#so i promise that is to come... in the future (if i have the time and bandwidth to write more and if people want to read more)

[helianthus-tarot]

RELATIONSHIP: What do men think about you? How do they see you? (general)

This reading is about men, people who identify as men and/or people who have a strong masculine energy, and their perception of you. It's meant to be about men as a group, but you can try asking about your person, though I can't promise you'll get an accurate answer. If you want to ask about a woman, or someone with a strong feminine energy, you can try, but again, I can't promise you'll get an accurate answer. Keep in mind, when we talk about perception, it's bound to be biased in some way, so if you get a negative message, don't let it affect your self-esteem.

I posted the extended version on my Patreon which includes what do men who are ❤️ romantically attracted ❤️ to you think about you 👀📝 There are other 60+ fun and juicy readings on Patreon too so definitely check it out!

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Instructions: Focus on the topic and ask yourself the question. Choose a number/picture that you feel the most drawn to or that you can’t stop looking at. Trust your intuition. May the message resonate. Let me know which pile you choose! Feedback is appreciated!

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PILE 1

General: 10 of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles, 6 of Swords Rx (The Hermit). The Sun, The High Priestess.

They sense a stable and grounded vibe from you; they think that you are the type of person who moves slowly or who takes time to evaluate things before you make your decisions, the type of person who considers future impacts and future gains when you make your decisions, the type of person who cares about being sensible, like, having good personal finance skills, knowing how to take care of your health, etc. Some of them think you come from a wealthy family, upper middle class and above, you are privileged, or you receive material support from your family. For some of you, this could be the wealth or the material comfort that you’ve built on your own, but they assume it’s provided by your family.

Despite the privilege/wealth they think you have, whether it’s coming from your own effort or your family, they think you are also generous with it. You share your abundance with others, you guide and help others when you can, especially by providing practical help or material help. So them seeing you as well-off isn’t really coming from jealousy or envy, it isn’t something they do to look down on you or to treat you like you grew up spoiled; it’s just something they think you have, and they think you use it for good.

Some of them see you as someone who could be a good spouse, whether they are romantically interested in you or not. They could simply think that you’ll make a nice partner for their own son/daughter/etc, for example. They think you’re quite reserved and conservative. What I mean by conservative here is not necessarily you believing in traditional beliefs, it’s just that, you give off the vibe of someone who doesn’t really party a lot, you are kind but you aren’t exactly a social butterfly, perhaps you prefer to stay at home and cook or read or do activities that are pretty lowkey or that make you feel calm and stable. That vibe. You come across as committed and responsible to them, hence a good spouse material.

But they also think that you secretly have some wounds or sources of stress that you haven’t moved on from, and they wonder if these wounds are the things that make you feel a little distant sometimes, like, you don’t properly open up. Some of you lowkey give off a sombre vibe, despite outwardly showing that you are happy or you are enjoying your time and interactions with people, so they pick up on it.

You ‘make’ them feel at ease with themselves, they feel like they can be who they truly are around you and perhaps they also feel like you bring out their good sides, you ‘make’ them feel inspired or encouraged to be truthfully and authentically themselves. For some of them, your responsible vibe brings out their inner child, so they usually get the desire to express themselves more around you, without shame, without insecurities. Some of them may be more playful too as a result, it depends on their age, but they could ‘poke’ you playfully so you come out of your restraint, especially if you have a serious demeanour. They also feel open towards you, they feel inclined to receive you with open arms. You evoke curiosity too, hence why some of them may poke you playfully just so they can see more of you. Some of them are drawn to you in a way that they can’t explain, though this is probably because you bring out their inner child.

EXTENDED VERSION IS ON PATREON! What do men who are romantically interested in you think about you? How do they see you? Is it the same or is it different? Do they notice the real you? 🫢 Find out here! 👀📝

PILE 2

General: The Empress Rx (Judgement Rx), The Moon Rx (3 of Wands Rx), Temperance. Ace of Swords, 10 of Cups.

They think you are mild-mannered and placid, kinda passive. Perhaps you don’t react much, or perhaps they often see you taking the less confrontational way out. There’s this appropriate, agreeable and peaceful vibe coming from you, like you try to be mature, and patient, and try not to ruffle feathers. They think you often choose to be the bigger person, but some of them disagree with this decision. They think there are situations where you need to be more forceful and push for what you want, but you choose not to. Some of them could think that your peacefulness is actually coming from a lack of maturity (as if you aren’t fully ‘developed/mature’ yet to them, whatever this means) and a lack of self-assurance. Basically they think you haven’t properly come into yourself or stepped into your power. 

This is just an example, let’s say you chose not to confront a problematic situation because you were secretly scared or you were insecure about something related to it, but you acted as if you just didn’t want to fight or force things to go your way, you wanted to be mature so you chose to let go of that situation instead. That’s the vibe that they get from you, or that’s the assumption they make about you. You sound wise when you talk and they might think that you are interested in the spiritual or philosophical side of things, but yeah. Remember this is their perception, in reality it could be that you actually speak and act from experience and wisdom.

They think you are secretive about your feelings, not in a good way, they think you suppress a lot of things, especially negative emotions. They think you often choose to show a smooth and kind demeanour to the world instead of the murky, ugly feelings that you truly have. And some of them see this as harmful, because they think you aren’t really dealing with those, or you don’t really address those issues. Honestly if they are right about you, I wonder if you have Enneagram 9, because this sounds like it.

Some of you may not fit the beauty standard, they think you look like you could become more beautiful but you are still in the process of becoming, you’re still in that awkward stage or the stage where you haven’t quite realised your own worth/value/beauty yet. They may not see you as someone to pursue romantically, or to introduce to someone else, because of the lack of self-assurance that they perceive, they think you aren’t properly yourself, like you suppress parts of yourself and you could have insecurities with regard to that, and you don’t seem like you are open to working on those either.

Whether they are romantically interested in you or not, your presence makes them think about your romantic potential, about how you act in a group and around other people. Especially if you are a woman, some men think about the romantic potential of women around them, especially when they are deciding whether they want to stay friends or pursue something more. And they can be critical of your romantic potential, of how you act around people and in a group; it’s like their critical nature comes out more when you are around, their mind starts to turn and they start to sit and think and observe, and notice things that could be problems if you were to become their partner or their friend’s partner, etc. It’s very clinical though, I’m not saying it’s good, but they aren’t actively trying to be mean when they think these things.

Despite that, they think a connection/friendship with you can be very pleasant, not much drama because you aren’t the type for it, and so they are open to including you in their group, they are open to being nice to you and getting along with you. Some of them could see you as someone to protect, despite not having romantic feelings for you.

EXTENDED VERSION IS ON PATREON! What do men who are romantically interested in you think about you? How do they see you? Is it the same or is it different? Do they notice the real you? 🫢 Find out here! 👀📝

PILE 3

General: 5 of Wands Rx (Ace of Swords), The Emperor Rx (Ace of Wands), 6 of Pentacles. 4 of Swords, Page of Swords.

They think you are assertive and confident, but there’s a negative connotation to this. Not super negative to the point that they hate you, no, but it bothers them a little. They think you are outspoken and combative, you fight for what you believe in, you say what you think, you stand strong in yourself, but they think there’s something wrong with this, or they think you need to do it in a certain way, or in a better way, you need to be less this or less that. It’s that kind of feeling. You behave in a way that ruffles their feathers lol. 

In reality, it could be that you are actually pretty chill, you know how to balance yourself, when to push and when to wait and receive, you may not be that aggressive or difficult, just healthily assertive and forward (some of you actually come with rough edges, but I don’t think these are bad). Regardless, many of them just don’t receive your masculine traits well, as if those traits challenge their masculinity or beliefs/comfort in some way. Some of them could think that you are a little stuck-up or full of yourself, perhaps they judge this based on your demeanour (or your face, maybe you have a resting bitch face), so when you are just out and about minding your business, getting what you want, to them it looks like you are acting as if you own the place lol.

Some of them could pick up on your more playful side, but perhaps you don’t show it often or openly. It feels like for some of you, they think your playful side is something they need to bring out, and in order to do that, they need to deal with your sharp edges. Despite the edges that they think should be smoothen out, they think you are generous and helpful. You share what you have with people who need it, especially things like skills, expertise, practical knowledge, money and material possessions. When you are in this energy, they think you come across as reliable, secure and responsible. It’s the quality that brings out your calmness and conscientiousness. Some of them think you are good with children, or good with people who need your help since you know how best to support those people. It’s a good quality that they think you have, yet there’s that but.

But they are often triggered by you. Again, not in a super negative way, they don’t actually hate you, not really. It’s just that you make them want to say something to you, to poke you, to challenge you, to get you to talk and respond to them, to argue with you a bit. It’s like you disturb their peace for some odd reason, and they have a lot of opinions about it. They could be slightly mean with their words just to see how you react or just to scratch the itch of their annoyance. They may be randomly or unexplainably confrontational, making sharp comments out of nowhere, or telling you what they think about you unprovoked and in a way that isn’t really kind, as if they have no social skills to handle the situation with tact. You ‘disturb’ their peace, now they want to do the same to you. 

Some of them could take a more playful approach; they could intentionally be annoying towards you, tease you, make jokes and start random conversations with you, just to get you to respond to them. You evoke curiosity and desire to know, the way they go after this varies, like I’ve described, it depends on how kind and mature they are. Some of them may not be able to leave you alone without some kind of annoying behaviour or comment. They act like they know who you are, but it’s like, there’s a subconscious part of them that is lowkey open to change, as if they’re waiting to be proven wrong or they are waiting for reasons to change their mind about you. Perhaps they secretly feel like they don’t completely understand you, hence the desire to poke around.

EXTENDED VERSION IS ON PATREON! What do men who are romantically interested in you think about you? How do they see you? Is it the same or is it different? Do they notice the real you? 🫢 Find out here! 👀📝

PILE 4

General: The Sun, 4 of Pentacles Rx (King of Cups, 8 of Pentacles), The Empress. The Hanged Man, The World Rx.

You seem very genuine and positive to them. Your vibe is light and joyful, like a beautiful butterfly, it’s like you shine wherever you go. They think you like to laugh or smile, or you bring a lot of laughter and joy to people. They think you make people feel comfortable, you make your surroundings more beautiful and positive. They think you are full of inspiration and you seek to live your life the way you want, instead of following what’s accepted or what’s well-regarded by the external world. There’s this authenticity about you that is very freeing or liberating, like someone who passionately pursues what brings them joy and lives their best life. There’s a childlike quality to you, maybe you look youthful, or you give off a youthful, sunny vibe. Despite you having the wisdom to know that the world isn’t always good and nice, they think you are the type of person who chooses to see the good in others and the world anyway. Despite your youthful vibe, they don’t see you as naive.

They think you attract attention; some of them think it’s because of your vibe, it’s positive to be around you. Some of them think it’s because of your looks/beauty. Some of them think it’s both. They think you are stereotypically beautiful (i.e. you meet the beauty standard), or you take good care of yourself, like smelling and looking good, which makes you look beautiful. They think you have a good self-esteem, you value yourself, you know your own worth, so you live your life like that, but without arrogance. They think you are loving, generous and kind; to people, to animals and plants. It’s the vibe that they pick up on.

If you are a woman, they could think that you like stereotypically feminine things, like jewellery or the colour pink, cooking or baking, or being a homemaker or a mother. They think you deserve to live a good life, you deserve to have your needs met and some more. They think you aren’t closed off, you are open, you show your vulnerability with grace and integrity, you aren’t ashamed of what makes you human. When you have something you are working on, like a flaw or a weakness, you don’t mind showing it to them. So they can only acknowledge the emotional maturity that comes with that ability, i.e. they think you can do that because you are emotionally secure.

You ‘make’ them feel calm, to be honest, it’s like being around you put them into this introspective mode. They start thinking and pondering life, and feeling open to having their perspectives changed, to shift their understanding, and to look deeper into things. You make them more philosophical, and possibly also spiritual. Maybe through their observation of you, or words that you say; they learn more about the world and themselves, about their previous beliefs and misconceptions and how these can change, about a better way to be, a better approach to take, nuances they haven’t considered. They are also more patient around you, gentler and slower to react. They feel more open and willing to change their ways and adapt to you. Some of them are also more open to giving you what you need, even if it’s not something they normally do.

EXTENDED VERSION IS ON PATREON! What do men who are romantically interested in you think about you? How do they see you? Is it the same or is it different? Do they notice the real you? 🫢 Find out here! 👀📝

#pick a card #pick a pile #tarotblr #tarot readers #tarot community #divination #pick a picture #free tarot readings #pick an image #free tarot #pac #love tarot readings #future spouse tarot #love tarot #future spouse

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 15

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: One more day and I'm a homeowner

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You slow to a crawl amid the retinue of carts and horses. The sun beams down relentlessly on the summer fields. As you laze in a sheen of sweat, Bryce works to tie a swath of linen over the cart in a makeshift canopy. You thank him for his effort, his own brow slick with sweat as he tugs at his mail. 

“I admit my winter’s hide is not made well for this sun,” he utters as he reaches to pet Daisy, the loyal steed tied to his new one as he rides in step with her. “Let’s hope we might reach the tundra in due time.” 

“Mm, it is rather hot,” you murmur, exhausted from the endless blaze. It’s three days thus far and many more ahead of you. 

“Little maid, cannot complain even when you should,” he tuts. 

The cart rolls on, rocking your body as the hooves clomp down on dusty grass. As the train passes over the lands, they leave a trodden path in their stead. The progress is steady but sluggish. 

The wheels creak and lurch to a halt as Bryce reins in both horses. You sit up and peer ahead, unable to see more than horse tails and overloaded carts, the helms of soldiers shining under the sun. The knight on his dark steed sits up straighter, alert as he leans forward. 

“Eh, maid, keep watch on the mare,” he tosses the reins at you as the royal party comes to a halt. 

His horse kicks up dirty as he gallops around the edge of the train. You watch him bend over the beast’s long neck and hurdle ahead of the clog of vehicles and bodies. Something is amiss. 

You wait, nervous, as other servants cluster together and wonder aloud. Soldiers mill up and down the winding retinue, themselves sharing no more than looks. You climb out of the cart and walk on your cramped legs. You stroke Daisy’s head as she huffs through her nostrils and nuzzles your shoulder. 

“I don’t know either,” you tell her softly. 

The pause stretches on and Bryce returns, his horse in a lather. He swings off and lands solidly on his feet. He looks between you and the grey mare. 

“Some hold-up, nothing to worry for,” he explains, “enough time to find some water for these beasts.” 

He takes Daisy’s reins and hands them to you, “come, there is a river near. I can smell it.” 

You peek ahead and squint. You don’t know that you believe it is nothing though you can’t find a reason to argue. You nod and tug on Daisy’s bit. 

The soldier leads you across the grass, well away from the front of the train. Others disperse to sit in the meadow and chew on their rations. You continue into the trees and the trickle of the promised water has Bryce proudly exclaiming. He weaves his way around the trunks to come upon the bank, putting his dark brown horse to drink. As the larger stallion laps noisily, Daisy lowers her head and patiently gulps up the ripples. 

“Where did you find Chestnut?” you ask. “He must be a castle horse.” 

“Aye, he was locked away in some stall. They said he is vicious. Due to be horse pie.” 

“Horse pie? But he is fast.” 

“They did not lie. He likes to nip,” Bryce warns as you step between the horse, “watch your fingers, mouse.” 

“Perhaps he only did not like being locked up,” you suggest and gently touch the horse’s long mane, working out a tangle in the hair. He doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Chestnut?” Bryce says, “you’ve given him a name of your own.” 

“You didn’t say if he had one,” you brush your hand over the fine short hairs along the horse’s shoulder. “I thought it suited him.” 

“Mm, I might call his Hellion but Chestnut is kinder, I s’pose.” 

You chuckle. The horse lifts its head and you near the river’s edge. It turns to sniff you and Bryce reaches for your arm. The horse drips water onto you as it sniffs your neck. It lifts its lip, showing its square teeth, then touches its nose to yours, turning back to the water to nicker. 

“Mm, you do have a way of taming the wildest creatures, eh,” he muses as he lets you go. “Come, I saw some berries back in the bush.” 

You leave the horses near the water and follow the soldier between the trees. As he squats to pluck out dark blackberries, you sway on your feet and glance back toward the road. 

“Why have we stopped, sir?” You ask. 

“Told ya, no matter to worry for,” he stands and offers you a handful, “be thankful for it. We’ve found a nice horde and it will do ya good to be out of the sun. And to eat.” 

You accept the bounty and frown. You know he isn’t telling you all but you know he wouldn’t do so without reason. You stand and pick at the berries, biting in hungrily as the juices coat your mouth. The soldier eats as he picks, plucking a few into his purse as well. 

“How do ya like squirrel meat?” He stands again, “I could find us a morsel for the evening fire. Perhaps a hare if I can.” 

“If you like, sir,” you accept. You chew your lip and search the trees. “Is there truly nothing wrong?” 

“I told ya not to worry,” he growls. “So don’t trouble yerself.” 

He beckons you back towards the river. You follow, not asking any more questions. It’s expected that the road won’t be easy, something just feels awry. 

⚔️

The party makes camp at the point of the delay. You return to the road as Bryce grumbles about the evening warmth. The dry heat lingers in the air even as the sun begins its descent. 

“Come, you will need look in on the queen, I’m certain,” he ties the horses to the cart and urges you along. 

You notice less soldiers as you stride through the train. It’s not so crowded as before. The missing bodies add to your uneasiness. Still, the queen’s tent has been erected and guards keep vigil right outside. You enter and find her alone. She has a veil over her hair as she taps the brim of a cup with her fingernail. 

“Alas, a maid!” She snaps as she sees you, “I’ve been calling for wine all night and those damned soldiers only bring me water.” 

“Your highness,” you back out of the tent. The soldiers do not move. 

You go to the luggage and search for a bottle. You grab one and return to the tent. The soldier at your right extends his arm before you can enter. 

“No wine,” he snatches the bottle, “king’s orders.” 

You blanch and look ahead at the silken flap. You nod and thank the soldier as he keeps the wine under his arm. You blow out between your breath and once more push through the draped fabric. 

“Your highness, there is to be no wine. The king has commanded it,” you say meekly. 

“Pardon me? Who are you to refuse me?” She stands and snarls. “My head is on fire, I need wine.” 

“Yes, your highness, but the king--” 

“I am the queen. My order is a good as his. Bring me wine. Now. You little twit.” 

You stare at her unmoving. 

“They won’t allow it, your highness--” 

A flurry of veil and skirts rushes towards you. Before you can react, a scalding heat radiates over your cheek, the force behind the queen’s slap rattling your head. You stagger back and clutch your head between your hands. 

“You stupid girl! I am the queen! You are a dumb maid!” She strikes you again, her hand glancing off your forearm, “stupid stupid twit!” 

She continues to hammer you with blows, closing her fists as she hits your shoulders and stomach. You shrink down, curling into yourself as you keep your head shielded. She huffs, tired from her assault, and twirls away. 

“I don’t want to see you unless you have a bottle in hand,” she snarls and kicks over the stool. “Go before I have you gutted.” 

You wine and stand straight, lip quivering. You turn and hold your left shoulder as it thrums. You step into the night air, aware that the soldiers could no doubt hear the queen’s fit. They say nothing and you don’t either. 

You continue through the train of bodies. You feel your cheek pulsing and your brow swelling. You keep your head down and as you reach the cart, you relieved to find it alone but for the two dozing horses. You climb up and turn towards the wooden wall, hiding against it as you hug the cushion. 

It isn’t so different from Debray, only that you don’t have Merinda to hold you, to share in your pain. You always preferred that it was you who faced the rather of the ladies. You only hope Lady Rezlyn isn’t issuing the same displeasure upon your companion. 

⚔️

The morning comes with the tweeting of birds and a distant rumble. You sit up and look towards the sky. There are no clouds to forewarn a storm. You stare into the horizon where the thunderous noise rolls over the plains. 

You see the figures on their approach. Men on horses. As soldiers rush to confront them, their alarm is eased by the wave of a familiar banner. It is the king and his party. 

Bryce grumbles as Daisy sniffs him and the coughs into his hand. He shakes his head as you lean out of the cart, watching the specks on the tapestry of green grass. You gasp as you feel him grip your wrist. 

“Eh, mouse, what’s happened to ya?” He demands as he pulls your attention back from the distance. 

You look at him and the tenderness in your cheek reminds you of the queen’s wrath. You wiggle free of his grasp and sit back against the side of the wagon. You shake your head. 

“I went to... the bushes to relieve myself, sir. I tripped.” 

He squints at you, his square jaw gritting. He stares daggers at you. You’re not a good liar but you can’t tell him the truth. 

“Tripped?” He echoes as his thick brows furrow. 

“Yes, sir, it was dark,” you say. “I’ll be alright.” 

“Mm, you look as if you were caught by a bear.” 

“Really, sir, I am well,” you put your head down. 

He growls under his breath and turns away. He fiddles around with his saddle bag before he returns to the cart. He reaches over the top, holding a folded cloth with an acrid smell roiling off of it. 

“Put it on ya face,” he demands. “It’ll soothe ya, make you a little less puffy.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

“You don’t go trippin’ no more. If ya do, ya let me know,” he scowls. 

You nod, sinking into a tense silence. You both know it’s a lie but neither of you will admit it. You put the cloth to your cheek and exhale. It cools your skin though the smell burns your nose. 

⚔️

That night you don’t return to the queen’s tent. Bryce claims there’s no need for it. She needs her sleep, as do you. It’s another lie you won’t call out. 

Several days pass in the cart. Short nights followed by sweltering days. It’s as if there is no end to the road or the heat. 

You sit on your knees, looking ahead as Bryce chews sweet leaves and spits onto the ground. Daisy’s tail sweeps behind her as she keeps a steady trot. You watch the progress with impatience, each moment feeling more and more trapped in the cart. 

“...down in Debray...” you hear a voice drift back. 

“...don’t like traitors, suppose...” another returns and you search over the carts to try to place the speakers. 

“Careful, mouse,” Bryce warns, “you’ll fall under the wheels. 

You sit back and face him, holding onto the side of the cart, “sir, what happened?” 

“What do ya mean? We’ve been riding,” he sniffs. 

“No, days ago, when we stopped. Something... in Debray?” 

He grimaces and spits out the leaves completely. He shakes his head, clearing his throat. 

“Nothing a maid needs worry about,” he girds. 

“I know, sir, my apologies. I’m only curious...” you hang your head, “I... I was raised there, is all.” 

He hums and rocks with the motion of Chestnut’s steps, “skirmish up a ways. Party on their way to the castle. Certainly, you know your former master’s deceit has bought him little good will.” 

“A skirmish?” 

“Ah, so it was, but nothing very dire. The king returned in good spirits, that rat lord—the duke with him,” Bryce explains, “course, it only suits that the lord should see to the defence of his own castle.” He chortles, “shouldn’t tell ya, maid, so ya keeps your lips sealed, but the duke meant to hide in the queen’s tent.” He shakes his head and sighs, “in the Hinterlands, them sortsa lords aren’t lords for long.” 

“Mm,” you purse your lips thoughtfully, “but... but the duke, he helped end the war.” 

“By betraying his kingdom. We didn’t come to conquer; we came to unite. Turns out, there’s more fractures than those between winter and summer. Shoulda know by Yellow Waleran’s deeds.” 

“Yellow?” You wonder. 

“Mouse, it is a lot you needn’t worry for. All I can say is a king isn’t much of one if he don’t keep his word,” he sighs, “any lord or man lacks substance if he melts like ice.”  

You look down and watch Chestnut’s legs. You slant your lips. 

“King Geralt, did he have some agreement with Waleran then?” 

Bryce snorts, “too clever. Promises. Broken promises. Deadly things.” 

You nod and hold your chin, “and King Geralt, he is a good king?” 

“Do you not know by now?” He asks with a smirk, “he is a man who keeps his word. A man who fights for his people, not for gold and a name. No good winter lord would kneel to a man built on coin. Blood, that buys crowns. It buys loyalty.” 

You lower yourself onto your bottom and draw your knees up, “for his people?” 

“You heard him say it, you summer’s blood are one with us now. Once he has his heir, it will all be set in flesh. A prince to join the realm,” Bryce says, “let us hope he comes soon. The king’s done his part, he’s fought his battles, now it is up to your queen to claim her victory.” 

#winter's king #geralt of rivia #dark geralt #dark!geralt #geralt of rivia x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #medieval au #the witcher

[navstuffs]

About Tradition and Responsibility

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x WifeF!Reader

Summary: You, a non-Jujutsu sorcerer, married the Gojo Satoru. After having your first child, the higher-ups demand to meet you and your first born son.

Warning tags: protective!Satoru, tiny angst if you squint, non-jujutsu sorcerer reader, no y/n usage

Author's Notes: hiii, i wrote this based on my own post, having one of my favorite tropes (protectiveness)! this might have a second part i haven't wrote yet, we shall see. enjoy your reading!

You keep your head down, trying to focus on the peaceful expression of the baby in your arms, your first newborn son, Kotaro. He is perfect, from his white curls to his tiny toes. You can't help but give him a small smile, your hands gripping his little body, promising silently to always protect him from any harm in the world. You feel so much love for your son that it is difficult to understand anyone who could find his existence wrong due to one ridiculous minuscule detail: when Kotaro opens his eyes, they are your eye color. Not your husband's vivid, ethereal blue eyes. 

Because of that, Kotaro Gojo is considered a waste of time—almost a mistake, but no one would dare say that in front of you or his father.

The door in front of you opens, and an older lady announces that the elders are ready to see you. You get up from the bench, bringing Kotaro closer to your chest. 

It is finally time to face your curses.

-x-

When Gojo Satoru decided to marry a non-jujutsu user, the higher-ups thought it was a joke. A good one especially coming from Gojo, who was known to do anything to piss off the hierarchy of the Jujutsu world, as if Satoru's whole existence wasn't on top of all that, as if any of those ancient and outdated men had anything to complain about the woman he chose as his wife.

However, when Gojo decided to proceed with this marriage, most were still shocked. They never thought Gojo would marry anyone, so soon, interest spiked in the mysterious woman he decided to marry. 

You wish you could tell your first meeting with the strongest sorcerer had been something glorious, but no. It was in your small candy shop, the one passed down to you by your parents from their parents. On a rainy day, that strange tall man with white bandages and white hair entered, sniffing the air like a hound dog. Gojo insisted on buying all the sweets you had on display, and instead of leaving, heard you explain how you made each of them, fascinated. 

After that day, Satoru started appearing daily, buying all the sweets on display by the end of the day. Gojo always mentioned he first fell in love with your cooking, but you didn't know when exactly you fell in love with him. Maybe it was the comfort of having someone understand those sudden chills around your body as if something had been watching you until Satoru entered the shop. He never found that weird at all. 

At first, Gojo kept you away as best as he could. You could sense curses with a chill in your body but couldn't see them (a blessing, for what Gojo described sometimes). And since you met your now-future-husband, as powerful as you could remotely grasp he was, Gojo was also the silliest and most annoying man you ever met. If you got upset with something he did for any reason, he would not leave you alone until you reassured him you weren't mad anymore. On top of that, Satoru was easily manipulated with sweets. Again, a big grown baby.

He never shared the consequences of what it meant to marry him. The letters started coming two months after the marriage, with your name on them, presenting themselves as chairpeople of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, and they were eager to meet you whenever you could. Gojo always told you to ignore those letters, throw them in the trash, and burn them if you wanted. 

Then Kotaro was born. It had been a normal pregnancy, with the usual sickness in the morning and mood swings, but at least your baby was born healthy. You couldn't be happier, and Gojo couldn't be happier. The baby not having the same blue eyes didn't concern your husband, reassuring you that everything was fine.

Until it wasn't: the letter that made you come into this meeting with the elders without your husband's knowledge had a clear underlying threat in those polite words: You were to bring Kotaro for them to look at, or they would be forced to bring you in. Gojo had shielded you from this for far too long.

As soon as you enter the oval room, you notice the covers: you can't see any faces, but you are sure all stares are on you and your baby. Kotaro rubs his face against your chest, and you bring him closer, shielding him from their judgmental glances.

"Come forward." A masculine voice demands.

You walk in the middle of the room and stop. No one speaks.

"You wanted to see me?" You ask, surprised your voice isn't trembling. You wonder if they can hear your heart exploding in your chest. 

"Yes. We never had the chance to meet with the wife of Gojo Satoru; he has kept you hidden for a long time."

"I am sure he had his reasons." 

"Not that it matters who Gojo Satoru decided to marry, but his decisions impact the Jujutsu World, wanting or not." An older voice speaks, clearly angry with your disobedience. 

"And who would stop him from making those decisions?" You question, trying to sound courteous but instead sounding resentful. Satoru has told you about these higher-ups: focused on their old ways, not allowing anything that disturbs their way. Only their way is correct. Tradition. Anything that breaks from the fine formal line should be eliminated. "No one can stop Gojo Satoru from doing what he wants. As his wife, I should be the first one to know."

Silence. You breathe deeply, part of you still fearful of what is about to come. They have yet to speak about Kotaro, so you dread the inevitable moment. Now, something deep inside of you screams you should have told Satoru. What if you walked straight into a trap?

"Your child." A third voice speaks, and the whole atmosphere of the room seems to change when he mentions your son. You grip Kotaro's small body again, ready for what will come. "He does not possess the same eyes as his father, as we can see."

"So? It is not like every single member of the clan was born with six eyes." You ask defiantly.

"Of course not," The man snickers. "But this is Gojo Satoru's son. Haven't you thought about the consequences of having a child with a man like that?"

"Satoru keeps us safe! And if he isn't here, I keep my child safe. Never underestimate the love a mother has for her child."

"There is no doubt in a mother's love for her child. There is also no doubt that some might carry a heavy hatred for Gojo Satoru. If, for some reason, you were caught vulnerable…"

"What? What are you talking about?" Your voice shakes a little, but you keep yourself steady. For Kotaro.

"Many curses and even sorcerers have hidden and disappeared because of Gojo. Many fear him. When your husband was born, he altered the balance of our world. If there is an even remote possibility Gojo can't defend himself or, even worse, if you get pregnant again and this baby comes with six eyes…we can't even imagine how bad it would be the repercussions." The tone of false concern disgusts you. Sensing your uneasiness, Kotaro starts whining, and you start rocking him. 

You are not stupid. Those men didn't care about you or your baby's safety. They wanted six eyes that they could control, nothing else, nothing more. You haven't given any proof that you are worthy of being married to Satoru.

You don't get to answer because the door behind you opens, and all eyes are directed to the man behind you. You don't even have to turn around, your sixth sense telling you: Satoru. And he is pissed. He takes a moment to analyze the room in front of him, seeing you in the middle with your son in his arms, crying. His son crying. Gojo walks in, no blindfold on, without asking for permission (not that anyone was waiting for one), and ignores everyone as he stops right before you.

His blue eyes scan you and Kotaro from the top of your head to the feet, concerned. 

"Are you okay? Is Kotaro okay?" Satoru asks in a gentle tone, ignoring anyone around. You nod, starting to form an apology, but he shakes his head, calming you. "There's nothing to apologize for. You did well. You always do well. Stand beside me, okay?"  

You nod as Satoru forms a shield between you and the higher-ups. Surprisingly, Kotaro has stopped whining, feeling his dad is close by. No one speaks, and everyone seems to be holding down their breaths.

"So," Satoru's tone is calm, "who cares to explain how my wife and son ended up here?"

No answer comes, and you can sense the fear over the room, which differs from your husband's posture. Those who don't know him might believe in Satoru's calm posture, but you and probably the rest of the elders knew this was only a façade. In Satoru's veins, there is only anger. The only reason any of those higher-ups are still alive is because of your and Kotaro's presence. Not because Satoru would hurt you or his son if he had to kill them, but because he didn't want to shock you or accidentally make you fear him. You had never seen him kill before.

You don't know yet what lengths he would go to protect you and his child.

"We were just worried about her well-being, that's all." Some brave higher-up answers and Gojo snickers.

"Oh? More worried than her husband then?"

"You know, we had to meet her eventually. You kept her away from our world, your world, for far too long."

"And she was fine until you brought her into this. My wife and my son are none of your concerns."

"Not if she births a child with six eyes. Then it is our concern." Your body tenses behind Gojo, immediately causing him to react back, his murderous energy filling the room. If you felt it, those elders felt it as well, silencing them.

Kotaro starts crying again, sensing the threatening energy in the room. You had never felt such a destructive sensation coming from your husband before, but you managed to grab Satoru's arm.

"'Toru? Kotaro is scared." And you are scared.

The energy instantly leaves, and Satoru turns around, worried. You tremble with fear, and Kotaro bawls, tears dropping from his eyes. He instantly places his black blindfold on his eyes before taking Kotaro from your arms and gently rocking him. 

"Can we leave, please?" You ask, and Satoru nods, grabbing your hand with his free one. Before turning around to leave, he announces in a frightening tone to the entire room, "If I ever hear any of you trying to make any sort of contact with my wife or son, I won't be so merciful."

With that, Gojo Satoru pulls you away from that horrible place you promised to never see again.

-x-

Satoru dismisses the driver who drove you there. Instead, he takes you to his car, finding Kiyotaka Ijichi with a nervous smile when he sees you. You manage to smile back, and Ijichi seems relieved that you and Kotaro are okay. The ride home is silent, and Satoru never lets go of your hand. Kotaro is in the other one, sleeping safely in his arms. You can't bear to look at your husband, too afraid of what you are about to see: disappointment? Anger? He would be right to feel like that. You endangered not only yourself but Kotaro in this whole situation.

After Ijichi leaves you at home, you gently take a sleepy Kotaro away from your husband's arms. Satoru had this enchantment with your son, making him feel calm and safe. Like mother like son, you guess. You place Kotaro gently on his mat, watching as he gets comfortable. How careless of you to put your son in such a dangerous situation.

"Do you want to talk about this?" Satoru whispers, and you shake your head.

"I am sorry." To Kotaro. To Satoru. To yourself. "I thought I could—"

Satoru slowly closes the proximity between you two. He waits, watching the tears flowing down your eyes, sitting at your side, and when you hide your face on his shoulders, his arms are around you, bringing you to his lap.

"You had no idea."

"I endangered our son! Do you know how serious that is?"

"You would never let them do anything to him."

"How would I even stop them, Satoru?"

"I don't know, but I know you. You would find a way." Satoru simply shrugs, which sounds to him like the most obvious answer, and you don't know if you laugh or cry or his hopes on you. "Which would involve bringing me there."

"Yes, bring my most dangerous weapon: Satoru Gojo." You two chuckle low so you don't wake up Kotaro.

"Nothing will ever happen to you or Kotaro. I won't allow it. Be sure of it."

"They said you have enemies…"

"Who wouldn't dare to lay a finger on one stray of Kotaro's hair. Or yours. Come on, you don't have some faith in me?"

Remembering the amount of energy you felt earlier, you feel a chill pass your body. "I do, 'Toru. I was crazy enough to marry you."

"And would you lose the chance to be the luckiest woman alive?"

"With the most pretentious husband ever." You roll your eyes, feeling happy inside. The earlier one may have scared you. But you know this Satoru, back to his usual pretentious self. 

You get more comfortable in Satoru's lap, your eyes never entirely leaving Kotaro. He looks so peaceful with his eyes closed like that; he is Satoru 100%, except for his eyes. What blame did he have? You vowed to protect and love him as soon as he came out of you, no matter what came after him. And by the looks on Satoru's face, he also does.

Slowly, you can feel your eyes getting heavy as you become more comfortable in Satoru's arms—like a mother, like son. 

"Rest, my love. I will take care of it all. I will never leave you, I promise."

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru fanfic #gojo satoru fanfics #satoru gojo fanfic #satoru gojo fanfics

[lisysturniolo]

𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐗 𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐑𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐃!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐀/𝐍: this is so ass lolol but this is my first ever smut so PLEASE bear with me. i don’t normally write smut, i don’t normally like smut but i’m to try and make this as enjoyable and REALISTIC as possible. if there’s any mistakes or anything i could make better, let me know! and please comment if you liked it or not, i appreciate you guy’s feedback. 💋

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @mattscoquette

you and matt were currently sitting on your shared bed at his house. just moments before, you guys had a deep conversation. that turned from talking about your future to talking about sex. and here you are, your virgin self about to lose your virginity to your boyfriend.

matt looked at you with empathetic eyes and rubbed your arm slightly, "are you absolutely sure you want to do this baby? i don't want to pressure you into doing anything you are not comfortable with."

"matt, please i promise i want to do this." you pleaded.

"okay, i promise to make this as enjoyable as possible. if anything hurts or you want to me stop and take a break, i will. just let me know.. kay?" matt pushed you gently onto your back  on the shared bed and started kissing you.

whatever had posessed matt in that very moment was doing you wonders because he was being so gentle. when you guys usually makeout, it's needy and rough but this, this was soft and gentle. his lips felt like a silk satin pillow case against your own.

"can i take your shirt off baby?" he asked, coming up for air from all the kissing

"mhm," you mumbled. he smiled and hooked his fingers under the hem of your shirt to take it off. once it was off, he was met with a dark blue lace bra. you weren't expecting for you to be losing your virginity tonight so you just put the matching set on out of comfortability. 

"did you put this on for me?" he asked. you nodded your head, knowing damn well you definitely didn't.

"well you look beautiful, honey," he grazed his fingers along the small of your back and the front. the thought and the touch made you squirm and arch your back a little. 

"i'm gonna take your bra off okay? is that good with you?"

"yes matt, please." he took it off and smiled and he reminded you how beautiful you looked.

"okay honey, i'm going to stimulate your nipples and try and give you some pleasure, okay?"

the thought of him 'stimulating your nipples' didn't sound very pleasing, but he reassured you everything was going to be okay and he wasn't going to hurt you in any type of way. he explained everything he was going to do and you reluctantly agreed.

matt smiled before lowering his head down and having his tongue on your nipple. licking very gently in circular motions. you felt like you weren't getting any pleasure at first but when he would come up for breath and your nipples would start to harden, you felt pleasure then.

"matt.." you breathed out heavily. matt could only smile at this.

"my girl finally getting pleasure? you feel okay, babe?"

"mhm," you pressed your lips together, "feels really good."

with a pop sound, he let go of your nipple and kissed you again. pulling away, and with your consent, he pulled down your shorts and underwear at the same time. 

"okay, open your legs for me sweetheart." 

you felt weird about that too. you hadn't shaven perviously before this and you were scared of what he had to say. if he would judge you, stop wanting you, break up with you. it was all a rush of emotions.

"honey, you look beautiful, i don't care about your hair. this is about you and your pleasure. don't worry about me."

you wanted to crumble into pieces at the sound of that. you faintly smiled and opened your legs.

"you look so beautiful babe. okay, i'm gonna eat you out to give you some pleasure okay?" 

"what does that mean?"

"i'm going to stimulate your clit with my tongue. you know what your clit is right?" 

"yes, matt i know what a clitoris is."

he snickered, "okay good, i'll go super slow." and with that, he lowered his head and licked your clit, trying to get some stimulation out of you. 

"matt, oh, fuck matt.." you put your hands in his hair and gently tugged at the tips of his hair which caused him to groan and give your clit a new type of pleasure.

"matt! wait no, i have to pee matt, stop." you moved him off of you gently.

he laughed and kissed your nose. "baby you don't have to pee. that's your body building up and orgasm."

"what does that mean?"

"your body produces something called arosual fluid that is like your natural lube for your body," he said with quotation marks. "that mixes with your pee and since your clit is right near the hole where you pee, that's why it feels like you have to pee because that hole is being stimulated."

you nodded your head and then he continued his actions. you knew you were close to cumming because it became harder and harder to breathe with every lick and suck matt would give you.

"matt, i'm literally gonna.." and with that you came. you felt everything go white for a split second and your body began to shake. matt laughed, and kissed your forehead.

"you okay?" he asked, very soft and gently. 

"yeah just give me a minute."

matt gave you about  minutes before you calmed down and you were now about to actually have sex. 

"do you know how to put a condom on matt?"

"of course, honey, they teach it to us in highschool." he pulled his pants down and revealed his, dripping with pre-cum, cock hanging loose.

your eyes widened at the size of the thing and began to grow nervous. "that is not going to fit in me."

he slipped the condom on no problem and grabbed some extra lube. "sure it will baby, we just have to use more lube." he lubed both you up and the time was now coming. 

"i'm going to push the tip in and then half. does that sound good?"

"mhm, is it gonna hurt."

"it might hurt a sliver but that's why we have extra lube. are you ready?"

"yeah."

with that, he pushed only the tip in and you were almost about to cry. matt reassured you everything was going to be okay and that he was there if you needed to take a break or anything.  when you gave him the 'okay' to push further, he pushed half of it in.

"shit baby, your so tight, relax. if you don't relax, this is never going to work."

"matt, it hurts." 

he kissed your temple, lovingly. "i know honey, but it will all be over soon."

you took his word and relaxed. whenever you were okay and he was pushing in and out, the pain quickly turned into pleasure and about two minutes in, you were ready to combust.

"matt, i'm gonna... please don't stop feels really good."

"yeah? my pretty girl feel good?"

"matt, oh my god," you moaned.

"you look so pretty like this honey.. you gonna cum for me?"

with that, you cummed all over the condom and he pulled out. "was that good? did you like that?" matt asked panting and sweaty.

"yes, matt! that was so good."

"okay, lets get cleaned up and then we can cuddle okay?" he kissed you lips before grabbing a warm wet towel and cleaning the mess up from your thighs. he disposed of the condom in the trash before cleaning himself off. he helped you get dressed and put on your favorite movie.

your first time was definitely worth remembering.

#𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒚'𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ #matt sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #matt x reader #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt stuniolo fanfic #sturniolos #matthew sturniolo

[ohnoitstbskyen]

So I know you headcanon Nami as a lesbian and Luffy as aroaco (both which is heavily agree with!) What are your romance/sexuality headcanons for the other Strawhats?

Hm. I think Zoro is ace, but not aro, but also the only thing he's really in love with is his dream of fulfilling his promise to Kuina, becoming the greatest swordsman in the world. Once he accomplishes that... well, I am not 100% sure he'll survive accomplishing it, actually, I think the story is signaling pretty hard that his moment of transcendence is going to be connected with the moment of his death (the "King of Hell" thing, all the Buddhism imagery, his tendency to find revelations about swordsmanship on the brink of death) but if he does survive it, that's when maybe romance can become a consideration for him. Maybe. That's when he can figure out who he's even into.

Sanji is extremely romantic - hyperromantic, even - but honestly in a way that's... almost totally disconnected from actual romance? He worships women as divine goddesses and sources of extreme aesthetic and emotional joy for him, but he seems to struggle enormously to actually relate to them a lot of the time. He seems more invested in Being A Gentleman Who Loves Women than he does in... actually being in any sort of a realistic relationship with a woman.

Pudding is the closest he comes to forming an actual romantic relationship, and even then, so much of it is ultimately motivated by his romantic fantasy of Being The Prince, of being the noble, self-sacrificing hero who Saves The Girl, of Being A Good Man. Committing to her is, for him, an act of self-sacrifice, for the sake of his crew, for the sake of his family (Zeff and the Baratie, not the Vinsmokes), and for the sake of her more than it is an earnest desire to build a future with a true partner. He's resigning himself to a life of being her perfect domestic husband servant, in worship and adoration of her, but never in partnership.

In an extremely weird way, the vibe I get from Sanji is he's like a... hyperromantic... aromantic? He's EXTREMELY invested in romantic fantasies, but not so much in the actual day-to-day mundanities of romance, he's in love with the idea of being in love, with the experience of being in love, with the thrill and act and performance of being in love, more than he is in love with any actual person?

Partly this comes down to One Piece just not being a romance story - romance is generally sidelined and elided in most situations, and Sanji's romantic obsessions are played for comedy 99% of the time, they are not taken seriously, so he never has an opportunity to really go through the process of romance as a grounded, flesh-and-blood process, but I can only discuss him as he is presented.

Robin, I think, might be the most straightforward of the crew. I am on board with the Frobin agenda, I think she's probably straight and... if not cis, then about as cis as you can be with a power like the Hana Hana no Mi. And I think she genuinely would be very attracted to a loud, dependable eccentric like Franky, as the other half to her quiet dependable eccentric personality. Especially since he is loudly and obviously an extremely decent man with a heart of gold, and Robin carries so much trauma of being a "devil child," I think she probably needs that kind of uncomplicated light of goodness in her life.

Usopp, again, is probably a fairly straightforward sort. The live action gives him a thing for Kaya, but I could see him being bi or pan, but much like Zoro I don't think he's going to quite have the capacity for Romance™ until he fulfils his dream of becoming a great warrior of the sea (he already has, of course, but he needs to internalize it and realize it within himself). I ONE HUNDRED percent believe he might end up taking a Giant for a spouse.

Franky is... okay this makes no sense whatsoever but I feel that he's gay? But also would fall for Robin? ... but in a gay way???

Look I don't know how that works either, it's a vibe it's a brain feeling it's a wibbly wobbly romance gender sort of situation. Franky is clearly in love with the male body, with masculinity, with maleness, and he especially loves building himself into those images of hypermasculinity, but he does in a way that feels hella queer to me. I don't really think you can be a self-made cyborg building his own body without being some flavor of queer-coded, like, I just don't think that that can be a cishet thing anymore.

He would fall for Robin is my point, in part because they share a knack for creating themselves, in part because Robin would appreciate and need him, in part because she would adore his cybernetic self-creation and find it charming and beautiful, and I think he needs someone who will love his creations (including, y'know, his body) as much as he does.

It's like... y'know how Neo and Trinity in the Matrix are clearly, OBVIOUSLY a t4t couple even though they're both technically cis in the text of the story? It's like that with Frobin for me. Yeah, sure, they're both cis and straight, but also they are trans and gay.

Jinbei I have no idea, actually, he could be into absolutely anything. Kind of a gay bear vibe? That's the best I got. Chopper is a child and I don't think he really has any idea yet either, and Brook... look, I don't think you can be THAT level of flamboyant rockstar and not be some flavor of queer. The Soul King wears Elton John outfits half the time. I don't know that he has a sexuality anymore necessarily (he could be ace, what with the having no carnal flesh and all), but if he's not at least bi romantically then nothing about him makes sense.

#tb answers #one piece #monkey d. luffy #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #nico robin #tony tony chopper #jinbei #soul king brook #cyborg franky #god usopp #sniper king usopp #usopp

[eriexplosion]

Yesterday everyone was posting their feelings on TBB. I'm glad I waited, because there's a lot swirling around. Cut for negativity again.

I was introduced to The Bad Batch in August 2022 and fell instantly in love. The characters, the story, the complex family dynamics, they all spoke to me. I wasn't even a Star Wars fan but I went through and devoured The Clone Wars, Rebels, The Mandalorian, all of it. I threw myself into this world and adored every second of it. I must have rewatched season one over five times before season two even came out.

When season two premiered I loved it. Every Tuesday night I stayed up until the episode drop and devoured it immediately. I looked ahead at the schedule and took days off work for the double episodes, for the big Crosshair episodes - he was my favorite early on and season two only made that grow. But season two also really brought Tech into my radar even more. I had always liked him, but here he was shining. The Crossing really solidified it, as an autistic person. I'd never heard someone describe the difference in processing so succinctly before, so clearly, and it spoke to me like very little had. Here was a character that was like me. Here was a character that I needed when I was an undiagnosed child, someone that would have made me feel like I had at least some way of describing my differences.

Then, well. He died. It was an affecting scene, but it felt out of nowhere, it felt unfinished. Tech didn't even get the climax of the episode. He just fell into the clouds, the Batch grieved for a few minutes, and then the plot steamrolled right along.

I didn't believe it, not after the mad scientist presented his goggles and claimed not to salvage anything else. It seemed like such an obvious fake out. The longer I sat with it the less satisfying it felt. It felt so brushed over, so pointless, all for a mission that they accomplished nothing on. Then came the social media circus. Again and again his fall was shoved in our faces on Twitter, demanding we stream it. TikToks were made that were so out of touch they felt like parodies, the wound ripped open again and again, and I thought surely there had to be a purpose to it.

So I waited for season 3 as interviews were done that seemed to almost intentionally avoid calling him dead. As tweets were made promising we'd be so fulfilled if we could only see who was onscreen in the mid-season! (A tweet that immediately garnered dozens of people hoping it referred to Tech, all without a single comment to try and quell the speculation.) It felt already like we were being toyed with, but I thought it had to be for a reason or a purpose. More weirdly vague discussions went up about his Sacrifice, his Fall, his Anything But Death, even as everyone insists that it was so meaningful, the way he died on a mission that accomplished nothing. Jokes were made around Valentines Day.

He Fell For You, get it?

The first official use of killed went up on the databank right after the trailer, on Hunter's page of all places. The first time the interviews used dead was the Friday before the premier. It all felt too late, theories had already grown for months by that point.

Season 3 finally came and I waited up for every episode drop just like I did for season 2, hoping for him to come back or at least for him to be properly grieved, since we had barely a couple of minutes in Plan 99 before it was swept away for the next plot point. Surely Tech's impact deserved an episode of focus, if he were really gone.

The previously on plays his last words twice. But then we skip months into the future. We don't see Crosshair find out the news - even though Tech died on a mission to retrieve him. We don't watch Omega grieve. She barely seems to notice she's missing a brother. We got a brief allusion in episode two. It took three episodes to even mention his name in passing. Five episodes in everyone got their chance to look sad about him, but only for a few seconds and only when his skills were relevant. Compared to the gorgeous callback to Mayday in the same episode, it felt shallow. He had to have been more important than this didn't he?

Episodes 6 & 7 felt like maybe there was a reason. We see a new masked assassin that gets extra focus, who got put through a series of Tech-adjacent situations, whose beef with Crosshair was just a little too personal, who survived longer than all the rest but stayed masked. Rex talks about losing brothers, but Hunter says nothing about the brother they lost. I hoped it all meant something, that this was the reason that he felt so much like he was thrown away, so that he could come back in.

More one off mentions that only really come up when it's about how useful Tech would have been. More poking at the wound that still felt open and raw because we'd never gotten any closure. The closest we get is a single scene in episode eleven, so late in the season and so brief that I thought that couldn't possibly be it.

CX-2 comes back, and he talks like Tech. He's still not unmasked. I really need him to be something because otherwise what was it all for?

The most emotion comes in Juggernaut, from Phee. Its a highlight because it actually feels like it was about him, like he mattered as a person. It's episode twelve and we finally talk about him like a person. We never saw her get the news either.

Episodes thirteen and fourteen pass without any mentions at all. We're running out of time. Episode 15 hits and we get one raw one from Crosshair that Clone Force 99 died with Tech. It's the first time they directly say he's dead in so many words. It's the season finale. CX-2 is a nobody it turns out, and he dies faceless. Everyone gets a happy ending and after over a year of wondering if we'd ever get closure, it turns out Tech's just dead. But look how happy everyone else is!

Everyone gets to grow old. Except the autistic one of course. He's just dead and it hardly feels like it mattered at all. Did you know Wrecker and Hunter don't use his name once in season three? Omega and Echo mention him once each. Crosshair twice, only once with any emotion behind it. Phee tops the charts at three mentions, two by name and one by nickname. We see his goggles four times. I kept count.

There was never a bigger plan, this was just all he was worth. We spent two seasons on Crosshair's absence. We spent a whole episode dealing with it when Echo decided to go with Rex. Tech dies though and all his life amounted to was a handful of mentions when his skills would have been useful, some shots of his broken goggles, and endless cooing out of the text over how meaningful his sacrifice was. Too meaningful to take back, of course, even as Ventress is brought back from her own sacrifice.

I had really, really thought that this time autistic life would be worth more than autistic death. That a character that felt so carefully handled couldn't have just been thrown away for shock value, barely to even be mentioned again, his memory used to string us along to keep us watching. If you added up every mention and shot through season 3 it might actually clock in at less time than was spent on Mayday's send off.

I'm an adult. I'll survive, though the sting of seeing yet another character like me used as a stepping stone for everyone else's happy ending will take a while to fade. But I think about the child I used to be who needed a character like Tech. And I think about how it would have felt to actually get that only to watch him die a handful of episodes later as a side note to his family's story, barely even mentioned again. How badly it would have hurt, how deep it would have scarred.

I'm not that child anymore. But there are a lot of autistic kids out there that are the same as I used to be, and they're learning for the first time that people like us don't get happy endings. Instead they die so that everyone around them can rise up, and they might even get mentioned a few times. But don't worry. Everyone will tell you how meaningful and special it is and how delusional you were to ever hope for anything else.

The Bad Batch still means a lot to me. I think it always will. I love the characters. I love the family, and all the potential they had. But the sting of not belonging in this happy ending is there, and it's deep. It's been a long time since I trusted a show. It'll be a long time before I risk trusting another. And I hope that the autistic kids trying to learn how to close their hearts off behind new walls are doing okay.

#the bad batch #the bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #could not sleep so I'm in my feels instead #it did help to type it out #I'm not going anywhere fandom wise but I have to admit I'm hurt

[sethsclearwater]

so i just saw your play fighting blurb with poly!readerxquilxembryxseth where they're giving embry shit for not catching reader before she falls and wanted to ask can you pretty pls do a blurb about that time reader went out with embry and broke her ankle and the other two boys find out?

lol ofc!! this is the blurb anon is referencing in case y'all haven't read it yet!

...

embry barely had a moment to process what you were doing before he heard the faint crack when you hit the ground of the parking lot outside of the local grocery store. it had only taken him a moment to get over you and, from the look on your face and the sound, he knew you'd definitely just broken something in your ankle or foot thanks to the ice outside.

by the time he'd managed to get you back into the car and to the emergency room, you were a total mess. although he'd continued to reassure you that you were okay, you were quite literally sobbing over a combination of the pain and the concept of having to wear a boot for the foreseeable future.

your comment about the boot had definitely made him regret mentioning that he was pretty sure your ankle was broken but, if he was being completely honest, he was more concerned about dealing with your other two imprinter's.

so, nearly an hour later, you found yourself at the emergency room laid down on the hospital bed with a rather unfortunate looking boot on your ankle while you and embry waited for the discharge papers.

you were pretty quiet, just quietly sniffling which only had embry feeling worse about himself, "pretty thing," embry murmured, coming to sit on the edge of the hospital bed after the doctor left the room.

you sniffled again before looking up at him only to see him frowning, "you're okay, yea? promise it's not that bad," he reassured, sliding one hand over yours so he could gently squeeze your hand while the other ran up your side so he could cup your face in his hand.

"'m sorry," you murmured after a moment, more tears streaming down your cheeks when you saw the way his brown eyes softened at your words.

"'s not your fault pretty thing," embry reassured, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead for a few moments while the two of you sat in silence, "does it still hurt?" he asked after a moment, lifting his lips from your forehead to look down at you.

"not as much as it did," you whispered, but before embry could respond to you the door opened to reveal your other two imprinters, quil and seth who both looked rather freaked out.

seth was the first to move, quickly stepping over to the other side of the bed so he could sit down and take your other hand into his, "oh pretty girl," he cooed, offering you a soft smile that had you blushing as all three boys focused their attention on you, "embry said you hurt your ankle," he murmured after a moment and you nodded, sniffling as yet another round of tears came streaming down your cheeks.

seth sighed, looking over to quil who sat down next to embry on the bed so he could run his hand over your thigh, "they said it's broken," you murmured, leaning into embry's touch as his thumb gently brushed away the tears streaming down your cheeks.

"you broke your ankle?" quil repeated back to you and you gave him a small nod, anxiously looking over to embry who just pressed his lips to your forehead again.

"they're not mad at you pretty thing," embry reassured, "definitely mad at me though," he added, lips curling into a smile against your forehead when he heard you let out a quiet giggle at the concept of seth and quil getting mad at embry over your broken ankle.

before you could respond, the door opened again as the doctor stepped back in, "alright mrs. call it looks like you're all good to go," he started, failing to see the flabbergasted looks all 4 of you had on your faces as he looked through his clipboard, "just keep the boot on, take it easy, and you need to see your primary doctor in 2 weeks for a follow-up, okay?" he asked, setting his clipboard down to look over to you, also now wearing a shocked look on his face when he saw how all three boys were sitting on the bed with you.

you gave him a thumbs up which had him cracking a smile, seeming to help with the awkwardness in the room, "alright well you let me know if you need anything then, alright?" he asked and you nodded, gaze drifting over to embry who offered your hand a gentle squeeze.

the doctor handed embry the discharge papers before he was leaving the room. as soon as the door closed, seth and quil were whipping their heads around to glare at embry, "mrs. call, really?" quil asked and embry let out an exasperated sigh.

"i didn't say anything - she's the one that filled out the paperwork," he started but seth jumped in before he could continue to make his case.

"she has a broken ankle and you made her fill out the paperwork? why would you do that?" he asked with a laugh, him and quil clearly both not all that bothered by it but still clearly loving giving embry shit for it.

"i don't know her medical history-" embry started, the three of them continuing their bickering before you let out a dramatic sigh after a few moments.

quil gently squeezed your thigh, "you wanna go home?" he asked, offering you a goofy smile when you nodded.

"alright let's get you out of here then, yea?" he asked, all three boys getting up so they could help you into the wheelchair and get you out of there.

bonus: the boys finding out at the follow up visit that it was actually reader that put down 'mrs. call' as her preferred name and they're all flabbergasted that she was the one that did it and not embry

#poly!sethxreaderxembryxquil #poly!embryxreaderxsethxquil #poly!quilxreaderxembryxseth #seth clearwater #embry call #quil ateara #seth clearwater imagine #seth clearwater blurb #seth clearwater x reader #seth clearwater angst #seth clearwater fluff #embry call imagine #embry call blurb #embry call x reader #embry call fluff #embry call angst #quil ateara imagine #quil ateara blurb #quil ateara x reader #quil ateara fluff #quil ateara angst #twilight #the twilight saga #twilight imagine #imagine #blurb #fluff #angst

[arlertwhore]

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! reader

synopsis: sneaky links at the bar gettin their freak on

warning (s): smut, bathroom sex, pussy eating, fingering, nipple sucking, paige licking ur body bc she’s desperate

word count: 3.5k

author note: okay so this is based off a req nd it’s not edited as per usual. once i learn how to use this app guys i promise — but as of rn I’ll just put it out there this is the 5th part to the fics I’ve been writing for Paige nd “you” / reader! Pls remember to send me req and leave comments I love reading them omgosh so long okay byee enjoy minors dni!

After the events of last weekend, Paige's team was incredibly open and honest with her about their concerns. They no longer deemed your esteemed dynamic compatible with Paige's career after the state she'd been left in due to you supposedly ending things, only to have to her return to you, which had proved to them that it was becoming toxic.

They still liked you; they did, however, they just didn't think you and Paige sounded right anymore. They never made decisions for each other, just offered strong suggestions, and they had strongly suggested that Paige end things with you.

Post-fuck Tuesday night, as she freshened up in your shower and you did your nightly routine, readying for bed, you'd admitted to Paige that you had indeed severely overreacted, and you had said all, apologizing repeatedly, owning up to your mistake.

Knowing Paige greatly despised mistakes, you wondered how she could let you off with just a stern warning. It being her, even if Paige had loved you dearly, the way she conditioned herself for relationships in regards to her career made her capable of breaking up with you while she was using your own shower. It certainly wasn't because of her feelings; you'd even noticed a change in the way she looked at you now. While her words during sex were relatively sweet, her actions were different from the first time she had you with the strap.

You sensed things were returning to normal in your relationship's dynamics, but the external situation would be shifting due to her team's concerns about you. Despite Paige's explanations that they didn't hate you and were simply prioritizing the well-being of their friend and teammate, you were incredibly sore over the fact that because of this whole situation, you would have to be even more discreet about seeing Paige.

Meetings would have to be arranged differently because they could easily deduce you were together if she chose to take an Uber in the dead of night to 'somewhere' and returned showered with new clothes. This change in schedule meant she would be free during lunch breaks or other odd times of the day, while you'd be busy studying at the library and more.

Just as Paige made sure to work you around her schedule, you wanted to do the same, but she seemed to really want the compromise from you. It was like something had come over her recently, but she had become increasingly horny and pent-up with sexual need.

You had called her to devise a plan on how to meet in a manner that kept schedules intact. As you discussed different ideas, the thought of future intimacy made her increasingly aroused, and she had to break the call so when she called you back, you'd have her full attention. It was wild considering it was typically the other way around for you guys.

Nevertheless, on your own, you had come up with a brilliant plan: to attend the new club that had opened not to far on the cusp of town. It was the perfect spot where everybody would be to absorbed in their ownself and alchol to notice who was there and who was doing what.

"Are you trynna tell me you want your shi' tore up inna' club?" Paige retorted over a Facetime call once you launched your idea, the girl surprisingly close-minded, which she usually wasn't.

You knew she had most likely just been nervous about the publicity, but you hadassured her you wouldn't allow things to spiral out of control. Being as smart as you were, she trusted you. Plus, it was hard for her to disagree when you offered an ultimatum, shrugging, "Well, unless you wanna man-up and tell your team that—"

"It's cool." It's cool. Whatver. It's cool was how you solidified a promising Friday night plan. By the time Friday rolled around, 12 AM, when the club scene usually came alive, Paige had ordered the Uber to stop at your complex.

You felt like a prostitute as you waited for the car outside in a black bodycon dress and high heels (because Paige was tall enough to allow you to wear them), with your little purse containing all the products to fix your club girl makeup and hair.

You desperately wanted to take the edge off with some drinks, and once you entered the Uber, that's exactly what Paige had been doing. However, at your promise to ensure everything ran smoothly tonight, you weren't allowed to drink. This meant that once you'd arrived at the club, you definitley weren't on the same level as the blonde, who seemed prepared to have the time of her life.

And boy was she. With her arm around your nape, she held you close to her body as you entered the packed club, music booming, people dancing, and the DJ saying some wild, almost offensive, out-of-pocket stuff that only drunken people would appreciate.

"If you're here tonight sayin' 'fuck school' and you trynna 'fuck somebody', then say yeahh!"

"Yeahh!" The response was immeadiate and raucous, the students all reveling in the thrill of the moment, fueled by alchol. To your non surprise, Paige had participated in the call, always a party girl, and her big blue eyes, heavily accentuated by the strobe lights and the alcohol in her system had stayed fixed on you as she agreed, a big cunning smirk on her face, knowing you never appreciated jokes at the expense of education, something you took extremely seriously.

She shook you in her arm, "Loosen up, jelly," before relinquishing her arm and holding yours as she danced and belted out the song they played, "Under the Influence" by Chris Brown. You liked the song too, and as you sang, allowing the music to loosen you up, you closed your eyes and couldn't help but think of being at your house.

Sure, you had selected this location precisely, but you still hated that you had to all because Paige was succumbing to what her friends expected, and you were essentially obliged to follow suit.

So what if you guys were still fucking and you had majorly overreacted while Paige had underreacted? That was the beauty of relationships anyway. They were all deep thoughts to be having as Paige held your hips, big hands roaming your figure as you ground your body against hers subconciously, both of you moving in sync to the rhythm of the song.

The sensation of her firm grip and the subtle pressure of her hips against your ass had momentarily distracted you, igniting a sudden surge of arousal within you.

It was then you knew what would make your night better and assist in ending it quickly, sufficing each wish and thought you'd had moments ago. As you turned to meet her face, prepared to move in for a kiss, which had created a brief distance between you, your worst fear occured: a piping hot girl approached, seizing the opportunity presented by the momentary gap. "Are you guys dating?" she inquired, her voice cutting through the music. Even if you were, you wouldn't be allowed to disclose that to strangers. "Uhh... no, but—"

"Kay, then, thanks! I'm gonna borrow your date for a dance." Paige maintained the eye contact you had made with her, you, atonished at this randos behavior.

She leaned down into the girl's ear, loudly asking, "How old are you?" You didn't stick around to hear her response. You left, saying "fuck it" as you took a seat on a bar stool, ordering four straight vodka shots with no chaser and pounding them back as you tried to drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind.

You hated being jealous. A casual relationship meant you had no right to, which is why you had excused yourself before you blew up on the girl. Peeking over your shoulder briefly, you watched as she let Paige twirl her before forcing herself into Paige's arms, essentially claiming her for the dance. What sucked is that you could be that girl—the challenging one who'd just go dance with someone else as revenge—but you chose to sit your ass at the bar and drink away your feelings.

As much as you liked Paige, you had to admit to yourself that this ordeal was starting to take a great toll on your mind. You were here, allowing all of this just because she was afraid of her team knowing she was still seeing you.

In fact, Paige was always afraid of everybody knowing. You had spent so much time thinking and drinking at the bar that the song had changed finally, and you felt a hand intercept your waist. You were tipsy now, feeling more chatty and accepting of the presence, assuming it was another guy prepared to ask to get you something. But no—it was Paige, a lipstick kiss on her cheek.

If you were sober, you might flip, but tipsy, you just chuckled. "Enjoy your dance that much?" you teased as Paige sat at the bar with you. She performed the hand sign for 'meh,' disappointment evident on her face as she smiled, "She didn't wanna dance, I don't think." You put on a face of shock, exaggerating the expression for dramatic effect. "No way, Paige, really?" She shrugged, a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "I was just bein' nice, you know?"

You nodded, a grin spreading across your face. "I'm glad we have a good Samaritan in the club." you joked. She patted her chest twice, owning the title, and then it fell silent. You faced forward on the stool as Paige turned to you, her expression contemplative.

"Y/N," she began, voice eager to chat. "Bueckers," you replied, mundanely.

She kissed her teeth. "Yeah, I thought I was trippin'. What's with that lil attitude you got?" she asked, referring to the last name basis you'd left her on. "I don't have an attit—"

"Then look at me when we're talking," she interrupted, gently tilting your chin to face her, in-turn, your stool. The stupid lipstick mark.

It's why you avoided looking at her face, not wanting jealously to overcome you. She looked more intoxicated than her words suggested. And if there was one thing about a tipsy Paige, she wasn't meant for public viewing.

With no hesitation, after tilting your chin, her hand trailed down to your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your dress, swiftly pushing it aside to reveal your black panties. "Paige!" you gasped, a mix of shock and arousal in your voice. "My gosh, cut it out." You hastily smoothed your dress back down as Paige grinned mischievously. "You mean... Bueckers?"

You rolled your eyes at her antics, feigning unamusement, but she simply continued. "Sorry," she apologized, taking your hand in hers and kissing the back of it, conjuring memories of the last time you hadn't forgiven her and what happened next.

She was trying to be sweet again, but in her own words, "I am... I just—" She kissed your hand again, trailing delicate kisses down your arm before she absentmindedly began to softly lick you.

"I want you sooo bad." She had this habit of playing footsies with you too sometimes—as she spoke, her foot teasingly nudged yours, and with her physical attention on your body from literally head to toe, it sometimes became hard to resist her advances.

She began moving in after what felt like an eternity of anticipation. She thought she had finally broken through your defenses, gotten you to loosen up. As she moved in for a kiss, her eyes closed and her tongue eagerly anticipating the feel of yours, you surprised her.

Practicing resistance, you swerved her kiss, meeting her ear cheek to cheek as you whispered, your breath hot against her skin, "I'm going to the bathroom." Before Paige could open her eyes, you had disappeared amongst the crowd in the club. She immediately turned to the bartender, who had been washing some glasses.

"Yo, where's y'all's bathroom at?" Her words slurred slightly from the alcohol, but she managed to recall every direction he gave her as she pushed through the club in search of you— in search of the bathroom. She couldn't wait to get her hands on you for teasing her like that.

In the club washroom, of course, it was not empty like the restaurant had been. There were girls around you of every emotion—crying, lit, and angry. If it weren't for your makeup, you'd be flushing your face with water, but since you couldn't, you just stared at yourself in the mirror before deciding to retouch your lip gloss. As you finished, smacking your lips together, the next instant saw you being hoisted by your waist into a stall, causing you to drop your favorite lip gloss on the floor of the dimly lit washroom.

"Woa—Paige! Wait, my lip gloss."

She silenced you with an aggressive kiss, pushing you up against the locked door of the stall. Luckily, she had picked the biggest stall, providing ample space for what was about to unfold. She sat you up on the counter for personal items, spreading your legs which were at perfect level with her torso. You felt so exposed—within seconds, she had pulled all your clothes off, leaving your body bare for her.

Without a second of further words, she took her phone and handed it to you. She was making this a new thing for her now—filming you in your sluttiest, rawest moments. But you succumbed each time, the thrill and rush and all the adrenaline in your veins exciting you.

Her finger slid into you with precision, the feel of her cold rings adding an extra layer of intensity to the experience. With each thrust, she skillfully worked her middle finger against your G-spot, sending your body into overdrive, causing you to stifle your moans with your bottom lip. She gazed up at you, her eyes dancing between yours and the camera, a playful glint shining in her gaze.

Her ability to shift from playful to serious with ease was captivating. After releasing a sweet chuckle into the lens, she seamlessly incorporated her tongue into the mix, expertly circling it against your clit. She felt incredibly soft against your clit, her tongue tracing every contour with mastery before she gently suckled on you, ripples of ecstasy pulsating throughout your being.

As her finger began its come-hither motion inside you, you couldn't help but whimper out her name, "Paige, oh shit," gripping her head closer to you in a desperate plea for more. She thrusted around inside you with a frantic pace, her tongue flat against your clit as she adeptly moved her head back and forth, creating a deliciously sloppy sensation that drove you wild with need.

It hadn't even been more than a minute, and yet you found yourself unraveling quietly, coming undone all over her face, the embarrassment of it all being recorded only mixing with the overwhelming pleasure to create an intoxicating whirlwind of sensations.

Paige continued her ministrations, oblivious to your climax until a minute later, when your cum began to ooze out of your pussy as it clenched and unclenched around her fingers, sensitive.

She stopped, gazing up at you with the lower half of her face glistening with your essence. "Already?" she cockily remarked, reaching for her phone to check the time, inevitably turning the camera to face you as she read it aloud.

It felt so exposing. Your legs were spread for her camera to capture, your bare body on full display as she announced, "51 seconds."

You covered your face, shaking your head, and Paige initially thought you were embarrassed. “No! That’s my time to beat? Nearly a minute?” you retorted sarcastically before hopping off the counter. “C’mere, Paige.” If it weren’t for the counter being in her line of sight, as tipsy as she was, she would’ve simply chucked her phone. You pressed her against the stall door as you kissed down her neck hungrily, undressing her simultaneously. Her hands roamed every curve of your body as you deftly worked to earn a moan from her, a signal you were on the right path to winning this competition.

As you finally managed to remove her top, you captured her nipple between your lips, sucking it with the most adorable doe eyes you could muster, eliciting a deep sigh from Paige, who nodded her head in approval, her expression a mix of pleasure and surrender.

With one hand delving into her pants, you teased her entrance with your fingers. “You must really like me, hm?” you purred, voice dripping with seduction as you dragged your finger upward toward her clit, only to move back downward towards her hole, teasingly denying her the contact she craved from both ends.

Paige shook her head. “Mm-mm,” she murmured softly, her breath catching as your fingers continued their tormentful tour of her dripping pussy. You chuckled. “No?” She was unbelievably wet — soaking, slick, and inviting.

The kind of wet where your fingers glided effortlessly, sliding through her slickness as everything felt impossibly soft. “Then I guess I’ll stop,”

Paige was too esteemed to beg you. Instead, she had tried to convince you, saying, “If you do, then you’ll lose.”

You hissed pretentiously.

“Good point,” you responded before dropping to your knees, an act of submission which never failed to entice Paige.

You delicately tugged down her blue jeans, smooching soft kisses along her legs as you whispered, “Mommy,” before gazing up at her, “I wanna taste you… so badly. Can I?” you pleaded, licking the outline of Paige’s pussy through her boxers. The girl drew a sharp inhale, chest heaving as if she was already on the verge of anticipating it.

“Fuck, baby, you can taste me,” Paige whispered, inflection showcasing the struggle she was having to find constraint within. “Thank you,” you murmured pliantly, gently taking off

Paige’s boxers to be met with the sight of her spectacular wet and pink pussy, possessing all the perfectest dimensions. “thank you, mommy,” you repeated once-more, appreciatively stuffing your face into her cunt, sucking a mouthful of her juices and her tiny clit into your mouth. “ahh shit, y/n,” paige bellowed, the blush across her cheeks prominizing as her brows furrowed in delight.

You kept your fingers busy, pumping two into her as you worked your mouth ravenously, eating her up. You were adamant you’d win the challenge since you spent time fucking yourself when Paige was away, whereas she would just satisfy herself with girls if she needed to and had admitted countless times that it was a rarity she ever touched herself.

You on the other hand had mastered the art of making yourself finish fast due to how short you were on time typically, so you weren’t intimidated whatsoever.

And you had good reason not to be. It’d been half-a-minute when she began to shudder, knees wobbling as she praised your tongue-work. “You eat it so well,” she murmured, rutting her hips against your face subconsciously and assisting in the speed at which your fingers plunged into her pussy, guiding them to encounter resistance with a teasing yet insistent touch. She gasped, body jolting.

“Right there!” she told you, her voice laced with urgency and desire. You complied, pressing your fingers against the resistant spot inside of her, causing her eyelids to flutter and mouth to hang agape as she praised, “Fuck, you’re such a good girl,” hand holding you into her cunt as she feathered your hair around, caressing you. “Please,don’t stop, ma,”

She clutched the bars for stability, and her breaths came in short, rapid bursts, betraying the intensity of her pleasure. She kept her eyes fixed on you, observing your every action below her, as you mercilessly devoured and fingered her cunt with so much contentment in your every move, finding joy in pleasing her.

You sucked on her clit with powerful suction, and your fingers felt like punches to her guts, but in a pleasing manner.

Her body tensed, muscles coiling with anticipation. A rush of heat flooded her senses, a fire consuming her body. Her breath hitched, becoming erratic as she teetered on the edge of release. With each thrust of your fingers and flick of your tongue, all it’d really took was you looking up at her to assess how near she was before Paige completely let loose, succumbing to the pleasure and subsequently cumming all over your face while delivering a string of curse words as her body convulsed.

You wasted absolutely no time, leaping back up onto your feet to grab her phone just so you could see the time: it read from the last timestamp you kept in your brain, just 45 seconds. "How bad's the damage?" Paige asked, trying to catch her breath.

With a wide grin, you replied, "Forty-five seconds," and her face showed marvel, the girl in utter shock.

You winning meant anything and everything, including power over Paige. That's how she always was whenever you guys had your little competitions (which she'd usually win) due to her competitive nature, and now it was your turn to be the winner.

"Oh, you're so fucked!" you exclaimed, reveling in your victory.

a/n: i love all the new paige fics on here sm!! what do you guys think about this part.. lmk, inbox me, message me, comment wtv i love all ❤️

#ncaa tournament #smut #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers #march madness #paige bueckers smut #paige x fem reader #paige bueckers x reader #paige x oc #uconn wbb #bueckersxfemreader #smutwccb #smutwlw #paige buckets #wlw smut #uconn women’s basketball #uconnwbb #ncaa tourney #marchmadness #paigesmut #paigebueckersmut #paige x reader #pb #wlw post #smutwcbb #send me requests #paige buecker fic #smut bueckers #paigebueckersfluff #18+ only

[silverbladexyz]

Important Announcement

Hey... I know that this is quite sudden, but after thinking about it a lot: I've decided to quit Tumblr.

I know that it might seem shocking, and trust me- I don't feel pleased doing this too, but I believe that it is the best decision so that I can actually focus on my life and my faith. Over time, I've also noticed how my health was gradually getting worse, and that Tumblr was slowly but surely exacerbating it. It's been a hard choice to make, but I feel that it is necessary for me.

It was a joy to get to know all of you, and I could never be more thankful to have such an amazing group of individuals who have supported me all this time. I couldn't have made it this far if it weren't for you guys.

I'll keep my blog, and here is my Instagram and Discord (my username is Silverbladexyz because the link is somehow invalid) accounts so that you guys can still chat with me if you want to. Please DM me your Instagram or Discord name so that I know who you are on those social media accounts. I won't be as active on there, but I promise that I'll try to reply to each of your messages :)

@circinuus /// @chuuyas-beloved /// @i-just-like-goats /// @fi-nn-losofia /// @ashthemadwriter-archived /// @chuuyasboner /// @angolicious /// @scarletta-ruan /// @yuugen-benni /// @dazaiyohane /// @yosanosboner /// @voidcat /// @sariel626 /// @xxsigmakinniexx /// @evermourning /// @overlysour /// @chunshiya /// @natimiles /// @oldworldpoolhall /// @invidiia /// @chocsra /// @guacamoleroll /// @riiwrites /// @chiara-hotel /// @heartsfourdazai /// @justcallmesakira /// @atlasnessie /// @justcallmesakira /// @luvfy0dor /// @ruanais /// @saelique /// @jackiepackiee /// @rusmii /// @tsuunara /// @tiredlilguy /// @mygoldenmoonflower /// @ilovechuuy4 /// @wwouldvecouldveshouldve /// @romanticheri /// @hanilessa /// @cakeqingsdead /// @little-miss-chaoss

To my beloved mutuals, followers, and friends: thank you so much for always being there for me every day. Words can't express how much I'll miss writing and talking with you all, and I love each of you very very dearly ❤ Coming online and interacting with you always put a smile on my face, and I'm wishing you all the very best in your lives. I hope that each of you will be able to find true happiness, and just know you'll always be in my heart. Although our journey together on this website may have ended, our life is far from over. There will always be countless more opportunities and moments where we can share our joy together, whether it be Asagiri releasing a new light novel or just reminiscing the good times in our friendships. Don't cry because it's ended, but smile because it happened- and I will always be so thankful for the chance to meet every single one of you.

I'll also keep my roleplay blog up, but I won't run it anymore as well. Thank you to all of my fellow roleplayers who have helped to bring the world of BSD alive to me, and I will never forget the fun roleplays that we have made together. I know that my future successor will be able to do an amazing job at roleplaying Pianoman, and I want all of you to treat them just as well as you have treated me. I'm wishing you guys happiness and success, and may your roleplay blogs flourish as the fandom continues to grow :)

Once again, from the bottom of my heart: thank you. I will never forget you, my dearest friends 🖤

#silverbladexyz #silver's last post #thank you so so so much for everything over the past few years #I'll never forget the wonderful times we've shared together #and I'll always smile upon recalling them #so many people have blessed my life on this app #and the BSD x reader fandom has been a real treat to interact with #thank you for the 600 or 700 followers #I'll never be able to do an event #but on a brighter note #I'm active on Instagram and Discord #just shoot me a message on those apps and lmk who your tumblr alias is #but yeah... this is goodbye #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader

[azucarmorena97]

Money Ties (Jungkook Love Story || Pt.10)

Pt.9

Your parents have worked hard to get to the top and have made sure to teach you everything you need to know to be successful in this business: from tough but lucrative financial decisions, down to the right ball gown for any given banquet. A promising and extravagant future awaits you- that is, if you agree to one teensy detail...

Son of Mr.Jeon Sr. and heir to June Company, Jeon Jungkook is an immature playboy with nothing to offer a woman but good looks and a crap ton of money, and he stands to inherit much MUCH more, so long as you both enter into the arranged marriage contract that was drawn up before the pair of you were even born.

You're more than willing to try, but you're not sure you'll be able to stand each other long enough to inherit a single penny...

Series Warnings: There will be smut in the near future and I will label those chapters as such. As I say before most of my pieces- I do not endorse any themes, ideas, or behaviors in this series. This is all purely fiction/fantasy! Feel free to inbox me suggestions/ideas/what you'd like to see in this series and I'll see what I can do! Enjoy <3

Recap: The panic attack that could not come to fruition this morning has now returned with a vengeance, and you are doubled over, sturggling for oxygen.

Cuts. Cuts everywhere. All over the skirt of the dress. Deep, angry slashes.

- Knock. Knock. Knock.

You're snapped out of your thoughts, head lifting up and looking toward the door, "Come in," You say, your wavering voice just loud enough to be heard from the other side. The door opens slowly, and you expect to see B/f/n or maybe your mom, but instead, Jungkook walks in, his expression soft and solemn as he closes the door behind him.

"Hey, Y/n."

His voice brings your tears to a halt, your bottom jaw hanging slightly. There he is. In the flesh.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't know you weren't dressed," He lowers his gaze and brings his hands together, "I overheard B/f/n telling our moms about the dress and I...I wanted to come see if you were okay."

You dont even know how to respond...are you okay? No. You're really freaking not okay.

"You don't have to worry about me- I'm okay," You lie. Though this time, you're not lying to be petty or to prove a point- you genuinely don't want to be a burden on him. Not today.

"Y/n..." The way he says your name makes your heart ache. He sees the way your tear-stained face never leaves the floor to meet his eyes. He sees how in pain you are...how in pain you've been. Without another word, he walks over to you and right when he comes only a foot away from you, he brings his hand to your chin, "Look at me."

Your eyes water again, finding warmth in his beautiful, dark brown eyes.

"I've missed you so much..." His voice is so gentle, melting you down to your core until you begin sobbing again. Desperate, weary sobs- like you've been walking through a desert holding a heavy pack and you've only just tossed it off of your back.

He brings your arms up so you're hugging his waist and lets you cry into his stomach, his hand stroking your hair softly.

"I'm so sorry I didn't come see you sooner. I was...a coward. I was afraid you'd be mad at me so I just avoided you. I shouldn't have done that."

"It's okay...I was avoiding you too..." You say, pulling your face away and looking up at him.

He stares down at you for a moment, admiring the fact that, even after crying you're makeup into black streaks under each eye and managing to have smeared your lipstick, you are still so beautiful.

But he doesn't say that; instead, he leans forward and presses his forehead into yours, "I want you to listen to me, okay?" "Mhm."

"Dress or no dress, we're getting married today. This is not about our parents, not about the company, not about anything but you and me. We are partners in this. So i want you to clean off your face, get yourself dressed," He glances down at your exposed cleavage, swallowing hard, "And I'm gonna send the makeup team back in here. They're right next door doing touch ups on some of the girls."

"Okay..." You let out a deep breath.

"I'm gonna see you out there, okay? No running away. We're in this together."

You nod, closing your eyes, "I'll be there."

"You better be."

For a moment, you think he might kiss you goodbye- and he does think about it- but instead, he lightly pinches your cheek and pulls away, walking out of the room and closing the door behind himself.

Maybe there's still hope yet...

You hear the rumble of voices as the ballroom fills up. You got your makeup redone only minutes ago and now you pace back and forth in the suite, checking your Applewatch every so often to make sure you don't have any missed notifications from B/f/n or your mom. "Where is she...?"

Just as you begin to grumble, the door swings open, B/f/n carryinga garment bag and your mom running over to you. "I'm sorry we're late, honey. It took a lot of calls and pulling strings for us to get you this one but it'll be just as good as the other gown- better even." "Okay, let's just get it on me."

You struggle undress quickly and then step into the gown, B/f/n and your mom pulling it up and then lacing you in. Once it's snug against your body, you walk over to the mirror. Seeing yourself completely ready is so surreal. You can hardly believe it's you in the mirror...or that the moment's finally come. The moment you've waited for for so long...

"Wait, you're missing something," Your mom says, coming up behind you. You turn and look down at her hands. "Mom..." You gasp, your heart fluttering at the sight of her wedding veil; the one you'd always begged and begged her to let you play dress up with (though, of course, she never let you). "It's yours now, my love." You lean down a bit and let her place it atop your head, the sheer fabric covering your face in a most elegant way. There...now youu're ready.

"You look so beautiful," Your mom whispers, her eyes threateing to spills over with tears. "Mom, we both just got our makeup retouched, we cannot keep crying," You say, holding back more tears- though these are very much happy tears. "Oh, I know, I know," She says, fanning her eyes, "I'm just so happy for you, my love. Your dad and I are so...so proud of you." Her words catch you by surprise; you know your parents love you and you do assume they're proud of you, but you're all always so preoccupied and busy that you rarely take the time to really express it to each other. It's nice...

"I love you, mom," You say, pressing your forehead against hers, much like Jungjkook had done to you earlier. "Y/n, it's time," B/f/n says, checking her watch and smiling at you.

"Okay, my love. Let's boogie," Your mom says, causing you to laugh.

Of course, the laugh is short-lived, as your humor is quickly replaced with raging butterflies, all darting violently in your stomach.

You stand with your eyes fixed on the ground, trying to keep your heart steady as couple by couple, the bridesmaids and groomsmen walk through the big double doors and into the main part of the ballroom. "Get ready, beautiful," B/f/n whispers to you before it's her turn to walk out by herself. You take a deep breath and clutch onto your dad. "I might pass out," You mumble. "If the bride can't pass out at her own wedding, who can?" He says jokingly, trying to put you at ease. Suddenly, you hear it- the wedding march. This is it. No turning back now. As the doors begin to open, revealing just a sliver of the other side, you get that same feeling as when you're at a roller coaster's peak; when you can do nothing but wait for it to drag you down to its depths.

But when they finally open fully, you see that, all the way at the end of the aisle, Jungkook is waiting for you.

And then the feeling changes...it's the same feeling you got at the bridal shop the other day. When you'd seen the dress ruined earlier, you were devastated because you thought that that dress was singlehandedly responsible for this beautiful feeling; yet here you are, standing at the entryway to the rest of your life, your heart bursting at the seams with anxiety to finally get to him. It was him all along.

"Ready?" Your dad whispers. You look up at him and nod, "Ready."

You take the first step, then the next, then the next. Each move bringing you closer and closer. You can see that the ballroom is decorated beautifully, thanks to your mothers and B/f/n's input. People are smiling and clapping, some take pictures, and others whisper to each other. But all you can do is look at Jungkook. His eyes are watery, jaw clenching tightly to keep himself from crying...God, it feels good to know he's as nervous and excited as you. Contract, merger, and Lisa be damned- You want to marry this man.

You stand at the end of the aisle with your dad, who is looking straight ahead at the priest, trying not to cry himself.

"Who gives this woman to this man today?" Asks the priest. Tearfully, your dad nods, "I do."

Jungkook walks forward and he and your dad lock eyes, a secret, wordless understanding between the pair of them as they hug, and then your dad is grabbing your hand and passing it into Jungkook's.

You're crying again, of course, but you try to contain it as much as possible as you've already ruined your makeup once today.

Jungkook looks at you, his eyes indescribably soft toward you. You. His bride.

His.

He leads you forward so that you're a at the bottom of the platform steps, the priest standing at the top behind a podium.

The priest begins his speech, a string of words you can't even comprehend right now- all you understand, all you know, is that you can't wait to kiss him.

"I, Jungkook...take you...Y/n M/N L/n...to be my wife, to have and to hold...from this day forward... for better, for worse...for richer, for poorer... in sickness and in health... Until death do us part."

Now, a gentle stream of tears falls on his cheeks and he chuckles at himself.

"I, Y/n M/n L/n..take you...Jeon Jungkook...to by my husband, to have and to hold...from this day forward... for better, for worse...for richer, for poorer... in sickness and in health... Until death do us part."

"Will the ring bearer please present the rings for us?" Namjoon steps forward, his dimples accentuating his handsome smile, a pillow in his hand with the two little rings.

You each grab your rings and then look at each other. The moment is coming for you to finally speak.

"Now each of you, take your ring in your hand. Jungkook, say 'With this ring, I thee wed.'"

"With this ring, I thee wed." Jungkook smiles ear to ear, sliding the ring easily onto your finger.

"Y/n, grab Jungkook's hand and say, 'With this ring, I thee wed."

"With this ring, I thee wed," You echo, matching his smile.

"With that said, I now pronounce you, Mr. and Mrs.Jeon. You may now kiss the bride!"

Suddenly, it's as though the world was set to slow motion; Frame by frame, you watch as Jungkook lifts your veil, the last barrier between you and destiny.

He wraps his arm around your waist and brings you closer to him until your faces are centimeters apart, "To the ride," He whispers, drawing back to the night where you both shared a toast at the bar. "To the ride."

His lips collide with yours and eventually, you don't know where you end and he begins- as now, and forevermore, you are but one flesh.

A/N: Sorry this was a short one but I couldn't wait! I really wanted to give you guys a little something as I'm seeing a lot of you guys are really loving the series. Hope you all enjoy <3

Tag List: @ttanniett

#bts #jungkook #jin #namjoon #suga #bts imagine #jimin #bangtan sonyeondan #angst #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #kookie #bts imagines #bts x you #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts au

[felinetteagain]

Adrinette BREAK UP in season 6.

And Cat Noir is again “a partner like any other!”

The problems of the main characters, which are likely to arise in season 6, have already been demonstrated to us in seasons 4 and 5.

First of all, the main problem in the relationship between Adrian and Marinette, Ladybug and Cat Noir will be the secrets of Marinette (Ladybug), as well as distrust. Cat Noir and Ladybug often quarreled over this in season 4.

Cat noir:

- And take my Miraculous back when you're done! I won't waste your time anymore, I promise. (423)

- Maybe because you never talk to me about anything! (426)

Cat Noir understood that Ladybug didn't need his help and was doing fine without him. This was the last straw for Cat Noir, after which he switched his interest to Marinette.

Lady bug:

- I didn't listen to you, I lied to you, I kept you at a distance!

Is everything going to be different now? I think not. Because Ladybug has more secrets now. She would never have told Cat Noir who the Monarch was. And, accordingly, she will have to look for a new Hawkmoth in hot pursuit without the help of Cat Noir.

The difference between the situation in season 6 and seasons 4 and 5 is that now there is a person next to Lady Bug who knows all her secrets, her secret identity and has a high level of intelligence. Such a person in the team is very important and necessary for her, he can replace all other team members with his presence.

How do you think knowing this, how will the Cat Noir behave? Of course, he will be jealous and angry at his opponent. From here, feelings for Lady Bug can also wake up. Is not it so? Jealousy and anger can provoke the Cat Noir and he can take out his evil on Argos. Because the Cat Noir is not good at controlling his anger. And he cannot come to terms with the situation when Ladybug replaces him with someone.

As for Adrinette, things are also not as rosy as many would like. In season 5, Adrien already voiced Luka about his problems in his relationship with Marinette.

Adrien:

- It's like there's something inside that she... can't get out, like a secret side that wants to remain hidden.

- I wonder also if you could love someone fully when you don't know them completely 💥. (513)

After Felix told Marinette the story of his and Adrien's birth and all the other secrets about Gabriel, Marinette has a whole carload of secrets that she cannot share with Adrien under any circumstances.

And all because this was Gabriel’s last request before his death, and also because Adrian will not be able to adequately accept this truth.

We have all seen perfectly well what distrust and secrets can lead to on the example of the relationship between Alya and Nino. Even the greatest love can't stand a lie.

That's why I think Adrinette can't have a future as a couple, and LadyNoir can't have a future as partners.

#ladybug and chat noir #miraculous ladybug #tales of ladybug and cat noir #felix fathom #felix graham de vanily #adrien agreste #felinette #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous season 6 #hints miraculous #miraculous lb #adrinette #ladynoir #cat noir salt #alya cesaire #luka couffaine #adrinettebreakup #adrinette break up #cat noir #ml ladybug #adrien salt

[king-bumis-armpit]

Separation Anxiety

Written for Maiko Week 2024 - Separation

Summary: Mai takes Izumi to her family’s reunion, and Zuko stays home. It's a horrible time for both of them.

Author’s Note: I really thought I was going to stick to the prompt this time, but then the first part sort of got away from me. And I really had to hold back because my inner Kataang was about to unleash. I was about to write a whole mini-fic about them inside of this one, but I exercised restraint. I did not however exercise restraint on my thoughts about Mai’s upbringing. As a result, this is way longer than I intended. Oh well… I hope you enjoy! :)

TW: Anxiety about being parents and misogyny from Mai’s family members. I made Michi kind of awful. But there’s a happy ending, I promise!

WC: 4,276

Zuko took a deep breath and stared at his large empty bed. It had been a long while since he had to sleep alone. He sat down slowly, as if the bed might vanish at the last second before he made contact. He leaned back and tried to get comfortable, but he ended up tossing and turning until his memories overtook him.

— — 

When he and Mai were newlyweds, they agreed never to spend more than a week apart at a time. Sometimes the obligations of royalty made this vow difficult to keep, but they had managed. In fact, Zuko had been in Yu Dao when Mai found out that she was pregnant. They had been trying for some time, so Mai was ecstatic when she told him. 

Her excitement was contagious, but anxiety quickly infected him as well. He couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened to her while he was away. What if she had fallen ill? Or what if an Ozai loyalist cell re-emerged and attacked her? Thankfully, most of the organized movements had died down after Azula had willingly turned herself in. But that was another consideration, what if Azula tried to get revenge on Mai while he was gone? He knew that Mai was more than capable of protecting herself, and normally that was enough to allay his fears, but the new worry for their child fractured his restraint. 

Zuko doubled Mai’s guard and silently promised himself to stay by her side for the rest of her pregnancy. He knew that his actions would probably annoy his wife, but surprisingly she was not the first to complain.

“Zuko, she’s pregnant, not helpless,” his mother chided him. She had cornered him in one of the hallways about a week after his return from Yu Dao. “There are always going to be circumstances beyond your control, but Mai is fully competent to go about her daily life without a small army. You need to give her space to breathe. Give your baby space to grow.”

Zuko relented and recalled the extra guards he had assigned, but then he added a pair of covert guards to keep watch without being stifling. For her part, Mai found the incident somewhat amusing. 

As they ate dinner together, she commented on the change: “Yesterday, I had a whole coterie. Today all I get are a few extra shadows.”

Zuko sighed. “Mom told me I was being overbearing. But I’m worried about you. What if something happens? You’re my whole world Mai.”

Mai turned red. “I’m impressed that anything you say can still make me blush after you impregnated me, but here we are.” Zuko chuckled, and Mai continued, “Normally I wouldn’t be cool with extra guards out of nowhere. I’m your wife and your equal, so I would like to be included in the conversation the next time you think about changing up my security detail.” 

She gave him a pointed look, and Zuko took her hand. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you first. We can ditch the elite guards if you want.

Mai’s eyes softened and she brought his hand to her cheek. “No, it’s okay. I’m not angry this time, I just want you to talk to me about things like this in the future.” She kissed his palm and set their hands on the table.

Zuko smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I didn’t want to upset you. I’ve never seen you so happy. And I’m happy too! I’m just…”

“Zuko, I’m scared too. I really want this baby to come out healthy. I’ve been carrying this list of foods I can’t have anymore, and I read it at least five times before I eat anything,” she admitted sheepishly. Mai produced said scroll from one of her dart holsters of all places. Zuko felt himself fall even more in love. The whole thing was just so Mai.

After that conversation, the pair discussed their concerns much more openly. In the worst moments, they both feared that they would take on the worst qualities of their parents. Zuko started to feel phantom pains in his scar that hadn’t plagued him since he was a teenager. They made pact after pact to hold each other accountable and to love the baby no matter what and to keep them safe. 

But even talking about their fears in the open helped to lift the burden. The anxiety didn’t dissipate, but it became easier to bear. Zuko loved talking to Mai’s bump when she began to show. Mai teased him for being silly, but he knew she secretly loved it. They redecorated the palace nursery to be less austere and more inviting. And Aang and Katara often visited with their son Bumi. 

When Mai went into labor, Katara helped her through the whole process until Princess Izumi had safely arrived. Aang was on babysitting duty. Not for Bumi, who Aang considered to be his full time sidekick, but for Zuko, who could only watch his wife’s agony for so long until he needed a dad to dad pep talk. 

Thankfully, Zuko managed to collect himself in time to meet his baby girl in her first moments. Mai had suggested the name Izumi, and Zuko immediately knew that it was right when he saw her tiny red face. She captivated his heart from her first breath and– after a brief embrace from Mai– Zuko was the first person to truly hold her. When the nurses took her for her health check, Zuko almost refused. Looking at her perfect little face, he realized that he could never become his father. He swore to himself on that day to always be by her side when she needed him.

— — 

Zuko gave up on trying to sleep and began to pace in his room. Without Mai, his bed was too cold and too big. Michi, his mother in-law, had insisted that she and Izumi attend her family reunion. Zuko had been invited, but his advisors had already scheduled the large annual conference of the provincial governors for the same weekend. He didn’t want to sabotage Mai’s opportunity to see her family, but he had desperately wanted her to stay.

And little Izumi was only four. Would she be sad when he wasn’t there to wake up with her at sunrise as he had been for the past four years? Since his job and his nature as fire-bender necessitated early mornings, when Izzy was a baby they decided that Mai would be in charge of bed time and night-time feedings and Zuko would take over in the wee hours of the morning. This arrangement worked surprisingly well, and continued long after Izzy started eating solid food. Zuko loved that he always had a few hours with his daughter. In the early days, he had a crib installed in his office so he could get a start on the his work after she fell back asleep. Now she was big enough to run through his forms with him. Zuko didn’t want to put any pressure on her to be bender or not, so he would alternate between Firebending forms and other martial arts. Would she practice them without him? She didn’t have any of them committed to memory but she would often try to show off to Mai with gusto. He smiled at the thought.

But he quickly frowned again, knowing he wouldn’t be there to see. “Ugh!” he grabbed his hair and berated himself: “Don’t be such a coward! You’ve slept on the road with nothing but a stolen ostrich horse. You can handle two nights with them.”

He walked over to Mai’s vanity and sat. He picked up a book that she recently finished reading and thumbed through the pages. Then, he picked up her jar of perfume and sprayed it experimentally. He inhaled her signature scent and sighed. 

Truthfully, he was worried about her well-being away from him too. He wasn’t arrogant enough to assume that she couldn’t go-on without his presence for a few measly days, but he knew how her mother and grandparents could be. Even when she was little, he recalled how Michi would nitpick at her posture or her expression or her word choice. He was ashamed that it took him so long to realize just how conditional her parental affection was. 

In retrospect, it made sense why she loved her uncle just as much as he loved his. When he first met the Warden of the Boiling Rock, he didn’t quite see the appeal. The man was terrifying and brutish and he had a nasty power-complex. But it all fit into place when he saw them together at the wedding. Michi had been chiding Mai for getting her wedding slippers dusty during their first dance, and Zuko was about to ask her to leave. He couldn’t believe that she chose that moment to undercut her daughter, but the Warden stepped in. “Oh knock it off! This is her palace, not a prison yard. How about you go get a drink while I dance with my niece.” And just like that, Mai’s super traditional and stuck-up uncle led her in the camelephant strut. They were both a bit clumsy, especially Mai since her robes were constantly in the way, but their rare and radiant smiles made the moment perfect.

Aunt Mura was another advocate for Mai, but her support was more quiet and diplomatic. A hand on the shoulder here, and words of encouragement there. Mura was so much more gentle and less acerbic than Michi, that it was easy to forget that she had been raised with the same unfair expectations. She approached her sister with more empathy than Zuko was willing to extend.

Zuko hoped that the pair of them would keep Michi in line. Unfortunately, from his limited contact he knew that Mai’s grandparents might also pose a problem. He had a sudden and unpleasant vision of Mai’s grandmother and Michi making comments about Izumi’s behavior. He gritted his teeth. He knew Mai wouldn’t stand for it, but it set him on edge. 

Mai had really come into her own as a Fire Lady. She was always very calm in a crisis, but she spoke passionately about the issues that moved her. She would let her excitement show when her projects came to fruition. She learned how to be vulnerable in order to build trust with their citizens.

His biggest fear was that she would return, and, after their separation, some of that precious progress would be undone. And that Izumi’s light would shine a little dimmer in turn.

He stood from the vanity and shook his head, as if he could dislodge the poisonous thoughts. Normally when something caused him to worry, he would talk about it with his wife. Now he was at a loss. Maybe a nice walk in the cool night air would clear his mind. He could visit Druk in the stables. He muttered to himself as he made his way, “She’s an adult. She doesn’t need you breathing down her neck.” 

— — 

Mai was on the verge of tears. She needed Zuko desperately. 

They had left early that morning in an airship for the Southern region of the Fire Nation where her grandparents lived, and Mai was cautiously optimistic. Since she woke up so early, Izzy slept for the two hours of travel time to the house. It was a lovely opportunity to talk to Tom-Tom, who– at the age of 17– was often busy with school these days.

But everything changed when they landed. Her grandparents greeted her formally, but more warmly than they ever had. And she soon discovered why: this was her first visit to their hometown as the Fire Lady. When she entered their home, she was dismayed to find a throne and a receiving line! Thankfully, Tom-Tom offered to watch Izumi and get her some food, while Mai was forced to meet the Mayor and all of her grandparents' friends. After an hour of accepting well-wishes, backhanded compliments, and personal requests, he uncle arrived. He walked up to her confidently and insisted that she and Izumi take tea with him and Mura. Apparently being the Warden of the Boiling Rock gave him the authority to terminate her indentured servitude.

Tea was a brief affair. However she re-entered the gaggle of distant relatives and vaguely important people with her uncle on her arm, and Tom-Tom again stepped in to watch Izumi as she played with the other children. Mai loved her little brother to bits, but this experience made her appreciate him all the more. She was thirteen when he was born, so she felt fiercely protective of him when he was little. And he was thirteen when Izzy was born, and she could see him return all of that love and shower it on her. The thought made her emotional. 

Dinner came late, well past Izumi’s normal bedtime, but it was a blessedly private affair. Her grandparents; her mother, aunt, and uncle; and herself, Tom-Tom, and Izumi. Oh, and the Mayor, but he spent a significant portion of the night wooing Aunt Mura so he was easy enough to tune out. Uncle showed Izzy magic tricks with his napkin, and Mai smiled. She had nearly forgotten how he used to do the same for her. He would have been a good father if he hadn’t chosen such a demanding profession. She regretted that she had only seen him a handful of times since her wedding.

Mai’s grandparents kept her in conversation. To her surprise, they praised Zuko and his reforms highly. At first she was pleased, but then her mood began to sour. 

“I don’t know how you pulled a match like that. You were always so sullen as a girl,” her grandfather remarked.

Mai felt her mother’s keen stare and tried to laugh it off. “Well… he always said he liked how I hated the world.”

Her grandfather frowned and she worried she misspoke, but her grandmother interjected, “Oh happiness is overrated. True contentment comes with status. You did well to act in a manner pleasing to him.”

Mai felt her stomach turn. She never acted differently for Zuko. He challenged her preconceived notions sometimes and helped her see different points of view, but she didn’t blindly follow him like an animal. Was that how she appeared? Izumi wasn’t hearing this was she? She looked at her daughter, but, no, Uncle was telling her a story about a prison riot. Somehow, that was probably a healthier message for her impressionable child.

Michi joined the conversation, “Oh mother, it’s all thanks to you! I took your advice and got her into the palace early. Her friendship with Princess Azula was most beneficial. She was the natural choice to be Zuko’s consort.”

Mai felt suddenly nauseous. Her friendship with Azula was strained in a lot of ways, but it was built on a genuine foundation. They had both loved sparring as girls, along with Ty Lee of course. They would sneak from the stuffy functions her mother dragged her to. Michi couldn’t take credit for any of that, and she certainly couldn't take credit for her love with Zuko.

Mai gripped the edge of the table, prepared to tell her off. “Actually!” she began confidently, and all of the eyes in the room turned toward her. Apparently her Uncle had finished his story and Mura had politely rebuffed the Mayor. But it was the full and undivided attention of her grandparents that got to her. She remembered why silence and falsity were her friends. Mai quickly thought of an excuse for her outburst. “Zuko wanted me to tell you how sorry he is that he couldn’t make it. He sends his love.” 

“Darling, told us that before.” her grandmother replied. “He is the Fire Lord, you should not expect him to attend your family affairs.”

Mai wilted. “Of course, grandmother. But he asked me to tell you, so I wanted to relay his words.”

Her grandfather smiled, “Yes, a good wife echoes her husband.” 

Mai snuck another look at Izumi, praying that she was not listening. Luck seemed to be on her side, as the little princess was absorbed and– covered in– the noodles on her plate. 

Mai got them out of there as quickly as she deemed socially acceptable  and washed the noodles off of her little girl.. She cursed herself for her cowardice. She was the Fire Lady! She could have left whenever she damn well pleased, but she turned into a child the second she entered that house. 

To make matters worse, as soon as she and Izumi entered their chambers the little girl began having a meltdown.

It started innocently enough: “Where’s dada?”

Mai pursed her lips. She had tried explaining to Izumi before they left that daddy couldn’t come with them this time, but the thought was unimaginable to her. They had always traveled as a family, and she had never had to sleep without a goodnight kiss from daddy before Mai began the bedtime routine.

Mai tried again to explain, “I’m sorry turtleduck, but he’s not here right now. He had to stay at the palace and run the country. We’ll see him in two more sleeps.”

Izumi teared up. “Not here?”

Mai held her, “No. He’s not here, but he’s safe and so are we. You’ll see him soon.”

Then the wailing began in earnest and it did not stop for what felt like hours but was probably minutes. Mai tried to be soothing, but firm. For better or worse, she couldn’t capitulate to her daughter’s request this time. No airships or secure transports were running at this hour. And Zuko would probably spontaneously combust if she rented an animal and attempted the overnight journey alone. 

Mai felt the tears prick in her eyes too. Since her parents were so strict, she had no gauge for how to react to this situation. Was she being too indulgent by letting her daughter cry? How could she stop it? What could she say to make her happy again? All at once, the floodgates of self-loathing had opened. She was the co-ruler of a country, why did she let her grandparents walk all over her in front of her daughter? And how could she foist Izumi on to her baby brother all day? It was his family reunion too. 

She needed Zuko. He would calm Izzy down. Spirits, he would calm her down. 

There was a knock at the door. Shit! Their rooms were in the farthest part of the manor to give the Fire Lady privacy, but someone had obviously overheard and complained. There would be rumors all over the town about how bad of a parent she was. Or it was her guards checking in. The poor guys probably wanted to make sure she was okay. She tucked Izumi behind her, and palmed a knife– just to be safe– and opened the door.

For a second, she thought her brain was deceiving her into seeing what she wanted to see.

“DADA!” Izumi screamed happily.

She ran around Mai and jumped into his arms. “Hello turtleduck.” He laughed and kissed her head as he made his way into the room. “I hope I’m not intruding on girl time.” He smiled at Mai.

She took a deep breath to try to compose herself and smiled back at her husband. “Of course, not. Our princess was just demanding your presence.” 

“Oh!” Zuko seemed genuinely surprised. “Well then, I’m glad I arrived just in time.” He tucked Izumi into her bed, across the room from Mai’s– and now Zuko’s– larger one. She must have been exhausted from her early travels, because, as soon as she knew that both of her parents were in the room, she fell asleep. Mai marveled at her instant calm.

Zuko stroked her hair a few times and then turned his attention to his wife. He walked over to her and delicately pulled her into an embrace. “I’m such a loser,” he whispered, face buried in her neck, and it felt so out-of-the-blue that she nearly snorted.

“What on earth are you talking about? I need more information to know if I disagree,” she retorted.

“Hey!” he protested quietly, and pinched her arm, but she could feel his smile on her skin. His breath tickled as he spoke: “I couldn’t handle one night away from you both. Let alone two.”

Mai caressed his cheek, and guided his face so they were looking into each other's eyes. “Then I must be a loser too because I was about to cry before you got here. Izumi was sobbing because she missed you so much and my family–” she stopped abruptly.

Zuko took hold of her hands and she could feel the fire in his eyes. “What did they say?”

Mai slumped her shoulders and allowed herself to lean against him. “It’s not important.” That dreaded touch of apathy colored her voice, but then, but a glimmer of broke through. “It’s really not important because you’re here now.”

Zuko wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately. He finally pulled away, “At least give me a list of names.”

Mai chuckled quietly, she didn’t want to wake their daughter. “The usual suspects.”

That told Zuko all he needed to know. The pair went about their nightly routines, before climbing into bed. Zuko longed to kiss her more, and fill her with reassurance, but he was prevented by the presence of their daughter. He settled for wrapping his arms tightly around Mai and burying his face in her hair.

But suddenly she broke away and sat up. Zuko pouted up at her.

“Wait! Wait a minute! How did you get here?” she looked at him in awe. 

He smiled cheekily. “You know I’ve been practicing flying with Druk.”

Mai crossed her arms. “You did not fly him all the way here from the Caldera! His previous flights were twenty minutes at most. My poor baby is probably exhausted.”

Zuko laughed. Druk may have been bonded to him by the sacred fire, but the dragon was bonded to Mai by something else. The two were so protective of each other that it was almost comical. 

“Oh don’t worry,” Zuko reassured her, and pulled her back into his arms. “Your big old baby loved it, and your family’s servants gave him the best room in their stables.”

Mai huffed. “Okay, but if he’s sore tomorrow, then I’m using you as a pin cushion.”

“It would be my greatest honor.”

Mai rolled her eyes, but she snuggled in closer.

— — 

The next day, Mai checked on Druk first thing. To her own surprise, she was the first member of her immediate family awake. She left Zuko a note. (Her notes always began, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m leaving,” even if she was just taking the five-minute trip to her favorite fire flakes stand. It had become an inside joke between them.) 

Druk truly was in a great mood. Mai’s family ordered the finest cuts from the butcher as a special treat. If there was one thing she could count on her grandparents to do, it was suck up to royalty.

She stopped by the kitchens and put in a special request, and then she made her way to the airship service. By the time she arrived back at the house, breakfast had begun. She slowly took her seat, allowing her mother's glare to linger.

“Young lady,” he grandfather began. “It is bad form to arrive late to a meal. “Especially when royalty is present.”

Mai pretended to be chastened. “Oh, I’m so sorry grandfather. But I wanted to put on a surprise for my dearest husband.” She strongly emphasized the word. “As you and Grandmother were saying, such a visitation to my family is quite beneath him actually.” Zuko whipped his head to his in-laws. Mai could tell he was seething, but this was her moment to reclaim power. She knew he would follow her lead, and so she continued, “As such, I thought it would be a lovely surprise if we all took a trip to the nearby southern beaches.”

Mai’s grandmother scoffed. “Those aren’t nearby. You’d have to take an airship to get there.”

Mai nodded, “Yes and I chartered one. Unfortunately, it’s quite small. They only had ten open seats.”

Mai’s mother tried to cut the tension. “Oh well… That’s still enough for all of us, and we can even bring the Mayor. Perhaps the day can be salvaged, but you really should have asked your grandparents before doing this.” 

Michi didn’t want to look bad in front of her parents, and Mai almost regretted what she was about to do. She replied: “You’re not taking into account the guards. We’ll need four to be safe I would say. I’m so very sorry. I assumed that grandfather and grandmother would be too weary to travel so far, so I didn’t list them on the tickets. And Uncle and Auntie have so few opportunities to see Izumi. I hope you understand, Mother.”

Michi flushed red, but she wouldn’t dare have a dramatic and drawn out argument with Mai so publicly. The Warden chuckled to himself, “Now this is an escape plan I can get behind.”

Zuko looked at his wife with a newfound admiration. He knew there would come a time when they were separated again, but he did not want to dwell on it. In this moment, they were together. And they were stronger because of it.

#maikoweek2024 #maiko week 2024 #atla maiko #atla mai #atla zuko #maiko #mai #zuko #atla #avatar the last airbender #mai x zuko #zuko x mai #Michi #Tom-Tom #Aunt Mura #Mai's family #Mai is a good mom #Zuko is a good dad

[deliciousdefendorinternet]

if we do get another angst heavy tv show episode in the future then I gotta see it being their Grandma's anniversary and Bro zone not knowing about it.

like just imagine if we get another angst heavy episode like search for piece at some point in the future then one plot point I really wanna see at some point is something to do with their Grandma again now that Bro zone are around.

it could be the anniversary of their Grandmother's death since I like that plot point idea lol and with that there's a couple of options for how the story could go.

either 1. Branch spends the episode going to each of his individual Bros just sorta faking wanting to casually hang out for no real reason.

and even offering to help out when they say that their either busy with work or already have other plans but they basically politely blow him off.

leading to him acting like its no big deal and just going back on his own later on one of the Bros finishes what they were doing.

and ends up deciding to go see if Branch still wants to hang out maybe bumping into the snack pack at the village and casually hears them mention that Branch had asked each of them at different points if they wanted to hang out for the day together as well.

stating he had been acting kinda weird like offering to help do some of their boring stuff with them like their laundry or help babysitting their young cousins.

which the Bro finds suspicious so he gathers the other Bros and asks them if they had had visits from him which they all say they have and they all note he seemed a tad off and almost kinda desperate to spend the day together.

then they all head to the Bunker to see if he's in which he is tho he acts somewhat tense tho clearly trying to act normal in front of the brothers.

but they do keep pushing him for the truth and he eventually sighs and tells them that its the anniversary of when their Grandma died and that he's always found it so much harder being alone on this day.

so in the past he's usually tried to be around other people on this specific day anyway afterwards Branch is somewhat embarrassed given he feels its somewhat childish of him to not be able to handle it on his own.

anyway I find it cute to imagine it ending with the Bros promising he won't have to spend that day by himself again and they all agree to remember the date so they can all stay over together every time the day comes around every year.

or option 2. the Brothers are the ones trying to get Branch's attention maybe asking him if he wants to hang out but after being turned down by him in a somewhat weird way.

they get suspicious and won't let it go kinda leading to the same result only difference is Branch instead normally prefers to spend that particular day of the year alone.

given its what he's used to and he just prefers to deal with things away from other people.

IDK what do you think? you could argue option 2 is more consistent for the Branch we know but I just kinda like the cute idea of option 1 where he's sorta desperate to not be alone on that day.

and he nervously tries to find anyone to spend the day with no matter what he would have to do in order to spend time with them.

but ultimately no one is available and the Brothers do make the agreement to always spend that day of the year together in the end so he never has to go through it alone again.

#trolls #trolls branch #trolls brozone #dreamworks trolls #branch trolls #trolls band together #branch #trolls dreamworks #brozone #trolls 3 #trolls branch angst #trolls brozone angst #trolls angst

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [1/?]

hello!! I've been wanting to write a longer h/c fic for awhile. This is the exposition/first installment to that (4.8k words).

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written for these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

“A wedding,” Vincent repeats.

“Yes,” Yves says. “A wedding.”

It’s his cousin Aimee’s wedding—she’s four years older than he is. Back when he’d gone with his family back to France over the summers, she’d been one of the people he’d grown quickly to look up to—someone who knew the ins and outs, it seemed, to every stage of life he was in the process of stumbling through.

Yves has always been used to being looked up to—one of the natural consequences, perhaps, of being the eldest in his immediate family—and he likes to think that he’s good at giving off the impression that he has things figured out. But he’d grown close to Aimee at their family reunions precisely because she was everything he tried to be: strong-willed and resilient, self-sufficient even in the face of hardship.

Aimee’s getting married to Genevieve—someone who Yves has only met a couple times, but who manages to be one of the sweetest people he’s ever met. All in all, it’s a wedding he wouldn’t miss under any circumstances.

Leon, his brother, and Victoire, his sister, will be there, along with Aimee’s friends and the rest of his extended family. The problem is that Leon keeps in touch with Mikhail. Mikhail let slip that Yves has been seeing Vincent. Leon told Victoire, who told Aimee. And now Aimee is offering to pay for Vincent’s plane ticket to their wedding in France in the spring—a bit of a last minute arrangement, but she’d sounded so excited at the prospect that Yves was finally seeing someone new (“I’d love to meet him,” she’d said over the phone, “would it be too much to ask him to take a couple days off work? Oh my gosh, please give me his contact details, I’ll send him an invitation,” and she’d sounded so excited about it that he hadn’t had it in him to turn her down).

“It’s very last minute,” he says, “but my cousin’s getting married, and she really wants to meet you. It’ll be some time in early March, in Provence. She says she’ll pay for your flight, if you want to go, but you’d probably have to take a couple days off.”

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking at him. “And you want me to be there?”

“Of course I do,” Yves says. “I think it’s more a question of whether you want to be there.”

Vincent looks back at him, his expression carefully blank. “Are you sure you want to introduce me to your family? That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that you’d take lightly.”

“They want to meet you,” Yves says. “And I wouldn’t mind introducing you. I think they would really like you.”

“It would be a waste of your time,” Vincent says, quietly, “to introduce me as someone you’re serious about if we’re just planning to break things off.”

Yves is well aware of the fact. This arrangement with Vincent—the trust he places in Vincent; the practiced familiarity, the feigned intimacy—has an expiration date. The fact that he doesn’t know when the expiration date is doesn’t change the fact that it will, inevitably, end—when Erika gets the point, or fades from Yves’s life entirely; when Vincent finds someone he considers worthy of pursuing in actuality; when either of them become interested in dating again. Whatever it is that ends up ending things, Yves knows: what he has with Vincent right now is strictly temporary. 

Perhaps it would be disingenuous to lie to his family about who exactly Vincent is to him. But then again, Yves thinks it isn’t much worse than any other relationship, with all of its ups and downs, all its hopes and uncertainties. It’s not like he can ever guarantee that a relationship is certain to work out, no matter how serious he feels about it in the moment. So is there really any harm to introducing Vincent as his current partner—as someone he feels certain about now, but maybe not always—and to leave it at that?

“It’s not really going to be my day, in the first place,” Yves says. “My relationship status is more of a conversation starter than anything. And even if you go by the timeline we told Erika, we haven’t even been together for a year. I don’t think my family will think much of it other than, like, a small and noncommittal window into what I’ve been up to. So it’s really up to you.”

“I think it would be fun,” Vincent says, “though only if you’re sure about having me there.”

“Great. I’m sure,” Yves says. “Everyone will love you.” He does think it’s true. Something about Vincent tends to have that effect, he thinks.

—

The fact that he and Vincent are traveling together is not exactly a secret.

Vincent agrees it’s best shared on a need-to-know basis—they won’t be the ones to bring it up, but if someone asks about it, they’ll answer honestly. It would be more work, Yves thinks, to have to coordinate lies about this.

But he runs into trouble not even two weeks later.

“So you and Vincent are taking the week off,” Cara says to him carefully, over lunch.

“Yes,” Yves says.

“Any plans?”

“I’m actually flying to France,” Yves tells her, uncertain about whether or not he should mention Vincent’s involvement—if Vincent has talked to Cara about this already, there’s no point in hiding anything, but he should be careful with the information he discloses otherwise. “One of my cousins is getting married there.”

“Oh,” Cara says, all too knowingly. “What a coincidence. Vincent told me he’s also planning on going to France.”

“I… heard,” Yves says, slowly. “He’s told me as much.”

“I didn’t realize France was such a popular tourist destination for march,” Cara says, smiling at him. “I thought most people went over the summer.”

“You know what they say,” Yves says. “France’s beauty knows no seasons.” 

“You should ask Vincent which part of France he’s visiting,” Cara says, with a smirk. “Maybe you guys can book a hotel together.”

Yves is positive he’s being laughed at. “It’s the third largest country in Europe,” he says. “I’m sure the chance of us ending up in the same region is statistically very low.”

“I think Cara knows we’re fake dating,” he laments to Vincent later, in the break room. “I mean, the dating part, not the fake part.”

Vincent blinks at him. “Did you tell her?”

“No,” Yves says. He doesn’t think they’ve been that obvious about it. “I just told her I was going to France. She made some undue assumptions.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “I told her I was attending a wedding there.”

An impromptu trip to France, over the same week at the tail end of busy season, to attend a wedding. Separately. Yves is starting to understand where Cara's suspicions might’ve come from.

“That would do it,” he says.

Perhaps they really need to coordinate what a need-to-know basis means. Cara is, thankfully, not the type of person to gossip, from what Yves has gathered, but if their coworkers know, that could complicate things. “I don’t think she’ll say anything,” he says. “But I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d assume.”

Vincent seems to consider this. “It’s fine,” he says. “Though it might prove troublesome when we decide to end things.”

“We can figure that out when it happens,” Yves says.  

At some point in the foreseeable future, everything will go back to how it’s always been. Yves had been fine on his own for a long time before he’d met Erika. He’s sure he’ll be prepared for it when it happens.

—

The entire drive to the airport feels surreal.

Mikhail drives them. They leave at the crack of dawn—4am, on the dot. Victoire’s in the passenger seat, dozing off, and Leon, Vincent, and Yves are crammed into the backseat. 

Yves sits in the middle—there’s not much leg room to go around in the first place, but he tries to take up as little space as possible, mostly for Vincent’s sake. He and Leon have been crammed into far smaller cars on far longer road trips.

Leon says, “This is the earliest in the morning I’ve ever third wheeled.”

Victoire, who has her eyes shut, says, “It’s very nice to meet you, Vincent.”

“Likewise,” Vincent says. 

“Yves has told us all about you,” Leon says.

“Oh,” Vincent says, blinking. “What has he said about me?”

“Mostly that you’re super hot,” Leon says. Yves, who is in a perfect position to elbow him, elbows him for that.

“You make me sound so shallow,” Yves says.

“But also that you’re really good at your job,” Leon continues, patting Yves on the leg. “Did you know Yves likes people who he’s slightly intimidated by?”

“I never said that,” Yves says.

“It’s pretty obvious,” Mikhail says. 

“You guys are conspiring against me,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs. 

Leon launches into a series of questions—about how they met, about who asked who out first, about what it’s like at work, about what kinds of things Vincent does for fun.

“No wonder Yves is totally whipped,” Leon says, after Vincent finishes telling a story about how he’d given a presentation at a conference in place of his then-boss, who had—due to unforeseen flight delays—found out last minute that she wouldn’t have been able to make it on time. Yves hasn’t heard this story before, but it doesn’t surprise him that Vincent would be able to pull that sort of thing off, even with such paralyzingly short notice. “You’re exactly his type.”

Just great. If anyone could dig a nice, fitting grave for him over the span of one conversation, Yves thinks, it would be younger brother. 

“I can’t believe he hasn’t invited you over for dinner yet,” Victoire says, her eyes still closed. How much of this conversation she’s actually been awake for, Yves can’t say.

She makes Yves promise that, after their trip to France, Vincent will be over for dinner. (“Sure,” Vincent says. “Just tell me the date in advance. I’ll clear my schedule.” Yves will have to apologize to him after this—for some reason, Vincent has an uncanny talent for ending up invited to half the things Yves is personally involved in.)

Yves is awake enough to hold a conversation, but he finds himself yawning mid-sentence on more than a few occasions. Vincent doesn’t so much as yawn at all over the entirety of the car ride. Yves has no idea if he’s always up this early, or if he’s just naturally immune to tiredness—another signature of his good genetics, next to the fact that he looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot, or the fact that he manages to look good in everything he wears. Some people just win the genetic lottery, Yves supposes.

For some reason, he finds he feels a little more tired than usual. Waking up early is never easy, but usually he’d be distinctly more alert by now. There’s a strange, uncharacteristic heaviness to his limbs—it’s the kind of grogginess he only experiences when he hasn’t been getting enough sleep for awhile.

It’s fine. They have an eight hour flight ahead of them—they’ll be flying into Marseille, and then being driven up to Provence, where the wedding will be taking place. He can catch up on sleep over the flight.

As they’re unloading the suitcases from the back trunk, Vincent says, “Your family’s nice.”

Yves laughs. “I’m relieved they haven’t scared you off yet. Sorry for the… well, interrogation, by the way.”

“I can tell you’re close to them,” Vincent says, a little more quietly.

When Yves looks over, something about Vincent’s smile looks almost wistful. Yves wonders, briefly, how well Vincent has kept up with his own family. If he’d ever been packed into the backseat of a small car, back when he’d lived in Korea; if over some long road trip, he’d ever had to come up with increasingly inventive ways to pass the time. If his relatives ever teased him, then, about the crushes he’d had when he was younger, or anything else. If the ocean that was suddenly between them came with another, less tangible kind of distance, the kind that even phone calls and international flights can never quite bridge.

Yves doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know how he’d go about asking if he wanted to know. How is it that sometimes, he feels like he knows so much about Vincent, but other times, he feels like he knows almost nothing at all?

—

Aimee has booked him a seat next to Vincent. 

They’re a few rows away from the others—I wanted to seat everyone together, Aimee had texted him a few weeks back, but when I was booking Vincent’s ticket, the seats up front were all sold out, so I just moved you so you’d be sitting next to him. 

Now, he watches as Vincent pushes his briefcase gingerly into the overhead compartment.

“You must not be new to flying,” he says.

Vincent nods. “I’m not.”

“Eight more hours,” Yves says, taking the middle seat so that Vincent doesn’t have to. “It’ll be over in no time, especially if you take a nap.”

“I have some work to get done,” Vincent says. “Only after the plane takes off, though.”

Right—no electronics larger than a cell phone until they’re 30,000 feet in the air. “I thought this was supposed to be your week off.”

“It is,” Vincent says. “I just want to make sure everything’s still in one piece by the time I get back.”

Yves has never quite been comfortable on planes. It’s not that he’s afraid of flying, or that the turbulence bothers him—it’s more just the cramped space, the noise, the anticipation, the discomfort—all of it compounds. It’s usually difficult to get to sleep, but he’s so tired right now that maybe this flight will be an exception.

There’s just one problem: whoever is in charge of the air conditioning in the airplane cabin really hates him. Compared to Provence, New York’s climate is generally more extreme—colder in the winters, hotter in the summers—so all he has on him right now is a thin jacket. It’d be perfectly reasonable attire in most situations, except for the fact that this airplane in particular is unusually frigid. It’s definitely cold enough to be distinctly uncomfortable, especially considering that he’s just sitting in place. Yves crosses his arms, suppressing a shiver.

“Do you think Aimee will be convinced?” Vincent asks.

“Convinced?”

“That we’re together.”

“I’m sure she has better things to do than play detective over the state of my relationships,” Yves says, with a laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“It’s why you invited me,” Vincent says, “is it not?”

“Pardon?”

“To show the rest of your family that you’re not still hung up over Erika.”

“I invited you for a lot of reasons,” Yves says. “For one, you’re good company.”

“So are all your friends.”

“I thought we could both use a week off,” Yves adds. “It’s France, in the springtime. What could be better?”

Vincent says, “I need you to tell me what to do.”

“What?”

“Your cousin paid for my flight,” he lists, counting off his fingers. “Your family is paying for the hotel. Your best friend drove me to the airport.” He says these things as if he’s listing off all the ways in which he’s indebted to them. “It’d be easiest for both of us if you told me how to make a good impression. That’s what I’m here for, right?”

Yves blinks. “I don’t think you’d need my help to make a good impression.”

“You could’ve taken anyone with you, but you’re taking me,” Vincent presses. “There has to be something you need me for.”

If there was nothing, you wouldn’t have invited me. The sentiment hangs between them, unspoken. But Yves can see it in Vincent’s expression. 

“My favorite cousin is getting married,” Yves says, fervently. “To her fiancee—who is also super cool, by the way. My whole family is going to be there. Do you think I’d choose to endure an eight hour plane ride sitting next to someone I didn’t like?”

“Maybe,” Vincent says.

Yves shakes his head. “It’s true that my family wants to meet you. But if I didn’t want you to come to France with me, I could’ve come up with an excuse.”

He twists around in his seat so that he’s facing Vincent directly. Narrowly resists the urge to reach out and grab Vincent’s hand. “I like spending time with you. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t. You don’t have to do anything out of the ordinary—if you have fun on this trip, that’s more than enough.”

Vincent stares back at him, his eyes wide. 

Yves has a feeling he’s said too much. It isn’t Vincent’s fault for assuming this is all just for show, considering everything that’s come before. Part of it is, but another part of him just really wants Vincent to have fun—to take in the sights at the gorgeous venue Aimee’s sent him pictures of, to have a week off in one of the most picturesque countrysides in the world (Yves may be slightly biased, but still) and not have to think too hard about impressing everyone. 

“Is that… okay with you?” Yves asks.

“Yes,” Vincent says. “It’s just unexpected.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

“Oh. Well. I’m sorry if I misled you, or anything.”

“You didn’t.” This time, Vincent really does smile—a sly, quicksilver thing. “For the record, I am very excited to go to your cousin’s wedding.”

“Thank god,” Yves says. “That’s good. I was beginning to think I was holding you hostage.”

He leans back into his seat, suppressing another shiver. Something about the changing pressure in the airplane cabin is making his head start to ache. It’s probably the elevation. Perhaps he should try to sleep just so that he doesn’t have to sit for eight hours with a headache brewing.

He shuts his eyes and tries. It’s no use. He’s tired, and the cabin is quiet enough, but it’s too cold to get to sleep—it feels impossible to get comfortable like this.

So he picks up a novel he’d been meaning to get to—something suspenseful, to offset the monotony of the flight.

When the seatbelt sign flickers off, Vincent unclips his seatbelt so that he can retrieve his briefcase from one of the overhead compartments, and spends the next half hour paging through multiple documents and leaving notes in the margins at a dizzying pace. Yves slinks down lower into his seat, trying hard not to shiver. 

“Is it just me, or is it kind of cold in here?” 

Vincent frowns at him in a concerned way that seems to suggest that it really is just him. Then again, Vincent is unfazed by New York’s cold winters, so Yves isn’t sure he’s the best point of reference.

“Do you need my jacket?” he asks.

“No,” Yves says quickly. “It’s not that bad.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “If you’re certain.”

He turns his attention back to the screen, and Yves resigns himself to reading—or, more accurately, trying and failing to read. It’s mercilessly cold, and his head hurts enough to make focusing on any one thing an uncomfortable task. He gets through another couple chapters, finds himself rereading the same passage over and over again, and—finally, defeated—dog-ears the page and slides the book into the pocket attached to the seat in front of him.

The next time the flight attendants come around, Vincent says something to one of them Yves can’t quite make out. Yves asks for orange juice—it’s not supposed to be symbolic, or anything, but on the off-chance that this headache ends up being a precursor to something more unpleasant, he thinks it might be wise.

The flight attendant pours him the orange juice he’s asked for—no ice (right now, something ice cold is the last thing he needs)—and sets it down on the tray table in front of him. Yves stares down at it, blinking. He hasn’t eaten all day, but strangely, he doesn’t have much of an appetite.

He doesn’t register the flight attendant from before—the one Vincent talked to—is back until he hears Vincent’s quiet “thanks” to his left.

Something brushes against his arm.

He looks up. It’s one of those travel blankets they sometimes carry, neatly folded, though this flight hadn’t given them out to everyone at the start. They must be reserved—given only upon request, maybe. 

“You said you were cold,” Vincent—who’s holding out the blanket for him—says, by way of explanation.

Yves blinks at him. He’s about to reassure Vincent, instinctively, that it’s not that cold—that he would’ve been fine without the blanket, that Vincent didn’t have to go out of his way to ask for one.

But his head hurts. He hasn’t been warm all flight. To say that the blanket is a relief would be a massive understatement.

“Thanks,” he says, taking it. “This is perfect. I won’t be cold with this.”

He ends up wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, pulling it tightly around him—like a cloak, or like the jacket that he might have brought with him if he’d had the foresight to anticipate feeling this cold on a commercial flight.

It’s nice. He’s still a little cold, with the blanket, but it’s enough to keep him from openly shivering.

He should really try to get some sleep, he thinks. It’s going to be evening in France when they land. A seat away from him, the window shutters are pulled up, but he can see, from the crevices around the window, that it’s light out.

“I’m going to try to nap,” he tells Vincent. “But wake me up if I need anything—elbow me if you have to. I’m not usually a heavy sleeper.”

“Okay,” Vincent says. “I’ll try not to wake you.”

“You can wake me whenever,” Yves says, muffling a yawn into his hand. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent smiles at him, the kind of smile that implies he thinks he’s working exactly as hard as he should be. “No promises.”

It’s not easy to get to sleep, despite his exhaustion. He lays there for a while, his eyes shut—it’s certainly warmer with the blanket, but for some reason, he feels strangely restless. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of being here, with his family, with Vincent—on the way to see one of the most important people in his life get married. Maybe it’s the cup of black coffee he’d downed this morning to be awake enough to help Mikhail navigate and, subsequently, awake enough to actually be useful at the airport.

In the end, he falls asleep to the static hum of the aircraft, to the sound of Vincent hammering away at his keyboard next to him, incessant and comforting.

—

Yves wakes to someone tapping him on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m up.”

“A ‘light sleeper,’ you said,” Vincent says. “We just landed.”

Yves says, “I’m wide awake.” The yawn that he hides behind one hand is apparently not subtle enough, because when Vincent looks away from him in favor of staring straight ahead, it looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

Vincent’s stowed away his laptop already—Yves hopes that’s a sign that he’s done with work for the duration of this trip, but more likely he just had to put it away for landing.

“How was the flight for you?” Yves says.

Vincent looks at him. “Uneventful,” he says, at last.

“Not enthralled by all the financial records you had to go through?”

“They were very enthralling. How was your nap?”

“Good,” Yves says, even though he doesn’t feel particularly rested. He’s just groggy, probably, and the headache is just as bad as it was, if not worse. He’s sure once he gets off the plane and gets some fresh air, he’ll feel much better. “I probably needed it.” His breath hitches, unexpectedly, he turns to the side, raising his arm to his face to shield the oncoming—

“hH-’IZscHH’iew!” 

The sneeze is loud, embarrassingly, and it scrapes unpleasantly against his throat, which feels… off.

“Bless you,” Vincent says, frowning. He looks more concerned than he has any right to be.

Yves flashes Vincent a distracted smile. “Thanks.”

Everything—from the moment they step off the plane—is exhaustingly hectic. 

The hotel in Provence is more than an hour away from the airport they’ve landed at. They have a bus to catch, which means that after they regroup with the others, it’s international customs, baggage claim, and then they’re headed, maneuvering multiple suitcases each, onto the bus. He sits next to Vincent, though on the aisle side, so that he can lean over and interject whenever Leon and Victoire say something that’s worth commenting on.

Other than that, he talks with Vincent, mostly—about Aimee, about how she’s been in his life for longer than he’s known how to write his name, back when his parents would take him back to France once or twice a year. (“She was practically an older sister to me,” he says, “except we never fought,” to which Vincent says, “You make it sound like not getting along is a requirement to be siblings,” to which Yves says, “It definitely is.”)

His parents flew into France yesterday, so they should be settled in already—they’ll catch up with them at the hotel tonight, if it’s not too late. He probably won’t see Aimee and Genevieve until tomorrow morning, at breakfast—and even then, that depends on how busy they are with the various wedding preparations Aimee’s been telling him about.

The roads nearing the hotel are uneven and winding. Halfway through the drive, Yves registers, faintly, that he isn’t really feeling any better from before. His head is still hurting from the flight, and when he swallows, he finds his throat feels perhaps the slightest bit sore.

He’s cold, too, in the sort of uncomfortable, persistent way that’s difficult to alleviate, even with extra layers or with a warm drink. He’s starting to suspect that maybe the airplane cabin hadn’t been the problem after all.

None of that is particularly visible to any of the others—that is, until he finds himself tensing up halfway through a sentence, burying his head into the crook of his elbow as his eyes squeeze shut—

“God, sorry, I— hh-! hHehh’iiZZSCHh’iiEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent, Victoire, and Leon say to him, all at once.

“You’d better not be getting sick,” Leon says, turning to him, with the sort of tone that implies that he’s joking. “That would really be the worst timing.”

“I’m not,” Yves says, swallowing against the soreness in his throat. “I promise.” Or, perhaps more accurately—he can’t be.

It will be the perfect wedding, he thinks. Aimee has planned it out meticulously, and she’s one of the most thorough people he knows. The weather forecast says this week will be sunny and temperate. He’s here, in France. Tomorrow, he’ll be surrounded by his extended family, and in the afternoon he and Vincent will head off to the welcome party, and he’ll get to give Aimee the gifts he’s gotten for her and introduce Vincent to everyone formally. Everything will go as planned—the welcome party, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner, and on Saturday, the wedding and the vows.

It will be perfect, because it has to be. Yves will be present, and attentive, and he’ll give the speech he has prepared at Aimee’s wedding, and they’ll all remember this week fondly. Even considering the small, almost negligible chance that he’s coming down with something, there are more important things he has to worry about right now, which is to say: Yves is going to do this right.

He’s going to make sure of it. 

[ Part 2 ]

#sneeze fic #snz fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i'm sorry if this exposition is like #comparatively uneventful 😭😭😭 #this entire fic was written with the intent of giving people-pleaser yves the worst time possible #so i promise that is to come... in the future (if i have the time and bandwidth to write more and if people want to read more) #yvverse #my fic #fun fact - i used to refuse to write characters with anything worse than a cold (the flu included) just as principle #clearly that changed over the years haha

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 16, 2021 11:00 p.m. grandma ong's house

there’s a strangeness to a quiet enclave in a bustling metropolis, unexpected in the same manner as grant and henry’s long, unbroken brotherhood. nothing about the baseline rustle of neighbors carrying in paper grocery sacks and kids kicking a soccer ball resembles the eternal merry-go-round of life–max-capacity subway cars, clueless and loud tourists, and locals who drift through their day–just down the road. and yet above this neighborhood–and the entire sprawling city–hangs a common thread, a bluish hazy night sky.

“that was wild,” henry says, suppressed laughter bursting forth from deep in his chest, “all day everyone’s defaulted to speaking english because, well, look at you, and you even had me fooled. i actually forgot you kind of speak basic korean."

“the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.”

henry rolls his eyes dramatically but in the same split second, throws an arm around grant’s shoulders.

“i was afraid that soup was going to fly out of your mouth.” grant returns the gesture, though it requires him to lean down so as to not smother henry’s face instead. “too close for comfort.”

“well, in my defense, i was not expecting you to reply to my grandma asking me, “daehyun, i haven’t seen your friend since your wedding. how did you meet again?”

grant shrugs. “we met on a playground twenty-four years ago.”

“on my very first weekend as a resident of the semi-good ol’ US of A. in the opposite situation. i remember being so pissed that my parents made me go out to ‘make friends’ that weekend. not moving, mind you, but making friends. i guess they were psychics, though, because apparently, it didn’t bother you that i didn’t speak your language for at least a couple weeks.”

“people say i could talk to a wall.”

henry laughs again. “you could. you’re very chatty.”

“did it bother you that i wrote you some really, really, really shitty letters in korean in the early days based on online translations i found?”

“no, that was sweet.” no question about it–the joy in henry’s eyes is determined. “they were definitely horrendous, but it’s the thought that counted. you could do better now. oh, and i think i still have all those letters. i should. i did box them up when i moved out of my parents’ house.”

they were, all things considered, never very much alike, beyond the fact they both liked cats but weren’t allowed to have any. henry’s mom was allergic, but grant’s parents despised pets. otherwise, they were polar opposites. grant always liked math and science, wanted to work with airplanes, and preferred to spend his free time with others playing tabletop RPGs and computer games; henry always liked art and history, wanted to be a photographer, and preferred to be left alone to his vintage film camera and pottery. grant’s parents raged when he selected aviation over medicine; henry’s parents and grandparents, all artists, were delighted by his dreams of photography. moreover, grant selectively speaks his mind, while henry rarely minces words.

and still–

the shrill honk of a car off in the distance disturbs grant’s thoughts.

“you really could talk to a wall, but hey, why did you approach me on the swing set that day? you were already busy hanging out with your sisters. and your cousins. why me?”

and still, the two have fused into one. the world turned upside down; grant paints these days, henry has long been a willing dungeons and dragons player, and separation from one another is like losing half your body. if henry walked away now–ended this messy half-hug early–grant would turn to ash.

“well,” grant begins, drawing out the suspense with an exaggerated sigh, “first of all...”

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 storytelling #simblr #hlcn: everything the stars promised #holocene.docx #holocene.png #hlcn: grant #hlcn: henry #it's been a WHILE since i've done a text-based update on this story so i apologize if the tone is off at all #then again this story has undergone quite a few stylistic changes and there's nothing wrong with that #btw i haven't even written anything outside of academic papers in so long i just have not had the spark or energy for a long time #so i'm kind of proud of this bc it took more effort than usual #wow i miss creative writing being 100% instinctual to me jdsfdsklfds burnout is so real y'all and it's got HANDSSSS #insert a NONE OF THIS IS ABOUT THIS PARTICULAR MOMENT IT'S ABOUT THEIR WHOLE FRIENDSHIP comment #hehehehe i love setting up future posts :3 i love foreshadowing :3 #also yes we wait to find out the answer to that last question :) but it's coming #aaaaand we will find out more about henry i promise this isn't it

[potatochip-oc-dump]

i keep dropping little tidbits of marks backstory... one day i will spit it all out on some google doc or somethin

little mark + moose mom, mom who is moose

#oc #mark mahogany #moose mom #ill come up w a name for her at somepoint... #ANYWAYS I NEED EVERYONE TO SEE CHILD MARK NOW!!!!!!! #blood #LISTEN I. PROMISE ILL GET INTO MARK LORE WHEN I HAVE THE ENERGY TO DO SO!!!! #VRGGRHGRHRHEHGRHRG new character tiem #shes his mentor of sorts. shes the librarian + owner of the “archive” whatever place that mark currently works at #she took him under her wing and passed down the position to him #ALSO. THIS IS LIKE THE 3RD TIME IVE ACCIDENTALLY MADE AN ANTHRO CHARACTER TRANS #but im sticking with it ofc because i love her very much #mark has that Traumatized Child look in his eye👍 awesome #the context for the blood thing in the third image is that #mark is kind of like. constantly on edge and lashes out when he feels threatened. on top of all that hes a child #who is grappling w the fact that everyone around him continuously calls him a beast and a monster amd all that jazz. not as like an insult #but as and encouragement if thag makes sense #reminder that mark has been to therapy in canon #also im sorry i keep forgetting 2 draw mark with his cane i promise ill try and be better abt that in the future #ahhh i lauve him