- Our muses are pen pals who finally meet up in real life. - Our muses meet while they are both on vacation. - Our muses run into each other on opposing sides on the battlefield, but are forced to stick together when they lose contact with their leaders. - My/your muse is the last of their species, while my/your muse is tracking them down. - Our muses are both jewel thieves who have set their sights on a large and valuable gem. - Our muses are awkwardly seated together at a crowded cafe. - Our muses have been having very strange dreams where they see and talk to each other. Out of nowhere, they spy each other in a public place. - Our muses bump into each other at a small town festival/fair. - My/Your muse rescues mine/your muse from a wild or house fire. - My/your muse is feral and living in the wild, and stumbles upon your/my muse by coincidence. - My/your muse has been an orphan all their lives, and your/my muse ends up adopting them. - Our muses are the heirs to rival kingdoms, and must meet to attempt to settle their kingdom’s differences. - Your/my muse finds my/your muse crying and upset after a bad breakup. - Our muses stick together after a powerful natural disaster has laid their home to waste. - My/your muse’s town has been throughly destroyed by raiders, and they are the only survivor a rescue team led by your/my muse can find. - My/your muse attacks yours/mine out of sheer panic. - Our muses are both taken as prisoners of war and are forced to share the same cell. - Our muses meet at a concert for a famous musician/band. - Our muses are seashell hunting on the beach and strike up a conversation while searching. - My/your muse risks their life to save your/my muse from certain death. - Our muses were set up for a blind date by a mutual friend. - My/your muse is an abandoned child who has been raiding your/my muse’s trash cans for awhile now, until they are caught red-handed. - My/your muse was shipwrecked and washed up on the shore by your/my muse’s tiny town or island. - My/your muse ends up becoming your/my muse’s mentor. ☄️- My/your muse is an alien or angel who accidentally crash-landed in your/my muse’s backyard. - My/your muse stumbles upon your/my muse sitting alone in a flower field. ⛑- My/your muse is a lone medic or Good Samaritan who saved your/my muse’s life when they were very close to death. - Your/my muse stumbled upon my/your muse caught in a trap and are unable to free themselves. - Our muses meet in a beauty parlor/spa/bath house. - Your/my muse is conducting research on my/your muse, who is being held captive in a laboratory. - My/your muse is a mermaid/man who took pity on and rescued your/my muse. - Our muses find that they have incredible superpowers and team up with each other to either protect or destroy the world.
This was originally posted in response to a series of asks–literally two dozen (not all anonymous–many people were asking the same question) sometime in 2016 I think.
One of the questions I am always asked is some variation of “I have met a new Dom online. What should I expect? How will this work?” I have been consistently deleting that question for several reasons. Most important, I feel that any answer I give is kinda pointless, since this will be very different with every Dom and with every sub too. (For my part, I have always been careful to do things differently with each girl, so there is no one way I do things. There is no mold she has to fit into and there is no comparing her to previous girls.) However, I keep getting the question, and there is also the undertone of “how do I do this safely?” and “what would it be like with You?”… eventually I decided a short answer might be in order. At any rate, this is one of my most frequently asked questions, so here we go.
To keep this simple, assume that you are a girl who has caught My eye, and I will write this using “I” and “you”. Some of what I say here is very personal and applies only to Me, but I think some of what I suggest you should be feeling and thinking is a bit more universal. I also should say here, at the beginning, that I may have been too critical. I’ve come down very, very hard on Doms who focus on getting girls on cam and collecting pictures—that still feels wrong and dirty to me, and my inbox is filled with stories of girls who felt they were manipulated and cajoled (you don’t get to use that word every day) into giving a guy pics she didn’t really want to share. There may be something legitimate here, though. It’s not me, but I do know that many girls get a thrill from sharing pictures, and, honestly, I’ve gotten a number of submissions that I really enjoyed too. There’s nothing wrong with a sexy girl playing and sharing herself in photos if she’s comfortable (or turned on) by doing so, but I don’t think it can be a focus for very long, or things just stay kind of shallow. It’s a nice way to share if everyone is on the same page, so it may be more possible to build something around that than I’ve said in the past. Just be very careful. For the purposes of this question, let’s assume that you and I are entering into a relationship that will begin online and eventually include real-life. If you’re doing something else just adapt what I say here to your situation. Actually, take it all with a huge grain of salt anyway, because it’s just my opinion.
So, assume that you caught My eye and attention in some way. My first contact with you would be friendly, but I would be open from the beginning that I was interested in you as more than a friend. I absolutely would not try to “trick” a girl into submitting by making her think we were only friends. (This seems to be one of the most common games some guys do online, by the way.) However, we are talking about building a relationship and a connection between two people, and friendship is an important part of that. Expect that we will spend a lot of time—hours and hours… days and days—just talking and chatting… getting to know each other. Now, there is going to be some sexual tension and chemistry, right? Otherwise, what are we doing? So, it’s reasonable to expect that there will be flirting, there will be some sexy chat, and there will be some very hot moments, but it will not be the focus. It probably will not happen nearly as much as you want it to, honestly. If I’m truly interested in you, we’re going to spend most of the time getting to know each other. If a guy doesn’t do this… if 100% of your time is sex chat and you sending pictures… I don’t think you’re actually building a relationship.
Trust is key, and it’s really problematic. You don’t know anyone on the internet. Remember that. It’s always dangerous to meet someone or to share personal information because there are predators out there, and they are very, very good. You cannot tell if someone is safe by talking to them or spending time online with them. Also, think about where you’re headed—once you are tied up and gagged, you’ve literally put your life in this man’s hands. Submissive women are probably at extra risk when meeting someone online. (Also, remember there are plenty of men attracted to BDSM because they think they get to beat women, and I’m betting you run into a lot more of those online than you would in real-life settings. Just a guess.) There are also guys who will get a kick out of manipulating and abusing you emotionally, and those scars can be very deep. I’ve heard lots of stories who submitted to behavior modification and find the effects last long past the end of the relationship… long past the point they wished they could forget the guy. I’m not trying to scare you, but you should be very careful. If someone gives you their real-life contact information and you can’t verify anything online, you probably do not have their real information. Before you meet someone face to face, there comes a point where you have to verify some things about them in real life, and trust your gut—if it feels wrong, it is wrong.
Once some basic trust has been established, expect that we will start talking about submission. So you say you want to be a submissive in a D/s relationship? Great. What exactly does that mean to you? Yes, limits need to be discussed, and you may have no idea if you have no experience, but even more than that, what does submission mean to you? What would it look like if you were to submit to Me? I find a tool like that survey I posted here to be very useful for starting a discussion. Both parties can fill it out, exchange information, and then talk openly. This is the key—you must be painfully honest. If you’re scared you will upset Me or disappoint Me or that we aren’t a good match, it doesn’t matter. Be honest. Never bend an answer to match what you think I want to hear. Be honest. Any small dishonesty can grow and infect everything. For us to really forge this connection, I must know you—the real you with nothing hidden. That’s terrifying for many girls, and you may need to spend time asking yourself some very difficult questions before you can even begin to answer Mine. That’s ok. Expect Me to be very patient through this whole process, if I’m really interested in you. This could take weeks or months if you have no experience… it’s a discovery process. You can’t rush it.
So you see, to this point, everything is about building trust and us getting to know each other. That takes time and effort… so much patience… so much trust on your part that I really want to see the real you. It is not a straight line, and it may be scary and discouraging at times. I haven’t asked you for anything yet. You are not my submissive. You have no rules (though you may crave them) and you have nothing you have to do for Me—you have no obligations. I have not asked you for photos, except perhaps a few facebook-style photos very early on just to put a face to words. Once we’ve verified the attraction is there, the focus really isn’t on photos; it’s on much deeper things. You should expect to be scared at some times here. Maybe worried, maybe uncomfortable at times. I may need to know details about some pretty difficult times in your life. You should expect me to be respectful and understanding, but I’m going to ask questions and I’m going to come back to them. You should also expect to be getting to know me. A Dom who totally hides himself from you is probably not very invested in you. You very likely will, at some point here, slide into calling me “Sir” or something that feels right to you sometimes. Maybe not, and I will never tell you to call me anything at this stage. You also will probably find yourself looking forward to our contact and really wanting my control. Notice that again—you find yourself really wanting this. If you don’t, something is wrong.
It’s also worth mentioning that we may take some time off during this process. I will be very concerned that you do not feel rushed or forced, and may even suggest you take a few days here and there away, or perhaps we will talk less seriously during that time. You should feel safe. You should feel like, at any moment, you can say you don’t want this and walk away. You should not feel manipulated, controlled, frightened (except for the natural fear of sharing and building trust) or forced into doing anything at all. Many of the girls I have talked to who’ve had bad experiences felt forced and manipulated at this stage. I’ve even heard stories of girls who have talked to guys for less than two weeks and say things like “I can’t get out.” That’s a huge warning sign.
At some point, we need to meet face to face, and this must be done right. Hopefully, you’re close enough that the first meeting can be casual and non-sexual. You must use a safecall system (meaning someone must know you’re meeting me, where you’re going to be, how long the meeting should take, and you will phone this person several times during our meeting. You are free to walk away at any time and I will not follow you. You may even want to work out some code word to tell the person on the other end of the phone that you’re in trouble… a code word that I will not know.) We’re both taking risk at this stage, but that risk is minimized by making this a public, non-sexual meeting. There must be clear understanding of what will and will not happen at this meeting. Ideally, there will be no sexual contact at all. Not obsessive no-contact. If we walk, I may touch your back or your arm… if it feels right I may hug you… like that… or perhaps we will have an understanding and expectation that far more could happen. Whatever, but it must be clearly understood, and you should expect no surprises. You should expect Me to have the self control to stick to whatever rules we set. If I tell you I will not touch you sexually, and we end up somewhere with my hand up your dress, I’d suggest you go home and seriously re-think the relationship and the trust you’ve given me… even if you begged for it. Rules are rules. They can be whatever we agree to, but they must be followed, and you must expect me to enforce them. D/s is about control, and it begins with the Dom controlling himself.
Maybe you’re too far away and we can’t have that casual meeting, or maybe this next part just happens first, but at some point we begin to explore your submission. This is a very important step in a girl’s life, and I think the best way to do this is for it to be for a limited, but significant time. (A month?) We will have written guidelines so there can be no misunderstanding what is and what is not covered…. Perhaps a formal contract or perhaps a list of only a few small things. You will have a safeword even now, and if you’re really unhappy with something you certainly can use it. (Though it’s probably a failing on my part if I push you that far here… I think of this differently than physical play, where a sub should sometimes be pushed to the safeword point. Different Doms have different understandings of this, though.)
One thing that you should definitely expect at this point is that I will own your pleasure… your orgasms will be Mine. You will not touch yourself, and you certainly will not cum, without My permission. No matter how many times you’ve imagined it, you cannot really prepare yourself for the first time you lay there with your legs spread, listening to Me, the Man who now owns you, telling you exactly what to do to your body. You will beg to be allowed to cum for Me, and you will not always be allowed. You are Mine. I will teach you what that means. There will be other aspects we explore, and you will begin to understand and experience submission and the feeling of being owned. Our relationship will change, as we are no longer friends but now Master and submissive, and you will act accordingly. You may feel scared, pushed, and controlled sometimes. There may be things I have you do that are difficult and challenging and you may not, honestly, like everything I demand of you, but, overwhelmingly, you should be excited. Nothing we do should ever make you feel dirty, used or degraded after the experience, except possibly in an erotic, exciting way. This should be an exciting and wonderful experience. If it’s not, something’s wrong. At the end of the time, we will look back, evaluate, and figure out what comes next.
The next time we meet will be… different. I don’t have to tell you why—you will be Mine. (If you’re far away, maybe this is the first time we will meet, which makes everything a little bit more complicated.) It will be your place to prepare yourself for Me and to present yourself to Me. We will need to have very clear understandings of your physical and sexual limits, and we will explore them together. It’s obvious at this stage you are putting your mind and your body in my hands. It’s obvious that trust is so, so important here, but trust has been important all along. Without that and without the connection we’ve built, everything we do is fairly empty in my opinion. As for the specifics of this first encounter, you could generally expect it to be more sensual than anything else, and, well, I’ve already written about first times in other places on this tumblr.
So, that’s it. Sorry for the long, kind of rambling answer, and sorry that it was so personal to me. Other Doms might do things very differently, but I still think there should be time to build the connection. I talked a girl last week who met a “dom” on FetLife who, within two weeks, was having her do things she really didn’t want to do and was pushing her to meet him as soon as possible… she wanted out but didn’t know if she could get out. That’s really not ok, and is dangerous. I think the most important things I wrote here are what I’m suggesting you might be thinking or feeling at each stage. Of course it will vary, but you should want this and crave this at nearly every point. Yes, it’s a relationship so it will have ups and downs, and it’s an especially hard form of a relationship. There will be times when it’s real work and times when you’re really challenged, but, above all, you should crave to submit nearly as much as you want that next breath of air. If you don’t, something is wrong.
Two years ago, was when Diluc Ragnvindr met Jean Gunnhildr. Crepus planned a party to welcome and introduce his adopted son Kaeya to the people. The Gunnhildr clan had been known to be rather close with the Ragnvindr family for centuries, and their relationship has been beneficial for Monstadt, and so it came to no surprise that the Gunnhilr clan would have their own representatives at the party.
It was even quite favorable that the next clan leader of the Gunnhildr so happened to be of the same age as the successor of the Ragnvindr’s Winery. The only problem was the eight-year-old Jean, who had become known to be too mature for her age, was in the corner observing the merriment with an indifferent expression. The Gunnhildr family members present were rather displeased with the child, and yet it came to no surprise, she was already known to be rather unapproachable.
What a waste of a good opportunity.
Jean was thankful that her mother could not attend the party due to prior obligations, at least now she wouldn’t worry about her mother’s direct scolding.
She had observed the red-haired boy for a few minutes now, and had gotten bored that her cold eyes started to drift to other things. Diluc seemed to be such a bright child and Jean had missed the pair of red eyes that had caught her presence or lack thereof. Diluc excused himself from the children around his age who were trying to have better relations with him and made his way to the blonde girl who was looking at the buffet table absentmindedly.
“Hello.” Diluc said, stopping a meter away from Jean who was startled by the sudden greeting. She stood properly from leaning on the wall as she stared at Diluc with wide eyes.
“Uhm, greetings, I am Jean of house Gunnhildr.” Jean placed her right fist over her hand as she bowed by bending her torso slightly. They had not formally met, and she felt that she had to introduce herself first. But she heard the boy chuckle and she looked up at him.
His eyes were bright and there was a stifling radiance that was coming from him that she couldn’t help but flinch.
“Hello, I am Diluc of Ragnvindr house, it is a pleasure to meet you.” He replied courteously and there was silence between them. Diluc noticed that Jean’s grey eyes glanced behind him, from the direction he had come. He then stood beside her, on her left and leaned on the wall as she had done prior.
“I noticed you from over there.” He glanced over at the other children who seemed to have scattered the moment he faced their direction, Jean just pressed her lips as she avoided the other kids’ gazes. “Why didn’t you go over there with everyone?”
“We don’t get along.” She replied indifferently as she tried to make herself small as she started feeling her relatives’ eyes on her. She was convinced her relatives were looking at her and thinking that she was finally being useful at this event and that she should utilize this opportunity well.
“And why not?” He glanced at her, and she was surprised.
“You’re interested in me?” She asked softly, almost rather breathless. He looked at her confused with a slight tilt with his head.
“Why?” His tone slightly raised indicating if there should be something he should worry about. “Are you sick?” She looked at him and she smiled softly and this time it was DIluc who was taken aback.
“No, nothing like that.” She said in a rueful tone as she turned her gaze at one kid. “I’m not so friendly as you can probably tell. And my interests with the other children are– it is very different.” She sighed.
“I heard, you don’t go out of your house, is what they told me.” Diluc said and he observed Jean press her lips.
“I have other things to concern myself with.” Jean replied in a clipped manner. “Congratulations on getting your vision.” She added awkwardly as she looked at her right slightly.
“Oh yes, thank you.” Diluc replied and felt bad for Jean. He heard that her mother has made sure she puts her studies first which was why the other kids did not get along with Jean because Jean herself could not find the time to interact with others unless on a function like this. To make matters even worse, her interest revolved around combat, there were only a few kids who were interested in combat that would actually attend events like this.
“I think your brother looks uncomfortable.” Jean said when the silence grew longer and Diluc stayed by her side. Diluc glanced at where his brother was, Kaeya looked nervous as he was being surrounded by other kids his age.
“It seems like that is the case.” Diluc replied standing upright, Jean sighed internally. She thought that this was probably the end of this interaction, the most she had talked to someone her age with the other party initiating the conversation.
“Why don’t we go help him out?” Diluc offered and Jean was surprised as she whirled her head to his direction. She wanted to ask him if he was sure, if he really wanted to still talk to her, but Diluc held his hand out for her and there were unexplainable emotions that enveloped her.
She placed her hand over his and inhaled sharply knowing that this was something she would normally not do. “Alright.”
Diluc smiled at her and she thought that his charisma was very magnetic. Diluc brought Jean all the way to Kaeya who looked overwhelmed.
“I will be borrowing my brother for a moment, I would like him to formally meet someone.” Diluc said, swooping in to help his brother and bringing Jean along. The way Diluc spoke made Jean feel like they have been friends for a long time, it was odd and comforting and so very foreign. She didn’t have any friends because she found that she was not given the opportunity to, unless of course it was for business, which was her purpose here at this party.
~.~.~.~.~
Three months, that was how long Diluc had not seen Jean. Today he had come again at her doorstep, but this time he would not be turned away, this time he had a purpose– a reasonable cause to see her. Perhaps not today, but he will see her soon.
Diluc knocked at the door and Jean’s butler greeted him.
“Hello, Clarence.” Diluc smiled at the elderly man whose expression was flat.
“Greetings Young Master Ragnvindr, but I am sad to inform you that Lady Jean is quite busy today too.” Hearing Clarence say the same excuse without even waiting for Diluc to say the purpose of his visit just made Diluc smile politely.
“I understand, but that is not my purpose today.” Diluc replied with a cordial tone. He couldn’t be angry at Clarence, he was likely just following the orders of Frederica. “I won’t be long, I just came to personally send the invitation for my birthday party. As our two families have been close for generations, and even more so now because Jean and I are close friends.”
Clarence blinked and a smile tugged at the edges of his face as he stared at Diluc. His eyes tell Diluc that he did well.
“I will personally send it to Lady Frederica and will respond immediately.” Clarence put his hand out and Diluc pulled the invitation from his inner jacket pocket with a smile.
“I appreciate it a lot. Have a good day, Clarence.” Diluc gave a small nod and turned on his heel when he saw Clarence nod back. Diluc then went inside his family’s carriage.
“So?” Kaeya asked Diluc who settled on the seat in front of him.
“I gave the invitation and as usual it is Clarence who opened the door with an explanation that Jean was too busy, so she could not meet me.” Diluc responded looking at the Gunnhildr mansion.
“She will surely go, Lady Frederica would never not attend a function that shows the closeness of our family.” Kaeya replied with a clipped tone and Diluc nodded.
“You are absolutely correct, let us hope that she would not do something unexpected and choose not to go.” Diluc said and their ride back home was done in silence. Kaeya was quietly observing Diluc’s serious expression and he thought that this was the first time he had seen his brother like this. Even with such an expression plastered on Diluc’s face, Kaeya felt that his brother was bound for great things.
“The party is for next week, I really hope Lady Frederica will attend.” Diluc sighed leaning back on his seat.
That evening Crepus received a letter of acceptance for the invitation sent out by Diluc from Frederica, that letter came along with a letter for Diluc from Jean.
“Diluc, I have good news.” Crepus said entering Diluc’s bedroom, Kaeya on Diluc’s bed reading while Diluc was on his desk studying. Diluc turned to the door upon hearing his father’s voice.
“Frederica accepted the invitation.” Crepus told his son with a neutral look and tone. Diluc nodded at his father as he looked back at his desk.
“That is good to hear.” He responded just as neutral as his father while Kaeya was glancing between the two silently.
“And there is a letter,” Diluc’s head quickly turned to his father upon hearing this. “From Jean.” A vague smile tugged at Crepus lips, Diluc was already at his feet and running to his father who held a simple letter.
Diluc snached it and quickly said his thanks. Crepus couldn’t help but laugh at Diluc and Kaeya tried covering his giggles.
Diluc cleared his throat standing by his chair and opened the letter and sighed before reading it.
Dear Diluc,
My closest friend, whom I have not seen for some time, my sincerest apologies. I have been very busy as of the late, but I do hope it does not change our friendship. I was glad to have been told that you sent your birthday invitation yourself. I wrote this letter to personally let you know that I will be in attendance, I hope– despite my absence our friendship is still strong.
Sincerely, Jean
Diluc knew the moment he held the letter that Jean’s mother would check her letter before sending it to the Ragnvindr residence. But at least he knew that she was alright, that their friendship was not affected with what he had done. He sighed aloud and happened to look at his father, Diluc was surprised to see his father’s serious gaze.
“Everything is alright, father.” Diluc informed and his father and Kaeya sighed loudly. Diluc pressed his lips mildly surprised that his father and brother were actually waiting for his reaction. Diluc cleared his throat again and sat down.
“Well…” Kaeya broke the silence as he placed his book face down as he neared the edge of Diluc’s bed. Diluc put out parchment from the drawer on his right.
“Jean will be attending my birthday.” Diluc replied, smiling up at his family.
“That is good news, son.” Crepus sighed again, truly happy for his son. Crepus had noticed that Diluc and Jean seemed to be very close with one another. He had even suspected that perhaps Diluc even likes Jean. It has come to a point where Crepus had already prepared himself for Diluc to tell him that he wants to propose to the young heir of the Gunnhildr’s. The day has not yet come, but he believed that it was just a matter of time.
“I will send a response to Jean’s letter and have it sent out for tomorrow morning.” Diluc said, dipping his quill in the bottle of ink and writing on the parchment.
“Son–” Crepus had begun but instantly was tackled by Kaeya.
“Father!” Kaeya glared at the older man in an endearing way, and Crepus sighed again and patted Kaeya’s head.
“Alright, you two seems so busy, this old man should get going.” Crepus said and Diluc looked at his father.
“Have a good evening then, father.” Diluc replied.
“Yes, I have a lot of paperwork to get back to.” Crepus added, patting Kaeya’s head one last time.
“Good night, father!” Kaeya happily responded and Crepus slowly retreated out of the room, looking at his two sons with proud eyes.
“I’m truly glad you two get along.” He added before stepping out the door of Diluc’s room.
“I am too.” Kaeya smiled at his adopted father, leaning on Diluc’s door. Before closing the door Kaeya gave one last wave and gently closed the door.
“Well then, are you going to be preparing your birthday party yourself?” Kaeya inquired and Diluc turned to his brother.
“If you’d like, why don’t you help me?” Diluc offered with a smile and Kaeya nodded enthusiastically.
The evening of Diluc’s birthday eventually came, Jean entered the hall with her family. Diluc was surrounded by people, happily chatting away. Her first thought when her eyes laid on him, was that this scene seemed awfully familiar. It had brought her back to the time where they had met. Diluc was very charismatic and his background would naturally incentivize people to approach him and yet he was patient and open.
Diluc catched her wandering eyes and she casually avoided his red gaze.
“Don’t do anything to ruin the Gunnhildr name.” Frederica strictly commanded when she noticed Diluc’s eyes land on her daughter.
“Of course, I would never do such a thing, mother.” Jean replied as she looked down on the floor to avoid her mother’s scrutiny. Before Frederica could add anything else, Crepus approached them with a friendly smile.
“Frederica!” He greeted the older woman first.
“Hello, Crepus.” Frederica said with a tight but polite smile.
“Where is Seamus?” Crepus inquired when he saw Jean and Barbara but not their father.
“He was a little busy with work, he said he will try his best to catch up. I hope you do not mind.” Frederica said and Crepus nodded with an understanding smile.
“Of course, that is no issue, I am a single parent, I can totally understand.” Crepus smiled at the kids by Frederica.
“Barbara seems rather shy.” Crepus commended upon seeing Barbara hiding behind her older sister. “Doesn’t matter, let us let the children go and play!” Crepus quickly added so that Frederica would not say something to keep her kids by her side.
Frederica narrowed her eyes for a moment at his suggestion, but cannot say a thing in front of all these people. She smiled tightly and lightly urged her children to go with a motherly tone.
“Jean.” Barbara mumbled as she poked her older sister on her back, Jean shifted her body a bit and held Barbara’s hand.
“Then we will be on our way.” Jean gently pulled Barbara’s hand and they walked to where the children were socializing. Jean outwardly looked indifferent but inside, she thought that going towards the other kids was something unpleasant. The other kids became friendly towards her after Diluc befriended her two years ago, but they only get to talk on functions like this. Thus her friendships with other people her age seemed shallow and superficial.
Jean had just walked a couple meters but she was still nervous. She wasn’t sure how she would talk to them, she doesn’t keep touch with other kids her age. Her training to be the next Gunnhildr Clan Leader takes precedence over anything, even building connections.
“Jean!” Kaeya’s voice came from their right and the pair of siblings stopped and looked at Kaeya’s direction. “Barbara.” Kaeya stopped near Barbara with a smile and Barbara smiled and her eyes twinkled as she stretched her hand out to Kaeya.
Jean sighed, “Alright, you two go and play.” Kaeya turned to Jean with a smile. “Take good care of my sister.” She added with a strict tone and Kaeya bowed his head seriously.
“Of course.” And Kaeya brought Barbara somewhere not towards the other kids. Since Barabara wasn’t with Jean anymore she felt that it wasn’t necessary to go to the other kids. She had just wanted to go to the other kids so Barbara would have friends, but with her gone she didn’t need to. It was Barbara’s first official party.
Jean found herself leaning against the wall looking at everyone else. This was oddly familiar, studying the crowd at the edge. Jean spotted her mom talking with the adults, making her connections stronger and Jean instantly looked down hoping her mother didn’t spot her. What would she say? She was not acting like a Gunnhildr Clan Leader, Jean has to be sociable.
She sighed as she looked at the corner. She knows she should socialize, she knows she has to have perfect form and she knows she has to be precise and accurate, nothing less than impeccable is demanded of her.
“Jean, I’m glad you made it.” Diluc’s voice came from her front and she looked up with startled eyes.
“Diluc.” She said as she looked up at Diluc. “This seems awfully familiar.” She laughed a little with pressed lips.
“Huh, actually now that you mentioned it.” Diluc teased as he stood beside her leaning against the wall too, but this time around their elbows almost touching. “Now, this really came full circle.” He added staring at the other kids, this was really like two years ago.
“Thank you.” Jean whispered and Diluc turned to look at her.
“For what?” He asked confusedly.
“I know you planned this for me.” Jean said, turning to Diluc with certain eyes and he smiled back at her.
“Now, I felt like it was my fault too.” He quietly added.
“It wasn’t.” Jean instantly replied but he looked at her with uncertainty. “If I didn’t meet you, I’d probably still be at the corner like this. So, yes there is a lot to say thank you for.”
“I don’t think you would be in the corner.” He said his eyes were clear.
“You’re right, I’d probably be socializing out of obligation. Which I should really be doing right now.” Jean said playfully with expressive expressions and Diluc smiled.
“I do rub into you.” He said bumping into her playfully and she giggled.
“Kaeya and Barbara have become really close.” Jean remarked with a contented smile. “I have to thank you for that too.”
“Hmm, I think it isn’t just just me.” Diluc replied.
“Barbara is a cheerful and innocent child, I try my best to keep it that way.” Jean sighed as she closed her eyes. She will protect her sister.
“You are a good sister, Jean.” Diluc said with pressed lips.
“You are a good brother too, Diluc.” She replied back with a smile.
Okay so this one is half headcanon, half mini-fic, but Alfor and Coran’s first meeting probably went something like this:
Coran is merely minding his own, small child business when, out of nowhere: “Hello! Why do you have a moustache?”
He turns in surprise to face a grinning white-haired child who proceeds to tug at said moustache (which, by the way, Coran is immensely proud of because his dad says it proves his skill in camouflage and shape-shifting).
“What’s wrong with my moustache?” he asks indignantly.
The small white-haired child also looks mildly insulted. “Nothing is wrong with it. I think it is glorious.”
“Oh,” says Coran. “Thank you.”
“My name’s Alfor,” says the other child. “What’s yours? I’ve never seen you before. Have you never been to the Castle? Come with me, I will show you the castle and the hangars and the kitchens and my room and everything.”
He does not wait for a response before grabbing Coran’s hand and dragging him off. Once Coran gets over his surprise, he says, “I’m Coran.”
Alfor gives him the biggest grin Coran has ever seen. “Well, then, welcome, Coran! Come on, you are going to love the Castle!”
Alfor sets off on a ramble about his home. As he listens to the strange, loud boy chatter, Coran decides that he has found himself a best friend.
We did not plan this Just two dorks who love Dave and surprised each other.
I got her a Team Rod visor as well. Aaaaand…
Needless to say @martymcdie88mph loved the custom Dave Hot Rod Funko Pop made by the incredibly talented @jadisart. I cannot say enough good things about this artist. They are a joy to work with and really went above and beyond to do every one of my specifications, making this an amazingly awesome gift for our first meeting.
I love our dorky selves so much
The most incredible presents from the most wonderful human
i desperately need them to make a big deal out of will meeting eddie
like, eddie and those theatrics of his as a plot device to help make it clear that even though mike’s been distant, he definitely hasn’t forgotten about him. i’m thinking like, a bow, hand to the heart, the whole deal. eddie’s like “will byers!!! will the wise!! the artist!! the legend!!” and obviously, the classic: “little wheeler won’t stop talking abt you :)))”
warning(s): main character ( asterope malfoy ) has a nightmare because of the ptsd she suffers from
summary: Asterope Malfoy is finally heading to Hogwarts and before she even steps foot in the castle she’s gone and sort of befriended two Blood-Traitors and Muggle-born. The young girl always knew that Hogwarts she would meet strange new people, her Squib maid told her she would question everything she had been taught, Asterope just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly. But, Asterope was a lonely child, always yearning for a love she had lost before she could even remember it properly, and she would throw everything she knew down a drain just for one good friend.
small preview:
“Maybe, try reading it out loud. Uh, that’s what my grandpa use to tell me when I would learn hard words. You — You might see it in a, uh, a new light,” Neville suggests.
Aurelia stares at him, long and hard, he turns bright red as her green eyes burn into his skull. Then she smiles and tells him that he’s brilliant, this only makes him turns even more red.
“Do you mind if I do that now?”
“No, uh, not at all. Um, go ahead,” Neville says shyly, gesturing to the book with his chubby hands.
Aurelia opens the book and begins to read, her Scottish accent transitions smoothly into a southern accent as she reads the book to him. It doesn’t take long for Neville to be lulled to sleep with her very soothing and very impressive southern accent, his head rests upon her shoulder. She’s very worried that he might drool on her but she’s even more worried about waking him up. Aurelia falls asleep shortly after him, her head comes to rest upon his head and his hair is very fluffy. Between, the rhythmic sounds of the moving train and the fact that Aurelia had been having trouble sleeping the last couple of days, it’s not long before Aurelia has fallen into a deep sleep.
Jason first meet his future wife was when he had broke out of his own grave 6 months after his death by Joker’s hands. Marinette was in Gotham for a commission for Jagged Stone.
She had gone out to get more thread and happened upon the revived body of Jason. She had tried to reassure and comfort him by saying everything was going to be fine and she was gonna get him to the hospital as soon as possible.
But Jason with his head all murkey says no hospitals and was actively trying to resist going. So being the good person she is, she takes him back to the appartment she was using as a her home/work place.
Marinette lied him down on her sofa and started to get to work. She sowed up any heavy cuts and bandaged him up. Lastly with a bit of help from Tikki she healed his insides such as any broken/cracked bones and any internal bleeding he may of had.
It was from that point he stayed by her side as she helped nurse him back to health, help him remember andto get back to his family.
I met the nicest man this morning. Technically, I suppose we met a couple weeks ago when he reached out to Me on Fetlife with a proposal that I peg him. But is that really meeting someone? That limited correspondence didn’t allow Me the opportunity to look into his warm brown eyes, to restrain Myself from running My fingers through his lovely thick white hair (he calls it salt and pepper, but believe you me, it’s a whole lot more salt than pepper, which is actually pretty sexy), to watch his mouth move as he spoke about his unsatisfying marital sex life, imagining those lips on Mine - both pair.
In person meetings are important. Sure, I’ve had lengthy correspondences and seen photographs of plenty of men over the years, so that I knew what they looked like before we ever inhabited the same zip code. But they didn’t know what I looked like. It’s like the policy of the Vatican guards when you visit the Sistine Chapel: “NO PHOTOS! NO VIDEO!” their voices ring out constantly as tourists try to sneak a snapshot. Milky is a woman with a strapon (several, actually) and she is happy to send you a picture of Her shecock, but she does not share her own image. So the face to face is an important chance to gauge the reaction of a gentleman to My physical appearance.
While this fellow did not immediately fall to his knees and sing an ode to My beauty, he did not run screaming into the woods, either. He seemed amenable to meeting again. And that makes Me happy. Because I like him. He loves his children, he cares about his wife’s happiness, but he is made to feel that his desire for sex - just basic sex, actually - is somehow inappropriate. Hell, even when all he wants is to have a glass of wine by the fire pit in the backyard with his mate, he’s denied that pleasure.
And you know Me. I love to grant the wishes of deprived men, particularly neglected husbands. It’s been a while since I’ve pegged a lover. Before I do that, though, I want to play with this man. To touch him in the ways he hasn’t been touched. It’s easy enough to do that in a car. So we shall start out slow. I want to make his heart beat fast and bring a smile to those lips and a light in his eyes. Amazing what the touch of a woman can do for a man.
Paring: Giacomo Casanova x Fanny Price Chapter: 1/? Rating: Mature Word count: 2990 Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Time
Summary:
When he decided to come to England, it was for the women. It wasn’t to sell the Italian dresses he didn’t make. It wasn’t to drink champagne in posh garden parties he didn’t like. It most definitely wasn’t to fall in love with a woman he didn’t want.
New Teninch story I’ve started working on because I’ve wanted to do this for far too long! I know it’s not the most popular pairing, but I love it and I wanted to give it a try!
The hunting horn had blown. The moment he had stepped through the gate of the imposing mansion, the game had started. The first part of the game was setting up the rules. Making sure everyone knew he was a player, better yet, he was the man who would dominate the game. Make sure everyone knew he was the best hunter and would not let go of his preys, no matter how fierce or how cantankerous the opponents.
He had won the first round already. Pretend he was a wealthy Italian fabric merchant to slither his way into the garden, who unfortunately happened to have lost his invitation letter. The natural talent he possessed with his tongue and his charm were his best trumps, of course. His perfectly tailored costume, rich blue silk sewn with gold, white lace collar pinned with a jeweled brooch, knee-length leather boots were just helpful accessories. Outer evidence of a small fortune he only owned in the pompous discourses he had crafted for such occasions. Luxury clothes and precious adornments were but mere illusions. A few of his words were worth more than whatever money he could convince anyone he possessed. His mouth made him rich. His attitude made him respectable. His clothes only gave him the look.
Two young women walked past him, brushed against his arm, giggling and throwing the kind of decent smile high-society girls were taught to smile, but a smile that hid so much more. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a grin pulling at the corner of his lips, and picked up a crystal flute from the table. Just half a glass of posh champagne he would nurse until he would find the perfect prey. Obviously, it wouldn’t take long. He would have thought British girls to be more… Moderate. Elegant. Smarter, and maybe colder. Obviously, he had been wrong. Or so he thought.
Oh, they were classier, he couldn’t deny that. Well-mannered, well-dressed, well-behaved. But he saw it. He felt it. In the way they tried not to look at him but their eyes burnt his body under the heat of a single of their fleeting glances. In the way their fingers slightly tightened around their glass when he walked past them, as if they were struggling to keep their hands from reaching out to him. In the way they shifted in their seats, or shifted on their feet, like little animals who knew they could get bit and dragged into a den, but who would have gladly let themselves be caught. In all of those ways, none of them were better than all the frivolous Italian women who would have sold their mothers and properties just to get a chance to be naked in his bed.
So, he began to seduce. That one woman, with a red corset that puffed out into a large skirt, glorious breasts pushed up so high and so tight her pendant was trapped between the two mounds of flesh. He rather liked it. He didn’t even have to speak. A wink from one of his piercing blue eyes, a tug on a lapel of his jacket, a small bow and a devastating smile. There went his first dance. The first occasion to get a proper feel of British flesh, his long fingers digging into her hip, her supple chest brushing against his despite the expected and required distance between their bodies, the round swell of her bottom under his little finger, just enough of a contact to map out a derriere that was probably just as glorious as her devant. She fluttered her eyelids at him, looked at him through thick eyelashes, a light blush on her cheeks, and he decided he could do better. She was well-endowed, yes, but her face was common. Not particularly pretty, nor special enough to spark his interest. Not yet anyway. He’d have to wait until the end of the hunt and find out which weakened prey he’d pick - he would stop at three, no need to make himself too noticed.
“Remember the name, Mia Signorina,” he whispered in her ear as he let go of her waist on the last note of the song. “Casanova.”
Oh he loved it, how women swooned when he spoke those few words, rolled his letters and made the vowels last - the moment he had set foot on British soil, he had found out his tongue could not only talk his way in and out of things, but could also speak a foreign language. It made it all too easy.
“Ciao Lady, you sure look like, la perfetta stronza, today,” he greeted the older woman who had been ogling his backside for far too long - and chuckled under his breath when she had to fan her rubicon face, most certainly oblivious to the meaning of his words. “Very nice bosom, though too flabby and too vulgar, I don’t even want to think about the rest. Definitely not doable. Buona giornata, eh?”
It seemed her husband had been watching them from afar, because he briskly walked to them when the wife began to shout at him, rise from her chair and threaten him with her pointy umbrella. She was turning even redder, but knew it had nothing to do with either his charm or his backside, this time.
“This eccentric foreigner told me…” she started when her husband asked what was the commotion about in a bark.
“Advised you on your sense of fashion,” he was quick to interrupt with a fake laugh and a dismissive bending of his wrist, the kind of gesture he was sure those British expected from an extroverted Italian designer. “I truly am sorry, Sir, but look. The pompom under the chestline is much too loose, you can see the string about to break. The dress might have suited her a few years ago, but it is now too small and doesn’t hug her shapes in the right places, which makes her look più grassa than she is, and also rather ridiculous. I would suggest adding a ribbon of taffeta here, change that old-fashioned pompom, and have it entirely retailored. Or you could ask me for a brand new dress, of course, I would be more than happy to take her measurements and have my stilistas in Venezia come up with a better model. Half-price, for a gentiluomo like you. Truth be told, where I’m from, such a depraved appearance would be condemned by law, so let’s make a deal. Give me a hundred pounds right now, I’ll take the measurements after the party and your Lady can have her brand new dress by the end of the week.”
“A hundred pounds?” the husband huffed, his eyes travelling from his wife’s dress he had to admit had seen better days but still looked fashionable and reasonably fitted, and this foreigner who tutted and shook his head at his wife, taking in her appearance with sighs of discomfiture. “That’s certainly expensive.”
“The dress I’ll give you is worth thrice that sum,” he smiled, thumbing a lapel of his costume tu push it towards him. “Italian quality fabric, the most renowned couturiers you’ll ever find, a dress your wife can wear until the rest of her days. It’s an investment, but a good one. A hundred pounds, and you leave it all to me. Next wedding, your wife will shine brighter than the bride.”
“I… Suppose it’s been a while since my Lady was gifted with a new dress,” he shrugged, reaching inside his pocket to take out a roll of banknotes.
“I’ll give you the matching shoes for twenty more of these,” he raised an eyebrow - he knew he already had the wife swooning with the promise of that dess, and he congratulated himself inwardly when she purposefully stared at her husband.
“Fine,” he gave up, handing him a thick stack of notes.
“I shall meet you later, Signora,” he bowed, the notes quickly shoved inside the deepest pocket he could find. “My apologies if I chose the wrong words and made myself unclear earlier, English is a rather tricky language. Buona giornata.”
He saluted her with one last bow of courtesy and a charming smile - he knew she was perfectly aware he had meant the offensive words, but he also knew he had just bought her a brand new dress, or so she thought, so she simply smiled back and went away. Those British weren’t shy with money, it seemed. Maybe he could fill his purse by the end of the day and buy himself a first-class ticket for his return to Italy.
Feeling lighter despite the hundred notes protectively shielded in a folded layer of his puff-sleeved shirt, he swanned off in the direction of another young woman who could definitely win her way between his sheets or in a bush somewhere in the back of the luxurious gardens. His first real prey was in his line of sight. The woman with the red dress had just been a mere swim in the shallow pond to taste the waters. But that Lady with the emerald skirt and slightly lighter green corset was most definitely the occasion to make the big jump. Deliciously shaped and the face of Venezian beauty, with that added British grace that made her… Well he didn’t know what that made her, exactly, but he was sure it made him uncomfortably tight in the pants he had worn for the occasion No full mast before the ship sails , he had to remind himself. Seduce first. That was part of the game.
“Ma ciao, bellissima,” he crooned, leaning against his cane crowned with a silver lion head, crossing an ankle above the other. “Allow me to compliment you on your choice of dress. This is by far the best I’ve seen today, it fits your body rather spectacularly. Molto bella.”
“I am married,” she answered, tugging on her shawl to cover her bare sternum.
“So?” he grinned with a raised eyebrow, almost delighted to be faced with a new challenge. “Can’t a uomo flatter a Lady who deserves it? I’m sure your husband has never told you how beautiful eyes you have, nor how elegant your gait is. I wanted to meet British class and beauty, and I’ve just met British perfection.”
“My husband often compliments me on my looks, thank you very much, Sir…?”
“Casanova,” he introduced himself with pomp, bowing to give the back of her hand a distant smack of his lips. “Forgive my audace, but would you mind if I readjusted some parts of your dress? I am a tailor, you see, dress designer in Venezia, and I’ve spotted a few things that could be improved. Don’t get me wrong, you look positively stunning, Signora, I put the blame on those English dressmakers. They lack the talent and imagination Italian couturiers have. Give me un minuto, and you’ll make all your friends jealous. You could be the queen of the party.”
“I already am,” she pointed out, her features not growing annoyed, but growing suspicious. “These are my gardens, Sir Casanova. My party. Forgive my asking, but I do not remember my husband telling me there would be an Italian tailor invited. Who introduced you?”
“Why, Sir Bellingham, of course,” he lied, citing a name he had heard after stepping into the party. “We met a while ago in Venezia, he told me he’d find me a suitable market for my designer dresses in England, and he invited me to this party to meet my first clients. See that Lady over there? Already bought one of my dresses, you can ask her. Le mie scuse, my Lady, but if you’re not interested in what my talents have to offer, I should go on with my business. Thank you ever so much for the invitation and the fine champagne. Ciao, brutta.”
He clicked his heels together with one last bow of courtesy and hurried to get away, fast enough to deprive her of the time she’d need to realize he was a fraud, slow enough not to arouse any more suspicion from any others. Well, some of those British girls were tough. Nothing like the Italian women he had courted seduced within mere minutes for the better part of his life. It might not have been the best enterprise to try his luck with a married woman who also happened to be the hostess, he reckoned, but still. In his country, he would already be bunching her skirt up to her hips and ravishing her against a tree - no, better not to think about ravishing women against trees just yet. His frustration was a fantastic remedy to his condition, anyway. He had to fight this frustration. He had to keep playing. He had lost a round, not the game. Yet. Because if all the beautiful British women were as uptight and sober as this one, he doubted he’d ever get to shove his pants down his knees, especially not in such ridiculously posh parties. He would give it one more try, maybe two, but if it kept going that way he would rather flee to the neighbouring town and find a brothel. He hadn’t come all this way, travelled several countries and crossed a sea to be disappointed and frustrated.
So, he kept going on his search for a prey. His previous failures made him more careful, however. Spot the rings, spot the husbands, spot those who looked at him as if they knew he didn’t belong. It made the hunt harder. Made him a predator that had to stay hidden in the shadows rather than run and hunt in the open. He had become a prey himself, in a way. He didn’t like it.
He walked for several minutes among the groups of people, occupied his hands with another glass of champagne he didn’t drink, picked up a few nibbles on the tables to pretend he knew what he was doing, only to discard them in the many plant pots disseminated around in the clean-cut grass. And then he spotted her. The perfect prey.
She was alone, sitting on one of the steps that let to the entrance to an appurtenance, isolated from the main hubbub of the party. No ring on her finger. A dress that looked much less elaborated that the others, a dull beige when all the others sported bright colours, a pale maroon tunic going askew on her shoulders. Rather disheveled, compared to the neat hairstyles and carefully pinned hats the other women wore. If he managed to seduce that one, it wouldn’t be one of his greatest achievements, nor one of his greatest prides. But then he saw her face, and an odd feeling coursed through him. A shiver of… Something. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew perfectly well his heart hadn’t beaten harder in his crotch like it usually did when he looked at a woman, but louder in his chest. She wasn’t even beautiful. Pretty, at most, with her blond curls, her full mouth, her round nose. A woman like a hundred many others he had made his bed creak with. No, not like a hundred others. Like a few others, only. Because he felt it from where he was standing, smelled it, tasted it. That young woman with that innocent sad face was a virgin. He didn’t particularly enjoy virgins. He liked his women like he loved his sex. Bold, mature, liberated. That blonde was none of that. The exact opposite, even. Shy, inexperienced, reserved.
Her deep whiskey eyes met his, her thick lips stretched into a small smile, her hand tightened on her tunic. And he saw in her eyes something akin to what he was feeling himself. The feeling that she didn’t belong here, the feeling of isolation, the feeling that she was pretending. Without knowing why, he realized she was a bit like him. A poor girl lost in a world of wealth who had had to learn the rules by herself rather than being taught. A girl that had been thrown into a cage full of hyenas, waiting for her to die to feast on her cadaver and make her disappear, like a nuisance that needed to be erased from the surface of this Earth. He saw it in the way the others looked at her. He heard it in the murmurs behind him. He felt it in the cloud of tension that thickened the closer he got to her. He was in the same kind of cage. Except he’d been lucky enough to be blessed with talents to help him fight off his enemies and fend off his demons. She obviously hadn’t.
“Hello, Sir,” she greeted him with a bow of the head - it was only then he realized his steps had taken him to her, quite against his most sensible reflections. “Please excuse my ignorance, but I don’t remember seeing you before.”
He had never really seen her before either, he thought. Because as he looked down at her face and into her eyes, he was suddenly struck by her beauty. Unconventional beauty, certo, but beauty nonetheless. Before he knew it, he was taking her hand in a gentle hold and brushing his lips against her skin. It terrified him to understand he wasn’t doing it to drag her into an empty room ten minutes later, steal her virginity against a cupboard and ditch her when he’d be done. He was doing it because he wanted to do it. No underlying purpose. He peered at her through his eyelashes, lips still hovering above the back of her hand, and he saw the way she nibbled her lip with an embarrassed grin.
“Più bella cosa, you’ll wish you had never seen me at all,” he said softly, pushing himself up straight with the help of his cane. “Call me… Giacomo.”
Soulmate AU, in which you have a black stain where your soulmate is supposed to touch you, and when they do, it gets its colours.
It’s not much, but I liked the idea - I hope you’ll like it!
God, how much he hated public transport. More particularly that one morning commute, when he had to ride that one bus that was always so crowded he had to fight his way through a horde of sleepy, irritable and rude people just to find that one blessed spot on that one filthy pole that had just enough space left for one more hand. Awful.
His only solace in this Styx was the tacit agreement, the one rule, the implicit decree that made it bearable. Almost bearable. No eye contact whatsoever. No smile, no greetings, no words, no sounds - apart from the occasional curses and snores, that is. That was fine by him. He had read the signs plastered all over the bus so many times sometimes he’d even dream about them - yes, his dreams were rarely exciting. Still, better to stare at those words for so long they became void of any sense after two stops than accidentally meet someone’s accusing glare. No eye contact.
He also had devised a little game of his own, for when the signs became so boring his energy was sucked out of his system and he turned drowsy. A silly game, but a game he quite liked. He looked at the shoes. That was usually enough to occupy his mind for the rest of the commute, and it was safe. No risk whatsoever to offend anyone with a haphazardous look.
He pretended not to be annoyed by the mountain of muscles standing behind him and poking him in the back with what must have been the handle of an umbrella, and he tightened his hold on his pinstriped jacket - he had found out after two rides that a bus, at this hour, was closer to being an oven than an actual bus, some kind of crematorium everyone still willingly stepped inside, like a herd of clueless cows en route to the slaughterhouse. Anyway, the shoes.
Ah, he recognized these. A pair of brown leather shoes. Probably your average businessman in his forties, single, because what kind of married businessman doesn’t own a car, seriously. A pair of fluffy slippers that oozed an odd smell he didn’t want to shell. That must be the old, very old lady that gets into the bus four stops after him, the old lady who swings her cane into people’s shins until she’s found the right seat and claimed it as her seat. A pair of brand new trainers, the white of the laces immaculate, the plastic bare of any creases. Maybe a student on his way to uni - he would know that if the trainers followed him when he’d get off the bus. And…
Oh, these, he had never seen before. And they were just inches away from his, glued to the murky linoleum. Trainers, too, but worn and dirty. These trainers must have had a long life, already - not unlike the chucks he was currently wearing, the white rubber just as soiled as hers. Yes, hers, if the thin line of pink running around the sole was any clue. Those were tricky. She could either be a teenager or a full grown woman, no younger than fourteen, no older than thirty - shoe size and shoe style, they mattered. But he rather liked the idea that she was about his age, so he took that for granted and went on with his analysis. No eye contact , he should be safe to look just a bit higher than the shoes. Jeans. Very tight jeans around very toned legs and a very round… No, he should definitely lower his eyes again, now. Still, interesting. It was too rare an occurrence to find that kind of shoes not to daydream about the lady who was wearing them.
So, he pictured her. Twenty-five, soon to be twenty-six. Blonde, he liked blonde, maybe shoulder-length but tied into a messy bun, because he liked messy buns. Green eyes would be good, but he supposed a light brown could work, too. A round nose and full lips, the exact opposite of his pointy nose and lips so thin they vanished into the void whenever he smiled. Compensation, he thought. I need balance. He had never understood what was so beautiful about women who disappeared if they stood behind a bus pole at just the right angle - no, he wanted curves, he wanted matter , he wanted a woman that wouldn’t shatter into pieces when he held her hand. And those thighs, phew , those thighs definitely fit the bill. So did the rest of her body, he guessed, without knowing he would get to feeljust how curved and soft she was.
The bus came to a full stop with the deafening sound of screeching tires that made the windows tremble, and his whole body was propelled forward, right into the owner of the trainers. He held for dear life to his pole, so his body simply curved towards her - he believed he could make a good pole-dancer for a second - and his waist bumped into the small of her back. And he felt it.
The burn that spread just above the line of his waistband, where his shirt had escaped his trousers and ridden up his abdomen. Where his soulmark drew a thin, irregular path, like a paint path brushed by a shaky hand. His heart ploughed against his ribcage as he dared to look down, not at the shoes, but at the black mark he wore. A black mark that was now a rainbow of colours melting into each other, like a puddle of gasoline on a wet pavement. The same kind of rainbow he noticed on the small patch of skin peeking between her pale blue tee-shirt and a brown leather belt.
He breathed in deeply and, sod the rules, he looked up. Her back was still to him, even as the bus was spurred into motion again. A messy bun of blond strands. A slender neck. A spine moulded under the garment that pointed to a definitelyround… No, he would not look. He’d get to look until he got drunk on the sight later. Hopefully, not toolater.
He was just a bit upset that she didn’t turn around - surely she had also felt her mark flare to life at his contact - but then again, meeting their soulmate on a crowded bus wasn’t ideal. Maybe she was shy. Maybe she had also signed the implicit contract and didn’t want to nullify it.
That was why he bent forward, his head above her shoulder, so close their cheeks almost met, and he pretended to squint and read the sign he already knew by heart.
“I hate to break the rules, but…” he whispered, hoping only she would hear him above the general hubbub. “Hello.”
She didn’t answer straight away. Instead, she took a step back to press her back against his chest, and found his hand that was still holding his jacket. She curled her little finger around his and he felt the strain in her neck as she fought the urge to look at him.
“Next stop?” she breathed out - and, oh yes, he fell in love with that voice at the first syllable.
“Next stop,” he confirmed.
He broke another rule that day, when he stared into her light brown eyes mere moments before the door opened. He almost didn’t make it out.
Just some kinda unique plot ideas that don’t put pressure on a romance right from the start.
Muse AandMuse B literally live in completely different parts of their country/state/city but Muse A is very spontaneous and will sometimes travel to other parts of the country/state/city just to explore. They meet Muse B by asking for directions and somehow convince them to show them around.
Muse A is a very inexperienced dog walker with seven giant dogs to take care of Muse B is just walking home when one of Muse A’s dogs get lose. Muse B somehow ends up helping Muse A.
Muse A is innocently working in their class, when Muse B comes in and sits down next to them. The only problem being that Muse B is definitely not in that class/school.
Muse A gets drunk and decides to adamantly explain the plot line of Danny Phantom as their own biography to Muse B.
Muse B is out very late in a bad neighborhood and Muse A sees this on and decides to walk them home. You can choose the intentions are nefarious or not.
Muse B is a artist/photographer/writer and they’re searching for inspiration. They see Muse A as a interesting person and try to convince them to help.
Muse AandMuse B are neighbors who have been consistently annoyed by the others habits, but have never actually met each other. One day, Muse A gets is finally fed up and goes to give Muse B a piece of their mind.
