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writtenfangirl · 8 months

Note

I would love to see more Charles lecerc from you, the way you write him is so good. Maybe him trying to convince his girlfriend to move to Monaco with him and it’s all sweet and cute

Treasured Memories

Charles is literally so fine. I could stare at his face all day and not get tired of it. And it really doesn't help that his personality seems just as fine as his face.

I know his native language is French and not Italian but I always thought it would be so cute if I had a boyfriend who could speak a lot of languages and he chooses to call me a term of endearment in a different language than his native tongue.

Fic's only about 2100 words so enjoy!

Part 2

Charles Leclerc has and always will be a determined man.

He wasn’t the kind of person who rested unless he got what he wanted and he did whatever it takes to get the things he wants.

Whether through his sheet grit, his determination, his talent or the bountiful resources that his family fought tooth and nail to give him, Charles did everything and anything to succeed.

It’s how he won the F2 championship in his first and only season, how he won rookie of the year during his debut with Sauber and why he was signed by the oldest and most respected team on the grid before he had even reached his second year as a Formula One driver.

He rarely ever heard the word no. And when he did, he always knew how to turn it into a yes.

So when he had asked his girlfriend of three years, Y/N Y/L/N, to move in with him, he hadn’t been expecting her rejection.

“Move in with me, amore,” Charles said, his voice cutting through the loud speakers that were playing Harry Potter’s orchestral theme song.

It was one of those rare days when neither Charles nor Y/N were off somewhere else around the world. With the season reaching their summer break and Y/N requesting time off from work to spend time with him, Charles and Y/N had opted to stay in Charles’ apartment and simply relax together. He wasn’t usually one for a lazy day but because he rarely ever got to spend time with his girlfriend, it was easy to forget about his training and his work outs and team strategy building for the day. It was even easier to forget those things when she was peacefully leaning against him, her eyes glued to the TV screen that was playing the first Harry Potter movie as their bodies were protected from the frigid air conditioning with a cozy blanket.

Charles felt Y/N tense before she pulled herself away from him, her weight supported by her arm as her attention shifted to Charles. Harry Potter was just about to tell Draco Malfoy off for being mean to Ronald Weasley and Charles knew it was one of Y/N’s favorite scenes. But she’d forgotten about it as she processed Charles’s simple request.

The words hung in the air and Charles paused the TV before the scene could progress further. He also knew that Y/N would make him rewind back to the scene if she had missed it.

“What did you just say?” Y/N said slowly, her eyes focused on Charles.

“Y/N, move in with me.”

He fully expected her jubilant shouts or even a wonderful kiss of happiness followed by an ecstatic “yes!” but Y/N did none of those things. Instead she said a very emphatic, “No…”

“No?”

“No…”

Charles wasn’t exactly stung by the rejection. He was more surprised if anything. He couldn’t understand why she would say no. They had been together three years. It seemed like the most natural course of action for Y/N to move in with him, the next step to bring their relationship to newer heights.

“Why don’t you want to move in with me, amore?” Charles asked.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Charles. I mean, I moved to Monaco just a year ago. Now you’re asking me to move in with you.”

She did have a point. Y/N did leave London to live in Monaco but she had justified the move because it was better for her career.

She was an international correspondent for the BBC, which meant she was often sent to different countries around the world. After Brexit, it became harder for her to travel around Europe and, at the time, moving to Monaco was the sensible response.

Being able to see Charles more often was just the added bonus.

“But amore,” Charles protested, “you practically live here already. You have clothes in my closet and skincare in my bathroom. You even have keys here. You see my family so often, maman and my brothers think you’re an honorary Leclerc. I don’t see the problem with you moving in.”

“What about my lease?”

“I’ll pay for the rest of it.” He deadpanned. “You’re landlord is terrible, amore.”

Y/N winced. He got her there. Her landlord really was terrible. There was always something broken in her apartment, whether it was a broken heater in the middle of winter, a leaky faucet in her kitchen sink, a toilet that refused to flush or a TV that only played static, it took her landlord months to fix those things. It’s why Charles had given Y/N keys to his apartment in the first place. If something went wrong, she could always spend the night. But things went wrong so often that for the past six months, Y/N spent five months living in Charles’ apartment rather than her own.

Not that he was particularly complaining.

He loved having Y/N around.

Y/N’s schedule was just as hectic as his was, likely even more so. She always had three suitcases packed and ready to go just in case she had to leave at a moment’s notice. The rare moments when Y/N came straight to his apartment after a tiring assignment and Charles had been home to greet her were highlights of their relationship. He wanted her to come home to him. And the even rarer moments when he came home to her after his own hectic schedule? Those were memories he etched in his mind forever so he could relive them in his dreams.

“What about my space,” Y/N added. “I work from home a lot and I don’t have a space here to work.”

Fully expecting this, Charles’ next words were unhurried and reassuring. “I’ve already planned it. I can move my simulator and my gaming consoles in the living room. There’s plenty of space here. You can use the game room as your office. I even installed speakers there because I know you like to listen to Taylor Swift while you work.”

Y/N’s eyebrows shot straight up, causing Charles to grin. “Wow,” she said, mildly impressed. “You really have thought of everything.”

He did think about everything. He didn’t want to give her a reason to say no and the only way he could guarantee she’ll say yes was if Charles handled everything so that Y/N didn’t have to put in any effort. She always hated moving and he knew he would have to move mountains and cross seas just to ensure that Y/N would say yes and so he did just that.

He tried his best not to sound so smug. “Oui. All you have to do is say yes. You don’t have to lift a finger. I’ll call the movers and plan everything and your things could be here by tomorrow if you wanted.”

And yet Charles could see the hesitation in her eyes. Something was holding her back. He knew his girlfriend enough to know that what’s holding her back wasn’t any trivial reason. This was something big.

“What’s making you say no?” He asked patiently.

“Alright,” Y/N said at the question, her hesitation vanishing and steely determination filling her features. “Do you really know why I don’t want to move in with you? You might not like what I say.”

Charles nodded. He wanted nothing more than to know what horrible reason could possibly be stopping the love of his life from living with him so he could find a way to stop it.

“I’ve noticed a pattern with you, Charles.”

He pulled his brows into a frown. “A pattern?”

“Yes, babe. A pattern. You once told me that in your previous relationships, the love and magic between you two ended when they moved in.”

“What?”

“When you and Giada were together and she moved in, things ended between you two after a year. With Charlotte, it was two. Alexandra had six months. I love you, Charles, in a way that I had never loved anyone before. I don’t want things to end between us.”

He blinked at her once. Twice.

Y/N had always been blunt but she was never unfeeling. She looked as though she wanted to snatch the words from the air and shove it back in herself if she could. “Charles, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to off—”

Charles’ sharp bark of laughter interrupted her.

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise as laughter shook his body, the sounds coming out from him echoing in the living room.

Her lips pulled into a frown as she took one of the pillows that rested on the couch and hit him with it. “It’s not funny, Charles!”

“I’m sorry!” He howled, not sounding sorry at all as his laughter choked the words from him, leaving him gasping for breath. Tears were beginning to collect in his eyes, further frustrating his girlfriend.

With a growl, Y/N hit him with the pillow again. Charles couldn’t even register the thump of the pillow with how hard he was laughing.

“Y/N, it’s not funny,” he managed to get out as he laughed. He clutched midsection, his stomach beginning to cramp from how hard herwas laughing.

“Then stop laughing!”

“I can’t!”

“If you’re going to be that way, then fine!” Y/N pushed away the blankets that covered them and began to stand up. Instantly, Charles sobered up, his hand shooting forward to grab Y/N’s arm, pulling her to him. She landed on a heap on his lap, her hair tickling his nose, the scent of her shampoo enveloping him as he threaded his arms around her body and placed a kiss on her cheek.

She huffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance, causing Charles to chuckle at her. Another kiss on her cheek and Y/N’s annoyed expression softened. “Y/N,” he said gently, “why would you worry about that?”

“Because,” she whispered, her previous annoyance vanishing like smoke, “usually what happens in almost every relationship is that the little traits that we once thought were cute and endearing about the other person become things we hate. I love that you ask me to cook for you whenever I’m at home but what if one day I wake up and I start to hate that about you. I don’t want that to happen.”

“You are being so silly, amore. That won’t ever happen to us.”

“How do you know that.”

“Because I’ve known you for so long and but I still find new things about you to love everyday. Even the things I don’t like about you, I love. And I love those things about you because I love you. Besides, of my past relationships you’re the girl I’m most compatible with. Every chore you don’t like to do, I like doing.” He said the words with a self-satisfied smirk. “You have no reason to say no. So say yes.”

“So long as you’re absolutely, 100 percent sure you want this.”

This time, Charles’ expression could only be referred to as serious. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you, Y/N. I want to spend forever with you and I can only do that if you let me. So please let me.”

“Oh,” Y/N sighed as a smile pulled at her lips, “you Frenchies and your romantic words.”

“Monegasque, amore!” Charles sputtered and this time, it was Y/N’s turn to laugh.

“I’m just teasing, babe. You’ll have to get used to it since I’m going to be moving in.”

His arms squeezed her tighter, pressing her against him at her words. “You mean it? You’ll move in? You cannot take it back if you say yes, amore. I won’t let you.”

Y/N’s smile could only be described as incandescent. “Yes. I’ll move in. I’ll move anywhere so long as it’s with you.”

And just like that, what was once a normal, pleasant day, was now another treasured memory. He couldn’t imagine anything more amazing than hearing Y/N’s yes. And if he felt this way about her agreeing to move in, he could only imagine how he’d feel when she’d give him her yes after his proposal.

But his impending proposal to the woman he now knows to be the love of his life was another matter entirely. Right now, he wanted to bask in the moment and he couldn’t think of a better way to do that than by laying on his—their—couch, watching their favorite films and holding the girl of his dreams.

#charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 #fomula one #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #ferrari

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pinktrashgoblin · 15 days

Text

SERIOUS POST.

This may have some uncomfortable topics. But please read this whole thing. It’s important to be transparent, and I don’t want Cin to spread more shit.

my deepest apologies to people who are just here on my blog and reblogging my work for fun.

EDIT: I can’t believe I have to say this but don’t fucking harass anyone mentioned in this post. That just reflects on YOU.

Alright, Cin. Since you want a response so bad, here ya go.

So what is this whole thing about?

User @/cintagonisupset is going around telling people this.

I’m already seeing the impacts, having my friends come to me about this. You’ve got my hands tied, so I’m making my statement.

First and foremost: I‘m not going to pretend that I didn’t make dirty jokes in my server in the past, before my birthday when I was 17, a minor myself, and before I banned such jokes last year. With 100% earnest I know this was a bad idea, and I have taken the time to be more careful about what I say around certain audiences. I am not perfect. But in his haste to fuck me up, he left out some crucial details.

1: I was 17 at the time, a minor myself, and was and still am in high school. I was a high schooler, making high-school-tier jokes in a server of other high schoolers. I am not ACTIVELY MAKING THESE JOKES like he says I am, and I do not condone the idea of doing so.

2: I am autistic. I struggle with social cues, with decision-making and so forth. I am only recently 18, but that does not mean I am mentally or emotionally mature, far from it. Mentally I am still a child. I struggle more than the average person with judgement, and often slip up around those I let my guard down around. I am working on this to avoid things such as this.

3: I am incredibly susceptible to peer pressure. In a place where those jokes were made, I wanted to feel like part of the group. So, as I often do, I mirrored behavior to feel like I fit in. I wasn’t sitting my high-school ass down and going “Let’s make raunchy jokes with kids!”, I was thinking in terms of “Maybe if I talk like them, they’ll like me and I’ll fit in somewhere” without fully realizing what everything meant, and without being able to properly process the social queues associated.

4: This was MONTHS ago. I do not actively do these things, nor condone them, I think it’s fucked up and I’ve done everything I can to be better than that. But to misrepresent the situation as me actively doing so isn’t great either.

So with that out of the way.

Do I think it was a good idea? No, absolutely not, but let’s not pretend that this is unheard of in high school and definitely on the internet. Since the dawn of time kids have made stupid jokes with one another. I was a middle schooler once and a high schooler now, I know exactly what goes on in those places. Let me restate: that doesn’t make it good, but let’s not pretend I’m the only high school kid who’s ever made a joke like that around their peers.

My point is, once this thing has become so normalized all over the place, in school, in media, it becomes difficult, especially for a neurodivergent such as myself, to deduce what to and not to do. I have fundamental principles and rules, but that does not mean I am not susceptible to being pressured into this sort of thing.

As I mentioned: I am not emotionally, or mentally, mature. I don’t know everything. I don’t fully comprehend the nuances of things. I am not always aware of what I am saying. I cannot understand social queues in the same way you do.

Make your conclusions as you will, but this is my stance, and this is the truth.

Also, maybe don’t tell people to kill themselves and that nobody likes them? Just a thought. (BTW: As mentioned I am autistic, it’s not as simple as “grow up”.)

TL;DR: I made raunchy/dirty jokes in my server when I was 17, in high school, with a bunch of other high schoolers, and Cin is telling me to end my life because of it.

Please consider my words. I have worked hard to build what I have, and feel it is important to be transparent. I want nothing but to make a positive impact on this community and the people within it. This does not mean I am perfect, but I am trying my best and my intentions are good.

Feel free to ask me, or leave opinions in the reblogs and replies. This is a conversation, not a preaching.

Also, about the art thief thing: I genuinely have no fuckin clue what he’s going on about there.

Edit: I have deleted the “P.S.” section regarding a suspicion I have to avoid further conflict.

#important.#my response.#tw uncomfortable topics

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skyebounded · 11 months

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What’s Right, is Wrong.

.Masterlist. .Starwars Masterlist.

premise: You wanted it all, and now you are realising that it might not be possible, and you need to tell Anakin.

pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader

warnings: angst, smut, p in v, fingering? overstimulation, semi-public smut, sexual themes, etc. I don’t know at this point.

wc: 4.3K

a/n: I read over it like once, so there is that. Also, this is my first time writing for him so if it’s not good, apologies.

It was a mistake, falling for him. You had dedicated your life to the order, years of training and devotion all so that you could help bring balance, and all they asked of you was to remain free of any personal attachments, and you failed. You knew the moment you had met Anakin, with his charm and , that it would always prove difficult to keep to the laws bestowed upon you.

You had spent years with him, growing, learning, training, and after all that time, he wore you down. Leading you to wonder constantly what the things that were so blatantly forbidden to you, would be like, and eventually, you broke as did he, Unable to keep yourself from wanting him, needing him. In the worst possible ways he consumed you, made you weaker than ever before. You couldn’t go on like this, you just couldn’t.

You had no idea what Senator Amidala was saying to you, despite its importance, you had checked out, your mind distant, stuck with the tall handsome Jedi that owned your mind, body, and soul. She hadn’t seemed to notice, and perhaps it was because you found the room to occasionally nod and make other gestures that you were taking in everything that she was saying, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was a blessing that she hadn’t sought any responses from you, before she had left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and some surrounding padawans.

If you closed your eyes now you could still feel his fingers, feather-light on your naked skin, body pressed against yours, sweat riddled and tired, but unrelenting, his arms wrapped around you in an attempt to keep you from disappearing from his grasp. The tired, unhurried thrusts as he rocked his hips against your own, helping you to find that state of utter bliss that only he could give you. And then there was the imprint of his plush lips down your neck, spine, sternum. His mark, permanently branded on you.

The chatter of the room had fallen to just above a whisper as Anakin stormed into the room, crossing it in three large strides. His strong hand wrapped around your arm as he pulled you slightly into him.

“May I have a word with you?” he hissed, raising his brows as if to stress urgency over his request. He didn’t seem to care just how many people were surrounding you or even looking at you, nor the person that you had been speaking to at that moment. Whatever was on his mind was clearly more important, and you had the strongest urge that you knew exactly what it was.

You exchanged a quick glance with the padawan you had been talking to before Anakin had pulled you off with him, out of the room and into the desolate hallway out of earshot as he pushed you up against the nearest wall. His tall frame looming over your much smaller one, as he looked down at you, eyes desperately searching yours for the sole reason he sought you out. If this had been a different situation, you could have almost guaranteed that you would have folded right then and there. Staring back at him, you suddenly found it much harder to keep your eyes on his, though they were full of confusion and some well-hidden pain, and you couldn’t fully blame him for it.

“Ani-” you started, finding it harder and harder to find the words to explain to him just why you couldn’t do this anymore. The arrangement, the understanding had simply been ‘try it once, and then we’re done’ and after once, it turned to twice, and so on. Living for the moments that you could shut yourselves away in a dimly lit room, with no prying eyes, completely engulfed in each other. But it became an addiction, lying awake thinking about him and only him.

“Why did you leave?” he cut across you, ignoring the way his name fell from your lips in such a soft and delicate way. He didn’t have the time for your excuses, whether they were logical and well-reasoned or not. He only needed the truth, the unfiltered and undeniable truth. He thought he knew the reason, but he wanted you to look him in the eyes and tell him why, tell him that you didn’t want this anymore, whatever it was, not the fucking note that you left thinking it would be sufficient enough for him. You had never been so wrong about something in your life.

One of his hands was firmly pressed against your abdomen, holding you in place in case you got the sudden urge to run from him like you had done earlier, he couldn’t risk it this time.

“Why?” he prodded, and you felt that shift in energy, something more compelling and urgent. You cast your eyes down, taking a deep bated breath as you tried to search for the words.

“Anakin, we can’t, we can’t do this and you know it. It’s wrong, forbidden-” you explained, gesturing towards the room where you had just come from as if to better help explain your point, but Anakin couldn’t see it, he wouldn’t.

“If it is so wrong then why doesn’t it feel that way? It feels right, beyond right, and I know you know that.” Anakin argued, the vein in his neck growing more prominent, as he clenched his jaw, trying to calm himself. His eyes were fluttering between your own, watching closely for any indication that you understood, agreed with him, his brows creased in determination as his hand moved to caress your hip, gently lifting up your robe just enough for him to make contact with your skin.

He was right about one thing, it had never felt more right than to be with him, consumed by him and everything he did. Every fibre in your body calling for him every waking moment, desperate for his touch, his presence, like if you didn’t get it you would surely go insane. To have your mind plagued by the very thought of him, finding yourself counting down the minute until you could see him again, feel him, taste him. The mere thought of him, a disruption to your existence. It was to the point of total madness, and not a single second of it felt wrong, or like it should be forbidden, and yet it was. That’s what they had told you, that's what you had spent all those years knowing, practicing, preaching.

You had slipped up, catching yourself wanting something that you couldn’t have, like a piece of forbidden fruit that had been dangled in your face, and Anakin had been nothing shy of happy to oblige, only wanting the same thing. You had both failed, getting so caught up in the feeling, the need and want, that you couldn’t stop, couldn’t resist. With every encounter, it became harder to see reason, to see where the true problem lay, and even now, even now you weren’t sure that you knew what the problem was.

You had spent the past few days fighting everything in you, telling you to go on, that nothing had to change or stop, but you couldn’t ignore that little part of you that screamed out that it was wrong.

“Anak-”

“You left me, with a note…A note? Is that really what it means to you, what I mean to you? Is that my worth, y/n?” His voice sounded broken like he was trying to keep it all together. If you reached out to him, you would be able to feel, sense his fear and anticipation. He was scared and confused. He couldn’t lose you, not when he had no reason to, it would tear him apart. It had been cruel of you, but in a split second, a moment of poor judgement, you panicked and did the only thing you could think to do. You left him alone with a simple note, and his thoughts, hoping that by some chance it would suffice. Guilt wracked you as you looked at him, that looming gaze filled with disappointment and betrayal.

“No, I-its just, I knew you would try and stop me, and you can’t, we can’t.”

You could see the rage bubbling inside of him, no matter what you said, did, he wasn’t going to see the problem, because to him it wasn’t a problem. He would instead abandon the Jedi than lose you, to lose what he had with you, and if that's what he had to do then he would, he didn’t care. You meant more to him, this meant more to him than everything else he had grown to know, love.

“What is so wrong about it?” He asked, his teeth clenched, “Nothing that we have done is wrong y/n? Nothing, it has only felt right, addicting..”

“Anakin, have you ever considered that this is the reason it is wrong?” you start, your features hardening under his blunt gaze. “I can’t get you out of my head, I can’t get the feeling of your hands on my body, your skin from skin, your taste from my tongue, and assuredly I cannot get the feeling of you consuming me from my soul. It's permanent! It doesn’t stop, day in and day out you are the only thing I crave. I don’t seem to care about much more, Anakin, not the things that I should care about, and that is where the problem lies. We have a goal, a purpose to serve and I can’t seem to find myself wanting anything to do with it anymore.” You could feel the way your eyes were prickling with emotion, your head reeling trying to make sense of it all, trying to convince yourself that what you were saying, that you needed to stop, was the right thing to do.

Anakin’s hand shifted just slightly, further up your shirt, his thumb soothing your skin with gentle massages, a gentle reminder of the way his hands felt upon your skin.

“And I see nothing wrong with that? There is nothing wrong with that, I-”

“Anakin, no,” you state plainly, seeing his brow twitch and his jaw clench.

His face contorted at your response, finding it harder and harder to make sense of it all. The truth was, he couldn’t, he couldn’t see your reasoning.

“Is that what you really want? Do you want to stop? I want the truth, I want to know what you really want, not what you think you should want. I need for you to tell me.” he explains, praying that you would tell him that you take it back, that you were scared and that was all.

The silence that fell over the pair of you was deafening, consuming both of you. You were holding your breath and you hadn’t even seemed to have noticed it, but he had. He felt drained, watching your eyes search his. There was no hiding the conflict in yours, he could see it, all he needed was for you to be honest with him.

You felt nothing but guilty as you looked at him, knowing the truth was, you didn’t want to stop, but more so that you had to. You had been foolish to think you could have it all, and it was all finally coming down. As you looked at him, his eyes pleading with you to give him the answer that he wanted to hear, you just couldn’t say goodbye to him, not yet. Ignoring every sensible thought that you had, you leaned up against him, brushing your lips against his neck, hesitating for a single moment before kissing his soft skin, clenching your eyes shut as you moved them down the side of his throat.

He couldn’t help but fall into place, hoisting you up into his arms, clumsily pushing you into the nearest empty room, backing you up against a sturdy wall. Small gasps like moans trickled from his lips as you continued your attack on him, sucking, biting, licking his skin until any type of mark blossomed. Your fingers curl into his hair, desperate to pull yourself closer to him, your body, firmer against his. Rolling your hips against him, all of the fabric of his robes, obstructing you from what you really needed, the friction that you so desperately craved. Groaning in frustration, he lowers you to the ground, pulling back from you the moment your feet touch down.

“Take these off..” He demands, something in his voice dripping with lust, as he reaches for his own hem to his pants, tugging them down, letting them fall to his ankles. You bite down on your lip, letting out the softest whimper as you catch sight of his cock, hard, thick, and leaking drops of precum. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to just drop to your knees, take it graciously into the palm of your hand, and let your tongue glide around it, licking up every little bead that formed and dribbled down his length, running your tongue over that prominent vein. He was staring at you, that look of pained authority on his face, as he waited for you to do as you had been told. “Now.”

You fumbled quickly with your trousers, pulling them off and kicking them aside, already long forgotten. He stared at you, knowing what this meant, what this gesture meant. After this encounter, it was done, left on both of you like a permanent stain. Anakin moved forwards, slotting his lips against yours, kissing you with such fervour and passion that your back and head hit the wall with a soft thump, his hands gliding up your inner thighs, feather-light touches. With each whine and whimper that left you, his hand came closer and closer to your aching cunt, his fingers gliding through your fold collecting every ounce of arousal that pooled between your legs, gently spreading it around as he slowly worked your clit, taking in your sharp gasps.

“Why would you want to stop this, when I can make you a mess with a few simple touches?” He murmured against your cheek, starting to leave his own trail of kisses on your delicate skin. “When you clearly crave me the same way I crave you…” he was talking to that part of you, the part that wanted him more than life itself. Appealing to it as best he could in hopes of changing your mind, making you see the reason that he dwelled on, and it was working. Anakin curled two thick fingers into your tight hole, smiling against the shell of your throat when you moaned deeply, your walls instantly clenching around his fingers as if they were begging him to never leave, and he could think of nothing more than the feeling of your soft walls milking his cock the way they had been his fingers.

“When I can make you feel this good?” Thumbing at your clit while he pumped his fingers inside of you, kissing down the side of your neck.

“Ani..” you mutter, not sure of what you intended to say. There was something about hearing his name on your tongue that drove him mad. Spoke to the most carnal parts of him, and then it was the way you spoke it so softly, like it was something so pure. He wasn’t sure how he was going to be able to let you go after this, he toyed with the idea of not allowing it at all but he couldn’t force you, he knew that. Anakin pulled himself from you, hand wrapping around his cock. Gliding the tip through your folds gathering your slick, watching your mouth fall open in anticipation, your fingers clawing into the fabric of his robes. Your eyes were pleading with him, begging him to fill you with every inch he had to offer, satisfying that feeling of emptiness that his fingers had left.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me and it's yours.”

Hard against your entrance, waiting for nothing more than the words to fall from your perfect lips, he stilled, his eyes searching yours for that familiar sense of warmth and invitation that they always held, and there it was, hidden behind the fear and longing. Pushing against you ever so slightly, the head of his cock now nestled into your aching cunt. He needed to hear it just as much as did, he needed for you to still want him and nothing more, he was desperate.

“you, Anakin, I need yo-”

It was more than enough, music to his ears as the words fell from your lips, almost like a prayer, and he couldn’t wait anymore. Anakin housed you up in his arms, pinning you against the wall once more, as he lined himself up to your entrance. His eyes met yours, searching for any sign of regret, finding none. With one snap of his hips, he forced the full length of his cock into your needy cunt, and with another, he had your head falling back against the wall, eyes clenched shut, as a deep breathy moan left your lips at the delicious stretch of him. His eyes consumed every expression that lined your features as he pulled out of you, watching that sense of panic over the thought of him leaving you empty and unsatisfied, only for him to sink back into your soaking pussy, causing you to let out nothing but pleasure-filled sounds. There was no holding back the particularly high-pitched moans that were being ripped from you, sounds that surely someone would hear if they walked by, with each precise thrust of his hips. Sounds that resided deep in your chest begging to break free.

He captured your lips, moans, and whimpers, in a clash of needy tongues, and teeth, silencing the flow of sounds that left you. He wanted to hear every blissful sound that you made at his expense, but he couldn’t risk someone coming in and stopping this moment, ripping it from him faster than it had begun. You wrapped your legs around his middle, craving even more, drunk on the feeling of how utterly full you felt, how deep his cock nestled inside of you, hitting that sweet spot as if he had known it his whole life.

“Why should we have to give this up….” He mutters through clenched teeth, his thrust becoming harder, “I won’t..I can’t..” he groans, burying his head into the crook of your neck, sucking at the delicate skin. He meant that. He would rather die than be without you and he needed you to know that. Your nails dug into his back, fisting at the fabric of his tunic that you wished wasn’t there, allowing you to feel his heated skin so perfectly pressed against yours. Clinging to him as each well-placed thrust forced you harder against the wall. He was the only thing you had to sturdy yourself.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours filled your ears, mixed with his desperate moans, and grunts, clouding your judgement rather quickly. Every word he said, every question he asked you, made you second guess. How could you want to give this up? The truth was, you didn’t want to, never. And even now, with him pressed deliciously against you, beads of sweat falling from his brow, while a thin film-like layer coats your skin, his cock so perfectly buried inside of you as if it was made for you, you couldn’t imagine being without him, and you knew that.

You wanted to tell him that you took it back, that you didn’t mean any of it, but you couldn’t seem to find the words. It’s like they were stuck in your throat unable to surface and all that came out was lewd sounds. Your fingers card through his hair, tugging on it so that he was staring up at you, his open mouth pressed against yours as you moaned into it, stealing kisses here and there. You urged him on, soft whine-like pleads and encouragement left you the quicker his pace came, his fingers gliding up your bare-tired thighs, to the apex of them, the spot where you needed him the most. Deft fingers flicked against your clit, as you took in sharp inhales of breath, as he drew tight and precise circles into it.

He treated your body as if he knew it, knew it better than you ever could, like he knew just what to do and when to do it, to have you melting like a puddle at his touch.

“Fuck, ani-“ you moan. There it was again, that beautiful sound of his name on your tongue, falling from it like it was sweet honey, urging him on, begging for more and more. His head falls forward, groaning deliciously at the way you took him so well. Good, so fucking good.

“The things you do to me, woman..” he groans, getting drunk on the way his cock dragged inside you, the perfect amount of friction for his head to fog. You felt that familiar coil of warmth settling in your lower abdomen, surging through you with each thrust. You were close, so utterly close. “Ani I’m close…just like tha-“ You couldn’t even finish the sentence before your climax burst through you. Your pussy spasms around his length, a soft submissive sob escapes you. Seeing you like this, feeling the way your walls clench around him, gave him a slice of madness, a need to pound into you at a faster speed, desperate to see you become a stuttering mess, begging for him to stop. Sound after sound, profanity after profanity left you, your body, torn between needing more of him, and yet not. Your fingers clawing into his shoulders. “Ani-” Your whimper of his name was nothing but breathy. You couldn’t think straight, all you could see was him, all you could feel and think was him and only him, as each pulsing wave of pleasure washed over you.

Anakin had no intention of letting you down too quickly, letting you catch a breath. Pushing you through your high, reviling in the way your body convulsed under his. Your head thrown back and eyes desperately clenched, your mouth hanging open and moaning after moan escaped you.

“Ani-s’too much…” you whine, feeling every nerve in your body sent into overdrive, every sense of yours flooded in nothing but overstimulating pleasure. Your legs shake around his body, your cunt fluttering around his length as he drills into you, swallowing up every delicious sound that leaves you. “Ani..ple-ease.” Anakin’s hand finds your chin, tilting it back down so that your face was level to his. His teeth tugging at your bottom lip.

“Not till I’ve had my fill of you..” he pants, tightening his grasp on you, pinning you even firmer against him and the wall as if you could go anywhere. You let out a soft whimper as yet another wave rushes over you, and you take to silencing yourself by catching him in a heated kiss, biting down on his lip a tad too hard, feeling that metallic taste of blood against your tongue, feeling that strange sense of satisfaction overhearing him groan rather loudly. You could feel him pushing you over the edge towards a second orgasm, but your mind and body were already starting to feel numb. Drunkenly hazy over the way he was determined to overstimulate you. His fingers were relentless against your tired and abused clit, surges of ecstasy rippling through the entirety of your body. You could hear him saying something, but you had no way of comprehending the words leaving him.

Anakin was reaching his end, his well-measured thrusts were becoming sloppy, but not once did they waiver in their mission. The only thing keeping him grounded was listening to the way you begged him, your body begged him for one more, but as your legs shuttered around him and your pussy clenched around him, he couldn’t help but spill into you. Warm thick ropes of cum soothing your abused walls, as he too shuttered, head buried into your chest, strings of profanities and praises leaving his lips like a prayer.

His hands squeezed your aching thighs, as you relentlessly tightened them around his waist, almost as if you didn’t want him to release you, to pull out of you. His pace slowed, thrusts becoming more like desperate spurts as he pulled yet another orgasm from you. His name falls from your lips as it spread throughout you. Anakin stilled inside you, listening to the sound of your stuttering heart, beating rapidly as it slowed back to its normal pace, while your fingers carded through his hair, in such a soothing manner. Neither one of you wanted to move, to come back to the crippling reality that you resided in. He could stay the way he was forever, blissfully wrapped up in your presence, and you, you could do the same. Feeling his warm protective body, holding you so desperately close.

After what felt like an eternity, he set you down, holding you up with a gentle squeeze of your hips. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes, knowing that if you did, you would crumble. You knew what you wanted, but as of right now, you could see no clear way of having it, not without surrendering everything else. You wanted nothing more than to say fuck it, give yourself over to him permanently, but you didn’t know how. How to let go and do just that. Pulling your pants back on and righting yourself, you take a deep bated breath. His gaze lingered on you, the painstaking look of loss on his features.

“Ani-I…I’m sorry…”

“I know..” he speaks, his voice breaking just a little.

You thought that perhaps you’d find your way back to him, and perhaps it would be sooner than you anticipated, falling back into the addicting pattern you had created, and maybe this time it would go further, but for now, you wouldn’t. Wiping the tears from your face, you take a long, painful look at him, before exiting the silent room, not daring to look back.

#Anakin Skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x y/n #anakin skywalker imagine #starwars #star wars #ani skywalker #anakin skywalker angst #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x reader smut #obi wan kenobi #starwars fanfic #anakin fanfiction #smut #angst

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ranna-alga · 1 month

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I admittedly got into RDR2 five years late and I remember being confused seeing older comments of fans completely dogpiling on Mary Linton (née Gillis - a character who I interpreted much differently than these users did), but assumed maybe people would have grown up a bit since then and understand Mary better. Unfortunately, I still see so many people completely misunderstand and shit on Mary's character and I want to talk about it (this meta will be my opinion AND biased as a Mary defender, but idc)

I cannot stand it when people, particularly male fans, call Mary "manipulative" or someone who just "uses Arthur when it's convenient to her" because that just isn't true, and it really shows that a lot of the people who just trash on her have no idea what they are actually talking about.

Labelling her as someone who uses Arthur just for her own personal conveniences makes no sense when you consider the fact that so many other characters, including members of the Van der Linde gang, have also asked Arthur to do things for them, including requests that are much worse than anything Mary could have asked for (you know, like Strauss for example?). Not only that, but if Arthur rejects Mary's help, she doesn't get angry - if anything, she understands why he may be reluctant to help her. If Mary truly only wanted to use Arthur, she wouldn't have shown how grateful she was for his help and how much she truly did miss spending time with him by asking him out on a date to the theatre.

And to those who criticise her for not being able to leave her family sooner: do you... not remember the time period this story is set in? All of RDR2 (1899 - 1907) takes place before women got electoral equality with men (1928) and during the main story's time, women were very much under the control of their husbands - or their fathers if they were not married. A big reason as to why Arthur wasn't able to marry Mary in the first place when they were courting each other was because her father didn't approve of his outlaw lifestyle (also, I am unsure if Mary ever alluded to her marriage with Barry Linton being an arranged one, but I lowkey got that impression - perhaps her father wanted to severe the relationship between Mary and Arthur completely by arranging a marriage for her with another man who was also from a seemingly middle-class background/very much not an outlaw and ensure the relationship between her and Arthur would end).

Even if she had more of her own autonomy, we must remember that Mary is part of an abusive family unit. She often tries to excuse her father's terrible actions even though she knows how awful of a man he has become over the years. She is isolated and is hopping from one temporary shelter to another (Valentine, Saint Denis, etc) - she is a widow, she cannot depend on her father obviously, she cannot depend on her mother since she died, nor could she depend on her brother Jamie since perhaps she thought that she was meant to be the source of dependency as the older sibling. Mary said it herself in her goodbye letter (if Arthur rejects to help her) that she truly had no one else to turn to. Arthur was literally the only other person she could ask help from and even then, it seemed like a last resort after not interacting with each other for many years before her first mission and her being apologetic for taking up his time.

Mary holds a lot of regret and remorse for how things ended and it is clear she still thinks about what could have been between her and Arthur. When she fully accepts that she doesn't want to continue living such a miserable life because of her family, she makes a big leap in suggesting she and Arthur run away together, a parallel to Arthur's proposal years before, showing that she has grown and no longer wants to accept a life she feels trapped in.

People who criticise Mary for not being able to leave her family + the life she has always known behind should also consider how Arthur is the exact same. He is as much of a victim of this unfair circumstance as Mary is, but we have seen how he couldn't leave the gang life behind. It was what he died for, after all. He failed to meet the promise he made to Mary that he would run away with her after getting some money and ensuring the gang members' safety - which technically isn't his fault since this was pre-Guarma, but Mary couldn't have known about that. To her, he kept making promises he couldn't keep/getting dragged into violent crime life and she couldn't bear to continue having false hope anymore.

It's a shame that Mary has been given such a bad rap by certain fans who have mischaracterised her. Her story is a sad one and so is her love story with Arthur. I will always love and defend Mary (+ the other main female characters of RDR2) and I truly wonder how different her and Arthur's lives would have been if they managed to run away and get married (TB ideally excluded) and how happy they would have been.

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walliedarling · 1 year

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your characterization of wally not being malicious and just a... weird little guy is my new favorite thing ever he's so silly.. but i have a question! :)

since wallly doesn't understand the concept of crushes or having feelings for someone, and you've already made a post about how he deals with his feelings for us, but how would he react to us telling him about what it really means? would something click in his head, and he'd realize that that's what he was feeling all this time? would be attempt to confess to us then, or would he continue to be oblivious for the rest of his little felt life?

i think it would be an interesting concept for him to be rather weird in his approach to confessing if it ever came to that, since I don't think we would ever really explain that in detail- so he would just have to figure it out himself! as i assume, anyways.. and by that I wonder what means he would do to tell us how he feels, albeit odd or in any other way it comes across to us.. maybe he'd ask for some advice from his other lovely neighbors or just dive head in, whatever his forte is in that department @:)

this was longer than i originally intended, but i love your writing and enjoy reading through it!!<3

I'm glad you're enjoying my characterisation of him :D!! I'm not sure how popular it is (I've been a bit busy, so haven't read TOO many fics other than my own), but I am always happy to elaborate more on the way I see him!

You can explain to him what romantic feelings are, and it still doesn't immediately click for him, nor does he fully understand the significance of any of it. He doesn't have romantic fantasies in any traditional sense of the word, after all. But he does really want to be close to you, and he does think about you a lot. So, maybe…? He has to know more first, so he'll ask lots and lots of question. He'll ask more questions. How does it differ from friendships, exactly? What are things you would not do with a friend, but would do with a partner? How do you know if the person you 'like' also ' likes' you? (He makes quotation marks with his fingers every time he says it.)

Wally doesn't get embarrassed or flustered while discussing this at all, because he doesn't know that he's Supposed to be! He's just curious about this whole new type of relationship and love he's never considered before. It puts some things into new perspectives for him, though. Mainly any and all interactions between Eddie and Frank. He thought that was just something exclusive to them! Honestly, the whole explanation is likely brought on by him making a comment about something they were doing together.

He figures out what 'confessing' is when you tell him that's how you usually figure out someone likes you back. For a moment, he's tempted to ask you directly how you feel for him, right then and there, but he gets a little nervous. His usually calm demeanour does have its limits. Wally realises he's nervous because he doesn't want you to say that you don't feel the same way. So… That means he likes you, right? He guesses he'll have to confess!

But he feels completely lost on the subject after that, and is most likely to ask Eddie for advice. He introduces Wally to the concept of love letters, and the idea of what he wants to do is born from there. (If he hadn't gone to him for advice, it's likely he would've just blurted out the question 'Do you like me?' at a random point during the day.)

His confession letter is written in crayon, with little hearts at the edges of the paper. Wally writes in choppy, short sentences, not unlike the way he talks, that he's been thinking about you a lot, and even more since you told him what a crush is. He likes talking to you a lot, and he wants to talk to you a lot in the future as well. He still doesn't fully get what people do 'in a relationship', but would you like to show him? Do you like him as well?

Instead of having Eddie deliver it though, he will deliver it directly to you himself, and insists you open it right in front of him. It's… A unique experience, to say the least, because he's staring hard at you the whole time, even more so than usual.

#wally darling x reader #wally darling #welcome home x reader #welcome home arg x reader

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moonmeg · 9 months

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!!TW for panel 3-5// Blood

Seeing him unharmed and alive in his crib was the greatest relief. He was crying but he was alive. With a soft shush she picked the babe from the crib and cradled him in her arms.

"It's alright, little sprout, it's all perfectly fine. Mama's here.", she tried to calm him with a small rocking motion. Her eyes were fully fixated on his little chubby face and the big round tears running down his pink cheeks. It was still a bit surreal to think this was her baby. Her baby that she had carried beneath her heart for almost nine months. Cat started walking around the room while continuing her attempt to calm him. By now she had figured out how to tell his cries apart. His current cry wasn't of hunger, nor did he have an unpleasant smell about him.

"Did you have a bad dream, my love?", she asked and gently wiped the tears off his face, "Me too...". Robyn wasn't a talker just yet, but he was a great listener. While Cat had many great advisors and comforters around her, whenever she started to speak with Robyn, she realized that sometimes all it needs is someone who simply listens. Of course, she knew he doesn't understand her and that he won't remember any of what she's telling him but the idea that he did was nice enough for her to continue talking to him. So she began fighting against Robyn's cries by retelling him her own dream.

"I dreamed about your Papa. He was here and he looked so proud and full of love as he looked at you. We were all together, just as intended. We were happy.", she smiled at the image in her head. How he was standing next to her before the self-made crib he had spent months on. His hand's firm grip on her upper arm as he pulled her closer to him. His warm brown eyes carrying the love he feels for her in just one look. His proud smile towards his son, his soft touch on her cheek and chin. It all felt so real. Cat couldn't help the tear she shed upon the repeating realization that this image will never be a reality. He was gone. No matter how much in denial she wanted to be or was about it.

Caleb was gone.

"Then he appeared.", she put emphasis on "he". Cathy didn't want to speak his name, nor did she want Robyn to ever hear that name. She would rather have that name and the person it was given to be forgotten. That was his biggest concern, wasn't it? He wanted to be remembered as great witch hunter and as savior to humanity. He wanted his name in history books and an everlasting legacy. She figured, she would not give him that.

She knows she can't shut away the story attached to that person. Sooner or later Robyn would ask what had happened to his father and she wasn't planning on lying to him. But if Robyn never hears the name, even if he retells the story of Caleb's fate to friends or perhaps even his own children some day, the name would never be mentioned and slowly be forgotten. It would be "the person" and not "Philip".

Cat paused, thinking of how to continue the telling. The images flashing her mind threw her right back to that terrible day. Right back to the horrifying sight of her beloved Caleb lying in a growing puddle of blood on the floor, clenching his side, coughing...

She had tried her best to push those memories back and instead replace them with happy memories of him. It was too painful a sight to revisit again and again but she wasn't able to push it away fully.

His blood-dyed shirt, the blood strains on his chin and his arm, the pain and sadness in his eyes, the last of his strength he put into a final kiss before he exhaled one last time and lost the life in his body... she was there. She held him through it all.

She feared those moments would now be her steady company in life. They would always return and reopen the wound and she couldn't escape it.

Catherine looked back to her little son, still very much crying, as she decided to not go into detail about what exactly her subconsciousness tortured her with. Both, because it wasn't fit to tell your month old baby and because she could hardly bear saying the required words.

"I'll spare us both of telling what he did. But he did something horrible. And then...he said something so cruel about you.", she brushed her index finger over Robyn's cheek as if he knew what cruelty was said and she wanted to comfort him.

Robyn's cries lost volume but they weren't gone. He noticed he was no longer alone in the crib but that he was held by someone and he noticed quickly it was his mother so close to him. He knew her scent and he recognized her voice. Sometimes that's all he needed to calm down again: mama.

Said mama stared at him in adoration. She loved her little sprout ever since the healers told her she was pregnant. He has grown so much in just eight months and he still was. She was in awe every time anew. That's her son. Her little boy, who surely would grow into a fine young man... much like his late father. Catherine saw the world in this little life and she was proud to call herself his mother.

"He's just so wrong about you. He said you were never supposed to exist...", her brows furrowed in confusion. If Robyn was never supposed to exist, clearly he wouldn't be here now and clearly, Caleb and her would've never been able to conceive him in the first place. If, by Philip's logic, this child was the aftermath of a so-called "sin", if not a "sin" himself, surely that almighty person Caleb and his brother believed in would've not allowed Robyn to exist. She barely understood any of that topic and yet still even regarding that human belief, everything speaks *for* her baby's existence, not against it.

Robyn made a noise, striking his fist in the air as if in protest of the statement. His cries having ceased under Cathy's rocking-while-walking.

"Yeah.", Cat chuckled and validated Robyn's reply, "He's absolutely wrong.".

She paused for a moment to take the blanket from the crib and wrap him up in it. He was calm now again and it wouldn't take long before he dozed off again. So she hoped at least. Once wrapped up, she adjusted him and placed him over her chest, his head in the crook of her neck, where she was shielding it with her hand.

"You're a gift. The most amazing, wonderful, beautiful gift. And we love you more than anything else. Your father and me.", Cat smiled and turned her head to kiss his crown. She kept her lips pressed to his forehead as the clear night sky caught her attention for a while.

"I wonder what traits of yours he picked up, sweetheart.", she pulled her head back to examine her baby's face once again. There wasn't much of Caleb in Robyn's face but that's to blame on Robyn being a baby still. Of course his facial features are to grow over the years and he wouldn't have a sharp angular jaw as infant but so far Robyn has picked up more from his mother than his father.

"Maybe his hair will stay this light? Maybe his eyes are a warm brown? Or maybe it's something completely different?"

She would welcome any resemblance to her lost love and she would lie if she denied the fact she wished he looked more like Caleb sometimes rather than her when Robyn's older. She'd have her beloved's face back. She'd have his blond locks back. She'd have his beautiful brown eyes back. She'd have him back at least somehow.

Then she noticed Robyn's pointy ears - a trait definitely from her - and further spun the thoughts.

Robyn could grow into her long face and pointy chin. His dirty blond could grow into the brown of her's over the years. He could have her piercing teal eyes. He could be the spitting image of her just as much as he could be of that of Caleb.

"Maybe he barely looks like you when he's older...", she frowned upon the conclusion.

Turning away from the window, she drew a circle in the air and the curtains closed. She got back into bed, holding her infant son tightly as she still lightly rocked him back and forth. She kissed his head again. Whichever traits he picked up from Caleb and whichever from her, in the end her baby was beautiful and perfect just the way he is. He was a gift. Caleb's most precious gift. One she will protect from harm with her life. Her little sprout. Her little Robyn.

#tw: blood #tdaac #tdaac moonmeg #toh #the owl house #catherine clawthorne #catherine megpeggs #evelyn clawthorne #caleb wittebane #caleb clawthorne #robyn clawthorne #philip wittebane #toh fanart #the owl house fanart #toh oc #toh fancomic #the owl house fancomic

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lucyandthepen · 9 months

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last eden - i . | lmh

part i, ii, iii

only one thing has ever mattered to you, in this lifetime, and in all others : mark lee — even if he doesn't know yet, and even if he may never remember.

pairing: mark x reader verse: canon/idol!verse, soulmates trope rating: T warnings: none, possibly some mild language, like... one very tame mention of making love ig word count: 4.3k

A/N: yeah i have a lot of these fics that i'm repurposing that i desperately want to post so i can continue them so please look the other way at my random over enthusiasm i beg !! my only long-standing mark fic is actually gorgeous, and while we do love a good raunchy piece, i love mark way too much to keep it to just that. this was my first ever fic on my old blog, and i'm quite attached to the idea despite the fact that it's actually very difficult for me to write. i changed the name because i actually love this song by maktub (anything he puts out is gold to me), which i think generally fits the vibe of the story, so give it a listen if you're interested! so i hope you all enjoy this idol!verse soulmates fic! (help a gal out by reblogging, liking, and leaving a few kind words if you're so inclined!)

“This isn’t really your best idea.”

You know this. You’re fully aware of the possible and endless risks as well as the minimal benefits. But you have to go. The thing that Heehyeon, your roommate, doesn’t fully understand is that this could be your one and only shot, and it could mean life or death. And you know that sounds pretty dramatic, but it really is. you don’t really have all the details (when, where, how, the important stuff) but that doesn’t matter to you right now.

What really matters is that today is NCT’s comeback stage at M! Countdown, and you have to be there.

Unfortunately, this isn’t one of those things you have to go to because your a die-hard fan and you just have to support the group and do all those fan chants and lie to your mom about going to the library when you’re really staying over outside a company building for hours just to wave those silly, expensive light sticks that look like they came out of the factory a bit funny. Sure, NCT’s music was nice (enough), but that isn’t really the reason why you told your mom not to come over this weekend because you would be out on a company team building retreat (as if they actually do that). More than anything, you knew you had to take this chance to see him.

When you don’t respond, Heehyeon presses on with a firmer tone, as if she’s determined to convince you even though you both know nothing is really going to stop you at this point.

“Listen to me, _____________. You are going to a tightly-packed music show with at least a hundred other fans, and you are going to stand in the middle of that dense crowd and — and what? Stare up at him. That’s it. He’s not going to see you; that stage is so high up he’ll probably only catch a look at your forehead, and that’s if you make it up front. And since we both know you’re neither the tallest nor the luckiest person in the world, you know the odds are against you. You’re probably going to get pushed to the back, or stampeded, and it’s going to be messy, and you’re going to push, and they’re going to push you back, and your make-up is going to fall apart, or whatever. Is this really worth it?”

“I told you,” you try to sound patient, but the idea of being buffeted away from the stage by a large wave of sweaty bodies causes more discomfort than you had originally anticipated thanks to her colorful and supremely unhelpful description. “If being near the stage doesn’t work out, I’ll wait out back, near the exit, and —“

“Oh yeah, and ambush him. Because you’ll be the only one there, and because that’s totally safe.” She drops the slightly (well, pretty) judgmental tone when she sees your bottom lip quiver. “I’m not… I’m not saying you shouldn’t try to reach out to him. But this doesn’t sound like the best way, _____________. Security is so tight there, and NCT’s security is even more wary. Even if you do manage to get close, what in the world are you going to say?”

“I— I’ll figure it out once I’m there.” You purse your lips; surely I love you; we’re meant to be together wouldn’t be that hard on your end, but the more important question is: did it sound sane? You didn’t express this doubt, though. Doing so would give your roommate more ammunition to turn back at you; you’d play it by ear when you actually got around to making eye contact with him (if that ever happened at all). And — well, maybe you wouldn’t have to say anything. Maybe, just maybe, this time, he’d remember you.

At that thought, you feel an initial wave of laughter, closely followed by a second, much more painful wave of nausea. Of all the absurd things you could think of, that was probably the most ridiculous.

“This isn’t a good idea,” she recapitulates, shaking her head. “You know what they do to people who stalk idols and say they’re really going to get married to them, or whatever. You know what they’d call you.”

“But I’m not crazy like that,” you argue.

“I know that, but they don’t know anything about you! You’d be labeled a sasaeng. They’ll probably think you’re one of those girls that sneak into their dorms and sniff their underwear before selling them on the dark side of Taobao through a weird Chinese proxy or something.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You ball your fists at your side, feeling a little betrayed. Heehyeon, of all people, should be able to understand why you had to do this, even if it was ludicrous. She had remembered you, reached out to you before you could even place her. She’d heard your story, understood that you had been waiting years for this moment, even stopped you on other occasions when you were about to do the same thing you were planning now, saying it wasn’t the right time. “I don’t have any other way of contacting him. I don’t even know if this is going to work, but you know I have to try, and I feel like this is the right time. I have to see him. I have to — I have to be with him. I don’t need your blessing to go, you know.”

There’s a palpable tension hanging over you now, and Heehyeon’s expression has gone mostly unreadable, save for that twinge of worry still present in her gaze. The soft sound of regular, heavy exhales punctuate every few seconds that pass, and you realize a little later that it’s your breathing, which has turned a bit heavy from the energy spent sort-of yelling at your roommate.

“I know that,” she finally sighs. “I know that, _____________. I just wish you used a different way. Like, a safer, less crazy one.”

“I would use one if there were one.” You frown. “I’m not going to do anything stupid, like attack him. I would never do that.”

She doesn’t say much anymore, opting to watch you instead as you stuff a few more essential things in your bag. A hat. A fan. a bottle of water. Heehyeon had tried to coerce you to buy one of those cheering kits with those slogans, but you didn’t want to waste your money on it, and, truthfully, you didn’t want his name hanging on your walls like some sick reminder in case he rejected you.

“What did you tell your manager?” She asks in a clear attempt to lighten the mood.

“I told her I was sick. You know she never really asks as long as I find someone to substitute for me,” you sling your bag over your shoulder, standing straighter. “How do I look?”

“Pretty damn healthy,” she notes. “But also kind of crazy.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Heehyeon,” you roll your eyes as you make your way out of the room. Before you close the door, she makes one last quick remark.

“Not if I see you on the evening news first!”

You have to take two buses to get to Sangamsan-ro. Even though the traffic is generally mild, the buses make too many stops and wait too long for old ladies with their fruit baskets and newspapers to get on. The wait is making you anxious, and you think about getting an orange to abate your growing hunger, but you’re also so nervous that you’re sure you’re going to spew it all out onto the bus floor anyway. So, you content yourself with listening to music and fiddling with your fingers in your lap.

All you have in your phone is NCT’s music. The files were so large that you’d had to delete everything else you used to listen to and a handful of pictures too (mostly selfies that would have never seen the light of day, anyway) just to get them to fit. You used to only listen to the Korean versions, but you’d found all these little nuances in how Mark raps his lines depending on the language, so you’d started listening to the English and Japanese releases too, even though you can’t understand a lick of anything but ‘baby.’ Most of the time, you skip over to the relevant (see: Mark-filled) parts, already having memorized their timestamps to a kind of sick degree.

It was kind of dumb, and sort of selfish, but you had never really identified yourself as an NCT fan anyway. If you had been an active part of the groups following, people would have probably called you an akgae. You were really only concerned with one member, and it was that member’s voice that filled your ears when you’d plugged your earbuds in and put the volume up.

The first time you’d seen him was in your last year of college. One of your college friends had asked you to accompany them to a Nature Republic outlet downtown. Despite your general lack of interest in make-up at that point in time, you’d gone because she’d promised to buy you a corndog. What you’d gotten instead was a large standee of a handsome guy smiling at you and holding out a pot of aloe vera gel.

You knew his eyes. Even though his features changed a million times in your memory, you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else’s — soft, warm, brown eyes that you’d stared into for truly an eternity. His were eyes you could never forget, were never allowed to forget. You could remember the millions of times they’d smiled up at you in those past lives you were haunted with, twinkled with mischief and laughter in your presence, borne deep into yours on hot summer nights as you made love. Of all the uncertain things in all of the lives you remembered living, these eyes acted as your anchor.

You’d almost forgotten you were there with a friend until she’d called out to you, telling you to step inside the shop. Trying to sound disinterested despite the fact that your heart was pounding, you asked who the guy in the standee was. Mark, she’d called him. Mark of NCT. He was an idol, a rapper in one of those up and coming groups that was starting to gain a lot of attention within the general public because of their ‘cool, chic concepts.’ At that information, your heart had fallen into a pool of acid in your stomach.

Other times were hard, but not this hard. Most of the factors that had kept you or torn you apart were much larger in scale — war, famine, other natural disasters. This, out of all the other times, seemed to be the most difficult; he wasn’t an ordinary man anymore, but a god among men — a god you couldn’t be allowed to approach. You had ditched your friend the moment she’d gotten her change back at the counter, citing a sudden time of the month as the root cause, and dashed out and back to school, sparing only one last glance at the standee.

You’d been waiting for him for years, carefully looking for any sign of him in the people around you, but you had grown tired and had come to believe that maybe, in this life, you had been set free — that he didn’t exist, and the curse would be over. However, as you pored over each and every teaser, music video, advertisement, and blurry, noise-heavy radio interview you could find even a sliver of his face in, you realized that the curse had come back, and in a much larger force than you could ever imagine.

You’d stared at your desk for the longest time that day; the sun had dipped out of sight already when you’d sighed yourself out of your trance. It had never been this difficult. Having the Memory was mostly the worst thing ever, but its usual perk was that you could pick him out a little easier, and he was never too far away — nobody you ever knew in your first life ever was. They just kept coming up again and again, running around in little circles throughout time and space, and you recognized them in a way you’ve come to grow familiar with. It’s a tug, sort of like a tickle in your stomach, and you knew then that he was close by. The signal only stopped when you found him, and it usually wasn’t that hard. From there, you were responsible for weaving the same kind of story — one in which you would fall in love, be happy for a period of time, and then… well.

Heehyeon has the Memory, too. She’d remembered you from a previous life, too, and picked you out of a packed line at a coffee shop, striking up one of the most awkward conversations you’d ever had the displeasure of being a part of because she hadn’t been sure if you remembered her. It was only when she mentioned that you seemed like someone she could be good friends with and that you also seemed like you just happened to like your coffee black with two sugars did you realize that her sudden onslaught of friendliness was a sign she might be like you: unable to forget. She’d actually once asked you if you’d tried just letting him go, and you’d responded with a resolute no. At this point, it was too hard to call him a lost cause, even if he really seemed it. How could you stop loving someone you know you’ve loved for millennia?

He’s extremely handsome in this life, you’ve noted. Girls were falling all over him, which only made things ten times harder. A couple of years back, some rumors of him dating a labelmate had come up. Heehyeon had talked you through that long night of you clutching tissues in a fist and sobbing about how you didn’t want this anymore, how it was never fair, how every single time you had to find him was just growing more and more difficult until it seemed to reach an impossible arc. But, mostly, you’d cried because you hated the possibility — probably the confirmation — that he didn’t remember you at all.

You didn’t really expect him to, but you always hoped. Every life, you would approach him, and he would be a clean slate. It was a tiring process, one you wished you weren’t constantly responsible for. Some days, you resented him; how could he live his life carefree, without even the notion that you two were meant to be together? Most days, though, you just longed for him. Him, and a happy ending.

You let out a sigh as the track changes. His voice greets you again; over time, you’ve noticed it sounding even cooler, more impactful. He’s doing well for himself. And here you are, attempting to make yourself stand out in a pool of fans he probably can’t even see clearly. Nice.

You get to listen to about half of the newly released album before you realize you’re nearing your stop. Sidestepping a couple of baskets of oranges, you make it to the door and dash out. Heehyeon had drawn you a crude map to CJ E&M, and you’d been skeptical of it at first, but you realize now you would have gotten lost and missed the stage long before you got there if you had gone in blind. You’d make sure to thank her when you got back. If you did actually come back in one piece.

Heehyeon also hadn’t been joking; the line outside looks like it would fill a whole section of Jamsil. You’d heard of the dedication of some of these fans, but you’d never seen it like this, nor had you ever actually been a part of it. Kids were really up at three in the morning in support of NCT. Many of them are probably here specifically in support of Mark, you think. Sure enough, the people you line up behind are holding holographic slogans with the print “Mark-yah!” You swallow hard, trying not to regret your decision not to partake in that.

It feels like hours before you get even close to the door of the building. The chatter has died down a little, but not by much; even with less people ahead of you, the noise pollution increases in tandem with the excitement in the atmosphere. You’re not excited, though. You’re sick to your stomach, wishing you hadn’t come alone and wondering if you were going to regret this. Probably. Luckily, a couple of teenagers behind you strike up a casual conversation starting with “ah, it’s getting more humid now,” and you take turns complaining about what the weather would probably be like later on in the day before you start talking about NCT. They’re both Jaehyun fans, and you think about whether or not you remember meeting him in a past life. Nothing really rings a bell.

When you tell them you’re here for Mark, they giggle.

“We know,” they chime. “You’re wearing blue.”

“It’s his favorite color,” you say, a little defensively.

“Everyone knows that. Everyone here wearing that ocean blue is a Mark fan. Didn’t he say so once?” They dissolve into laughter again, but you say nothing. Maybe he had said that recently. Then again, his favorite color has always been blue — the color of the sky and the sea he seems to love so much.

The line grows shorter and shorter, and your ankles feel like they’re starting to swell. You’ve been standing for a good two hours now, and you regret not having bought one of those NCT membership cards that get you up to the front of the line. It’s really no surprise that you, the two Jaehyun fans, and the others in the line behind you are all squished in the back, just like Heehyeon had said you would be. It takes a good twenty minutes before the lights dim down and the stage lights start up, and you hear the buzz that increases in volume right before it becomes a collective deafening shriek from the crowd. The light sticks go up, and you’re momentarily blinded by the large stars that blink NCT in some weird logo form before you get your bearings again. By that time, the members have begun trooping onto the stage in a single file, and you forget your swollen ankles as you tiptoe and crane your head for a better view.

He’s there, your mind screams. He’s right there. You’ve got a whole crowd in front of you, but he’s right there.

The Jaehyun fans are losing their mind too; he’s talking, asking them how they found the album and encouraging them to keep supporting it. Typical idol stuff, you assume, but the fans go wild in an attempt to reassure him that they will. They all speak in a line, and you note Mark will be last. When the mic is handed over to him, the fans start screaming again. You feel like you want to yell as well, except you’re not sure if you’ll say something actually coherent that other people will hear. Instead, you tiptoe a little higher, fixing your pretty bad eyesight on his face and perking your ears up.

“You’re all here so early,” he starts. “How long have you been waiting for us?”

A flurry of numbers fly across the room. He smiles in this genuinely affectionate way even though his eyes can’t focus on a single person in the dark, and your heart stutters at the sight.

“Do your mothers know you’re here?” He’s teasing now. “You can’t tell them that NCT is the reason you’re not sleeping well, you know. Everyone, make sure that you eat breakfast and rest well before school today, okay?”

While the crowd screams in response, you let out a little whimper. It’s a weak, pathetic sound, but it essentially sums up how you feel, seeing him like this from so far away.

The pre-recording starts, but you barely catch anything. You’re too small for this kind of life, and you get so tired of tiptoeing that you actually do try to push your way through the crowd. Of course, this is fruitless, and you end up squatting by the back wall of the room, sipping on your water conservatively and listening to the Jaehyun fans do the chant religiously.

NCT performs the song two more times before they’re saying their goodbyes. You muster up the energy to stand again and make a beeline for the exit before everyone else can smash their way through. The sun is almost up now; beads of sweat form on the nape of your neck as you round the building, trying to find the indicated spot that Heehyeon had marked as the back exit of CJ E&M. You worry about how you’re in the wrong place for about ten minutes until you see the two Jaehyun fans turning the corner quickly, obviously with the same goal as you: to catch NCT as they leave the building.

In no time, the fans have gathered at the spot again, and it seems like they’ve multiplied tenfold; the chants are louder and there are girls with gigantic cameras trying to shove you away from the spot. Security from the company camps out in front of you, their gazes shifting from the door to the crowd and back again.

People around you roar the moment the doorknob turns. Nine of them file out, now in regular clothing, surrounded by their own security. You feel a surge of force behind you, trying to push forward, and someone’s camera lens hits you hard in the side of the face. You barely have time to cry out in surprise, caught in what would have been a scream of pain, when you see him.

In the growing light, Mark looks like a king. No — like a god, actually. Everything on his face shines even when minimal sunlight strikes it; his teeth help, too, brightening his face as his mouth hangs open in an easy laugh. He’s talking to Doyoung and has to face him, his sharp jawline being the first thing anyone can see from that perspective, and it’s that angle that creates all these alarms in your head.

For some reason, you’ve blocked out the noise around you. Even the pain from the camera lens attack isn’t bothering you as much anymore; you feel like you’re in an aquarium, and all the screams are on the other side of the glass. Your vision tunnels; all you can see is him.

You’d promised Heehyeon you wouldn’t do anything stupid. Again and again, she’d asked you and drilled you and reminded you that you weren’t supposed to do anything that would get you into trouble. Even with those promises you’d made, she’d still doubted you. Later, when you’d tell her this story, she’d roll her eyes and yell I told you so!, because, well, she did tell you. And, when you’d look at it in retrospect, you’d see that you should have listened.

Right now, though, you’re walking. Somehow, the camera lens that had attacked you had turned its gaze onto much more important targets; the guard stationed in front of you grunted in pain and reflexively retracted his hand after the lens made contact with it. It wasn’t a long movement, but it was enough for you to be pushed forward by the crowd. Enough to get your feet moving.

Other fans had stopped trying to break through; though many were still hysterical, most were trying to take pictures of the members as they climbed into the van. One by one, they were disappearing before your eyes. No, you thought to yourself. Your chest tightened. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think that the noise behind you has gotten much louder. Not now. He hasn’t seen me yet. Not yet, please.

You don’t realize that your feet have picked up the pace, and you’ve broken into a short sprint before the building security could catch you. It’s too late; he can’t leave his post, and he only has to hope that NCT’s staff are well-equipped to fend off a running girl. They are, but they’re too busy helping the members that they’re caught unaware — just long enough for you to be within an arm’s reach of them.

Mark is almost in the van; he’s caught off-guard, too, and he doesn’t realize that something’s not right until you’re already there. Security grabs his arm and tries to tug him out of your reach and into the van at the same time that a strong hand grapples at the back of your shirt. Doyoung, who had been by Mark’s side, tries to use his arms to shield you from his friend when he realizes who you are targeting, yelling out something you can’t really understand.

It’s a ten-second long struggle of limbs in which you hear your own “Let go of me!” harmonize perfectly with Mark’s frantic “What the —?” Somehow, though, you’re able to fight through Doyoung’s arms and grip Mark’s wrist with a sweaty palm. The contact causes him to turn back reflexively, eyes wide in shock.

His eyes. God, please, won’t he recognize me? Your fingers close around his wrist a little more tightly. Your mouth is dry, and your throat is on fire. You’re wasting precious time. You only manage out a weak, “Please, Mark, it’s me,” before he’s twisting his wrist away. The arm that gripped your shirt moves to lock around your waist, and you’re hauled, empty-handed, away from the van. Awareness you’d lost slowly trickles back into you. The crowd isn’t screaming at the members now; they’re screaming at you. They’re angry. As you’re dragged away, you vaguely note that the Jaehyun fans you were with are fuming behind the security guards still keeping them in place.

The security guard that carried you off like a rag doll plants you in front of him, and he lets go of your waist but still keeps his grip tight around both your forearms, which have been twisted behind you. You have no choice but to watch from afar as the members drag Mark into the van, looks of concern etched across their faces. They ask him if he’s hurt, and he shakes his head. Right before the door closes, he quickly glances back at you. Your heart sinks for the second time today as you see something in his eyes you’d never seen before.

Fear. Mark is afraid of you.

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100hearteyes · 1 year

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The reason why I love Saskia so much and think she's hands down the best character of Class of '07 (in a cast full of really great characters) is that she's never just one thing or the other.

She was an awful bully and queen of the school, yet that school is also where she lived her biggest trauma. But the show never uses one thing to negate nor excuse the other; only uses it to inform and deepen Saskia's character.

Going back to the role of Queen Bee is torture and eats away at Saskia, because that's a side of herself she worked very hard to leave behind, and she only does it because she truly believes it's their only way of surviving. And we see it in those moments where she says people have no idea how much it hurts her to revert back to her mean girl persona and how much she resents Amelia for making her do it. She hates it.

However, she also almost revels in it, as it comes oh so easily and naturally to her. And she admits that she doesn't feel anything when she sees Laura collapse, she "murders" Sandy, manipulates conversations with Zoe and Teresa, shuns Genevieve, etc because she's doing what she has to to survive, keep riding, like he said, but also... It's like something in her shut off. And also came alive at the same time (we see that happening in real-time when she breaks in front of Teresa - who had just lost a toe, but that was also Saskia's thing until later in the season, how her pain seemed to matter more or something - and then when T bursts at her she shuts down and back into mean girl). And she hates that more than anything, as she admits, that she worked so hard to leave the mean girl behind and then it's so damn easy to be her again.

And then, she explodes. She goes ballistic on Renee and Phoebe, and when she's finally caught for "killing" Sandy she's willing to take her punishment. Relishes the opportunity to finally leave the mean girl behind. But then, she's confronted with just how much she hurt all the girls in her class, and she understands that her pain doesn't negate that, and she fully accepts her punishment. Becomes numb to everything that's happening to her, even.

I think Saskia only truly starts healing when Sister Bicky shows up and they have that conversation about him and how the faculty should have done more to deter him.

She's never just the bully, she's never just Queen Bee, she's never just the girl who was taken advantage of my a teacher, she's never just the byproduct of her trauma. She's never just sad or angry or guilty or cold. She's never just either victim or perpetrator. The villain or one of the heroes. She's all of those things all at once, and she can and does change from one facet to the other in a fraction of a second.

Speaking of whom, Saskia's complexity also shows in how she (rightfully) blames him for fucking her up, but also still remembers him in key moments (that line, "I don't understand how the person who fucked you up so badly could also be the voice of encouragement that you need to go on," is brilliant) and gets jealous when she finds out this other girl lasted longer, and still relies on her memories of him to find the strength to keep up the mean girl persona, for the sake of the group. Those are normal - and heartbreaking - consequences of that type of trauma, of course, but they also show just how layered Saskia is and how up to a point - and even if, like Genevieve said, she was a bully before year 12 - her trauma informs her mean girl bullying, and the bullying and inhabiting the mean girl skin again deepens the trauma.

She's possibly my favorite pseudo villain ever.

Anyway, Saskia is a fantastic character and that's thanks to the writers and Caitlin Stasey.

#now all she needs to do is kiss girls #long post #analysis #class of '07 spoilers #class of '07 #class of 07 #spoilers #saskia vanderbeek #saskia van der beek

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pendwelling · 5 months

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Is it confirmed yet or foreshadowed that they ( Jesse, Sadie, and Christelle) will be a couple?

CedYesChris have actually been foreshadowed to be building up to the very relationship TWSB has been implying they'd become since the beginning, ever since the first mention that Riester royalty had to take up both a political companion that is tied to them by matrimony, and a religious companion that is tied together by soul through a covenant. Later on, it is very apparent that the roles will be taken by Ham Ga-in Christelle and Jung Yeseo in particular! (And not even in the way you'd initially expect!)

More elaboration and spoilers below (with novel support and chapter citation lolol):

This is all viewed in a primarily objective light where I interpret what we are given. While I love my shipping, I do believe, in the context of the novel, that there is no romantic basis for their relationship at all as of yet (800+) nor do I believe that there will explicitly ever be, but to deny that there isn't any sort or form of love would be lying. CedYedChris have a complex relationship: friends that are more than just friends but not at all lovers, one that cannot be fully described with words—forged through trials and pain and reverence and companionship, making for a unique relationship of understanding and solace. This sort of queerplatonic relationship is actually very fittingly in line with the power system and world-building of the novel, simply by virtue of the covenant system between Holy Knights and Priests, and the acts of special partnerships that tie individuals by souls.

I find it very funny actually when people say they cannot see Cédric and Ga-in getting together because of how different they are (and how much they seem to repulse each other lmao) but the more you read and understand about their relationship, the more you realize that after all these hundreds of chapters, there is no one that would who could fit the role of "Crown Prince's political companion" more than Ga-in herself—not even as a romantic partner, but as a mere companion.

There have been attempts at Cédric having to find a potential consort candidate, and Cédric himself has mentioned that whoever is INEVITABLY picked he will agree with unconditionally as it is his duty as Crown Prince to marry someone later on to help support his reign (251-4). But ultimately all of his friends agree that his happiness is something that is also very important, especially when it comes to marrying someone for the rest of his life. He might say he doesn't care, but once Yeseo starts expressing concern and dissatisfaction with him getting marriage proposals to nobles Cédric wouldn't be able to fully get along with outside of a political union, he starts expressing relief and hints of aversion to the idea of an arranged marriage that he has no say in (254). And we, as readers, know that Cédric is not the type of person who could easily open up to people, and while he is not the type to be discourteous to anyone who would become his future spouse, it's clear that for the type of person he is, a marriage with someone who he is only connected to due to duty pales in comparison to the trust he has with a comrade who has been by his side since the beginning, who knows him better than any random noble who wouldn't understand a fraction of his soul (and potentially might not ever, as the circumstances under which Cédric has ever emotionally opened up were never something that he chose to do on a whim, and probably never would have talked about, had it not been for specific circumstances [like in 602]). In all those rare and explosive instances when he went through periods of turmoil, he was lucky enough to have people by his side who understood and could sympathize/empathize with his very unique pain.

Cédric and Ga-in are very different, but funnily enough two out of three of the only people who can understand each other the best in this life and universe, as they have many life experiences and traumas and history that no outsider will be able to understand, and (HUGE SPOILERS CHAPTER 640) after the group travels 20 years in the future, it is even canon and /very/ heavily implied that the two of them are married! (Though there are mysteries about Yeseo's whereabouts and roles in this future.) BUT!

It is actually very vague on whether or not this is romantic (and doesn't even necessarily seem to be) but in my interpretation of their special relationship and based on the novel itself, I truly believe this is a very understandable partnership between two people who have gone through so much and have come out of it as partners that the other can trust, and who they know they can depend on and have emotionally opened themselves up to.

It doesn't have to be romantic. It doesn't even need to, for such a marriage to work, and if there is a hint of romantic love in it, we cannot see it nor will we know for sure, but I believe that it doesn't actually matter. CedYesChris is very queerplatonic and if you've read that far, you understand that by that point, they've all become companions that know each other from every inch of their souls. All of them consider each other as their Moon, Sun, and Earth, and have said (particularly Ga-in to Yeseo, and Ga-in speaking on behalf of her and Cédric about him) to be unable to live without each other (657, 805), and it is a sentiment echoed almost within them all. Cédric Riester, by simple virtue of being the future Riester Emperor, will inevitably have to marry, and what better partner than Ham Ga-in, who has distinguished herself with notable achievements in the Empire, and is an important friend to the Crown Prince?

And of course, their relationship with Yeseo is also something that I believe brings them together all the more. They are their partner's other partner—they are each others' partner. They are all pretty much in a Holy Knight/Priest partnership and Yeseo is the only one alive that can support the two of them with the ether they'd need, and not exhaust himself in the process (like Priest Sand). They are all soothed by each other's souls, and before you say Cédric and Ga-in physically repulsed each other, in Chapter 651 we get a confirmation that the two of them have formed a bond and tie between each other's souls following the events of Chapter 301 when they fought in the temple during Cédric's ether runaway/turmoil. Accidentally, during that fight that ended up with Cédric nearly unconsciously killing Ga-in in his grief, they managed to have a small part of each other's etheric plate chipped into the other, meaning (particularly in Ga-in's case) that she can now stabilize herself from a runaway with the help of Cédric's opposite attribute ether to calm the fury of her water (651). They have somewhat of a quasi-telepathic relationship, though they typically cannot hear much of anything but as their souls are tied in a unique way, they can feel in some abstract instinctual sense when something is going on with the other's soul/ether, even if not within the same vicinity (727).

As for Yeseo being Cédric/CedChris's religious companion, it has actually been confirmed by Yeseo himself that he would have agreed to pledge a covenant with Cédric and tie their souls together, and yet hasn't and is putting off/has refused the proposal (of ch330 and onward implictly) because Yeseo is VERY intimately aware of the fact that he is not from this world and will, ultimately, have to return home in the end due to his love for his siblings, and acknowledges that he would not wish upon Cédric the pain of being separated from the soul one would tie themselves with upon forming a covenant (736). For reference, even Empress Frédérique and Aurélie cannot separate for too long without Fred feeling immense amounts of pain, discomfort, and irritation, only managing to cope by surrounding herself with piles ether stones filled with her soul companion's ether, (510, and some other chapters but i cant remember them all rn wkfjdk).

In Jibril's words, a religious companion is someone that would be able to provide support and mental fortitude to their partner, which is something that Yeseo considers about Jibril's own aspects who he hopes would support his cousin in the future (a future without him in it). Yeseo is very concerned about Cédric's circle of support and always has his well-being in mind, and this not only stems from his wanting to be a good friend, but also because of his regret and hesitation in accepting Cédric's covenant proposal due to his impermance in the universe. He explicitly says that he does not wish to hurt Cédric! The bigger the distance, the more painful it is for the companion—so how painful would being separated by different worlds, be?

Both Cédric and Yeseo want to be each other's companion and fuse their souls together (Cédric more so than Yeseo—this guy would really accept no one else). The only thing preventing that is Yeseo's fear and concern for Cédric. I don't have much to say about this than I do about Cédric and Ga-in's future political companionship, because CedChris is just a bit harder to understand for TWSB readers if they haven't gotten far enough into the novel yet. In contrast, Cédric and Yeseo’s religious companionship has been made most probable from the very start of the novel, and yet funnily enough, the difficulty and probability of the formation of the Political and Religious partnerships have been flipped 😂 It is easier to see Cédric and Ga-in becoming political companions (and is, as of Chapter 805 and ongoing, most canonically supported to be something that is in place 20 years in the future), as opposed to Yeseo accepting Cédric's covenant proposal haha.

But I firmly believe, at the end of the day, that the three of them will become companions. Not necessarily in a romantic sense (no matter how much I enjoy my shipping) but also not in a standard platonic sense, either. Yeseo views Ga-in as his continent and earth, and regards Cédric as a precious being equivalent to the sun. Ga-in speaks for both herself and Cédric when she says they cannot live without him, and she loves Yeseo so dearly and his well-being is her priority, and acknowledges Cédric as someone she respects and can rely on, and who shares similar pains with her. Cédric treats Yeseo with so much reverence and desire, and Ga-in with mutual understanding, and both are the only people whom he can be fully emotionally vulnerable with. They have a very special and unique relationship and I don't know how exactly it will play out in the end, but I sincerely believe that there is NO ONE in that universe that could understand their pains and souls and mere entirety, than they do for each other.

CedYesChris are soulmates! Whether it is made by their own hands or written in the stars. I believe wholeheartedly that Sookym has written and built up their relationship splendidly and so naturally.

#asks #twsb asks #twsb spoilers #twsb #twsb analysis #is this an analysys? idk #twsb meta #cedjesschris #cedyeschris #CYC mean the absolute WORLD to me ok 😭#I could go on forever talking about their relationship but i think i wrote enough wUFBDKDMJK

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butwhatifidothis · 4 months

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Do people really not see the inherent disconnect of the claim that Houses Claude is genuinely an amoral opportunist when his dream is to break down barriers to foster unity and peace? Like, is there not a fundamental incompatibility in having a desire for everyone to get along yet being a backstabber that throws people under the bus for their own benefit? From a personality/character standpoint, all that does is make Claude look like a ginormous ignorant hypocrite, and an idiot even though he's supposed to be smart. Because if his end goal is to create a diverse and harmonious community, how is he going to bring people together if he constantly betrays every side? And from a writing perspective, it makes no sense to have a character's actions and goals be completely contradictory and never address it.

Also for someone who is amoral, it sure is interesting in Balthus' Classroom QA Part 2 that Claude likes "ensure the fewest casualties" and dislikes "do anything to eradicate the enemy" when the question was "the war has been dragging for long so let's end it quickly". It's kinda like he has some principles or something.

Like, the idea of Claude being an untrustworthy backstabber who opportunistically takes advantage of everyone without ever growing close to them is just Hubert minus Lady Edelgard could be an interpretation of his character that aligns with at least his initial showing, or a surface level understanding of him. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he never fully opens up to anyone, he can in fact be fairly manipulative and callous; the crumbs are there, for sure.

But it also has to ignore how far he's willing to go to protect his people (putting himself in high danger when he is not sacrificial like, say, Dimitri is), or how he supports others having dreams for themselves (Goddess Tower), or how open he is to criticisms against what he thought (Cyril's support), or how he tries to be there for his friends (Marianne's support), or how he's open-minded enough to listen to people he initially thought needed to be his enemy (Rhea), or how violence is not just not something he considers but is something he actively rejects as a means of getting what he wants (The Alliance Leader's Ambitions, near the end), or how putting the people's lives in danger is something he is adamantly against (as you point out, Balthus' classroom question). A staggering amount of Claude's character has to be deliberately ignored in order to come to the conclusion that he's just a backstabbing opportunist who does anything to get what he wants (who magically gets fixed by Byleth's mere presence), because a backstabbing opportunist who does anything to get what he wants who magically gets fixed by Byleth's mere presence does not describe Claude.

Even if one were to take the game's writing failure of properly presenting Claude tackling racial issues (like never addressing Petra's situation despite having supports with her) you can't really deny that Claude is, in fact, a caring person after taking everything in his character into account. For all his flaws, he never abuses the trust people have in him to the extent that they are actively put in danger, nor is it ever the case that the "doesn't truly tackle racial issues" ever translate to anything so drastic as "which means he'll actively worsen relations between two countries." And, well, yes; you still do have to take into account that his dreams are of bringing people together and disregarding past bad blood. He never stops trying to achieve this dream, and he wants it to come true so badly that he is willing to let other people that he trusts rule Fodlan to work together with him to achieve it, shown in VW and even AM. That means a lot for someone like Claude, who is otherwise pretty slow to trust other people so deeply.

That's not someone who would use Leicester's bad history with Faerghus as fuel to violently invade it. That's not someone who would use Almyra's navy to make it look to Sreng like Faerghus tried to invade it. That's not someone who wants to conquer other nations and make his own come out on top. Those things describe Hopes!Claude, which 3H!Claude is not.

It's like. You know how some 3H's fans see 3H as "Edelgard, Dimitri, and the third guy that justifies my fave"? How a lot of people in 3H's fandom don't really see Claude as his own character with his own perspective and ideals and beliefs and morals that are unique to him, and only see him as a battering ram to try and knock down one of the other two lords? And so don't really care how he's characterized in other things (like fanfiction, fanart, meta, or in this case spinoff media) because they never really cared about him as his own character? But then get really, really, really defensive when you point out the flaws in their perception of him, saying that you're the one who never understood or liked Claude, because if you did you'd "realize" that he was always [insert vague, bland description that happens to prop up the lord they actually like]?

Yeah that's basically what's going on here. Most people who prefer Claude as their fave lord do not like Hopes!Claude, some of the loudest voices in the JPN Amazon reviews were of people who hated Hopes!Claude and were literally trying to warn Claude/GD fans away from Hopes as a game because of how awful their writing is, while nearly every Hopes!Claude fan that I've seen vastly prefers Edelgard as their fave lord and are - you guessed it! - very defensive when it comes to Claude fans venting their frustrations over Claude's shit-end-of-the-stick treatment he got in Hopes.

So like, yeah. It's less that people aren't directly computing that Claude's ambitions and character don't match how he's depicted in Hopes, but that they just don't care that it doesn't since 1) it justifies their fave and 2) they never really gave a shit about Claude anyway

#ask #anon #clyde discourse #yeah these people just want Claude to do whatever makes their fave look better #at BEST they want him to do edgy shit just for the sake of it because edge = iNtEreStInG which is. not much better lmao #like these are the people who called Claude too boring because he never snaps like Dimitri does #nor does he do overtly morally bankrupt things to get what he wants like EdeIgard #(man if I had a nickel for every time I liked a game where a POC man was called boring by fans because he didn't do ''bad enough'' things #(before those ''boring'' traits are given to other characters and then paraded around as *that character's* traits instead of the POC man's #(I'd have two nickels. Wyll Ravengard baby you're not boring the fandom is just ass sometimes)#ANYWAY LMAO so yeah you have either Battering Ram For My Fave or Isn't Wanton Murder Just So Nuanced Guys and both are insufferable

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atlas-library · 2 months

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Giggling and kicking my feet and twirling my hair and going "oh my gawd" every time I re-read the nsfw alphabet that you did of toge your brain is so huge💞 gigantic even. You said you don't think he talks during those times (understandable), but do you think he doesn't even like...say tuna? If he has to say something (best dirty talk ever)? Actually, do you think he ever has to fight off the urge to actually speak and say something during sex, and then gets like. Upset at himself inside?

Okay so first of all, I'm gonna cry, this is the sweetest comment ever omg 🥹🥹 I haven't given up on this blog btw, I haven't posted in a while but I just got sick + I have a new job starting soon + somehow the creative juice got sucked out of me, BUT I'M STILL HERE AND THIS COMMENT!!! IT GIVES ME MORE REASONS TO KEEP PESTERING Y'ALL!!! 😭😭😭 so yeah tysm for your comment it just made my night 🥹🥹💗💗

Okay, regarding your questions (nsfw, so find it under the cut!!)

I actually think he would use some rice-ingredient words!

In-between the moans and whimpers, the pants and grunts coming from you both, he would probably ask how you're doing— A small "Mustard leaf?", or even some "Tuna tuna!" when he feels you drift away. And if you ask him how he's holding up, he'd try to give you a shaky "S-salmon..!" so you keep going.

I just think overall he tries to keep quiet, mostly because of how insatiable he is and thus how long sessions can be— If it's his first or second orgasm, he's not necessarily going to slip out. He has enough control to remember he can't fully let go. The more you go on, though... well, you both remember the time when he screamed of pleasure— That was wild, even for him. Sometimes you leave him a crying mess, and all you can do is watch as he pants and lets out unintelligible whimpers.

I also definitely think he would try to say your name. I headcanon Toge with a speech impediment, mainly him stuttering and stammering because he doesn't often get to pronounce new words; he knows his commands by heart, as well as Yuuta's name (and even then, he would pronounce it "Yuuda" at first). However, I think he'd try very hard to pronounce everyone else's names correctly, especially if he got caught doing it and basically got the equivalent of a pat on the head. For his significant other, it's clear he'd try his hardest: he can't tell you how important you are to him, so he'll try to do something simple yet very meaningful for the both of you. He'll try to pronounce your name, without stuttering— And it might slip out during sex.

Whenever he uses it, even though it doesn't seem to affect him, it does affect you: you can't say if it's actual cursed energy or simply your feelings for him, but you find yourself staring at him, admiring his features and drinking any sound leaking from his lips.

🍵 Okay, let's take a breather now. 🍵

...

🍵 Breathe in.. breathe out. 🍵

About your last question— Toge's curse is being a passionate soul forced to silence. He hides it well, but he feels a lot; he's a control freak, similar to Maki (even though they'd never admit it), because that's how he hurts the least amount of people. Before the school, before Gojo, before Panda (his first friend)— Toge was alone. He wouldn't say a word, hands would be shoved against his mouth if he dared breathe too loud. The only person who never shushed him nor feared him ended up being cursed by him— Clearly, everyone's better off far away from him.

The problem is, Toge is a lover. I'm an Inuokko shipper first and foremost so this might be where this idea comes from, but, even platonically, I think Toge would be the one to relate most to Rika. They're like two sides of the same coin when it comes to love. @gelatosushix made a wonderful post about it, so I won't dive too deep into this, but basically: Rika kills when she loves, but Toge dies when he loves.

A common mistake would be comparing Toge to a moth, drawn to fire and getting burnt by it. Toge isn't the moth; he's the flame. You're the moth. He's captivating, he has this mysterious aura yet somehow seems like an open book, but only if you ask the right questions— Only if you learn his language (and I'm not talking about rice ingredients). He intoxicates you, draws you in with his gaze (whether a purple wine with violet droplets, or a fiery brown with amber lights).

Then, he pulls his collar down: tattoos, or maybe burn scars, marking his cheeks and tongue as death takes the form of a baby-faced man. He's a weapon, one even Maki can't wield. He's feared. And yet— The raspiness of his voice, the deep accents scratching his throat— They get to you. Stupid moth flying to its death. At least it'll be sweet, you think.

Toge kills for people, because killing goes hand-in-hand with dying in his case. Toge loves by pushing away; that's how it's always been, that's what he's been taught. Yet you're here— You're holding him, stroking his cheek, singing his name, giving yourself to him. It feels right, it feels like everything he's ever wanted, it feels like so little yet so much to him— And he hates it.

You deserve it all and he deserves nothing. You deserve words. Not silly ones, actual words— But he can't say it. He can't stutter that he loves you, because what if? He could curse you. He could ruin your life, and Toge's already ruined so many lives in the past— It weighs on his soul, yet he can endure it; as long as you're not the next accursed.

So he bites down. On your skin, on his hand, on the pillow— Anything, anywhere. He bites down to keep the sounds from coming out. And if you reassure him, tell him that you know, he doesn't need to say it— He starts crying. He hates himself, he hates his curse, he hates the fucking marks on his face.

His hips slam against yours, he grabs at your skin; you're near, he knows it. He knows you by heart, that's the least he can do.

Deeper, deeper, deeper— You reach the stars first, but he follows soon after. And he keeps crying. He cries the rest of the night, even with you holding him and whispering against his lips. He has to grab onto you so he doesn't run to the bathroom to desperatly try and wash his markings off.

Toge is a lover, a passionate soul forbidden from opening his heart; he hates emotional sex because of how much his heart bleeds from it. It ignites his flame, lures you in even more; and when his cries fill the room, when he hugs you tight— It's like you're a butterfly, pinned by the thorns of a rose you were drinking from.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk headcanons #toge #inumaki toge #toge inumaki #toge headcanons #toge x reader #toge smut #atlas answers #atlas writes #atlas headcanons #atlas posts #(i hope it answered your questions! i got a bit carried away🥹)#(it gets me so shy for no reason🥹 hopefully you like it..)#👀 anon

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we-are-knight · 2 months

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whats the sad backstory behind the hema dodge post, if you dont mind me asking?

I have about 5 Asks about this, and the actual history to it is too long and elaborate to go into.

What I will confirm is that during the time of that clip, I was informally running the fencing group involved. I say 'informally' because I had zero interest in running it as a leader, and wanted to purely focus on teaching people to fence at higher levels, while letting everyone else determine the direction they took. During this time, I had a lot of accusations of hitting too hard, and had for many years. I was not able to fully fix this however, as I literally didn't know how to correct the mechanics to this, and no one had taken the time to actually look at the issue to rectify it. (It took my current fencing leader 20 minutes total to permanently fix this issue. In over a decade, less than half an hour was required to permanently solve this problem. No one made the effort with me until then).

In the background, there's a few people you can see watching this bout. One of them later took over the group by installing himself as the new president. Later, he would tell me I was now banned from the group, and give vague reasons as to why.

I still don't have a full understanding of why I was banned, nor was I told how to be allowed back. The closest I got was something about them retroactively applying a new code of conduct, and accusation that I had made the club a toxic environment.

This stings especially because I was never given any idea of what that meant or how to fix it, or a clear idea of what I had done. The club would then go on, with several of my former best friends, to totally remove any reference to me, and disallow reference to me. They also went on to use a club logo I had originally proposed, and when I attempted to speak positively of this, one of those people would directly message me saying that I was a horrible person and manipulating the scenario, and this was why people always moved away from me. I still don't know what that was meant to be about, and would reaffirm I had thought it was a hopeful gesture that they had adopted the logo I proposed, after which communication was ended. They also accused me of threatening the guy who installed himself, stealing club funds, and had some unpleasant things to say about my partner for good measure.

I ended up being ostracised from my sport for several months, and for most of last year, I realised that the HEMA community I looked up to, didn't care one mote about what had happened, and actively enabled the people involved. None of them have ever had any repercussions, and I will never really get closure. This has been the focus of regular therapy for me for over a year now.

For me, the video, impressive as it looks, features people in the background that have left me traumatised, and led to me abandoned by the only community I was actively engaged in for over a decade, realising I had no friends at all. I still will not attend certain events in the UK if I risk being alone, because the safeguarding in HEMA is basically non-existant, and based entirely on personality cults.

The only positive is that I was later recruited by another historical fencing group, who not only have safeguarding methods, but a professional set up and regular catch-ups to address the issues that most groups don't address. The experiences above taught me that HEMA as a culture will not help you if you are being bullied or ostracised, and so I have ensured that the culture of the current group I run is everything that the one in the video was not. I have had to ban exactly one person from my current group, and the process leading to them being banned was done with full engagement, and they remain on friendly terms with everyone since that judgement. The main positive, as such, was coming out of that experience with awareness of the failings of this sport, and committing to never perpetuating the cycle of abuse to others.

Even so, I'm still in therapy over it, and will never really get closure from it. I've totally lost faith in HEMA as a sport and culture, and continue fencing only because I can't bring myself to stop swinging a sword. And now I'm teaching a new group that has such enthusiasm and excitement, and has grown like nothing I've seen before, who say they stick with it because the culture of the current group is so warm. But it's a small consolation, as I won't consider going to events if the other group is there, if I am alone.

But keep in mind reading this that I am giving a very condensed form of things and how it affected me, and why that video brings me sadness, and a little anxiety.

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novabl · 19 days

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God, the chapter hasn't even come out yet and people are already starting to demonize Doumeki. I'm really sorry, and it's probably not a popular opinion, but I really don't understand how Doumeki is supposed to know what's going on in Yashiro's head. He feels one thing, but says and does something completely different. We know that. Yes. But Doumeki can't read minds. Yashiro's body says yes. But in words, Yashiro also behaves sarcastic, cold and sometimes cruel towards Doumeki. Nothing changed. It's difficult to understand what's going on in a person's head. To believe that he loves you and if you open up to him again, this time he won’t leave you and you won’t get a bullet from him? Of course, I’m also annoyed by this whole situation and I want them to have a normal conversation! But to really demonize Doumeki... I can understand his behavior. How can I fully understand Yashiro's behavior. Yoneda wrote Doumeki as more than just a love interest. She created an interesting character with many good and bad qualities. With his own past and with his own traumas. Both Yashiro and Doumeki have huge trust issues. The fact that Yashiro is reflecting is already great progress!!! Doumeki keeps to himself but gives Yashiro space. They both go towards each other! Yes, not as quickly as we would like, but still. eh. It just upsets me that it feels like fans are ready to just destroy Doumeki for even the slightest bit of negative feelings towards Yashiro. As if Doumeki has no right to be jealous, offended, insolent... This makes me so frustrated(

Yeah, I understand this feeling well. I am not sure if you ever came across my blog a few months ago but I actually started out as almost a Doumeki defense blog lol. Most of my posts were about Doumeki’s pov because I felt there was a lot of harshness towards him. Ultimately I think the main issue those people have against Doumeki is that they don’t like Doumeki outside of being Yashiro’s love interest. That means Doumeki is not allowed to be a fully fleshed out character with his own insecurities and issues; he just needs to be whatever Yashiro needs him to be and he should know that even without any communication from Yashiro. Doumeki is supposed to be Yashiro’s lover, therapist and emotional whipping boy. A large part of the issue maybe certain interpretations of them as characters where there is a belief that Doumeki is this jealous, possessive man who only cares about having Yashiro at his side and Yashiro is the selfless one who only cares about doing what is best for Doumeki have influenced how we view their actions. We believe the worst of Doumeki while Yashiro is only at his mercy. The thing is Doumeki is acting in a way that Yashiro wanted in the past and pushing down his own desires to do it. He is not exactly happy with this arrangement either. Even when he was sweet, sensitive Doumeki, there was a lot of criticism towards him. There was even criticism of him for expressing he wants Yashiro to want only him. Doumeki is trying the best he can but Yashiro’s trauma goes beyond him. He can’t heal Yashiro nor should he be expected to. He also shouldn’t be expected to constantly sacrifice his own needs and desires for Yashiro and to never express any negative emotion about Yashiro’s actions. That is not an equal relationship. Some people have so much empathy for Yashiro but almost none for Doumeki. The most interesting thing is that if you even suggest Doumeki and Yashiro separate, those people would also hate that idea because Yashiro’s happiness is so reliant on Doumeki. I feel your frustration, anon. I feel like I can rant about this forever.

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ghost-proofbaby · 13 days

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“I must admit,” his voice is dropping, a rasp taking over as he grows close enough that she catches a whiff of bergamot and rosemary, “Your blood certainly calls to me more than the others. It’s tempting, to say the least.”

summary: aruna probably should have known there would be consequences to letting astarion drinking her blood.

wc: 5.2k+

warnings: this chapter contains semi-graphic description of blood drink-

oh, sorry. i forget my audience. y'all knew it was coming - this one is for my fellow juice boxes <3

ao3 | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Gale had been an endlessly patient teacher, and Aruna had taken that fully for granted. She simply hadn’t realized how good she had it, sitting with the wizard who would kindly answer all of her endless questions, until she was sat with Astarion and watched herself genuinely get on his very last nerve.

“So,” Aruna says slowly, leaning even closer to the vampire on the bed of moss they had all but claimed as their own, “Let me get this straight – they drink your blood, you drink their blood, and that’s how you become a true vampire?”

“You make it sound simple .”

“It does sound simple,” she narrows her eyes at Astarion’s exasperated expression.

“Well, it’s not ,” he huffs, brows furrowed as he levels her with a returning glare.

She doesn’t understand why he’d be glaring at her, but she sits patiently and waits for him to further explain himself. He doesn’t.

“The man who turned you-”

“ Cazador,” he hisses the name in interruption with infinite discontent.

“Yes, Cazador,” she doesn’t say the name with quite as much hatred, but something certainly tugs within her chest when the name falls from her lips. Something uncomfortably and nearly angry, but for reasons she can’t pinpoint, “He won’t let you drink his blood? Wouldn’t it be better for you all if there was… I don’t know, an army of powerful vampires?”

Astarion stares off ahead at something in the distance, and she could tell just how confining this conversation was slowly becoming for him. He sighs restlessly, “If only. Vampires are power-hungry creatures by nature. The biggest threat to a vampire isn’t a cleric with a stake, as you all seem to think. The biggest threat to a vampire, is another vampire.”

The pieces are slowly coming together for Aruna, and she’s slowly beginning to understand that tug of disdain within her as she said Cazador’s name. Nothing good is becoming more and more apparent to be a cold-blooded truth.

“He’s better off keeping you as his obedient puppet,” she murmurs, looking softly to her friend . “It’s not about strength in numbers by building an all-powerful army for the masses – it’s about Cazador building his own personal army of spawns. Making you a true vampire just makes you… competition.”

Astarion won’t meet her gaze. There’s not a single sign of him confirming nor acknowledging her observation. His reactions on their journey thus far make far more sense; the instinctually loyalty he offered her, the small acts of defiance in which he was always testing the waters of her patience. He’s practically traded one master for another – he’s freed of Cazador, only to try and weasel his way under Aruna’s thumb instead, because it’s all he’s ever known. The safety of being someone else’s responsibility, the desperate reach for normalcy that she doesn’t think he’s even noticed himself grasping onto. If she were to so much as utter what she’s just realized, he’d probably drive a dagger into her chest for the suggestion.

But she didn’t want to be Astarion’s newest master. She had no desire to exalt that type of terrible ownership over the spawn. All she really wanted was to keep him safe and alive, which was a mystery upon itself with all things considered.

She decides to change the subject, not wanting to push him any further, “How are you able to walk in the sun? Is it a symptom of the tadpole or-”

“I have no idea,” he suddenly perks up, slowly returning back to her. She likes to see that – loves to see the spark of livelihood return to his eyes and the curiosity race across his features. It’s better than all the vacancy that would creep it’s way across him as he spoke of this Cazador, “Somehow, this tadpole has done some good. I can walk in the sun, I can cross running water, I can enter residencies without invitation. Something, someone , has officially changed the rules thanks to our little friends.”

He taps a finger to his temple, and she feels the vibrations of their connection. She’d decidedly left the mental bridge open for the time being rather than closing him out again. All his tiny bursts of excitement with each word of his newfound freedom are felt fully, minuscule zaps amongst her own brain that she adores.

He deserves it. She hardly knows him, but she knows he deserves this freedom he’s found despite their… complicated situation.

“How convenient,” she hums, leaning back and mimicking his current position as her arms stretch out behind her to hold her weight, “Well, I’m glad one of us has some positive side effects. Sounds like you’ve won the brain worm lottery there.”

This time, when he looks away from her, there’s no stress or fear in his features. He’s not wandering far from her mentally in recollection of his past; he’s simply looking around smugly, a faint smile playing at his lips, perfectly content.

“Seems like it,” he agrees.

With all that he’s revealed to her, she’s painfully aware of one topic they haven’t even brushed the surface of: his feeding habits. She obviously knows that he fed on the boar, has no doubt he’s been hunting down whatever small creatures he can get his hands on without causing any sort of ruckus that would draw attention. But the question lingers – is he used to only feeding on small vermin and the occasional boar?

Is it enough to satiate his hunger?

“I have a question-” she starts, and he’s already rolling his eyes, but she elects to ignore it, “-and you don’t have to necessarily answer it, I suppose, but… well, consider me too curious for my own good.”

“When aren’t you too curious?” he pokes fun at her, but she can see that shift of worry beneath it all, “I think I’d be more worried if you didn’t have any prying questions for me after all that’s been said.”

It’s just them. There’s no real harm in her asking as the rest of the camp rests, blissfully unaware of all she’s uncovered tonight. And yet she still hesitates, weighs out her options as she considers just how defensive he might get if she brings up his feeding habits.

What answer was she even seeking out? Did she wish to hear that, yes , he could sustain himself as he had been? And did she even have a plan, a solution , if he says that he can’t ?

The only blood she has easy access to would be her own.

“You’ve been feeding on animals…” she begins uneasily, tongue already fumbling to find the right words. He’s looking directly at her now, attention all hers as he hums and nods to signal that he’s following along. How do I even phrase this? “Is that- are you- is that normal for you?”

“Are you really asking a vampire if it’s normal for him to drink blood ?”

The scoff he lets out truly isn’t helpful. Because she’s asking so much more than that.

“Well, no- I just-” she can’t stop her stuttering, hands curling into tight fists as her nails bite into her palm in an attempt to steady her tone. She should just spit it out – ask him plainly and suffer the consequences, if there might even be any. “Is that all you need? Can you survive on just those animals, or should I be worried?”

His face morphs. At first, it falls slowly, a genuine and vulnerable show of consideration until he seemingly remembers where he is and who he’s with. In an instant, the mask is up.

“Well, they’ve worked just fine thus far, have they not?”

His scowl is almost cute. That gentle scrunch of his nose and the way his lips pull to reveal the sharp tips of his fangs. The entire show should probably worry her, is probably his attempt to warn her from pushing too far, but she can’t find a lick of fear anywhere in her. In neither her own addled mind, or that half of her soul buried beneath a mountain of unknown memories.

“I don’t know, have they?” It’s a hill she’s decided she’s willing to die on. Even if he lashes out, she’ll be pushing the question. Not just for her own safety, not just for the rest of her companion’s safety, but for Astarion’s safety. She’s meant to keep him alive, and part of that includes making sure he’s well fed, “I’m asking if this is the diet you’re used to, Astarion. If you’re capable of carrying on this way without me waking up to you fangs-deep in one of our companions.”

She could have phrased it a bit more kindly. Especially as he stiffens up and glares even more harshly at her.

“I’m not a monster, you know.”

“I never said you were.”

“Yes, but you seem to be insinuating such. I’ve kept my fangs to myself so far, why would you assume that to change after finding one of the carrion I’ve chosen to dine on instead of - oh, I don’t know – Gale , for example.”

It’s certainly not the right time to crack a smile, but she can’t help it, raising a brow, “ Gale? Out of all our companions, he’s the one you’d first sink your teeth into?”

If Astarion had any blood to spare, she’s sure it would be rushing to his cheeks right about now.

“What can I say? He has a certain air of forbidden fruit to him, does he not?”

He seems shocked when Aruna suddenly shifts her seated position. Instead of lounging beside him, she takes up the space directly in front of him, leaning in as if they were partaking in a secret conversation that not even the Moon would be privy to.

“I suppose he does. Not my first choice but… at least he wouldn’t put up a fight like Lae’zel might,” she fully lets him sink into the hypothetical discussion with her rather than reminiscing on what he had assumed she was insinuating. It was a careful dance, a subtle beckoning, to drag them away from something that couldn’t be further from the truth.

She didn’t see him as a monster, not in the slightest. And perhaps she should, or one day he would give her a reason to, but not tonight. Not here, in their little patch of moss, just hidden away from the rest of the camp. A spot forever tainted for her from now on, no longer her own personal bubble of safety to escape to, but their sanctuary.

Any nights spent here without Astarion were tinged with loneliness, she’s come to realize.

“Lae’zel would be quite the adventurous choice,” he nods, eyes slowly becoming hooded, as though the conversation was igniting a certain hunger in him she knew wasn’t satiated by mere boars, “Is that who you would sink your teeth into, my dear?”

“Gods, no,” she laughs, shaking her head quickly, “I can feel the press of her blade against my throat even for entertaining the idea. No, no – I’d probably go with a safer option. Perhaps… Wyll.”

Astarion’s face twists, as if the mere suggestion disgusts him, “ Ugh . I perish the thought – the man would probably be far too sweet.”

She’s never really considered how each person’s blood may taste differently. And even if she’d never be in a position to really experience such a thing, it’s entertaining to watch Astarion’s reactions to the hypotheticals.

“What about Shadowheart?”

“Hm, better. She’s nearly as enticing as Gale.”

“And me?”

The question slips out beyond her control. She’s simply too lost in whatever game they’re playing. She expects another rapid fire answer, just as he’d provided for Shadowheart, but instead, he looks taken back . True and genuine consideration flashes across his features. He’s taking his time, as though actually picturing her blood flooding his senses.

It should scare her. It should make her turn her cheek to him and call it a night. The mere thought of him drinking her blood should be enough to shake her from this entrapment that is his charm, but it isn’t.

She’d let him drink from her once. In her dream, in her discovered memory, she had let him feed on her.

“Sweet, but not quite as overwhelming as Wyll’s,” he finally whispers carefully, gazing at her in bonafide interest, “I imagine you’d go down smoothly, like a well aged whiskey. Perhaps even burn along the way, but in an… enjoyable way, I suppose. A burn I’d like to experience, over and over.”

“Sweet and spicy?” she huffs, growing a bit breathless, “You make me sound as though I’m made of pixie dust and cinnamon.”

“You could be, for all I know.”

“I could be.”

Her voice is so faint she isn’t even sure if he’s heard her. But he has, of course he has , as he shifts a fraction of a meter closer to her.

All that temptation, and he still had never attempted to drink from her in the dead of night. He’s had ample opportunity to take a taste, and he hasn’t.

She trusts him. Gods, she trusts him more than she should, memories of a past life or not. Tasked with being his savior or not.

“You’ve never tasted a human’s blood, have you?” she quietly asks, finding herself also leaning in as he was, erasing that space between them. Her hand twitches, tempted to lift and shift her hair to only one side, to expose her neck to him. It would be playing with fire; it would be a reckless choice to bare such a vulnerable body part to a vampire who’s just admitted to craving your blood.

She doesn’t do it, not yet.

“You’re not human,” he teases with a tilted grin, cocking his head to one side, “You musn’t forget your drow heritage, dear Aruna. Although, I’ll admit, that only fuels the temptation. I’ve heard whispers of just how addictive a drow’s blood can be.”

“Addictive?”

She’s fully enraptured now. He’s caught her in whatever web he seems to be spinning for the two of them. They’ve saunted dangerously over a line that should have never been crossed; she should have left well enough alone, but she hadn’t, and now she pays the price as his words settle in her chest.

“Think of it in terms of wines,” he has no need to stay so quiet, but his tone continues to lull gently across the spanse between them. Low words that she swears travels only to caress against her skin. The connection between their tadpole practically purrs with his sudden enticement, “Elven blood of any sort will always be considered of the more elite variety. Sweeter, richer, easier to get lost in. I’ve never tasted it for myself, but… well, word spreads amongst spawns and vampire lords alike.”

He’s never tasted elven blood. She’s so close to getting an answer, one that she had forgotten she was chasing after as her knees bump his. She can feel the chill radiating off of him, and it should cause her to jump far from his touch, but she can only lean into it.

A piece of her wants to break the distance and reach out for him. To hold him in her palms, to feel his body against hers. As if there has been a space specifically carved somewhere deeply within her, and only his shadow could fill the emptiness left behind. Only his carmine eyes, only his starlit curls, only his honeyed words. Only him.

An Astarion-shaped hole, left between the two halves of her soul, that only he can bridge the gap between.

She opens her mouth to reply, unsure of what words were about to even fall from her lips, when he interrupts, “I’ve never tasted the blood of a thinking creature – Cazador forbade it. I’ve only ever feasted on beasts .”

A simple truth, offered so freely, that rattles her.

She thinks she hates Cazador more with each bit of information Astarion offers up.

“What would it do to you?” she whispers, swearing she could capture the reflection of her violet eyes somewhere within his pupils, “If you did drink from a thinking creature, would it be any… different?”

He all but sighs out, “Infinitely.”

Something inside her twists, thrashes, suggests.

Offer yourself up to him. Offer him a gift. Offer your neck and don’t linger on the details.

“It’d certainly make me more powerful,” he continues on, oblivious to the decision she’s arrived on the precipice of, “If you think I’m helpful in battle now, you should see what a well-fed vampire spawn is truly capable of.”

It makes sense . If she offers him her blood, he’ll fight better. He’d be more useful to her. Helping him achieve that power helps her in the long run as well, making her entire task of keeping him safe a whole lot easier. It would only be a taste; she has faith in him. He could restrain himself, he would stop when she commanded so.

It simply makes sense, she convinces herself.

“Would you like to?” she blurts out before she can overthink it.

His eyebrows crease, “Like to what?”

“Taste a living creature’s blood.”

Time stands still as it always does with just the two of them. Aruna doesn’t dare to take another breath as she watches Astarion’s reaction, only partially worried that she’s overstepped some boundary she’d grown blind to.

It made sense. It had to.

He offers her protection, always following her closely and lending his daggers as needed, and she would offer her neck. It’s an even exchange, a fair trade. It’s the bare minimum of a gift she could offer him.

“Well, that depends,” he laughs nervously, “Surely, no one is simply offering up their necks to me. Most of all not you.”

“And if I was?” she cuts in, “If I was offering up my neck, would you accept?”

His sharp intake of breath is audible, mouth falling open and gaze set on her. It’s soft with genuine shock for a few seconds before those rubies turn cold as stone, “Do not play games with me.”

“No games are being played here, Astarion,” she doesn’t know what she has to do to convince him as she shuffles closer, growing more determined now, “You said it yourself. You can fight better, be stronger. All of this would benefit all of us in combat.”

“And you trust me that much?” he huffs out, back straightening out as he sneers, “You’d trust me to not drain you dry, to not leave you in the middle of the road just like that boar?”

She’s never been asked a simpler question. For once, her mind is quiet, her answer resounding.

“Yes.”

She trusts him. Whether it’s the right thing to do or not, she simply does.

She knows she shouldn’t want this. It shouldn’t feel so natural to offer up herself on such a pretty silver platter. He should be the one yearning, begging, for the opportunity. He should be the one overwhelmed by thoughts of how his fangs would feel as they pierced into her delicate skin.

A chasm runs between them. Not Astarion-shaped, not Aruna-shaped, but vaster than either of them could fathom. And she stares into it, listening to the wind’s hushed warnings of all she is about to give up. All that is about to offer.

It’s a choice she can’t take back. One that she doesn’t even really want to take back, when she comes to think about it.

His eyes are lively suddenly as he leans forward, an unexpectedly gentle hand brushing away the hair flowing over her left shoulder. With their mental bond, she can feel his hunger. That ringing abyss within him that echoes with all his wants, all his needs. The crippling and terrible thing that haunts his own gut, just as Aruna’s cleaved soul weighs upon her own chest. He helps heal the cleave – she doesn’t understand how or why, but he does. He makes the ache of being split in two a little more bearable. This small offering of help is the least she can do. To soothe the ache that resides in him. A tit for tat, of sorts.

“You want this?” his pupils are blown, eyes wide and staring right where her skin quivers with her racing heart rate. Listening to each pounding of each beat that makes her hands shake as she continues to let his fingers graze the vulnerable skin, “Truly?”

“I do,” she confesses quietly, more to the moon than to him, “I want you at your strongest. If this is the price to pay, then so be it.”

Save Astarion, no matter the cost.

Her blood is a small token in the grand scheme of all that is to come.

He swallows hard, clearing his throat slightly, “Well… let’s make ourselves comfortable, shall we?”

It’s automatic as they readjust. She shuffles herself to lay down on the bed of moss they’ve made their own, holding her breath as Astarion grows closer and slowly lowers his palms to press into the ground on either side of her head. She can’t tell which is colder – the ground beneath her, or the body above her. He radiates a chill that challenges the night’s own beckoning winds, one that could freeze her from the inside out if she’d just let it. It doesn’t seem like a bad option, either, as warmth blossoms in the center of her chest from his proximity.

She thinks back to the day they’d discussed methods of killing each other, should either of them ever appear to be succumbing to ceremorphosis. How the mere brush of his hands over her throat had sent her into a tizzy. The way he hovers over her now has a similar effect, switching on a terrible need to simply be close to him. The need for his touch, for his closeness. To feel each breath that he takes, not out of necessity but out of instinct .

He could kill her if he wants to. Drain her of life, and with the way they’ve hidden themselves away, none of the others would know.

His cool breath hits the side of her neck that he’s exposed, right over her thrumming artery, as he whispers, “ Relax . Just breathe, darling.”

She finally lets out a breath, head swimming as she fists the ground below, preventing her hands from coming up to touch him as they so desperately crave. Each deep breath that follows is flooded with his scent. The night is lost behind the essence of rosemary, bergamot, and… was that brandy? She thinks it might be. She’s sure it must be – but all thoughts have begun to evade her as his head dips down fully into the space between her shoulder and her ear, chest grazing her own as he adjusts to straddle one of her thighs.

That’s my good girl, the whisper of his voice cuts through the tadpole bond, sending shivers down her spine as she gasps for breath.

If she thought all logical thinking had been sent to the wind before, she knew it truly was now. All she knows is him . If he wants her, he can have her. She’s his. If only for this moment.

He leans in closer, and waves of deja vu wash over her. She’s been here before , she swears she has. Beneath the weight of his body, his fangs mere inches from her skin.

She’s been here before, his nose bumping along her neck, beckoning for her to stretch it even further for him as she looks up to the night sky.

She’s been here before, feeling the pounding of her heart so ferocious that he surely can feel the residual shakes of it in the little air between them.

She’s been here before, the grasp of his fingers against her hip, knuckles tense as he leaves his fingerprints seared into her skin, dancing dangerously close to the hem of her nightshirt.

She’s been here before, feeling the graze of his fangs in trepidation as he takes in a final unnecessary breath-

The deja vu is interrupted. Flashes of memories intertwining with the present come to a halt by one simple, innocent action. He surely didn’t mean anything by it. Maybe it was instinctual. Maybe it was a warning.

The softest press of his lips to her neck, the briefest of pecks, before she feels the return of his fangs.

One kiss, not even a second long – and it effectively unravels her mind.

In an instant, all self-restraint has been lost. She’s dizzy with the lingering feeling of that kiss, reeling from such an innocent action, when her hands let go of the moss below her and fly up to him. He tenses at first. The first brush of her desperate palms against his shoulder, and he stills entirely. It reels her in for just a second, and she readjusts, her greedy paws finding purchase elsewhere. One hand fists his sleeve within reach, the other rests delicate at the nape of his neck, urging him forward. Pressing him closer, closer, closer.

She can hear his chuckle over the bond.

Demanding little thing.

Even over quiet, mental exchange, she knows she sounds pain-stakingly desperate and breathless as she replies, always.

Demanding more of his touch. Demanding more of who he truly is. Demanding, demanding, demanding. The shattered bits of her will always call out to him with such an exigent manner.

When his fangs pierce her delicate skin, it only fuels the flames.

Icicles spread out beneath her skin, a searing pain she shouldn’t be so familiar with blossoming from where he’s sank them into her. In an instant, she can feel her blood rushing eagerly to pour out all that she can give him. And he drinks greedily, taking all that she will offer fervently.

Every nip, every suck, every lick – she experiences it intensely. The hand on the back of his neck turns into a grip. She tries to keep gentle, she truly does, but she can’t help but tug tightly on those curls. Threading them between each finger, pulling on them in time with each pulsation of her ichor flooding his mouth.

She feels him growl against her skin, and her entire body goes limp, pliant in his palms.

She should stop him soon. She feels the tips of her fingers and toes going numb, but she finds herself clinging to the weightlessness that takes over her body. An addictive feeling, only comparable to what he must feel as he drags her even closer and buries his face even deeper against her.

They’re getting lost in one another. Her head buzzes, an endless string of whimpers falling from his hunger lips, and she knows they need to stop . But it’s a distraction – a beautiful, kind, nice distraction.

For just a moment, there’s no weight of who she is or once was. There’s no need for her to decipher her past or the memories that have been revealed to her thus far. All she has to focus on is him; the feeling of his hair between her fingers, the weight of his knee sliding up her inner thigh as he further bends himself in half to stay desperately close to her, his cold skin beneath her fingertips as they slip and lose their grip on his sleeve. Over the connection, the hunger fades, and in its place lingers a purr of satisfaction. Of happiness.

Her entire body has begun to go numb. Her eyes flutter shut, unable to handle the way the sky above is seemingly spinning.

“Astarion.”

Her voice is hardly even a whisper. Something to lose within the breeze, the smallest of pleas. Insignificant and insincere. He could kill her, here and now, and she would allow him.

Astarion.

Just as she feels herself slipping further, lids too heavy to even attempt to open, the tadpole connection between them goes taut. One moment, they’ve completely lost themselves in one another, circling about in that chasm together . The next, painful flashes blind them both. Muddled pictures, blurry with time and space, appear not only in her mind, but his .

Astarion, leaning over her, caught red-handed during a time in which he had tried to taste her blood without permission. Frightful as he waits for her to make a choice: to stake him, or to trust him.

Aruna, a book in one hand as the other tangles fully in Astarion’s snow-white curls. His face is buried in her stomach as he hums, hidden, but no doubt painted with a contentment the vampire has only dreamed of for two hundred years.

Astarion’s hands resting on Aruna’s hips, his lips brushing her ears with dire instructions as he corrects her hold on a pair of daggers. Do not let your guard down after your first attack, his distant voice coos to her as a determination sets onto her features.

Aruna, leaning her weight against Astarion’s side, pressed safely into him as he wraps a blanket around her shivering form a bit more securely. The backdrop of a city, of Baldur’s Gate, behind them. Nothing good waiting for them just beyond.

A plethora of quiet nights spent in one another’s arms, across multitudes of landscapes. In the very camp they reside in now, in a darker scene in which the mushrooms just outside their tents seem to glow with magic. In a land of shadows, in some sort of inn that buzzes with the distant chatter of patrons down below. They all flash, one after another, each memory growing more blurred as they continue on. Aruna can’t decipher them, can’t reach out to cling to a single one, as she feels Astarion react to the intrusion as well. And then, it finally happens – a resounding snap within her mind that would have made her cry out in agony had she had any energy left.

His fangs retract from her in an instant. He throws himself back, landing harshly on the ground beside her. She doesn’t even have the strength to stop him, let alone question out loud what has happened.

She can’t say a single word. The echoes of the memories linger, the tadpole connection seemingly shattered.

Heaviness consumes her, preventing her from sitting up immediately in the same revelry of shock that she assumes that Astarion exudes. It takes several deep breaths before she can so much as open her eyes, let alone sit up.

When she finally does, she finds Astarion to be exactly as she had predicted, exactly as she felt: downright petrified.

“What-” Astarion is the first to speak up between them, pupils so large that they swallow his eyes in pitch black. A drop of her blood has long trailed past his chin, marking down the side of his neck now as he takes a shaky breath, “-was that?”

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