulsively and pulled his hair, and he growled into her pussy and tugged at her clit with his lips, and she let out a moan. 

He leaned away and shot her a resentful look. “Seriously, Roman, shut up—”

“Don’t fucking stop,” she gasped, and she pulled his head between her legs once more.

He grunted and sealed his lips over her clit, and she shoved the back of her other hand against her mouth to stifle herself, and not a moment too soon: a few blissful licks later, she was shuddering and slumping back against the wall as her rapture rippled from her pulsing clit down to her calves and all the way up to her scalp.

She closed her eyes and leaned her back against the wall, giving the wall all of her weight as the pleasure washed through her limbs. When her climax had finally ebbed away, she dropped her hand away from her mouth and sighed.

Then Samson kissed her and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

“Mmph,” she protested, but his tongue was sliding against her own. She poked his belly and bit his tongue, and he pulled away from her.

“See?” he said pointedly. “Doesn’t taste so good, does it?”

She gave him a shut-the-fuck-up look. “Tastes like it always does when I suck you off after you fucked me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

She snorted and reached into his pocket to take back her smallclothes. “You really are a fucking idiot,” she told him. She pulled her smalls back on and smoothed out her skirt, then started to sidle past him toward the corridor, but he stopped her with a hand on her hip.

She paused and looked up at him, then frowned; he looked quite serious. “What’s wrong?” she said. 

“Stop getting into fights for me,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you getting into trouble.”

She sighed in annoyance, and he squeezed her hip. “I mean it, Roman. You have to keep your head down more.”

“Are you going to tell the whole world to fuck off and leave me alone, then?” she said archly. “Because if everyone gets off my case, I’d gladly keep my fucking head down.” 

He clicked his tongue wearily, then pecked her on the forehead and gave her butt a little smack. “Forget it, all right? Let’s go get another drink.”

She shot him a resentful look and made her way from their dark abandoned corner back into the nearest corridor, then stopped short in surprise: Isabela was leaning casually against the wall. 

She looked up at them with a knowing grin, and Roman stared at her. “Were you listening in?” she demanded.

“Yes, actually,” Isabela said. 

Roman recoiled. “Why the fuck were you listening in?”

“I was guarding this hallway so you could have a private moment,” Isabela said. “It’s hardly my fault that you make so much noise.”

Roman deflated a bit. “Oh. Fuck.”

Samson rubbed his chin and gave Roman an I-told-you-so look. Roman hunched her shoulders defensively, and Isabela let out a throaty laugh as she approached them.  “Don’t look so embarrassed, sweet thing. Having a quick one at the back of a tavern is perfectly natural. We’ve all done it.” 

“Thanks, I guess,” Roman muttered.

Samson eyed Isabela cautiously, then touched his fingers to his forehead in a small salute. “Kind of you to keep an eye out for us, cap’n.”

Isabela raised her eyebrows. “Well well. Captain, you say? Talk dirty to a girl, why don’t you?” She elbowed Roman. “You should invite me to join you next time.”

Roman rolled her eyes. “Maker’s fucking balls,” she complained, and she started walking away.

“That wasn’t a no,” Isabela called after her. 

She shook her head and didn’t reply. A second later, Samson caught up to her. “Er, what was that exactly?”

“Approval from Isabela,” Roman grunted. 

“Really?” Samson said. “That’s, er, nice?”

“Whatever. I don’t need anyone’s approval,” Roman said. But for some reason, she didn’t feel as irate as she would have expected from having Isabela listen in to her and Samson fucking. And Isabela had even been friendly to Samson, which was — well, not unexpected necessarily, because Samson and Isabela had barely ever spoken. But Roman was so accustomed to seeing people treat Samson like a pile of nugshit that witnessing the opposite was… nice.

Yeah, it was nice. The more Roman thought about it, the more she realized that she was actually feeling… pretty good, actually. She was still a little tipsy from the booze, and her damp smallclothes were reminding her of the excellent illicit sex she and Samson had just had at the back of the tavern, and someone other than herself had treated Samson like a person…

Damn, she thought in surprise. Against all odds, she was actually feeling… kind of happy.

She looked up at Samson with a little smile, and his eyebrows jumped up. “What’s with you?”

She shrugged. “Nothing,” she said. “Come on.” They stepped back into the main room of the Hanged Man, and Roman balked for a second; it was somehow even more noisy and crowded and hot than before. The musical troupe in the corner were playing a song with a hard driving beat while the majority of the patrons twirled and spun to the music with varying degrees of coordination and drunkenness. Every few minutes, a howl of laughter and dismay would go up from one of the tables where people were playing cards, and the entire room was scented with mulled wine.

A funny swelling feeling filled her chest. Then Samson leaned in close to her ear. “It’s bloody hopping in here,” he yelled. “I’ll find some drinks, you find us a corner?”

“No,” she yelled back. “Come on.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him into the middle of the crowd.

She ruthlessly pushed her way through the pulsing crowd of bodies until they reached Varric’s table. He was still sitting in pride of place at the head of the table, and the rest of their little crew was sitting with him and playing cards: Fenris and Merrill were on the left side of the table and Anders was on the right, having apparently gotten away from the clinic at last. Aveline was sitting beside him with no cards and her arms petulantly folded, and they all looked up when Roman pushed her way through the crowd. 

Varric smiled. “Hawke! Samson! Have a seat, join us.”

“Thanks,” Roman said, and she poked Anders’s arm. “Move over.”

“Happy Satinalia to you too,” he drawled as he shifted over. “Where’ve you been?”

“Busy,” she said. She pushed Samson down onto the bench beside Anders, then seated herself on the padded right arm of Varric’s chair. 

“Busy doing what?” Isabela said as she sashayed over. 

“None of your fucking business,” Roman said, but with no heat. 

Isabela winked cheekily and sidled around to sit on the other arm of Varric’s chair, and Anders snorted in amusement. “This is rich. Varric, you look like the owner of a harem now.”

Isabela tsked. “A harem of two isn’t much of a harem. Merrill, you should come and sit in Varric’s lap to round us out.”

Merrill tittered. “Who, me? Oh no, I couldn’t!”

Anders glanced at Aveline. “What about you, then? You could go on up and sit in Varric’s lap.”

“Over my dead body,” Aveline said flatly.

“Over mine, actually,” Varric said drolly. “I don’t think I could survive all of Aveline’s muscle.”

Merrill, Anders and Isabela laughed, and Aveline smiled faintly. Then Varric tapped Roman’s arm. “Are you and Samson joining in the next round, then?” 

His tone was casual, but his expression was faintly hopeful — the look he usually wore when asking if Roman would play cards with them, even knowing that she was going to say no. 

But today wasn’t a usual day, and Roman wasn’t in a usual mood. She shrugged. “Yeah, deal us in. Right?” She looked askance at Samson.

“I suppose,” he said tentatively. “I, uh, haven’t any coin to bet, though.”

“That’s okay,” Varric assured him. “The elf here hasn’t got any coin, either. He’s just playing on good faith.” He jerked a thumb at Fenris, who sighed and tugged his ear. 

“I’ll win it back next week, I swear it,” he grumbled. 

Varric nodded affably. “Uh-huh. Whatever you say.”

The others chuckled as Fenris tsked, and Roman watched contentedly as Samson’s posture relaxed a bit. Then she looked at Varric once more, and an unusual feeling of warmth spread through her chest. He was smiling broadly at her, and Roman knew that he understood the significance of her agreement to play cards.

She shrugged and looked away from him. “Happy Satinalia or whatever,” she muttered.

He chuckled. “You too, Hawke. Now come on, let’s play.”

“We’re all waiting on you,” Anders pointed out.

“All right, all right,” Varric said affably, and he set down a card. “Okay, Daisy, it’s your turn.” 

The round of wicked grace continued, with Anders seeming to have the winning hand. Roman listened quietly as they chatted and teased each other in turn, and she marvelled at the strangeness of the situation — the strangeness of sitting here with this weird little group of misfits, all of them victims of shitty circumstance in one way or another, now joined together in a mish-mashed group of semi-friends who spent most of their time together and helped each other out when help was needed, whether they even particularly liked each other or not.

Kind of like a family, Roman thought, and that weird squirmy feeling of warmth invaded her chest again.

She shifted slightly on Varric’s chair. Then Samson subtly squeezed her ankle. “You all right, Bird?” he said quietly. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine,” she said. And for once, she genuinely meant it.

#samson #samson da2 #raleigh samson #samson/hawke #samson x hawke #romanson #pikapeppa writes #schoute CREATES AMAZING OCs THAT I ADORE