#catch me writing whole novels up in here

[xoxochb]

— about anything ꣑ৎ‧₊˚.

★ - “wanna listen to the sound of you blinking wanna listen to your hands soothe listen to your heart beating listen to the way you move”

warnings: this is really short pairing: luke castellan x daughter of aphrodite a/n: this is entirely random but I wanted to write something simple today :)

for once, the hermes cabin was utterly silent. you had left your cabin early this morning because you’re siblings believed it was acceptable to spray loads of perfume at ten in the morning while you still slept. so, you had taken it upon yourself to leave cabin ten and spend the day in your boyfriends cabin. however, he was absent, you assume because he had counselor duties to attend to this morning unfortunately. so you waited. with your cup of coffee and your jane austen novel, you cozy yourself atop his bed, wrapping the blankets around your frame to shield your skin from the cold air-conditioning of the cabin. for two hours you had waited in silence, all the other hermes children had left for reasons you would guess were their own duties to attend to, so the cabin had been left to just you

bored, you close your book and let your head fall onto the pillow, and as you were ready to fall into slumber you hear the cabin door open. you allow your eyes to flutter open to see who had entered, and lucky you, your eye catches your favorite mop of dark curls progressively getting closer. you smile widely and sit up as luke takes a seat beside you on his bed

“hey. did I wake you?” he asks silently to preserve the quiet tone of the moment

you shake your head slowly, letting yourself fall back into the bed. “no, I just laid down”

luke murmurs a gentle ‘oh’ before laying down alongside you underneath the blankets. both, similarly, you wrap your arms around each other finding instant solace in the serene situation. you pull his head to your chest, his ear right over your beating heart

“what were you up to today?” you whisper. before responding, luke snakes a hand under your shirt, rubbing up and down your skin

“training… more training…”

you nod understandingly and stop yourself from continuing the conversation. you knew that his training was draining and had made the consecutive decision to let him rest. but— he whispers a silent plead for you to speak about your day until his eyes close shut

“I didn’t do much, I just kind of… read a lot. when I left my cabin this morning it smelt like perfume, I got a migraine so I came here hoping you hadn’t left but you were gone so… I took a small nap and I woke up feeling fine then I read emma for a bit and I had my coffee because you know me and my coffee addiction. then I was going to take a second nap while I waited for you but then you came in— so that was really my whole day”

luke hums in response, presumably on the verge of falling asleep from your honey-sweet voice

“that sounds nice. besides the migraine”

“definitely,” yoy laugh lightly, twirling your fingers through his hair to lull him to sleep at last “now rest. I’ll be here when you wake up”

you feel him smile upon your skin. “I won’t fight with you on that”

and he surely did not, moments later obeying your instructions

[leighsartworks216]

Happy Birthday, My Jasmine

Zayne x gn!Reader

Happy birthday to me!! I actually started writing this like a week ago, but the 2am inspiration hit and now here I am, staying up when I should be sleeping to write about Zayne being domestic (so so worth it)

Warnings: bathing, implied nudity, kissing, established relationship, very very vague reference to his myth, birthdays, domestic fluff

Word Count: 921

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You sigh softly, displacing the steam floating through the air. The hot water soaks deep into your muscles. It caresses out the tension and the stress, replacing it with pure relaxation.

Originally, you had planned on doing something while you bathed, indicated by the novel and fresh mug of tea sitting nearby, but the water drew you in too deep to even think about doing anything other than unwind. It’s not often you get a chance to take a bath; between the amount of time it takes to indulge to make the set up worthwhile and your work, you just never saw a reason to. But you didn’t have to worry about either of those things today, for one very simple reason:

Today is your birthday.

Now, you don’t make a big deal of it anymore. As a kid, of course, you’d want the whole nine yards of gifts, games and gâteau, surrounded by all your friends (or, at least, all your classmates). But as the years go on, the less weight they carry. You don’t need nine yards - just one will do. You hadn’t even asked for time off work! You’re pretty sure Tara told Jenna, or else Jenna paid close attention to the birthdays of her team. Either way, you have the whole day off.

Zayne wasn’t so lucky. He was so sweet about it, though. He got up early enough to make you breakfast and wished you a happy birthday with your good morning kiss. He asked what you wanted for dinner - whether it was takeout, a restaurant, or something cooked by him - and he called you during his lunch break. (You ended up video chatting while eating your respective meals. Yvonne and Greyson heard your voice and ran into his office to wish you a happy birthday, too.)

Your tea is lukewarm when you hear the front door open and close. Your spirits rise impossibly higher as you wait, watching the wall of the hallway through the open door for his appearance. Sure enough, he’s there in no time, smiling fondly as he crosses over the tile floor to kneel down beside the tub.

“Hello, my love,” he hums. You brush wet, pruny fingers along his cheek. He pulls away from your teasing, only to hold the back of your hand and press kisses to your palm. “How has your day been?”

You sigh contently. “It’s much better now.”

With a hand on the rim to support himself, he sits up and leans over to kiss you properly. His tie dips past the surface of the water, but he pays it no mind. His lips move slowly and purposefully with yours. It’s a languid dance, unhurried and painfully smitten.

You groan quietly against his mouth. “If you don’t stop soon, I’m going to pull you in with me.”

He chuckles, kisses you once more, and pulls away, sitting back on his knees. “Alright.” He kisses your hand again instead, before pulling it from his face to rest over his heart. “I brought dinner. Would you like to eat it now?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll go set it up.” He kisses your hand one last time before freeing it from his grasp to stand. He picks up your half-empty mug. “Do you want any more tea?”

You can’t wipe the stupid, lovestruck smile from your face. You’re not sure you ever want to. “Not gonna tell me how bad caffeine is at this hour?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “I think you deserve to be a little reckless on your birthday.”

“Can you make me hot chocolate?”

“Of course.” He moves your towel to be closer to you. “Take your time getting out.”

“Wait.” You just catch onto his sleeve before he can get too far from you.

He turns his hand over to hold onto yours again. “What is it?”

You can’t help admiring him for a second. He’s tired - you can tell even if he’s trying hard not to show it right now. You see it in the way he carries his shoulders and the slow way he blinks. Yet here he is, taking care of you, ensuring you have the best possible finish to your birthday despite his absence. He’s so beautiful in the white bathroom light. If you could, you’d marry him all over again.

“I love you.”

The tinge of worry along his brow disappears immediately. He sets the mug down beside the sink and bends at the waist to reach you, one hand cupping your cheek as the other holds onto the tub once more to support himself as he kisses you once more. And twice, and again for good measure. They’re not slow, lazy kisses like before, either. He breathes into your mouth with each kiss, slightly shaky, as if he can’t contain his love for you any longer. On the second kiss (second only because he needed to pull back briefly for air), he almost gathers his wits again. On the third, he nearly loses them when you open your mouth to him, wet fingers tangling into his hair to pull him closer and keep him there as he runs his tongue along the roof of your mouth. He has to pull away then for fear of crawling into the bath himself, but he doesn’t go far, resting his forehead against yours and taking in the bright, adoring look in your eyes.

“I love you, too,” he whispers, heart racing with so much adoration in his chest. “Happy birthday, my jasmine.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikacuzhc

[sansaorgana]

Buck’s gal getting injured on base (twisted ankle or scrape - nothing major) and him just running off only hearing “she got hurt” to find her

hiii, it's me again 😌 with the second fic today because I'm trying to work on as many requests as I can since I don't have any plans this weekend and the amount of them in my inbox is lowkey stressing me out, not gonna lie 🤣 I love to write for Buck, though, so it's fine 💐

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

You would always wait for him when he was coming back from the missions. You were the only face Buck wanted to see first anyway and he kept searching for you through the crowd each time. Seeing you cheering for him would make him smile and his heart slow down its pounding in his chest.

But this time you were not there. His eyes were scanning through the crowd of men and women but you were not one of them. People approached him to congratulate him and pat his back but he did not pay much attention to it. He wanted to find his girl first. You would be the one to ground him after the mission and only after your sweet kiss he would be able to talk to these people or answer their questions.

“Where’s (Y/N)?” He kept asking but no one knew. Some didn’t even notice your unusual absence.

“You’re asking ‘bout (Y/N)?” Harry approached him. “She’s in the sickbay,” he explained and Buck’s heart skipped a beat at that. How could Harry be so casual about it…?

“What do you mean she’s there? What happened?!”

“I’ve no idea. Some accident. Buck, hey,” Harry tried to grab his friend’s sleeve, “you have to be interrogated first.”

“I don’t care,” Buck drawled out and hurried to the sickbay, not reacting to Harry and other men calling out for him. He was breaking a rule, he was aware. But there were more important things.

You were the most important thing.

Buck stormed inside the sickbay and looked around. One of the nurses sighed at the sight of him, already suspecting who he was looking for.

“She’s over there,” she pointed at the bed in the corner and Buck thanked her before rushing to your side.

You were reading a book and didn’t notice him at first, invested in the plot of some romance novel one of the nurses had lended to you. It was a nice distraction from the pain and from the stress. Buck was up in the air and you tried not to think about it too much.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” His deep voice brought you back to reality. You looked up and smiled widely at the sight of him.

“Oh! You’re back! You’re back!” You put the book away and extended your arms towards him.

“Yes, baby, I am,” he sat on the edge of your bed and took his cap off before leaning in to hug you. “What happened? Why are you here?!”

“You’re going to laugh at me,” you giggled.

“What do you mean?” He furrowed his brows, worried.

“I was in the archives, I tried to reach for the top shelf and I stood on the stool, right…” you started.

“Without taking off your heels first?” Buck sighed, knowing already what happened. He had been warning you about it each time he’d catch you doing it.

“Yes,” you looked down, ashamed. “And yeah, I fell down…” You paused and then you burst out laughing. “Oh, Buck, I’m glad you weren’t there.”

“I’d catch you if I were,” he lifted your chin up so you’d look at his face again.

“Yeah, no. Because…” you giggled, “...oh, baby, I fell down with the whole rack!” You laughed once again at how ridiculous you had to look when you had been found by the Colonel.

Buck chuckled finally, too.

“I’m so clumsy, it’s embarrassing,” you sighed.

“No, don’t say that,” he caressed your cheek. “Where does it hurt?” He asked.

You pushed your blanket aside and he hissed at the sight of your scratched knees and bruised hip.

“Yeah, not a very pleasant sight,” you admitted and covered yourself again. “The Colonel is more worried about that rack, though.”

“Of course he is,” Buck rolled his eyes.

“I’m scared that I’ll end up with scars on my knees,” you whispered. “I’m going to have ugly knees.”

“Well, that’s what you get for not listening to me, doll,” Buck bopped you on the nose.

“Will you still love me when I have ugly knees?” You asked shyly and he laughed.

“Oh, no, I can’t bear such a thought. I think I will be forced to look for a new girl with nicer knees. You see, knees are the most important part of a woman,” he teased but you didn’t find it funny and you pouted. “Oh, darling, I was joking,” he leaned in closer to place a kiss on your forehead. “I will always love you,” he promised and you smiled at him sweetly, “even with ugly knees.”

“Cleven,” Colonel’s voice made you both look up, “you should be in the interrogation.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’m going now,” Buck put his cap back on and stood up.

“Both you and your girl are such menaces today,” Colonel Harding gave you an unpleasant look and you giggled.

“Oh, Colonel,” you rolled your eyes, “don’t you know trouble comes in pairs?”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

[thehauntedetheral]

Hello! Since i saw ur bio that you take requests and i want to ask for a yandere boyfriend that wants to marry you immediately since you guys were at the right age, (hes 21 and the y/n is 20)

And I'm going to add something, like the boyfriend gets too jealous whenever there's other boys are looking at y/n or other people

(i don't know if you take baby fever? kind of thing, though just the boyfriend wanting a baby with you once you accept his marriage)

And just a headcannon of boyfriend getting so, sooo jealous whenever you get crushes on fictional men, you can add what you think of this! So and Is it okay if I give him a name? If yes, then Elliott, Thank You!

Keep up the good work! I really love it! And i also hope you'll do a part two of the Yandere Dom Kidnapper!

If you need ideas please do say!

(sorry for any grammar, english is not my first language! 😭)

Thank you for your idea. I hope you like this fic. And yes please keep sending me ideas. I love writing for you all.

Yandere Possesive (Dark)

Requests are open !

• You and Elliott dated throughout the high school. He was older than you but only by one year.

• You were happy with him. He is caring, charming, has a good humour with which he always tries to make you laugh. He is love of your life and you are his.

• You and Elliott were in same college as he doesn't want to be away from you no matter what. Recently you celebrated your 20th birthday with him. Everything went well only the plot twist was that Elliott proposed to you on your birthday night. You love him and you know he is the only one you want to marry but not now. You were just 20 and Elliott 21.

• But after much convincing or more like manipluating Elliott convinced you to say yes. Life didn't changed much only the difference now was that you were engaged. You thought to yourself that you were just being anxious about marrying too young but was not a issue atleast to you and Elliott as he was a really good patner.

• Elliott would bring flowers for you weekly, cook delicious meals for you, read a book to you while you snuggle in his arms, go out on dates with him, watch movies, bake together, talk with each other till late night and then falling asleep in each others arms.

• But as no one is perfect and everyone has their own flaws. Elliott had them too. He was extremely jealous and possesive about you that it many times led you two to an argument which always ended with Elliott fucking you against the wall or wherever you are making you beg for him while he would ask you

"Who do you belong to, darling?"

• You were talking to a man who was not him for some college project? This man becomes extremely jealous. That after your conversation he threatens the poor boy to stay away from you.

• You loved your stuffed teddy and would often cuddle with it. Well this man is even jealous of your teddy bear. What can I say whatever or whoever catches your attention he gets jealous of it and when you ask him one day "have you seen my bear?" "No. Darling but don't worry I am here cuddle me whenever you want until we find that stuffed bear". When in reality he has thrown that bear to a very distant place in jealousy. This man wants your attention 24/7 on him. Madly obsessed with you.

• You read many romance books and whenever you compliments some fictional character he gets jealous and says "Let's recreate those spicy smut scenes of your novel so I can show you how much better I am than him."

• A guy tried to flirt with you when you were hanging out with him at bar? Elliott beats that person until he is an bloody mess.

• When some random boy looks at you a bit long kisses you infront of them. To show how you belong to him just as he belongs to you.

• This man worships you like a goddess but is a freaking dominant in sheets fucking you until you are a dumb drooling mess.

• Elliott often thinks about you with a glowing round belly pregnant with his child. Having babies of you two. Showing it to the whole fucking world that you are only his and carrying his child. Hence leading to his baby fever.

• Would often show you cute videos of babies and saying "Our's will be more adorable with your pretty eyes, darling".

• Shops all the cute baby stuff he finds under the saying of "For future, darling". While you just ignored his baby fever thinking it's just a phase.

• You both got married on the fixed date in a beautiful church.

• Elliott cries like a baby while seeing you walk down the aisle in a beautiful white wedding dress looking like an angel which you definitely are according to him.

• After marriage you thought Elliott's jealousy would become less as you are husband and wife now but it doesn't lessens even a bit. Hence leading to many arguments again.

• This arguments scares him thinking you might leave him so he baby traps you with him knowing too well you would never leave him while having a child. He knows he is fucked up. But no matter what he is never losing you. And after all you both love each other and the unborn baby so anything else doesn't matter to him. Now only you and the baby matters to him.

• Elliott knows that he is crazy for you. But after all love makes us do crazy things, right?

Requests are open !

For more yandere Reading:

[feasibilities]

Mrs. Muckraker | Thomas Shelby x Author!Reader ✍︎

✍︎ Synopsis: Your controversial writings catch the attention of local kingpin, Thomas Shelby. ✍︎ Warnings: Hatefuck, Dub-Con, Spanking, Manhandling, Period-Typical Sexism, Blackmail, Manipulation, Veiled Threats, Slurs, Shame ✍︎ Author's Note: My first full-length fic of 2025. I'm trying to tackle darker themes. Enjoy!

Your tendentious writings are causing a stir in the literary world, especially in Birmingham. You tackled hot-button topics like corruption, misogyny, crime, sexuality and more. Against the advice of your publisher, you refused to use a pen name to protect your identity. This led to a myriad of angry letters from local priests, husbands with shaky marriages, and stuffy bureaucrats like Inspector Campbell. You had also caught the attention of the Thomas Shelby, the patriarch of the family and leader of the Peaky Blinders. 

Against your instincts, you decided to spend an evening at the Garrison. You were surprised to see it empty with the exception of a few drunkards. After ordering a glass of whiskey, you saw Thomas emerge from the meeting room with a stern expression. Harry wordlessly poured him a glass of gin while you rolled your eyes at his acquiescence. Taking note of your irritation, Thomas sat next to you. 

“The Virginia Woolf of Birmingham, eh?” He teased. 

“I’m surprised someone like you knows who she is.” You retorted, sipping your whiskey. 

“Do tell, who am I?” He asked with a pompous tone.

“A witless cunt.” You criticized. 

“Very creative, sweetheart.” He praised sarcastically. 

“I am not your fucking sweetheart.” You shot back. 

“I suppose so. I thought you would be sweeter.” He purred, touching your hand. You snatched it away. His chuckling angered you even more. 

“Fuck off. I’m taking this to go, Harry.” You declared, walking to the door with the glass. 

“Before you leave, I have a preposition for you.” He said. You continued out of the pub without another word. 

—

The next morning, you found refuge at a local tea room. Your peace was swiftly interrupted by the crook you met the night before. 

“Nice to see you again.” He spoke, lighting a cigarette and sitting at the table. 

“Is this the only tea room in town?” You huffed.

“I’m a regular here, dove.” He replied, smoke ghosting in front of his mouth. 

“Fucking any woman that comes through the door doesn’t make you a regular.” You sniped. 

“I’ll take that as the compliment it was meant to be. I have news for you.” He said. 

“What news?” You complained. 

“Shelby Company Limited is willing to publish your next novel at a far better percentage than your current publisher.” He declared, handing you a copy of your contract with Orchid Publishing. You felt ill at what he could’ve done to get such a private document. 

“I’m not interested in anything under the table. Your intimidation tactics won’t work on me.” You said, handing it back. 

“Of course. I’m confident that you’ll sort everything out once you’re dropped due to public outcry and a ‘firm recommendation’ from Inspector Campbell.” He revealed, tapping the ash of his cigarette. You were almost impressed by his business acumen but refused to compliment him. Thomas saw the wheels turning and decided to take advantage of the opportunity. 

“If you’d like to discuss this further, I’ll be hosting a dinner for the Shelby Foundation. I would hate to see talent like yours go to waste.” He stated, pulling a golden envelope from his suit pocket. He sat it on the table and stared at you intently. You kept eye contact with him as you took the envelope in your hands. 

“I’ll let you know of my decision at the dinner.” You said plainly, standing up. He gave an affirmative nod as he watched you leave. 

Thomas provoked your ire like no other. His need to dominate every industry that came through Birmingham was close to swallowing you whole. You feared that your writings would be diluted under the authority of Shelby Company Limited. The wrong decision could end your career as you know it.

Arriving at the foundation dinner, your dress earned concupiscent gazes from male attendees and glares from their wives. You hurriedly took a glass of champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray. Dread wore on your face as you pondered the inevitable. 

“You clean up well.” A gruff voice whispered behind you. You were ready to elbow the man in the face until you realized it was Thomas. He circled you like prey while admiring your beauty. 

“For me?” He said arrogantly. 

“No, the invitation said formal. Don’t be so proud of yourself.” You replied, sipping from the flute. 

“Sure.” He said, looking you up and down once more. You felt butterflies in your stomach. A longtime colleague of his stopping by seemed to embolden his peacocking. You became an awkward background character to their lively conversation until his colleague recognized you. 

“She’s the spinster keeping up trouble in Small Heath?” He realized. You finally came to as you heard the insult. 

“She is but she’ll be an ally of ours soon, eh?” He smiled, placing a patronizing hand on your shoulder. You snatched his hand away and smashed the half-full flute on the floor

“Stupid fucking Birmingham scum, the both of you! You’re nothing but a stupid gypsy bastard with nothing to speak for but the money you’ve taken out of our pockets!” You shouted, causing the party to go silent. Thomas retreated into an aggrieved, icy quiet as the humiliation soaked in. Exasperated, you tilted your head waiting for a response. The partygoers, including his colleague, grew nervous at what could happen next.

“I’ll have to excuse myself. Carry on everyone.” He announced, walking to his study. Whispers traveled like a virus through the attendees as they were stunned at his allowance of your vituperative attack. Soon after, the festivities resumed while you were smoked a cigarette outside. As much as you hated it, you worried that you might’ve bruised his ego this time. You were also worried that you signed your death warrant as he was the most feared man in town. Sneaking past nosy attendees, you found the door of his study. You knocked and waited for an answer.

“Come in.” He said. You came in and stood at his desk. Before you could speak, Thomas began reading a scathing excerpt from your latest novel. 

“The Peaky Blinders can be compared to a family of plague rats. Spreading disease, death, and degeneracy wherever they end up. Thomas is the captain of a sinking ship and has no qualms about leaving his crew behind if they grow lame or impotent.” He read the excerpt as if it was a bedtime story. 

“I came to apologize and-“ You started before being cut off once more. 

“Thomas seems to think he can fuck and drink his way into being elected MP. This region has truly gone to shit if he is ever elected.” He read another excerpt. This time, you stayed silent to avoid any interruptions. He removed his glasses and sat back in his chair. 

“You forgot to notify me of your decision.” He said with an eerily calm tone. 

“I haven’t made one yet. I just came to apologize.” You said, trying to gauge his anger. 

“For what? The gypsy bastard part or the degeneracy commentary?” He said, feigning confusion. 

“For all of it, I suppose.” You relented, feeling deep shame. 

“Oh, no. Don’t apologize for speaking the truth.” He pushed back, standing up and walking to you.

“What?” You asked. 

“I’m pleased to let you know that I’m everything you said I am. A gypsy bastard. A drunk. A pest. An enjoyer of women. Now, what is your decision?” He heralded.

“I..can’t work with you. I would forego my morals.” You rejected. 

“Why not? A man like me would be great print.” He implored, walking closer. With each step he took forward, you took a step back. 

“The answer is no. I apologize for the outburst and I won’t write of you again.” You concluded, reaching for the doorknob. Suddenly, you were slammed against the wall with a painful grip on your face.

“The truth is that you need someone like me. Someone to keep you in line.” He threatened, eyes boring into yours. Your attempts to escape were hopeless as he relished in your panic.

“Let me show you something.” He whispered, slipping his other hand in the top of your dress. His hand stalled at your chest. Your heart jackhammered against his warm palm. 

“Feel that?” He asked. You nodded as you pulled your dress off your shoulders and moved his hand to your breast. Finally, you two kissed with a burning hatred for each other. You two yanked away each other’s clothing with such disdain. You found yourself bent over the cool mahogany of Thomas’ desk. You lifted your head to insult him before your head was roughly pressed back down. 

“Be a dear and stay still.” He said with condescension.

“Fuck you.” You spat, trying your best to hide your lust. He groped the soft flesh of your ass before landing a series of harsh smacks. Each slap evoked a wanton mewl from you. He went back to massage the tender flesh to vex you even more.

“Let’s make this quick…” He huffed as he plunged inside of you. Your back arched and another lecherous noise left you at the sensation. Soon after, your body began to lurch forward with his merciless thrusts. Your hands searched for purchase on the hard surface. Noise barely escaped your open mouth as the air was expelled from your lungs. Restrained groans came from Thomas while bruises formed on your hips. The stress of pleasure in your abdomen finally broke like an overextended rubber band. He watched as your body violently convulsed with rapture. When you finally came to, he kissed the back of your head. 

“You should get dressed.” He said coldly, slipping on his dress shirt. With shaky legs, you haphazardly dressed yourself. His lack of affection stung but you understood that it was his intention. 

“Hey, sign this before you go.” He said, handing you a pen and pointing to the empty line on the contract. 

[weirdsht]

What if i have an idea and it's orv's "incarnation kim dokja will be killed at the hands of the person he loves most" BUT it's reader and cale

May Our Fates Intertwine Once More - Cale/Reader

notes: 1. Anon I'm sorry for taking so long to write your req; and 2. I'm sorry to everyone who saw the small preview I posted before and thought it was fluff.

tags: fluff, no gender specified for reader, novel spoiler (sealed god's test), hurt no comfort, angst, death, canon divergence from 620

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

One moment you were next to Cale then the next second you’re standing in the middle of an unknown place with this weird half-transparent blue screen in front of you.

[Quest List:]

[1. Pass the tutorial

2. Launch a widescale attack on the safe zones during the eclipse 

3. Die after fighting a magnificent battle at the hands of the person who loves you the most]

“What the fuck…”

You cursed as you read what the screen says. You tried to see if you could touch it but something else popped up as soon as your finger made contact with it.

[WARNING!! WARNING!!]

[All injuries sustained in this body will be mirrored in your real body!]

“This isn’t my real body? But it looks the same.”

It really does. The only thing that has changed is your clothes. You’re wearing something that fits the image of a deity.

Still confused, you look around you. There’s nothing you recognized. But it does look like you’re somewhere abandoned.

[A message has arrived! Tap here to read!]

You tapped the new overlay that popped up and it instantly brought you to the message.

[Are you enjoying your lover’s original world?]

The anonymous message said. Immediately, you had an inkling as to who it could be.

“What the fuck? You must be that stupid god presence we felt back there.”

[Such brash words while talking to a god… Anyway, are you aware of where your lover is?]

“His around here too right? What the hell did you do to him?”

[Nothing much. His just under my test to overcome his despair. I’m waiting for him to be consumed by it so he can take my hand.]

“Knowing Cale, I'm sure he’ll overcome it. He’d rather die than work with you.”

[That’s where you come in dear.]

You feel like you can hear the god’s vile laughter even through the screen. But you wondered how you’d help meet Cale’s demise. Unless a demon possesses you to the point where you can’t control yourself, you won't do it.

Then it dawned on you.

The mission.

[3. Die after fighting a magnificent battle at the hands of the person who loves you the most]

“HAHAHAHAHAHA! You’re quite witty, aren’t you? On the bright side, I found out Cale loves me the most thanks to you.”

[It’s great, isn’t it? If you don’t do your missions you’ll be stuck here forever. If you do them you’ll die. Whatever you do you love must say goodbye. An instant recipe for despair.]

“We’ll see about that. You might be underestimating me too much.”

You pointed your middle finger towards the screen with messages before closing it.

Getting past the tutorial was easy. Turns out you have an inventory that contains countless supplies of food and other necessities. You also have the ability to summon monsters.

The same monsters your lover told you he fought in his previous life before becoming Cale Henituse.

“Ho? This is interesting. It feels like I’m playing a game of some sort.”

You said no one in particular as you read the descriptions of the monsters at your disposal. You spend the whole day navigating the screen that calls itself the “status window”. According to it, you have the whole day free today as the eclipse will happen tomorrow.

As you take yourself on a tour of your inventory one particular item catches your attention.

[Sword of Liubi Duplicate]

It was your sword. Well, a duplicate of it. It was given to you by Cale after you first met. Clicking on the sword, you read what properties would its copy have.

[A sword replicated from your world. It’s strong, probably one of the strongest swords on Earth 2 despite being nerfed. However, since it’s a duplicate it will only have half of its original prowess. It is still a remarkable weapon nonetheless.]

Some of the terms used like “nerfed” you don’t understand as they don’t exist in your world. But it still gave you a general idea as to what the status of your sword is.

Well, it’s better than nothing.

Plus you think the only time you’d have to use it is when you fight Cale so it’s better that it’s not as strong as before.

“Either way I die huh…”

You mumbled as you stared up at the ceiling of the abandoned house you found. Usually, a person would not be able to stay in such a place so leisurely. However, since the monsters won’t touch you it's a different story.

“What am I getting sad for? I was supposed to die way back! I’m just fulfilling it now…”

It’s the truth. If it wasn’t for your lover and his friends you would’ve died a long time ago. You guess someone bound to die early will die early.

You dismissed the thoughts of your death out of your head. Instead, you focused your energy on thinking about how you would get Cale to fight you so he could complete his mission.

With those thoughts in mind, you slowly fell asleep. 

“Okay, this is kind of fun… but I feel bad since Cale and the others are fighting the things I summoned.”

You’re on top of a building. A good distance away from Cale– no Kim Rok Soo’s safe zone but still near enough to be able to observe what’s happening.

“Is that Choi Han? At first I felt bad for them, but now I feel bad for myself. They’ll finish my babies in no time!”

Observing Choi Han and the others fighting, you kept summoning more monsters. The monsters you summon are regulated by the status window but you still find some joy in doing it.

It is getting tiring though.

You can’t believe you have to keep doing this for 24 hours straight. You’re not even getting paid…

[Alert!]

[One (1) of your “Grade 1 Taster Monsters” have broken from the pack]

[Alert!]

[Two (2) of your “Grade 1 Taster Monsters” have broken from the pack]

“What the hell? I swear my dearest must have an ancient power that allows him to gather powerful beings. His even stealing away my babies.”

You huffed in frustration as you watched two of your summons go over to Kim Rok Soo’s side.

“Isn’t this whole thing too good for me though? Everything I need to survive is free… And summoning monsters doesn’t cost anything.”

[It's the least I could do for someone bound to die either way]

That pesky god messaged you again.

“Well look at you being Mr. Nice. Are you flirting with me? Sorry, I’m taken.”

For emphasis, you brought up your ring finger that contained your engagement ring. As if flipping the god off.

[Blasphemous as ever. It tempts me to take you as one of my children. Too bad you won’t be able to take in the despair that comes as a price.]

“Yeah yeah. Just shut up. It’s not like I have any plans teaming up with a god.”

Sealed God shut up and you lived the next days in peace.

You have the monsters at your disposal that can do whatever you need them to do. And you have no quest assigned to you aside from that dying one. Your mind has also been at ease as you have a general plan as to how you’ll get your love to fight you one-on-one.

[New Mission Alert!]

[Summon one (1) Electric Eel in Gwangalli Beach]

Gwangalli Beach where is that? You have absolutely no idea. In fact, you’re tired of your status window acting as if you were from this world.

“I’m sure the monster will know where it is…”

Convincing yourself that your summons will know where it is you summoned a flying monster to take you to that place.

Luckily, your assumption was correct. In no time you were where you need to be.

“Status window summon one Electric Eel… Who named this thing? I mean it’s a snake that will be summoned from the sea, and has electricity as one of its powers. But Electric Eel? Seriously?”

After bashing the monster’s name a little, you summoned it.

“I’m sure you already know what to do…”

You mumbled to the monster before going away to hide before someone saw you.

All that’s left for you to do is watch and wait for your entrance.

3 days. That’s how many days it took for them to defeat the Electric Eel.

While everyone was doing that you were watching on top of the building. Your robed dress flows freely in the wind as you do so. There were a lot of instances you wanted to intervene. Wanted to go help the love of your life and the man you considered your brother.

But alas you couldn’t.

The status window with only one quest left reminded you of that every time.

[Are you ready for the final act?]

Sealed God messaged you again. As if laughing at your inevitable demise.

“Just watch my performance. It’ll be spectacular.”

For a moment you were tempted to curse him out as you usually would. However, you decided that if you’re gonna go out today, you’re going out with grace and elegance. It's only fitting as the fiance of a duke’s son.

[Player _____ will be killed at the hands of the person that loves them the most]

[The last arc of the game…]

[Starts Now]

Ignoring the status window, you ride the flying monster waiting for you. It’s the same monster that brought you to the beach before.

“I worked so hard just for you to defeat my baby.”

You gently spoke as you gracefully descended from the monster's back and onto the dead Electric Eel. 

“...That’s your baby?”

Kim Rok Soo mumbled quite mournfully. He was supposed to be your baby after all.

“Wait how are you even here?”

He asked. Looking at you curiously. 

“Oh, I’m the one summoning all the monsters you’ve been fighting. Was it fun? Ah, don’t ask me where they come from though. I have no idea where they came from. I can only summon them.”

You spoke as if there was nothing wrong. As if you guys aren't standing on the opposite sides of the battlefield.

“_____-nim…”

Choi Han, the man you have come to consider your brother, slowly called out to you.

“What are you doing?”

He asks, not minding the whispers from the people around you three.

“So that’s what happened to my Dark Tiger… Asking permission to borrow my things would have been appreciated, Your Highness.”

You addressed Alberu first before answering the swordmaster’s question.

“Don’t you still get it? Every play must end with the hero defeating the evil mastermind! And you Kim Rok Soo…”

The sword you summoned on the way here pointed towards your lover.

“You shall be the one who strikes the final blow.”

Kim Rok Soo’s brain connected the pieces. You smile while observing him. And that smile pissed him off.

Because you were smiling as if everything was okay.

As if you hadn’t just announced your death.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll be stuck here and die. You wouldn’t want that would you?”

“So I just have to kill you here?”

‘And then you’ll return to my arms in our world?’

You knew the silent question that lingered in the commander’s reddish-brown eyes.

“Yes.”

Yet you ignored it. Letting him believe that everything will be fine. That you will only die in this world. That nothing will happen to you in your world and all shall be well.

It was for his own good.

The only way for him to not fall into despair once more.

Drawing your sword once again, you beckoned for your lover to fight you.

“Everyone else stay back. I’ll summon another unranked monster if you interfere.”

“Follow what they say and just watch.”

You and Kim Rok Soo said before your powers clashed with each other.

Lightning after lightning struck you. However, your sword blocked most of them. Dodging the ones you couldn’t block.

When it was your turn to attack, you struck your sword towards Cale. Each slash either landed on the Indestructible Shield or was blocked by the Fire of Destruction.

“Your sword is stronger than this. I did not give you such a flimsy thing.”

Cale spoke as you failed to cut through his shield once more.

“Don’t worry this isn’t the one you gave– Ugh!”

A lightning struck you. Cale used it as an opportunity to land more hits.

“I was talking you know? You’re as rude as ever. Anyway, this one is a duplicate.”

Your sword managed to land a cut on the commander’s arm. Everyone else watched the two of you. People who don’t know you were wondering how can the two of you fight while bantering as if your lives aren’t on the line.

But not everyone in the audience didn’t know you. Two people in there knew you very well. 

“I’m going back first. Something about this feels off.”

Alberu told Choi Han who was gripping his scabbard tightly.

“His Majesty is going first?”

“Seems like it.”

You can Cale continued talking as you fight. It reminded you of the small talks he would engage you in as you train.

It reminded you that this is probably the last time you will be able to talk to him like this.

“Ow! That hurts you know!”

A particular attack from the Sky Eating Water rendered you unable to pick up the sword. Cale took this as an opportunity to hold you down using the trees summoned earlier to fight the Electric Eel.

You watch as Cale turns off his Sound of the Wind. He walks towards you at a leisurely pace, picking up your sword on the way. 

“I’m sorry.”

He said and you noticed his hand tremble ever so slightly.

“Don’t be. I’m happy that it’s you. Do you want to know what’s the prerequisite of my death?”

Cale did not answer but you said it anyway.

“I shall die by the hands of the one that loves me the most. That’s what it said.”

The commander’s eyes shook along with his hand.

“That’s why I’m glad…”

Blood spilt from your mouth as your sword stabbed your heart. From the corner of your eye, you could see Choi Han running towards where you are.

“_____-nim!”

Your brother called out to you as Cale let go of his control on the trees in favour of holding you instead. 

There’s still blood spilling from your mouth but that didn’t stop you from smiling at him. Your smile was weak and tired, but it was the best you could do at the moment.

“I’m fine…”

You assured Cale squeezing your hand.

“I’ll be waiting for you in our world. So don’t be sad okay? Remember you have to overcome despair.”

“Promise?”

Cale asked you as he cradled your body in his chest.

“I promise.”

You left out the part that you’ll probably be dead or dying when he sees you. 

Weakly, but full of determination you raised your left hand to link your pinkies together. The diamond in your engagement ring shone as you did. Meanwhile, your right hand is being held by Choi Han.

They said that your life will flash in your eyes at your last moments. No such thing happened to you. But you did remember a conversation that you and your lover had prior to this whole thing.

“So you’re birthday is on November 8th? Why are you only telling me this now? There’s so little time to prepare a gift for you!”

“What are you talking about it’s still so far away?”

“No, it’s not! It’s not enough time for me to prepare the perfect gift for you.”

That’s right, today is November 8 in this world. It’s Cale’s birthday…

“In Raon’s castle… My gift is there. He should know about it…”

“You can just give it to me yourself when we get back.”

Cale answered and you almost laughed at his cluelessness.

“...Happy birthday my love. May you always find happiness.”

Those were your last words before you took your last breath. Before your body slowly turned into dust in Cale’s hold.

But Cale wasn’t in despair even as you die.

He may be sad, but he wasn’t in despair.

It was because he was holding onto your words that you’d meet him back home.

That’s how Cale was able to pass the Sealed God’s test.

But why…

“MOVE ASIDE, LET PENDRICK AND SAINT-NIM HANDLE IT!”

Why was the first thing he heard as soon as he came back Alberu’s shouting when he was supposed to be in his castle making preparations?

“CALL FOR MORE HEALERS WE’RE LOSING _____-NIM!”

“_____ wake up. Please wake up.”

Alberu and Raon’s voice rang on his head. 

At that moment. Rosalyn and Eruhaben noticed that he was back. They quickly greeted him before calling over Raon and Sherrit to remove the barrier that surrounded him.

“What’s happening?”

Cale asks as he enters the room where the shouts are coming from.

The sight made him stop in his tracks.

Laying on a grass bed that’s similar to where he was just a few minutes ago was his lover. His fiance.

They were lying there. Bleeding.

On the heart.

Exactly where Cale had stabbed them back on Earth.

A realisation dawned on him at the moment.

You just promised that you would meet him back home.

You did not promise that you would meet him alive.

Cale, the fool, had only assumed you would.

[aspergerasparagus]

I need a little story centered around Toon Frankie and Toon Lucky, I don't know why but I need it, you write like a god, you've already made me laugh and cry, you are the best

(Obviously don't listen to me, it's still cool how you describe these questionable bunnies)

Short little bit that I might expand on like I did with the dreams one as I do have ideas for where this could lead. Anyway have Toon actually being kinda... nice. If only temporary. Also might follow it up depends if I get the energy.

None of the Frankies had expected it to happen, who would? Something like this only happened in sci-fi novels or those cheesy British tv shows the fans watched. But when it did happen of course to say it was a shock would have been an understatement, the rabbit had practically bolted to the other side of his living space when the brown bunny had materialized into existence. He couldn’t explain why it had happened but given how panicked the knock-off had been at the loss of his precious little money maker, it seemed it had been unplanned. Their real body was still outside, in the real world, currently sleeping soundly in a makeshift medical ward. While their mind was here, taking the form not too dissimilar to that of the cartoon. Large lopped ears trailed behind them, tufts of fur dotted their face (similarly to how their mask used to Frankie noted), and they had the similar coiled springs for limbs mimicking the other rabbit. The main differences of course were the colours. Lucky was sporting a new coating of brown fur, similar to his original hair tone, not to mention actually wearing clothes other than just a hat like Frankie did. 

If Frankie was being honest with himself, which he obviously wasn’t about to begin to do, Lucky looked… cute. Obviously he still wore a perpetual frown and large bags under his heavily lidded eyes, but still he was kinda cute. It was also so strange to see him able to emote and actually show how he felt given that without the mask he could show different facial expressions. Yes most of them were ranging from displeased to outright furious, but still. It was… nice. Not that Frankie would admit such a thing! It just made him easier to read, is all!

Their immediate reaction had been to freak out (to put it lightly), Lucky more so. He’d lashed out at the toon the moment he laid eyes on him and realised where he was. Blaming him for all this and trying to swing at him. Of course he wasn’t used to his new body and the “rules” that were less so well enforced here meaning he’d over extended himself and crashed into a heap, only worsening the situation as Frankie tried not to laugh. He had looked hilarious, wrapped up in the mess of tangled limbs as he tried desperately to get them back under his control. Frankie hadn’t seen them so flustered before so had taken the opportunity to have a few digs at them. How could he not? This was the funniest thing he’d seen in ages, even if it was highly confusing.

That had been until he’d heard the man choke. He sounded like he was gasping, like something was lodged in his throat but that couldn’t be the case. Letting his laughter catch in his throat the rabbit regarded the other toon in front of him, genuinely starting to worry now. He’d never seen them like this before, their eyes wide and unfocused as they gasped for air, their whole body trembling and heaving. He had heard Frankie yelling something in the distance, trying to get his lucky contestant to calm down, to focus on their breathing but it didn’t seem like he could hear the other rabbit. It was… unpleasant. This wasn’t how this bastard was supposed to act.

Hesitantly the toon had knelt down in front of Lucky, clicking his fingers in front of them. It had taken a few attempts and him yelling their name but eventually he saw their eyes come back into focus as they locked on him, their whole body shaking violently now and he was pretty sure they were going to pass out if this continued any longer. 

“Hey, get yourself together! You’re freaking me out alright…” Frankie tried to mask his anxiety behind a more aloof attitude but even he could hear the fear creep into his voice.

He’s seen other contestants like this before. When they cowered in fear knowing their end was soon closing in on them. Then it was funny to watch them as they practically wet themselves in fear and just froze up. But seeing it up close like this, and with it being Lucky… it wasn’t nearly as funny anymore. He really didn’t like it. He heard The Other calling to him, telling him to try and get Lucky to calm down. Easier said than done, you waste of scrap! How the hell was he supposed to get this stupid human(ish) to calm down before he keeled over?!

Wracking his brain, Frankie finally just decided to wing it. Taking a deep breath to steady himself (and to calm them now brightening blush on his cheeks) he gently took their trembling hands into his own and nuzzled against his cheek softly. The effect was almost instant as he felt Lucky immediately freeze, taken aback by the sudden contact. Frankie couldn’t help the soft purr that escaped him as Lucky slowly reciprocated and buried his face against his neck, the grip on his hands tightening as he grounded himself. 

The rabbit couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to his dream. Having Lucky so close like this, snuggled against him as he felt their hot breath against his neck. He had to bite his lip to suppress the shiver, but there was also something else. Just having someone else like this, so close to him, it was… nice. No, it was more than that. Of course he wouldn’t call himself touch starved but it was just that. He needed this just as much as the panicking man did.

After a minute or so, he felt Lucky pull away, his arms having now returned to their normal position as his breathing finally settled. He looked a little shaken still but as he faced the toon he gave him a small smile. A genuine one.

“Thank you, I’m sorry about that. I haven’t had one of those in awhile but this isn't exactly a normal situation…” He trailed off as he seemed to suddenly get embarrassed. Frankie could only mumble out a small “it’s fine”, the colour of his cheeks returning full force now. He really wasn’t used to seeing Lucky like this. He was usually so strong headed and sure of himself, so it was unusual to see him so… vulnerable. Frankie wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“Don’t do that again okay? It freaked me out. But… at least you seem okay now. So that’s good…” He was almost pouting now, flustered at the whole ordeal, but his statement seemed to have tickled the contestant who just chuckled and gave the rabbit a smirk.

“Oh, is that concern for me I see? Puffball I am surprised, didn’t think you cared.” Oh no, there he was. The nickname and attitude was doing nothing for the rabbit who was begging that he was wasn't giving too much away. Instead Frankie just tried to shot the man a sour look before getting to his feet to huff.

“I absolutely don’t care! But you having a fucking panic attack isn’t exactly going to be great for me, especially if your little owner sees me doing nothing about it! I had no choice in the matter!” He was on the defence and hopefully the other rabbit would just see it as his typically aggressive attitude, nothing else. But given the small hmm he heard behind him, they were obviously seeing right through him, like they had in the dream, however they kept their mouth shut. Thankfully. Instead he heard Lucky unsteadily get to his feet as he went to reassure The Other who practically had his face glued to the screen demanding his little money maker reassure him, while shooting daggers at his boss.

Meanwhile Frankie could feel his face beginning to burn. All he could do was yank on his ears and try to bury his face against them, trying to do anything to calm his racing heart down. How was he supposed to deal with this?! Especially with his dream racing in his head. This was going to be a nightmare. Unless... Eyeing the other rabbit over, his thoughts turned darker. Maybe he could make his dream a reality after all. If he played his cards right.

[grippingbeskar]

warmth

ೃ⁀➷ joel miller x fem!reader

❥ content warning; forced proximity, dub!consent, somnophelia, dry humping, swearing

❥ a/n; based on this request! i've had some time off, and am still going through a bit of a strange time in my life, but your guys requests always inspire me to write and create, even if its just a lil bit of joel smut. hehe.

masterlist <3

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

“So this is fun.” You say into the dwindling light of the run down shithole you and Joel are calling home for the night. “Nice and cosy.”

“Cosy?” He parrots, and looks over to what was once a gaping hole in the side of the cabin. You shrug, and sink yourself further into the bundles of blankets you managed to secure.

“S-sure.” Your teeth chatter from the icy surroundings, defeating your point. “Are you sure we can’t start a tiny little fire in here?”

“Whole place is made of wood, darlin’. You’d be toast by mornin’.” His heavy accent floods your body with much needed heat, and you find yourself scooting closer to him on the floor you’ve made your make shift beds on.

“Toast sounds p-pretty good right now.” He laughs slightly, eyes catching your own before dropping back to his lap.

He watches you shift around, bundling yourself closer to trap any body heat you’ve managed to build up, and then takes one of the blankets off the top of his sleeping bag and throws it over you.

“Joel.” You say wistfully, but immediately snatch at the new blanket and add it to your pile. “You’ll get c-cold too.”

“I’ll live.” He says simply, and lays down about a foot away from you. “We should get some sleep.”

“Right.” Your voice is breathless, but still makes a few puffs of cold air as you move yourself down onto the floor of the cabin.

You’re calling it a cabin, but it’s more like a barn the way it’s laid out. It’s smack bang in the middle of a dense forest, with hay everywhere, even in a pile that crunches underneath every time you or Joel shift. It also doesn’t help the fact you are covertly trying to get closer to him— both wanting to steal his body heat and just be close to him.

Joel is a hard man to read. At first you thought he hated you, with all his prolonged silences and gruff remarks. Then, you thought he saw you as a somewhat annoying distant cousin. One that you’d socialise with for a few hours, but then quickly get sick of and look for an excuse to leave them until the next gathering. Once the family bond idea was thoroughly stamped out in a few of his secret heated gazes, or the way his hands would linger on your hips when he unnecessarily lifted you up onto your horse, it was just confusing.

But, you were determined to figure the man out. It’s not like he wouldn’t have your undivided attention anyways. He was a freaking cowboy— straight out of a romance novel. Thick accent, gentlemanly charm and an ass to die for. You were only human.

Still, the hay crunched as you tested your boundaries little by little, as you have been over the past few weeks. Getting closer, lingering longer, smiling sweeter. And it had… well, it affected him in some way, you were sure. But you just don’t know what way. God forbid you go back to the distant cousin stage—

A blast of wind slips through a crack in the walls, and you shudder and ball yourself up.

If Joel hears you, he says nothing, so you just drag the blanket he gave you off the top of your pile and down into the middle so it pressed against you. It smelt just like him— pine and wood and… maybe a little dirt. You two had been travelling for days, and he refused to let you get your hands dirty, so it would make sense.

You buried your face in it, warming the cold tip of your nose and trying to muffle your chattering teeth. It’s a good thing you were covering you mouth, because you nearly squeal when Joel whips around, his chocolate eyes staring right into yours.

“You alright?” He asks, his voice heavy with sleep, and you’d feel bad if his voice didn’t sound so goddamn sexy like that. Right out of a romance novel, you swear.

“Mhmm.” You manage to squeak out, your face covered up to your eyes.

“You lyin’?” He asks, and you repeat yourself. “C’mere.”

At first you’re confused, scrunched eyebrows giving you away. Then Joel pulls back the covers a little, physically inviting you into his chest, and you take the hint embarrassingly fast.

All of a sudden, you’re tucked into Joel’s warmth, surrounded by the smell the blanket only gave you a hint of. You stay face to face, enjoying the ease at which his body warms your hands and nose, and one of his arms drape over your side, keeping itself respectfully in the middle of your body.

Respectfully, you wouldn’t mind if he wandered a little lower, but you tried to keep those feelings at bay.

“Warmer?” He asks tightly as you cling to him, nodding quickly. He mumbles something else, a rough sound only discernible by the way his chest rumbles with it, your cold hands slowly thawing out against it.

"T-thanks." His arm wraps around you tighter when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, the cord of your strange relationship tangling ever so slightly just like your legs do under the covers. "Nice and cosy."

You giggle at your own joke, and he scoffs. "Christ. Go to sleep."

Your laughter fades off as your breathing evens out, and pretty soon you're drifting off into sleep, Joel's arms keeping you warmer than ever.

*you can stop reading here if you aren't a whore. however, i am, so i will continue*

It must be a few hours before your eyes open again. Joel is fast asleep, soft puffs of hair warming the top of your head as your eyes flutter open to complete darkness. You've tangled even more in your sleep, unconsciously wanting to be closer, not just for warmth.

His strong leg nestled between your thighs has nothing to do with body warmth.

When you start to gain a little more of yourself from the cover of sleep, theres a mess between your legs you can't deny. Joel moves slightly as you stir, a choked little whimper escaping your throat as he pushes against you just right. Theres no part of you effected by the cold wind outside— your whole body floods white hot, two strong arms trapping you to feel nothing but the way he's against you.

It's wrong. You should pull away, or wake him up, or do something to drive a wedge between you and Joel. You hardly know for sure if he likes you, let alone wants you like...this.

Then he shifts again, a little roll of his body sending sparks up your stomach, and you make a small sound again.

"You enjoyin' yourself?" You freeze, eyes squeezing shut as you try to deny your body the sleepy pleasure it's taking from him.

"J-joel—" You squeak, a noise embarrassingly high pitched, but his hand tightens on your hip and alleviates some of the nerves.

"It's alright, darlin'. You take what you need." He murmurs, and dips his head, pressing a light kiss underneath your ear. Your hips roll experimentally, and he hums in approval. “That’s it. That’s it.”

"I... oh god, Joel." His hand guides you forward and back, setting a slow but intense fire in your tummy that licks higher and higher every shift.

"How's it feel? Good?" He kisses you again, this time on your cheek.

"S-so good."

"You got no idea how many times I wanted to wake up like this..." You think of all the times you've slept mere inches away from him, but never having the guts to make the move. "Can feel how wet you are f'me."

You shiver, getting more restless as he starts to grind you against his thigh a little faster than before, rocking into you as you slump against his chest again. His free hand grabs your jaw harsher than you expect, bringing your face to his to kiss you hungrily. It's messy and consuming, teeth bashing together as the two of you attempt to find a rhythm that doesn't stop the sweetness of your bodies colliding together.

It shouldn't feel as good as it does, the way your clit runs easily along his now slick thigh, your heart stuttering in your chest as you hear him groan into your mouth, clearly feeling as pent up as you are. The hand on your hip locks under your thigh then, hitching it up higher on his side, the new angle making it all the more intense and having you whine into the kiss.

Joel's tongue dominates your mouth, fills you with the taste of him you've imagined in countless nights alone but never quite perfected. He's overwhelming— pulling you up and on top of him all while keeping your mouth tightly sealed to his own. He swallows your little noises, covering them with his own groans and sighs of your name as you ride him, your mind racing with images of how he'd feel under all these layers.

"Fuck, darlin' I'm not gonna last if you keep..." He breathes out, hands travelling down your back to cup your ass. You lean down and kiss him messily, and move your hips at your own pace, chasing your high.

"It's okay— please, Joel." He grumbles something against your lips, and you just shake your head. "We can do whatever… whatever you want later. Just keep going."

He shudders, your hint of permission enough to send him over the edge. You manage to open you eyes and look at him when he cums, his eyelashes fluttering and his tight jaw going slack with pleasure. That paired with the feeling of his muscles going tight and the way he says your name, you cum with him, your hands gripping tight on his curls and you muffle yourself once again into the crook of his neck.

Neither of you have the energy to move, your overwrought nerves and exhausted body collapsing on top of him. He keeps kissing you lazily, the way your tongues tangle together indulgent of each others tastes. His arms move around you, tucking you in to the blankets so that no part is exposed to the cold, and when your body is covered he gives his hands free reign to roam your skin.

Rough pads of his fingers trail up your spine, pushing up under the layers of clothes to feel your skin against his. As you settle into his soothing touches, the reality that the two of you just came on each other like teenagers has you all hot in the face and shut your eyes tight. He pulls away, his nose nudging your face to look at him.

“You okay, baby?” He says softly, a little smirk on his face when you manage to sneak a look at him. You nod shyly, and his hands drop lower and settle on your ass again before trailing up. “That was… unexpected.”

You look down. “I’m really sorry if I just—“

“No, baby no. Not bad. Good… fucking perfect. Wish I could wake up to that every morning.” He grins, and it takes years off his usual scowling face. “Just thought I’d maybe… take you out first. I got no problem skippin’ straight to dessert though, if that’s what you want.”

“Dinners good.” You smile, and he seems a little relived at that, like maybe he might enjoy it just as much as what comes after. “Desserts good, too.”

He laughs, the sound bouncing off the wooden box of a cabin you’re stuck in, but with Joel holding you like this, the cabin is quickly becoming one of your favourite places in Jackson.

[abigailnussbaum]

The Georgette Heyer Master List

Is it just me, or has Georgette Heyer kind of... gone away? Ten, maybe fifteen years ago, she was a name I'd hear quite often. Especially in the circles of science fiction and fantasy fandom that also overlapped with the avid readership of Jane Austen or Patrick O'Brian, she was often recommended as a sort of Austen methadone. Over at Tor.com, as it was then known, fantasy author Mari Ness did a whole season of reading through Heyer's voluminous back-catalogue. These days, even as romance writing—and especially Regency romance, the subgenre that Heyer arguably created—has gained enormous mainstream visibility, and as science fiction and fantasy romance has become its own wildly successful subgenre, Heyer seems to come up less and less. One might have expected the success of Bridgerton, for example, to inspire some film or TV adaptations of her books (it was, after all, the reason the Austen fanfic series Sanditon came back from being cancelled after its first season), but so far nothing.

This might be one of those cases where the answer is contained in the question. The reason fewer people are reading Heyer is that, although she more or less created Regency romance, there are so many people writing within it now that readers looking for something like Jane Austen, but not quite, have a lot of other options on offer. Which makes it easier to notice the problems with Heyer, or simply the ways in which her style has fallen out of fashion. There is no sex in her books (and no queerness, obviously), but there are poisonous sexual mores—all her heroes have had mistresses who are, quite obviously to them and everyone around them, not the sort of woman one marries, while her heroines, even at the moment of declaring their love to their HEA, feel obliged to "resist" any physical display of affection. Her books are rife with chauvinism, antisemitism, and most of all classism (and frankly, I think the only reason racism is absent is that everyone in these books is white), and while this is arguably more realistic than a lot of starry-eyed modern Regency romances, it is also a reflection of Heyer's own prejudices.

Still, I took in all those recommendations a decade or more ago, and while I may be slow I will usually get around to reading something if a lot of people tell me I should. In the last year I've ended up reading a lot of Heyer—mostly stuff I had in my enormous TBR, or found at a used bookstore, or at the local library, so there's not a lot of intentional choice happening here. I'm not here to say that Heyer is an overlooked gem. All those problems noted above are very much present in her writing, and in addition she has some favorite tropes that she goes back to again and again—in a mere twelve books, the plot strand in which one character is kidnapped across the channel to France, while another character pursues them, going deep into the logistics of finding them and catching them up, recurs a surprising number of times. But she's nevertheless a more interesting writer than I think is commonly acknowledged today, more likely to pay attention to the psychology of her characters (and not in the modern, sometimes quite exhausting, therapy-speak way), and more interested in her setting (Heyer also wrote historical fiction, and some of her romances shade into that genre). I dipped into some of Julia Quinn's Bridgerton novels this year as well, and I have to say, beyond the fact that Heyer is just a better writer, it's a bit more palatable to encounter nasty sexual politics in novels written in the 40s and 50s, than to have to accept that the implied threat of sexual violence is but a stepping stone to true love from a writer whose books were published only twenty years ago.

Below are some thoughts on the Heyer books I've read so far. I will add to them when and as I read new ones, though I think I will continue to leave the selection of those books to happenstance.

S-Tier

Cotillion (1953) - This is the first Heyer I ever read, and to an extent it has spoiled me for the rest of her writing by being such a high water mark. Kitty Charing has been informed by her guardian that she will be forced to marry one of his nephews, and instead decides to run off to the city to find her own match, with the help of gadabout Freddy. The two end up first pretending to be engaged, and then trying to throw Kitty in the path of eligible bachelors, while inevitably falling in love themselves. This is a great book first because it's extremely funny. Heyer had a great ear for the absurd slang of the fashionable London set, and gets a lot of mileage out of Kitty's cheerful refusal to let logic or common sense stop her, and Freddy's Regency himbo antics. More importantly—and rather rarely for Heyer's writing—Kitty and Freddy are true equals. They're both a bit silly and a lot sheltered, but also able to rise to the occasion when it's required, and they lock into each other's wavelength early in the novel and never let go. Inasmuch as they change each other, it's only in revealing that they are able to pull off audacious schemes when someone they care about needs them to, and you can imagine the two of them having a long, ridiculous partnership in crime for the rest of their lives.

Sylvester, or the Wicked Uncle (1957) - Informed that Lord Sylvester, who has a bad reputation that is only partly earned, is about to propose marriage to her, Phoebe runs off with her best friend Tom. When the two of them run into trouble on the road, they are rescued by none other than Sylvester, which throws him and Phoebe together for extended periods, with predictable results. This format—older, powerful man; younger, sheltered woman—is one that Heyer returns to quite often, but it works better here than in any other of her novels. Sylvester isn't cruel or a rake; he's arrogant and high-handed, though often with some justification (most of his bad reputation comes from his self-absorbed, thoughtless sister-in-law). Phoebe isn't a naif, but an intelligent woman with a hidden career as an author that she's quite devoted to. The two of them develop a compelling friendship long before they fall in love, rooted in the fact that they are often the smartest person in the room, and able to help each other steer a tricky situation towards calm waters. The twist that threatens their relationship—before meeting him, Phoebe wrote a novel in which the villain was a thinly-veiled version of Sylvester—is highly original, and the novel's final act, in which Sylvester must pursue Phoebe and his kidnapped nephew into France, is one of the most hilarious sequences I've ever read. By the time the two get together, it's obvious that they could only be happy with each other.

Good

False Colors (1963) - Returning from his diplomatic post abroad, Kit Fancot discovers that his twin brother Evelyn has disappeared, right before he was about to propose to Cressida Stavely. Persuaded by his mother to impersonate his twin for one night, Kit quickly finds himself hosting Cressida and a whole raft of other characters in his country home, while trying to keep up the charade and, of course, keep from falling in love with Cressida himself. This is a book that's interesting more for the background than the main romance—Kit and Cressida are quite sweet, but more because they're a point of calm amidst the chaos of all their relatives and friends. But it's that chaos—especially Kit's mother, an airheaded inveterate gambler whom Kit nevertheless adores— that is the real source of the novel's fun. The fact that Kit and Cressida are able to put all the various crises around them to rest is what convinces you that they will be a good couple, but it's not their further adventures that you'd like to follow.

Charity Girl (1970) - While visiting relatives, Ashley Desford encounters Charity Steane, the penniless ward of a family who are mistreating her. When Ashley later finds Charity running away, he convinces her to let him try to find her a respectable situation, and places her with his childhood friend Henrietta Silverdale. In any other novel you'd expect Ashley and Charity to fall in love (and indeed this is what several characters in the novel assume—when they're not assuming something more salacious). Instead, Ashley's efforts to untangle Charity's family situation, get the best of her odious relatives, and find a safe place for her are a method of throwing him in company with Henrietta, whom he has for years insisted is only a friend. It turns out that Ashley and Henrietta, having rebelled against their families' plan to marry them off at a too-young age, have been shame-facedly pretending that they haven't fallen in love for ten years, and it's only by becoming jointly responsible for Charity that they can work their way around this predicament. The stakes aren't particularly high, but the scenario is original enough (especially for Heyer) to make this a worthwhile read.

Interesting

These Old Shades (1926) - Infamous rake Justin Alastair encounters a runaway, Léon, on the streets of Paris and takes him in as his page. It doesn't take long to realize that Léon is actually Léonie, but the untangling of her convoluted family history—a tale of swapped babies, mistaken identities, and false heirs—is the business of much of the novel, during which, of course, Justin and Léonie also fall in love. The potboiler plot is quite fun, as is Léonie herself—having pretended to be a boy for years, she is at once indifferent to the mores she's expected to adopt as a respectable young lady, and immediately won over by fancy clothes and balls, which allows her to triumph over opponents in both high and low society. But this can't quite get around the problem that Justin is twice Léonie's age, and also a pretty bad person (the character previously appeared in The Black Moth (1921), where he was the villain, and a subplot in These Old Shades even throws Justin into the company a woman he had kidnapped in the previous book). Despite the force of Léonie's argument that she actually wants to be with Justin, this is a book better enjoyed for its rollicking, adventurous middle than its romantic conclusion.

An Infamous Army (1937) - Heyer was simply mad for the Napoleonic wars, and this is one of several books she wrote set in and around them. As aristocrats and officers await the arrival of Napoleon's army in Brussels, Colonel Charles Audley encounters Lady Barbara Childe, a widow with a scandalous reputation. The two feel an instant, powerful attraction, but end up having to navigate Barbara's habit of playing games with her suitors, and Charles's impatience with them, before the battle of Waterloo erupts and forces them both to confront more pressing issues while also realizing the depth of their feelings for each other. It's nice to have a central couple who are older, more experienced people, but An Infamous Army steps away from Charles and Barbara quite often. Sometimes this is quite interesting—the absurdity of 18th century warfare, with Wellington throwing balls for the who's who gathered in Brussels while everyone debates when to flee the city—and at other points quite tedious—several subplots in which Charles's extended family play forgettable matchmaking games. In the end, however, Heyer's interest is in Waterloo itself, with the novel culminating in an 80-page, blow-by-blow description of the battle. This can sometimes be quite moving, when it captures the sheer extent of the carnage, or the confusion of individual officers. But mostly it's just descriptions of military tactics, which is not what I signed up for when I picked up a Regency romance. By the time Charles and Barbara find their way back to each other, you'll mostly be feeling exhausted rather than overjoyed.

A Civil Contract (1961) - Adam Deveril is called home from the peninsula by the news that his father, a viscount, has died, and that the family finances are in such dire straits that Adam may be forced to sell their ancestral estate. The only solution, Adam is quickly made to realize, is for him to marry rich, to which end he's introduced to Jenny Chawleigh, the daughter of a fantastically rich but boorish merchant. In most books we'd expect Adam and Jenny to fall in love, and it takes a while to realize that this is not going to happen. Adam continues to think wistfully about Julia, the woman he had been attached to before his finances made the idea of proposing to her impossible, and the narrative is at pains to point out that he doesn't feel any attraction towards Jenny. What A Civil Contract is about, instead, is class relations. The complicated push and pull between Adam and Jenny's father Jonathan as they negotiate one's social position, and the other's wealth; the delicate negotiations between Adam and Jenny as she learns to understand the importance of tradition to him, and he realizes that she is actually capable of being a great viscountess if he just trusts her a little. The whole thing is a lot more Edith Wharton than Jane Austen, with some great scenes in which Adam is torn between genuine appreciation of Jonathan's energy and intelligence, and disgust at his determination to tear down everything old and replace it with whatever is newest and most expensive. In the end, however, it's all a bit too bleak, and Heyer doesn't quite have the courage to let us sit with that. She tries to assure us that Adam and Jenny have found a genuine partner in each other, and that this, too, is a form of love, but this is not very convincing. In the hands of another author, A Civil Contract would have been the half-tragedy it actually is.

Meh

The Convenient Marriage (1934) - Intending to propose to the eldest Winwood sister, who is already in love with someone else, the Earl of Rule is persuaded, by her younger sister Horatia, to marry her instead. That's basically the story—a marriage of convenience for both parties that turns into a romance. But while in other books Heyer has made a meal of this premise, The Convenient Marriage never convinces you of either its lovers being especially suited to each other, or the rather thin obstacles it places in their path. There are some interesting worldbuilding details—some information about how the invitations to Almack's used to work, or about the mechanics and norms of duel-fighting. And towards the end, there are some good scenes in which Horatia has to outsmart a kidnapper, or her brother has to arrange a highway robbery to retrieve a stolen jewel that might destroy her reputation. But ultimately, the fact that this is all in service of a couple who aren't particularly engaging (and whose age difference—35 and 17—is hard to get over) makes the whole thing a bit of a slog.

Cousin Kate (1968) - Kate Malvern is at the end of her rope, having been chased off yet another governess position by an employer with wandering hands, when a long-lost aunt invites her to visit her country home. When Kate arrives, she soon realizes that her aunt Minerva plans to pressure her to marry her cousin Torquil, and that there are secrets in the estate and the family that are being kept from her. This is Heyer working in the Gothic mode, complete with an isolated great house, a young woman being manipulated and lied to, and a dreadful family secret. It's reasonably well done for what it is, but there were better authors than Heyer working in the Gothic mode—by 1968 you could have read something like Mary Stewart's The Ivy Tree (1961) or Nine Coaches Waiting (1958), both of which do much more interesting, innovative things with the Gothic form than Heyer is even attempting. Finally, there is the fact that the dark secret being kept from Kate has to do with mental illness, whose handling is as tragic and sensationalized as you might expect from this author and era.

Yikes

Devil’s Cub (1932) - The sequel to These Old Shades, this book centers on Justin and Léonie's son Vidal, who has all of his parents' faults and none of their charms. After killing a man in a duel, he schemes to run off with a silly middle class girl, whom he of course feels no compunction about ruining. When her sister Mary takes her place, Vidal is shocked to realize that he has compromised a "respectable" woman, and tries to convince her to marry him. There are further twists, but none of them can get around the fact that the main character of this book is odious, and that the supposed love story between him and the girl he has kidnapped and ruined is highly unconvincing. Not helping matters is that an older Léonie periodically appears to explain that her son has done nothing wrong and that marrying Mary will obviously be the best thing for him, which frankly feels too much like the voice of the author for comfort.

The Spanish Bride (1940) - Based on the real experiences of Captain Harry Smith and his Spanish war bride Juana, this is another novel deeply rooted in the minutiae of the Napoleonic wars, beginning on the peninsula and culminating, of course, in Waterloo. In itself this might simply be boring, but right off the bat we get a scene in which Harry and other officers stand back while their soldiers, enraged after the bloody siege of Badajoz, murder and rape their way through the town for several days. Harry's marriage to Juana is arranged in the wake of this atrocity as a means of protecting her, despite her being only fourteen years old. The rest of the novel is spent careening between detailed descriptions of various battles, and cutesy interludes between Harry and Juana as they settle into their marriage—Harry often exasperated by Juana's stubbornness and emotional outbursts (I don't know, man; if you didn't want a wife who behaves like a child, maybe you shouldn't have married a child); Juana almost slavishly devoted to him but also prone to jealousy and anxiety. (Harry Smith left copious journals so one assumes his side of the story is fairly realistic; Juana Smith's feelings on the whole matter are, as far as I know, lost to history.) The whole thing is alternately boring and gross.

The Grand Sophy (1950) - Charles Rivenhall is informed that his family will play host to their cousin Sophy, whose diplomat father is being sent abroad. Accustomed to keeping house for her father, Sophy quickly takes over the Rivenhall household, rearranging her cousins' financial and romantic lives while a stunned Charles is at first outraged, and then won over. This is a solid premise, but the execution is appalling. Sophy is a bulldozer who interferes in people's lives not because she cares about them but because she always thinks she knows better, and eventually she comes to feel more like a bully than a savior. That Charles is attracted to these qualities might be taken as a defensive trauma response (or, in the hands of a more open-minded author, a kinky tendency), but at no point did I even begin to believe that Sophy had any romantic interest in him (there are a number of Heyer characters who would make a lot more sense if they were queer, but Sophy, in particular, is so clearly a lesbian that the very idea of her happily married to a man breaks one's brain). Adding insult to injury is a lengthy sequence in which Sophy "defeats" an odious Jewish moneylender—read, a collection of poisonous antisemitic stereotypes in human form—whom her cousin has borrowed money from and who, completely unreasonably, expects to be paid back until Sophy threatens him with a gun. I will no doubt ruffle some feather by placing this book—generally held to be one of Heyer's best—so low, but reading it nearly put me off her for life. 

[sarascamander]

Reading the cursed child (scorbus, norvelize version in a03). I read the script years ago when I was 11 (funfact it was the first harry potter book I've ever bought). So I'm rereading it again because I have a scorbus brainrot suddenly (11 y/o me shipped Scorpius and Rose so hard but now I grew up let just say my taste had change lmao).

List of thought gonna go longer as I read:

- yo Albus surly personality is basically me when I was 15 it was like looking into a mirror. Hold on there baby I understand you 😭

- I want to write a whole essay on Albus and Harry's relationship. They both are so precious but they just have a hard time with each other.

- Scorpius is the sunshine most sunshine cinnamon role ever. I would kill for him. I would die for him.

- ALL THOSE BULLY BETTER STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY OUTCASTS BABIES.

- “And be my good friend.” what if I die.

- why do people love to torture the cinnamon roll??? I want to hug Scorpio so bad like baby you deserve the moon and the sky and the world. And the fact that he's still trying to be so cheerful and optimistic. THE WORLD DOESN'T DESERVE HIM.

- Albus and Harry's father and son angst is killing me but it is also so delicious I relish in it (it's just so complicated I love it).

- "you’re kind, Scorpius. From the depths of your belly, to the tips of your fingers." Is the sweetest thing I've ever heard anyone said. I love this quote so much I want it tattooed on my forehead.

- Again, Scorpius deserve the fucking world.

- Scorpius and Draco's relationship is SO GOOD, SO PURE, SO SOFT. They love each other so much 😭

- brb I'm going to cry at the fact that Dark AU Ron and Hermione die in such a terrible way a few minutes after they finally confess their feelings (they were scared). 😭😭😭😭😭😭

- Snape is so dramatic. Girl "you're giving up your kingdom for Albus... All it takes is one person." he made it sound like they're in a romance fantasy novel (they are).

- Head empty. Scorpius happiest memory with Albus is strong enough for him to produce a patronus.

- Scorpius is once, again, a cutie pie that deserves everything.

- Delphi is more manipulative than I realized when I first read this lmao.

- GIRL the way Albus said that he and Scorpius ran away to start a new life in the muggle world as an excuse — what do you mean you're eloping at 14??? (Out of chronological order but I just remembered this)

- Delphi when I catch you —

- Never thought I'd be rooting for Draco and Harry duo yet here we are (did I say I love Draco as a dad?? I don't think he's appreciated enough. He's a brilliant dad! THIS is his best redemption arc).

- "What did you say to our son, Harry?" GO OFF QUEEN (Albus is a confirmed mommy boy)

- RON WANT TO MARRY HERMIONE AGAIN. I don't quite ship them in the book/movie but they're just the sweetest in here 😩😩

- I just had the sudden realisation that Scorbus might be the only couple that I ship in hp that is so close to canon (and was canonised by some play if I heard correctly).

- that time where they were in godric hollow and Scorpius was surprised that Albus never knew the full story of his grandparents or visited the place just bc he was being a petty, moody uninterested teenager hit so hard (he is me and I am him). And the shame he felt was real too. I always regret those years in my life where I acted like that and I don't even have a daddy issue like Al did, what's my bloody excuse lmao (I blame fucking hormones) 😩😭

- okay so finished it!! When I was a kid I don't quite like the time travel thingy and find it very confusing but I think it's because it's a screenplay yk, and it was meant to be watched not read. But the novel version did help a lot (and I give the author my hundreds of gratitude, her writing is absolutely beautiful! And she captured the characters perfectly! If you're scared to read The Cursed Child, read her novel version in ao3!!!).

I'm surprised that I actually love the plot more than I thought I would. Yeah it can get a bit unrealistic at times but all in all it's very entertaining and Albus and Scorpius are very well written, very rounded and nuanced characters that carry the book. I'm glad their parents didn't overshadow their personality etc (like them being mini-copies of Harry and Draco). They're their own person and I love that about them!!

They're not Drarry or even Jegulus as I've seen people say, they're in their own league. There are no enemies or hatred or tension between them; Scorpius and Albus genuinely like each other so much from the first they laid their eyes on each other and I adore them for it.

I read a theory that Albus was sent in Slytherin because he subconsciously wanted to be in a house with this kind boy met on the train and it made me want to cry (they were made for each other). (Although I do think Albus have many Slytherin traits, Scorpius I was less sure he screamed Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw to me but admittedly he can be cunning to).

So yeah, I don't think it's that bad as everyone said (and my 11 y/o self). It's fun and I actually cried a lot at the end of it (I have to watch Jily die, do you have any idea what that did to me???) (I don't even ship them but i swear this book set me to default back to canon).

I really want to watch the play, would die for it but it's impossible and I can only dream.xoxo

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @hircines-hunter <3 and last week by @orfeoarte (I already posted by then so counting it now!)

Tagging:

@theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @lucien-lachance @umbracirrus @changelingsandothernonsense @firefly-factory

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @captain-of-silvenar @ladytanithia @thequeenofthewinter

Hello it's another Wednesday and I bring to you *gasps* a wip not about Theodora and Ondolemar??? 😲😲😲

They have graciously let me write about someone else, I briefly wrote about Aicantar in a fic recently and that got me thinking more about him. Reworked an old oc that I did barely anything with and as I much prefer to read slow burn then write it, they are gonna smash immediately 🤭 Background before this is he catches Vevora (Breton/Dunmer artist) trying to steal a Centurion Dynamo Core, decides not to call the guards. They get talking and she spots a particular ✨romance✨ novel because I've made him a virgin smut reader 🤪 MDNI under the cut because it's me

Oh no. So caught up being charmed by a beautiful woman, he distinctly forgot he very well did have something to hide.

“And is this part of living like the Dwemer as well?” The title is partially covered by her fingertips, gently grasping it by the spine. 

“Um, I, well, you see-” Any and all ability to be coherent has left. Heat rising to his face, Aicantar is sure she notices the flush of embarrassment he now wears. In an attempt to save dignity he turns away, mouth covering the little of his face not covered by his hood. 

“Did I interrupt your evening plans, pretty boy?” He screams internally, why did she have to pick up the book? Why didn’t he put it away? Whole body warm now, he decides to fixate on not passing out. Remain present rather than degrade himself further by going unconscious But he is shamefully curious, did she think he was attractive? Pretty to use her own words? Pushing aside hopes that he too, could be like the Dwemer and disappear to some unidentifiable plane, he asks innocently. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Eyes meet hers for a moment before he returns to sharing at the wall. She chuckles lowly. 

“I do. Well, at least from what I can see.” Oh no she’s coming closer. Running would be even more humiliating but he is sorely tempted too. Even more so when she pulls back the hood of his robes, going so far as to grab his chin and make him face her. “Oh yeah, definitely a pretty boy.” Red eyes half-lidded with a teasing smirk on her face. Vevora was enjoying watching him squirm, words failing him as the feel of her hands is too nice to even think. “Hmm, now what part have you marked here? Your favourite, maybe?” Please no. It was overwhelming enough, her hands touching his face, how close she stood, how his mind wandered as he wondered what her hair felt like. The red tresses a different hue than her eyes, eyes that were now opening the book to the marked section he had spent far too much time reading. 

Opening to the beginning of the chapter, she smirks. 

“Oh this one, I remember this part well.” Another gulp. “But dog-eared pages? Tsk tsk.” 

“Are, are you, familiar with this, this story?” 

“Oh I’m very familiar, I know this novel very, very well.” He doesn’t have time to respond before she is recounting the chapter summary while flipping leisurely through the pages. “Princess Brittgerd sucks Akvid off for the first time, the poor lad was not expecting her to have such an appetite.” There’s something about hearing it from someone else that drives him crazy, a few moments ago he was way too afraid to even notice he was hard, now the ache was much greater than could be ignored. Thin trousers yet, not thin enough as they feel incredibly constricting against his length. The sound of the book closing causes him to jump, nearly grateful for it as a whimper was on the tip of his tongue. “The unsuspecting boys are always the most fun.” The Dunmer looks at him and he’s too inexperienced to recognize her own look of hunger; instead confused as to where she was going with this. “Why are you reading this? You’re awfully cute, I can’t imagine you having a hard time with the ladies, or whoever else you prefer.” Oh. Gently, she places her hand on his chest before slightly gripping his robes. The pull is too much and he whines, wanting so badly for her to keep touching him, staying like this for a bit would be more than enough. So in a daze, he asks nearly the same question again. 

“You think I’m cute?” She laughs and by Auri-El is is lovely. Light, authentic, and most importantly;  directed his way, at the young mer she made melt before her.  

“I do.” She humours his repetition. “You seem like a very sweet boy, is that right?” The hand moves lower, dangerously lower as toys with the thin rope of his belt. A sharp inhale is his response. “What do you think of me?” 

For a fleeting moment, Aicantar believes he can spew something resembling the suave men of his books, something about how even in the harsh Dwemer lighting she looks radiant, completely and utterly captivating him. Yet, any opportunity to redeem his reputation and prove he is more than a flustered mess is lost as her fingers run along his waistband, dipping in along his side. What comes out is a far cry from what he wanted. 

“I, um, um, Miss, um, Miss Raviro, um, you’re-” Thankfully she cuts off his stammering. 

“No need to be so formal, call me Vevora.” 

“Miss Vevora, I mean, um, Vevora.” A bit of strength goes a long way. “You’re very beautiful.” 

“Thanks, you’re too sweet.” She moves her hand for one moment, turning to place the novel on the bedside table. Turning back to him, both hands grasp the collar of his hood, pulling him to her lips. Not absolutely clueless, he had done this several times drunk, liquid courage helping him bridge the gap in his own difficulties, but he was more than content to let her lead. Initially, the scholar is grateful she goes easy on him. Slow pecks on his lips, hands about to move to her waist, he freezes when her tongue swipes across; mouth opening immediately for the other to dive in. The moans and whimpers emitting from him nearly drown out the one from her. She breaks the kiss, allowing an obscene moan to echo off the walls. Another, regrettably louder one escapes him as she traces the outline of his cock, providing delicate ministrations over the agonizingly tight fabric. “Do you have that chapter marked because it’s your favourite?”

“Well it’s, um, quite, um, well-written.” 

“That it is, that it is.” Each word of the iteration is enunciated carefully, slowly drawing it out. “Want to recreate it with me, pretty boy?” 

[aziraphales-library]

Hello amazing people! I wonder if you have any recs for human aus where the boys are like teen or uni aged? Like cute young love story. Maybe spicy. Thank you! <3

Hi! Tags you'll want to take a look at are: #childhood friends, #high school au, #college au, and #university au. Here are some more to add...

Vignettes of a Life Together by Busy24_7 (E)

Crowley, botany student and professional worrier, is harboring a massive, secret crush on his new roommate. Aziraphale, on the other hand, is more clueless than he is given credit for. Will these two ever figure it out, or is Crowley doomed to a life of pining? A 5+1-style fic with a whole lot of fluff and intentionally minimal angst. Rated M for the first few chapters, but will be upgraded to E if Crowley ever gets his way…

The End is Where We Start From by Optimistic Starlight (E)

“Aziraphale, hello. It’s er, been a long time.” “Yes, dreadfully long. You look different.” He immediately coloured in evident embarrassment. “I mean, of course you look different, as do I of course, I didn’t mean bad different, that is to say…” Something inside of Crowley, something that had been in a deep freeze for several eons, was starting to thaw. It was letting little bits and pieces of familiarity break loose to float back into their rightful places in his soul. One of those pieces, those round, blue eyes, suddenly snapped into place, and he felt a corresponding wave of long-forgotten feeling wash through him. Aziraphale is anxious. Make Aziraphale happy. “Yeah,” he interrupted. “D’you wanna… get a coffee or something?” *** Crowley and Aziraphale meet by chance on the street. They've met before, in their youth, in a different life. Some difficult things have happened since then. Will they be able to find their way back to each other and to themselves?

Down to the River by CemeteryAngel725 (E)

Twenty-five years ago, Tony Crowley walked out of Azi’s life and broke both of their hearts. Since then, Azi has been living in suspended animation, working in the army/navy surplus booth he inherited from his dad and writing horror novels. Now Tony is back from the city, flush with success and wanting to catch up with Azi. Should Azi risk his heart and try to reclaim what they’ve lost? Or is it too late to start over? A Good Omens human AU inspired by Bruce Springsteen.

Against All Odds by GroovyNightStrawberry (E)

How can you just walk away from me? When all I can do is watch you leave 'Cos we've shared the laughter and the pain and even shared the tears You're the only one who really knew me at all Az is eleven, and his world is falling apart. His best friend is walking away from him, and Az can't find a way to make him stay. Thirty-five years later, there's a familiar face at Aziraphale's new job, and it threatens to break his heart all over again. Can they do it better this time?

Opposites Attract by Pal456 (M)

The Eastgate family hated the Crowley family. Hated them so much, that their children were not to spend any time together. That never stopped Aziraphale and Crowley being drawn to one another time and time again even though their families would pull them apart. As years go by, Aziraphale tries to do right by his parents in order to take over the family business one day, but it seems like the Almighty might have a different, ineffable, plan that brings the two together every chance they get.

One and the Same Fall by ElliottRook (E)

Aziraphale Fell is a UK student attending an American Catholic school on exchange, an escape from a strict, conservative family. Anthony Crowley is a juvenile delinquent on his last chance, sent to live with his uncle and attend a school that promises to shape him up. When they cross paths at St. Bernadette's, they nearly instantly become friends, and nobody likes it--not the teachers, not the old-money students, not Aziraphale's family--but it's the best thing that's ever happened to either of them. Hanging over their heads, though, is Crowley's plan to flee the moment he comes of age, and what will happen after they're no longer trapped in the same gilded cage.

- Mod D

[voxofthevoid]

*banging pots and pans together* Goyuu gremlins, come get y'all fucking juice.

I say this as if I'm not inundating you in goyuu every week, but Gojou has been conspicuously absent from my current WIP for...10 chapters and over 70k words. A major character and one half of the endgame ship, and he shows up halfway through the story—JJK has got me making more and more novel (in terms of my writing) narrative choices with each fic.

Gotta say, it feels great to get back into writing Gojou. Last time I tackled him was at the end of September, for the fem!Gojou no-powers oneshot. The necrofic from October beginning has a lot of Gojou, sure, but he's a...well, a corpse. Sinking back into goyuu banter and interactions felt like coming home.

Now, here's Demon/Hunter Horror Wednesday #9, featuring Gojou Sluttoru Satoru in the flesh.

There’s a man on the platform.

It’s the height that startles Yuuji first. He’s freakishly tall. The tallest person Yuuji’s seen—unless he counts Sukuna, which he won’t. Besides, this guy’s all legs, and it’s weirdly fascinating how they move, smooth and graceful under shiny pants reflecting the platform lights. They eat up the platform with long, languid strides, getting closer and closer and—

Yuuji blinks, dragging his eyes from the man’s legs to a face that’s a lot closer than he expects, even though he has to crane his neck to make eye contact—kind of. The man’s wearing sunglasses, those thick black ones that show nothing of what’s underneath, so Yuuji just ends up staring at his own distorted reflection.

His eyes are wide, his mouth a little open. Yuuji closes it, his teeth clicking together.

The height isn’t the only startling thing about the man. His hair is a shock of white, messy strands covering his forehead and even falling over the sunglasses. And Yuuji’s got no leg to stand on when it comes to people with eye-catching coloring, but there’s still something about this man that makes it hard to look away.

“Hi?” he offers warily.

“Hello,” comes the answer, immediate and cheerful. “You a local?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”

A tilt of the head. Those snowy strands shift with mesmerizing motions. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Why…am I reassuring you?”

The man claps, once. “Good point! You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

Yuuji’s so confused. “No?”

“Hmm, you don’t sound very sure about that either.” The man leans closer, which involves a lot of bending. Yuuji blinks at his reflection in the glasses, which blinks right back. “Nah, you’re too cute to be a serial killer.”

“Thanks, I think. Who are you?”

“Gojou Satoru!” The man declares, straightening up and sticking out an arm. “And who are you, my young, uncertain friend?”

Yuuji takes the proffered hand. It’s big, almost swallowing his whole hand when it closes around it. There’s warmth too, seeping boldly into his flesh.

“Itadori Yuuji,” he introduces himself. “I’m very confused.”

“I did get that impression.”

“No, I mean, you’re—” Yuuji shakes his head. “Never mind. Why are you asking weird questions?”

“Hey now,” the man says, his lips pressing into a pout. They’re very shiny. And pink. “Those were very sensible questions. There’s no point asking for directions from a non-local, is there? And it’d be very unwise of me to put myself in the maw of a murderer.”

“Well,” Yuuji says, slightly less confused, “I’m not a murderer. And I do live here. Moved here a few months back. Pretty sure I can give you directions. To where?”

“A recent transplant. I see,” Gojou murmurs, his head still tilted slightly down. Despite the opaque glasses, Yuuji has the distinct sense of being looked at. “Would you happen to know the way to the Fushiguro household, Itadori Yuuji-kun?”

“Fushiguro?” Yuuji repeats. “You know him? Or are you here for Tōji-san?”

“Both,” Gojou says, his smile widening. The glossy gleam of his lips doesn’t hide how sharp the expression is, and for the first time, Yuuji really takes in the rest of his face—the chiseled jaw, the straight nose, the prominent cheekbones. A sharp face, but pretty too. Like Fushiguro’s, except that while Fushiguro’s soft around the edges, this man looks like he’ll cut if touched. “—to me?”

Yuuji blinks back to himself, trying and failing to make sense of what Gojou just said. “Huh?”

That smile grows even bigger, flashing a hint of very white teeth. “I asked if you’re listening to me?”

“Oh. No,” Yuuji admits. “Sorry?”

Gojou hums, tilting his head like a curious cat. “I don’t think you are. But I’ll forgive it if you’re a good boy and take me to the Fushiguros.”

Yuuji swallows, his throat very dry. “I could, but…”

“But?”

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer, Gojou-san?”

Gojou snorts. It’s an ugly sound, rough and nasal. Something inside Yuuji unclenches, like that’s the proof he needed that this guy is human and not some abnormally pretty dream he conjured up. It’d be a kinder dream than usual, but Yuuji can’t trust his imagination anymore.

“I’m too handsome for that, don’t you think?” Gojou asks, his grin grown lopsided.

“Yeah, but—” Yuuji makes a sweeping gesture with his free arm, covering Gojou as well as the rest of the platform. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“So there is a brain under all that pink fluff,” Gojou says, his tone weirdly approving.

“I don’t think you get to talk about anyone’s hair,” Yuuji points out, eyeing Gojou’s snow-white strands again.

But Gojou just tosses his hair like he’s in a shampoo commercial. “It’s all natural.”

“So is mine,” Yuuji says drily. “Not the point.”

“Oh? What is your point then?”

“Serial killing. I think.” Yuuji shakes his head. “Whatever. Yeah, I’ll take you to the Fushiguros’ place. Do anything weird and I’ll punch you.”

“Careful,” Gojou purrs. “I might be into that.”

Yuuji just looks at him for a moment, before taking in the rest of the platform with half a mind to foist this guy off on someone else. There’s no one, obviously. It’s not like this place is bustling even during what was the rush hour back at Sendai. Nanami and Yuuji were alone the entire time they waited, and he’s pretty sure no one but Gojou got off from the train.

Plus, he probably shouldn’t inflict this guy on anyone else. Yuuji doesn’t think he’s a bad person or anything, but he’s kinda weird. And Yuuji’s pretty immune to stranger danger.

Except when he walks into cursed churches.

“Come on then,” Yuuji says. “It’s getting late, and Tōji-san usually turns in early.”

Gojou’s lips and cheeks do something very weird. “Fushiguro Tōji has a bedtime.”

“Uh, not exactly—”

Yuuji’s cut off by demented laughter—full-on cackling, filling up the open air of the empty platform. All he can do is watch, nonplussed, until Gojou calms down, and even that’s startlingly abrupt, the noise stopping so suddenly that the resulting silence seems to boom.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gojou says, not sounding all that sincere. “That was just too funny. Guess the single dad life suits him.”

Yuuji thinks of what Fushiguro sounds like every time he has to talk about his dad. “I…wouldn’t say that. Anyway, you coming?”

“Sure,” Gojou says easily. “You going to let me go first, or are we holding hands the whole way?”

“What’re you—”

Yuuji realizes the answer before he even finishes the question, blinking down at his own hand—still clasped firmly around Gojou’s bigger one. He lets go quickly, snatching it back. For a moment, he doesn’t know what to do with it. Wiping it on his pants would be rude. And it’s not like Gojou’s palm was sweaty or anything. It was just warm, and Yuuji’s whole hand sparks like it’s stolen that heat for itself. He settles for folding his arms across his chest. 

Gojou looks entirely too amused. “Pity.”

“Don’t tease me,” Yuuji grumbles, hoping the heat on his face doesn’t actually show on the skin; he knows his odds though, and they’re not good. He’s about to march off, leaving Gojou to choose whether to follow, when something occurs to him. “Wait, are you…”

“Yes?” Gojou prods after a moment, that curling grin still in place.

Yuuji squints up at him, specifically the sunglasses. He doesn’t think Gojou’s blind. People wear sunglasses all the time, though he’s rarely seen ones so dark. And Gojou navigated the platform pretty easily earlier, no cane or anything. Still, the thought won’t leave his head, and Yuuji’s mind refuses to accept the vague sense of being watched as enough proof, so he asks, “Are you blind?”

“How blunt,” is Gojou’s response. “I like that in people.”

“That’s not—”

—an answer, Yuuji doesn’t say because Gojou proceeds to give him an answer, raising one long-fingered hand to pluck his sunglasses off.

A maelstrom of blue slams into Yuuji.

He’s seen blue eyes more than a few times. People he knew, people he passed in the street. Bright ones, dark ones. Then there’s Fushiguro, whose eyes act like some deep-sea trench, shifting from dark green to depthless blue based on the lighting and his mood.

But he’s never seen eyes like these.

It’s not just one shade of blue, but every blue, all at once. Thin threads of shuddering color, spreading out from pupils that swallow all light. It’s breathtakingly bright, like the colors are reaching out of the eyes to claw at the air. Or maybe they’re just swirling inside, chasing each other inside the confines of those irises.

A part of Yuuji knows that he’s imagining it, that Gojou’s eyes aren’t actually nuclear ghosts. But that logic doesn’t quite penetrate the blue haze in his head.

Gojou blinks, cutting off that stream of color, and Yuuji sucks in a breath like a drowning man.

[sylviesoothsayer22]

Lured Deep Beneath The Waves (Complete)

He Xuan x Wei Ying

In order to save their worthless lives, Wei Ying's village offered Jiang Yanli up on a silver platter to a beast, only for her little brother to step in and oh so nobly take her place. Forcefully whisked away from his -ahem- not so peaceful living situation, he now finds himself in a queer place, looking like the spoiled wife of a dotting lord, wondering what he ought to do with his new circumstances.

That sounds like one of those questionable novels I'd catch jiejie reading. Also, I didn’t exactly ‘step in’ of my own accord.

At least the clucking hens back at the village now have new writing material to work with.

Author's Note:

The idea for this work came to me when I had a mental health retreat by the sea a few months back. Told some discord friends about it and it sorta snowballed to this. Also, I was accused of having a Hua Cheng-bias and needed to clear my name. *shrug*

This fic may or may not have some Deadpool & Wolverine humour here and there. Oops.

Anyways! This whole premise will eventually turn into a series of instalments that deal with HeXian's marital life. Now, onto the first fic!

He would’ve done it had she just asked. Madame Yu really didn’t need to go through all the trouble.

Wei Wuxian had been kneeling for so long that his legs had already gone numb. The cliff he was on faced the roiling, blackened sea, stretching out as far as the eye could perceive, so much so that he was unable to differentiate between the darkened waters and sky. He could taste the bitter salt in the air, the sea-spray clinging to his clothes, the chilling breeze, which forced his body into sporadic shivers. Not a single gull dared to caw, no fishermen hollering at each other to go home before curfew or paddles splashing against the water’s pull. Aside from his own breathing, the only other sound Wei Wuxian’s ears knew were the roarous crashing of waves smashing into the rocks of the cliff that he was chained to. 

It was already nighttime, a smattering of stars splashed across the sky, the crescent moon hung high like an arced axe about to fall on his head at any moment, its subtle glow barely providing him any light for his surroundings. Not that Wei Ying could see much through the stupid veil.

All this over some moronic ritual that should’ve died out in a bygone era.

It all began with a rumour. Black Water Demon Xuan was looking for someone, a woman, with hair like shadow, a face as fair as snow and eyes so bright they reflected the night sky. Said rumour trickled its way into the tiny fishing villages located near the South Sea, where the fabled Black Water Demon Lair resides. This led many to believe that he was looking for a wife, a concubine or perhaps just a bed-slave. As you can imagine, it resulted in numerous families offering up their daughters to the Water Demon, praying that it would spare their village from the Calamity’s dismay. 

The act of ‘offering’ one’s daughter to Black Water had become so common among the five villages that, throughout the centuries, it warped and spiralled into a ritualistic sacrifice where, every ten years, one fishing village out of the five, Lianhua, Huīshuǐ, Lántiān, Rìluò and Jinyǔmáo, had to place a fair maiden, dressed in the most elaborate bridal robes each village could afford, upon the Weeping Cliff, named after the silently weeping brides who would be carried there. The most hysterical bride would find themselves chained to the cliff in order to prevent them from escaping or even finding a way out of the marriage by plunging themselves into the watery depths below. 

Each village has their own method of choosing a bride, ensuring that it was random to make it ‘fair’. For Lianhua village, it was through a single pearl. As soon as it was Lianhua’s turn to sacrifice one of their own, the unmarried women of their village would gather at the main square, there they would find a bucket filled with perfectly round white stones and an opalescent pearl hidden among the identical rocks. Upon the ringing of a bell, each maid was forced to step up and dig deep into the bucket, as it was forbidden to pick anything from the surface, until one woman was saddled with the unlucky pearl. This year’s chosen maid was unfortunately none other than his jiejie, Jiang Yanli. 

Well, she wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s actual sister, as the lovely Madame Yu was keen on reminding him every damn day. 

Wei Ying’s parents were wandering cultivators that got killed on one of their hunts while he was very young. By some miracle, Wei Ying managed to find his way back to Lianhua where village head Jiang Fengmian recognized the lost little boy as the son whom his parents helped the people of Lianhua deal with some pesky water ghouls a few months back and so, decided to take Wei Ying in as a way to pay his debt to the boy’s parents. 

Of course, the Dear Madame Yu didn’t like how her husband seemingly favoured Wei Ying over their son, Jiang Cheng. Going out of her way to belittle every single achievement Wei Ying ever made while growing up. Oh, Wei Ying far exceeded Jiang Cheng in their studies? Madame Yu would give Jiang Cheng a scolding so severe that Wei Ying started deliberately underperforming just so that there would be less friction between mother and son. Wei Ying tied fishing nets faster than Jiang Cheng? Any praise given to him by Jiang Fengmain would be met with an equal amount of derision from his lovely wife. Wei Ying caught more fish than Jiang Cheng? He would wake up the next day and find his fishing tools tampered with to which Wei Ying chose to keep his mouth shut and carry on with his day.  

Wei Ying can easily forgive and forget all these little transgressions. After all, he was just an interloper, an orphan who was saved from a life on the streets thanks to the Jiang family’s pity. The least he could do was keep his head down and not offset the delicate balance among his hosts. 

However, Wei Ying drew the line at Madame Yu’s ill treatment of Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze’s memory. The woman would go out of her way to stamp out Wei Ying’s tendency to emulate his parents, as in whenever he tries practising the cultivation techniques that the two wandering cultivators taught him. The same techniques that helped Wei Ying survive on his own until he managed to find his way back to Lianhua. Even going as far as to disparage any attempted meetings between Wei Ying and rogue cultivators that found their way into the fishing village. All Wei Ying wanted was to follow in his parents’ footsteps, but the mere idea of him being better than the blood-son in anything was enough to set Madame Yu off a bunch.

Needless to say, once he was old enough Wei Ying spent most of his days out of the Jiang household. Only ever using the residence as a place to sleep or shelter from harsh weather. Wei Ying only hoped that he could make it until he found a wife and finally moved out of that dreary house. 

Perhaps if Wei Ying was around more often, he wouldn’t be in this mess or at least spare his jiejie some grief. 

I could’ve convinced her to hide out in one of the neighbouring villages until the ritual was over. Her idiot betrothed would’ve certainly helped. Or tamper with the selection process. Or or-

Aiyah, he was overthinking again. Now, where was he?

Ah, yes. His current predicament.

To Madame Yu, it was bad enough that her husband barely paid attention to their son, but finding out that she’ll lose her only daughter to a Calamity of all beings, was the last straw. She secretly hired the Wen Gang to capture Wei Wuxian-Really, Madame? Really?! Of all the scum you could’ve hired to do your dirty work, you chose the bullies notoriously known for encroaching on the villages’ fishing territories and beating up the weak?! Come on, Madame Yu! Have some class! 

Anyways, the hired help managed to sneak up on him (Wei Ying blamed it on the wine he drank to drown out his sorrows), knocked him out by a swift log to the head, dressed him up as the bride and chained him to the damn cliff.

Shackled to this lonely rock while bedecked head-to-toe in wedding garb, Wei Wuxian resembled a royal bride shipped off to an ill-fated marriage. He wore scarlet robes with a long gradient train, the colour blending from crimson to sunset red, his shoulders padded and decorated with dangling golden chains, teardrop shaped lapis lazuli dripping at the tailends of the delicate metalwork. Water dragons stitched with silver thread, serpentine jaws open in defiance, their long bodies coiling around his front and waist. Each dragon sporting eyes embroidered with golden thread, glinting eerily. His hair was held up by two golden criss-crossing hair pins. The metal of the pins twisting and bending like roots, the stems cradling shining red flowers nestled within raven tresses. Were one to look more closely at the pins, they’d see that the ‘petals’ were in fact seashells painted in red lacquer, carefully arranged to look like blooming flowers. Hanging off his pale arms were long, billowing sleeves made of satin with a silk, semi-transparent outer layer, offering a ripple effect akin to low tide. The bridal veil had a similar, wave-like pattern at the edges. Underneath it, his ears sported red-pearl earrings with arced silver fishtails attached at the bottom end. Each fin studded with tiny diamonds. His fair face had a light layer of makeup. Bow-shaped lips coated a deep red, golden eyeliner emphasising the silver in his eyes and a soft pink blush dusting his cheeks, completed with the huadian of a lotus flower in full bloom, its soft petals unfurling, beguiling in its simplicity. 

For all their atrocious behaviour, Wei Ying had to give it to the Wen Gang. They knew how to dress up a bride. Top marks for their efforts. Truly.

The Madame spared no expense, he was almost flattered! Wei Ying knew he could never afford a single piece of jewellery on this accursed outfit were he to start saving up until he was ninety.

Except for one, miniscule flaw in this elaborate plan:

Wei Wuxian wasn’t a woman!

Sure, he looked like a bride befitting an emperor, but no amount of polish will turn a rock into a diamond! For the past -who knows how many- centuries, all of the sacrifices have been women . What’s stopping Black Water’s displeasure at finding a trussed up male dressed in wedding robes as opposed to a beautiful maiden? What’s stopping him from showing that displeasure to Lianhua village and -potentially- the other villages as well? Would he curse the village heads and all their future descendants? Would he stop providing them with fresh fish and clear waters, have the villages slowly starve to death as they lose their primary food source? Or would he simply drown them all in a fit of rage? 

Outcome after outcome flashed through his mind, each one worse than the last. The wound on his temple, where the idiots smashed it with a log, throbbed painfully. Wei Ying was about to slam the back of his head on the rock behind him to stop his spiralling thoughts before remembering the hair pins. Deciding it wasn’t worth stabbing into his scalp, Wei Ying lowered his chin in defeat and sighed.

With his luck, maybe the Water Demon won’t even bother showing up and leave Wei Ying chained here until he dies from thirst, turning the expensive wedding robes into his funeral shroud. Or maybe Black Water will take a liking to him and turn Wei Ying into a trophy wife. Forbidden from leaving the Calamity’s side until he was old and wrinkled, a used-up, shrivelled thing tossed into the sea like trash once his natural good looks fade with age. 

By the heavens, if this backfires, he’ll haunt Madame Yu for the rest of her miserable life.

Look on the bright side, he thought glumly, at least you finally got away from that house. Potentially forever.

Wei Ying just hoped that jiejie was alright.

Ignoring the pins and needles running up and down his legs, Wei Ying shifted into a more comfortable position and decided to pass the time by squinting through the veil, counting the stars. 

He was on star number thirteen when it suddenly disappeared, like a candle flame swiftly blown out. One by one, the stars winked out of existence, the shadows shaping the moon into a crescent drew back like soundless curtains, until it resembled a great, lone pearl stitched upon endless black cloth. The crashing waves slowly fell into a murmur and Wei Ying was left with his own blood pounding into his eardrums.

SPLAT!

He startled. Back going ramrod straight. 

SPLAT! SPLAT! SPLAT!

Wei Ying felt his body break out in cold sweat. Adam’s apple bobbing painfully as he swallowed.

Someone or some thing was climbing up the cliff.

Wei Ying slammed his eyes shut and started doing what he hadn’t done in years. Pray.

Who should he be praying to?! The Flower Crowned Martial God? No. That doesn’t make any sense. He could hardly call himself a cultivator let alone a warrior.

Should he pray to Crimson Rain for luck? Best not. The Ghost King was pretty finicky and he might end up displeasing Black Water if he started praying to a rival Calamity.

Water Master Shi Wudu? Oh, now Wei Ying was asking for eternal torture. It’s no secret that Water Master and Demon Xuan had a rivalry as tumultuous as a ship caught in a malstrom. 

Which of the thousands of negligent, apathetic gods is more likely to show Wei Ying a shred of pity? Maybe-

An overwhelming coldness washed over Wei Ying, as if he had just been doused with seawater, the wetness seeping into his skin. Whatever breath he had in his lungs was viciously expelled.

He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that the figure had stopped just a foot away from him. 

Wei Ying felt more than saw the hand slowly reaching out towards his face, long fingers grasping at the sheer red veil, carefully moving it out of the way.

The flimsy barrier between bride and groom disappeared. Wei Ying blocked out the feeling of goosebumps rioting all over his skin. With one final prayer for strength, he cracked his eyes open.

What stared back at him had his heart hammering against his chest cavity, ready to burst.

Yellow eyes as bright as molten gold, ever-changing and malleable, reminding Wei Ying of the precious metal’s capacity to shift into whatever form or role the owner fancies. There was a cool temperance behind that hooded gaze, it bespoke of someone who witnessed centuries-worth of depravities, followed by the painstaking build of calculated viciousness to counterattack, of hard-won strength carried with ease, lurking just beneath the surface of faux-boredom. It made Wei Ying think of the sea during sunrise, when the yellow rays have barely touched the darkened waters, still and inviting. Teasing onlookers to take one little dip, since it looked so relaxing, so easy , only to stray too far and get struck by a sudden riptide, dragging down the ignorant into a watery grave. 

It was terrifying, it was beautiful . Doubly so when those eyes were all that Wei Ying could see. 

He couldn’t make out the being’s face nor his figure. Not when it was enveloped by a mist so dark that the only form of light capable of piercing through were those golden eyes. It wasn’t too dissimilar to squid-ink, now that Wei Ying thought about it. Plumes of blackish-blue clouds engulfing any unsuspecting swimmers, knocking them off course, unable to tell which way was up or down, to move forward or back. 

Wei Ying subconsciously leaned forward, a helpless moth in the face of an inviting flame, so enthralled was he by the sight, that he did not pay any heed to the brief flash of recognition, of disbelief, in those golden depths. Did not pay any mind to the smooth, pale hand faintly brushing against his cheek, achingly familiar. Long fingers traced the path of dried blood running down the side of Wei Ying’s head, until they were softly tapping at the wound on his temple. 

Wei Ying had been staring into the abyss for so long, he failed to register those two points of light blinking back into the shadows.

~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o

It took a while for his mind to crawl back to consciousness. Wei Ying fully expected for there to be a godsforsaken ache equivalent to a pickaxe slammed into his skull or a gnawing, persistent throbbing in his temples demanding attention the moment one opens their eyes. 

Instead, when Wei Ying’s moonstone eyes cracked open, he woke up feeling rejuvenated and fully alert. Like long-awaited rain washing over a cracked and withering field.

It was easily the best sleep of Wei Ying’s life. 

Feeling that both his hands were now free, wary fingers prodded at the bump on his temple, checking for any damage. 

Only to be met with smooth, unbroken skin.

Wei Ying shot up, pupils blown wide. Head veering left and right, wildly taking in his new surroundings. 

He was sitting on a bed covered with pitch black sheets made of satin, the canopy drawn, but Wei Ying could still see through the azure, silken sheets. 

It was a windowless bedchamber, five times the size of his pitiful, dingy room back at the Jiang household, with muted grey walls and flooring, seemingly made out of stone. 

The closets, nightstand, chairs and low table looked as if they were also made out of this mystifying grey stone, protruding from the walls and floors, completely carved from the material. The bronze mirror appeared to be the only piece of furniture not made out of stone.

Looking down at himself, Wei Ying finally registered that he was no longer wearing those suffocating wedding garments along with another peculiar observation.

To be fair, he didn’t put up much of a struggle, but his movements while chained did result in his wrists to turn raw and swollen, yet Wei Ying could only see unblemished, milky-white skin. 

Did… he heal me? He wondered, lightly stroking his fingers against the no-longer-tender skin. Why? To earn my favour? Ensure that I warmed up to him quicker?

Then again, if he was powerful enough to change the sky, healing a few bumps and bruises would be childsplay. 

Maybe Black Water just didn’t want any defects on his new merchandise. Wei Ying thought, distantly. Caught between incredulity and exasperation. Now realising that he was put into yet another fancy outfit.

Tentatively drawing back the curtains, feet now on the ground, Wei Ying crossed the cold, rugless floor to the bronze mirror, gauging his current appearance. 

Ocean blue outer robes with hints of seafoam green and inner robes the colour of midnight starting from the top, turning into lighter, daytime shades as it reaches the bottom. Leaping fish made of silver and dark blue thread were stitched on the outer robes’ wide sleeves and shoulders, some fish holding what looked like seaweed in their mouths, while the ends of the robe had more seaweed embroidery, appearing as if they were swaying with the water’s currents. He had on a bright blue belt with silver accents and…a fish’s spine overlaying the sash, the bones of its caudal fin curled around the start of the spine like a claw. Blue and grey tassels with white and black pearls dangling off the belt.

Carefully running his hands upon the spinal segments, Wei Ying felt a strange-yet-pleasant shock zap through his skin. As if he had just brushed against a metal pole whilst a thunderstorm was churning above him. 

Attempting to move past how off-kilter he felt, Wei Ying looked back at the bronze mirror. 

Still gawking, Wei Ying gingerly grazed his fingers against the new accessories cradling his ears. Pearlescent ear cuffs in the shape of fish with long curtain-like fins, the ones that only emperors and nobles would keep as decorations in their private ponds. Their billowing tails delicately wrapped around the shell of his ears, the fins resting beneath his lobes. Lightly turning his head to the side, Wei Ying noticed that his hair was mostly let down, only timidly gathered at the base of his neck, a seaweed-shaped hair clip practically draped across his nape. 

At least it’s comfortable. Wei Ying thought, perturbed and somewhat annoyed. To think that he was dressed up like a doll while unconscious, twice in one day. 

Is this to be his life now? Dress in whatever manner that pleased his new husband with no sayso? Hanging off his arm like a kept-woman, a walking art piece with no thoughts or opinions of his own, that wasn’t expected to do more other than breathe and warm his bed?

Husband…. His mind numbly echoed. Wei Ying tightly gripped the mirror’s frame to prevent himself from swaying on his feet.

Oh gods. He was married. And to a temperamental water demon at that. 

In order to protect their worthless hides, Lianhua village offered Jiang Yanli up on a silver platter to a beast, only for her little brother to step in and nobly take her place. Now whisked off from his -ahem- not so peaceful living situation, finding himself in a queer place, looking like the spoiled wife of a dotting lord, wondering what he ought to do with his new circumstances.

That sounds like one of those questionable novels Liu Mingyan would lend out to jiejie. Also, I didn’t exactly ‘step in’ of my own accord.

At least Mingming now has new writing material to work with. 

His thoughts were taking such a leap to the absurd, Wei Ying felt the unbidden laugh sputter past his lips before quickly slapping a hand on his mouth.

Silver eyes darted towards the only entrance to the room, almost waiting for some kind of demonic servant to knock on the stone doors to deliver Wei Ying to its master, like some prized cargo. 

Isn’t that how those stories go? Wait until your newest guest wakes up before sending them off to the host with no warning?

Okay. Stop….

One breath….

Two…

..three….

By the time he reached a hundred, Wei Ying’s white-knuckled grip around the mirror’s frame loosened. By a hundred and two, his body started uncoiling bit-by-bit.

No knock ever came. That didn’t mean he was going to drop his guard, though.

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Wei Ying started pacing around the room. There was quite a lot of ground to cover. How generous of Demon Xuan.

Could…could it be possible that he was just…forgotten? Merely tossed into a spare, impersonal room, while his new husband had some pretty little concubine to keep him entertained? 

Did he already displease his husband before he even had the chance to greet him properly?

No. He wouldn’t have bothered healing me or letting me sleep if that was the case. Wei Ying thought, mind still racing. Not to mention the attire….

Wei Ying let out a long sigh, which echoed back to him in this grand chamber. Shoulders drooping, he leaned his forehead against the bed frame, its solidity grounding Wei Ying.

He didn’t ask for this! What he wouldn’t give to be back at the village, sitting on the beach with jiejie and her giggling gaggle of friends by her side, a pot of lotus pork soup simmering above a fire.

Maybe if I earn husband-dearest’s ‘affections’, he’ll let me visit her….

Only one way to find out.

Squaring his shoulders, Wei Ying marched towards the wide stone doors, hand poised to push them open, halting just a hair's breadth away at the last second.

Wei Ying instinctively knew that he stood at the edge of a precipice. That the moment he opens the door, he will be sent careening straight into uncharted territory.

A part of him wanted to stay. To keep floating in this pool of uncertainty, at least here, it seems as if he won’t have to keep swimming into the unknown.

But Wei Ying was no coward.

He layed both hands flat on the cold stone, ready to push the double doors with all his might -the stone looked incredibly dense, it would’ve taken at least ten men to make it budge!

Yet, as soon as his hands touched the lifeless grey surface, there was a faint grinding sound as the doors smoothly slid against the hinges. As though this unfamiliar stone recognised Wei Ying as its master. That the lightest of touches was more than enough to make it obey him.

The double doors gradually split open and what met his gaze beyond it seemed so vast and unfathomable that it took Wei Ying a moment to process what he was seeing. 

A sprawling hallway lined with numerous stone doors not too dissimilar to the main entrance of the bedchamber he was in.

The hallways were lit by large crystal formations growing out of the hall’s ceiling and floor, the shape and size reminding Wei Ying of some of the underwater caves he was reckless enough to explore, of stalactites and stalagmites, except unlike them, these crystals didn’t have a rippling limestone appearance, but bear more of a resemblance to frosted glass that contained their own soft, eerie light. Bright enough to illuminate his path, but dull enough to leave the high-ceiling and distant halls in shadow. 

It made Wei Ying compare these crystals to the ones he saw during one lonely winter night. After an argument he had with Jiang Cheng, what was the fight about, he can’t even bother to remember, all he knew was that he stormed out of the Jiang household to cool off and was met with a world of pure white. The entire ground was covered in soft powder akin to crushed diamonds, deep blue icicles dripping off the edges of every roof, the light of the full moon shining down and reflecting off the ice. 

Yet, unlike that night, where the subtle white light brought him peace of mind, these crystals gave off a more distant, melancholic feel. Of providing you with the false assurance of knowing where you’re going, but were in fact, wholly lost and directionless.

The more Wei Ying walked, the more it felt like he was treading a perpetual lane with the same doors, the same walls, the same crystals. Still , he was able to catch a few, minute differences that assured him he wasn’t going in circles. Each door was the size of a palace gate, likely the same width too, all with their own intricate carvings etched into the smooth grey surface. Ships caught in storms with waves as high as mountains aggressively crashing into them from all sides, giant sea serpents locked in territorial fights as they catch each other hunting the same prey, haunting imagery of the seafloor with decaying sunken ships, their wooden skeletons slowly overtaken by seaweed, corals and other forms of aquatic flora, nature gradually staking its claim on those lost vessels, providing a new hub for smaller, more vulnerable creatures. 

He took a left, then a right, then another left, climbed ten flights of stairs, turned one more corrido- and I swear to all the gods twiddling their thumbs up in Heaven, if I find any more stairs I’ll tear all my hair out! Then Demon Xuan will have a bald bride to deal with! Does this hallway even have an end?! Should I just take my chances and go through the next door I see? 

Why does Demon Xuan even need all this space?!

After walking for what felt like hours, Wei Ying finally found a passageway that wasn’t lined with gargantuan doors. The left side of the hall was a smooth, dull grey wall like any other, whilst the right appeared to be made of glass, from floor to ceiling, segmented by oddly-made pillars with strange patterns.

They seem familiar…. Wei Ying thought, running his fingers into the etches and groves of these pillars, images of stalactites and stalagmites flooding his mind once more. Of how the two halves would grow, one from the ceiling, the other from the ground, both simultaneously dragged downwards and reaching up, eventually meeting in the middle till they entwined as one immovable column. 

Only what was beneath his fingertips, what was meant to be dripping water, meant to show signs of steady growth, of life , felt cold, still and dead. Forever petrified where it stands, no longer able to evolve into something more. 

Unnerved by where his thoughts were heading, Wei Ying decided to shift his focus on the glass from which these odd pillars were attached to. The more he looked, the more Wei Ying felt disheartened. Keen eyes attempted to parse through the darkness. There were no signs of a faint moon glow or even the glimmer of a single star. 

No wonder this place seems so melancholic. If my mere existence would result in the sky blotting itself out, I would feel pretty gloomy, too.

Now wondering what time of day it was -perhaps he slept through the night- something…unnerving caught his gaze. It was bizarre, completely alien, so utterly outside the realm of possibility for an orphaned fisherman like him to see outside of exaggerated illustrations, yet there it was. 

A long, skeletal fish about the size of a cottage, slithered past the window. Its head was the ugliest thing Wei Ying had ever seen. Broad, pushed back and slanted with what appeared to be a highly flexible jaw, giving it the ability to swallow prey as big as a horse with one gulp, its teeth were narrow and sharp with large gaps in between, allowing it to slice tender meat between their lips to bits. The creature’s entire body emitted a sinister radiance, its hollow eyes housing twin spectral lights. The behemoth was followed by a school of smaller bonefish similar in appearance, presumably its brood. 

It was the cold press of grey stone onto his spine that snapped Wei Ying back to the present. Realising that he’d been backing away from the window that whole time, the reality of his situation finally sunk in. 

I'm not looking at a veiled sky. Wei Ying thought numbly. I’m at the bottom of the sea.

The chasm between all that he knew and where he was at now was only getting wider, to the point that Wei Ying wondered if he’ll still be able to leap back. If he would ever be permitted to. 

Just as when it seemed like he was about to slip into another panic-induced spiral, something cool and slippery licked the back of his hand.

Wei Ying could’ve sworn that his very soul jumped out of his skin and crumpled up like wet paper. He probably lost ten years of his life from how startled he was.

Praying that this wasn’t something that was sampling him, beads of sweat trickling down his brow, Wei Ying creakingly twisted his head to the thing’s direction, trying to make sense of what his eyes were telling his mind for what felt like the nth time in this bizarre place.

A glowing, iridescent, bell-shaped body, resembling water droplets capturing all the colours produced by the sun’s light, shrinking and expanding like the beatings of a heart at ease,  curly tendrils as long as a man’s legs swaying just beneath its body.

For the second time that night, Wei Ying felt a slight, hysterical laugh squeeze past his lips.

A jellyfish… floating in the air.

Sure. Why not? This place is chock-full of eccentricities. Best that I get used to it, since this seems to be my life now.

There have been far too many surprises for him to even care that it just brushed its potentially poisonous coils against his bare hand. 

Maybe Wei Ying should just call it a night and slink back to his new room. Crawl into that comfy bed and, with luck, he might be able to convince himself that this was all a dream.

The jellyfish was observing him (Wei Ying wasn’t sure how he knew that, it’s not like he can see the thing’s eyes ). It started floating around him in slow, languid circles. A part of him felt like he should still be on guard, but the way the creature was acting seemed guileless, dare he say almost child-like.

As it made its turns, the gelatinous surface glowed brighter, one dominant color sprouted from its head in misshapen splotches, spreading all over the creature’s body until it was coated in varying shades of blue. 

It stopped right in front of Wei Ying, wiggling its body back-and-forth, tendrils swishing in the air with every sway, as if it were showing off.

Is it…trying to say we match?

“Uhh…It looks good on you..?” Wei Ying mumbled, feeling ridiculous after saying that. Maybe he should get his head checked. Who knows if this thing even understands human-speech.

The jellyfish-thing-spirit(?) trembled excitedly, its bell-shaped body inflating the way a child would proudly puff out their chest after winning a silly game.

Its odd behavior felt somewhat endearing that Wei Ying couldn’t help the breathless chuckle from coming out. The tension between his shoulders easing. 

Finally, a moment of sweetness in the midst of all the muffled bitterness and uncertainty that threatened to swallow him whole.

The jellyfish drifted closer, gingerly wrapping itself around his arm, having learnt its lesson on not to startle him. 

It started tugging him away from the windows, Wei Ying let it guide him to a different hallway. Adding its own bright light among the dim crystals’ glow decorating their path.

Must’ve taken too long. Black Water probably sent this thing to come find me. He thought, studying the spirit. Whilst its body seemed wet and cool, none of that dampness seeped into his new robes and it seemed much more approachable compared to the other sea creatures under his new husband’s command.

Hopefully those bonefish weren’t also air-swimmers like his companion here. Wei Ying would rather have meters’ thick glass between him and them whenever they choose to grace him with their fleshless presence, thank you very much. 

“You know…out of all the grotesqueries I’ve seen in this place, you are by far the most friendly-looking. Maybe I can convince my lord husband to let me keep you.” Wei Ying mused out loud, mostly to fill in the silence. 

The creature appeared to approve of the idea, judging by how it eagerly squeezed itself around his arm, practically hugging the limb.

They eventually stopped at a set of doors that were easily double the size of the previous ones Wei Ying had seen. He took a moment to study the iconography, an emperor, his wife and what looked like their two daughters, in the midst of a grand feast. Oddly enough, the seat meant for the heir was left empty.

The dining hall. 

He’s in there. 

The jellyfish gently detached itself from him, hovering by his side now. Beads of sweat ran their cold fingers down his back. 

It wasn’t the journey that made Wei Ying’s heart constrict, but what lay waiting for him at the end. He took a deep breath and was about to knock on the door, to wait for the inevitable clipped voice to tell him to ‘enter’.

His new companion stopped him, softly nudging away his raised fist. The creature brushed one of its coils against the grey surface, taking cues from Wei Ying as if it were his own personal servant, wanting to open the door for him.

(You need not stand on ceremony nor feel like a stranger in your own home. His lord husband would eventually remark to Wei Ying later on in their marriage, a harsh edge lurking beneath whispered-tones. You are this Manor’s master just as much as me. Act like it.)

The colossal doors let out a low yawn as they split down the middle and Wei Ying was bombarded by an assortment of scents. 

The savoury aroma of smoked fish and chicken roasted on a spit, coupled with whiffs of enriching herbs and seasonings, their distinct citrus notes lively and invigorating, titillating Wei Ying’s vacant stomach. Traces of floral scents interwoven with the striking, yet delectable smell of freshly baked cakes that he could almost feel their honeyed flavours dance across the surface of his tongue. The heady fragrance of various wines, their familiar woodsy undertones tickling his nostrils. 

Wei Ying’s mouth started watering. Very much aware of the fact that hadn’t eaten in hours.

He clenched his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms to get himself back to focus.

A great, pillarless chamber capable of hosting a great army while also leaving plenty of room for servants to scurry around at their beck and call. Yet, there was only one Western-style long table as opposed to the standard low dining tables arranged in neat rows. 

And a lone occupant sitting at the helm.

Their eyes locked as his host stood and Wei Ying felt all mental faculties screech to a grinding halt.

Wei Ying needed a moment to simply take in this Calamity, this man, this husband of his…..

He had thought those molten pools of gold for eyes would be the most bewitching feature, he couldn’t be more wrong. Flawless ivory-white skin that would enrage even the most regal of princesses, a deceptively wiry frame that reminded Wei Ying of a fragile willow branch, but knew he should never take it at face value. A smooth mouth and brow with no laugh lines or forehead wrinkles to be found, perfectly straight nose, pointed ears and sharp angular features, as if he were an impeccable bust cut and carved from the purest of jades, straight ink-black hair that flowed downwards to the small of his back. 

The top of those dark locks were encircled by a golden dragon-shaped guan, holding a gleaming pearl between its jaws. The dragon looked as if it were swallowing the moon. A groom’s wedding robes that were mostly red, embroidered in golden thread were majestic phoenixes, their bright wings spread in triumph, a stark contrast to the vermillion outer robes, whereas the inner robe seemed to be made of a different material all-together, of small, rigid plates seamlessly overlapping each other, reminding Wei Ying of finely crafted chain-mail or fish scales. The top of the inner robe seemed to be a red that matched the outer, yet as it flowed downwards, the shade changed from vermillion to ruby, to mahogany until the slitted edges appeared as if they were dipped in ink. Completed with a pure black belt studded with squared-golden plates that had water dragon motifs engraved into the precious metal, red and white pearls artfully looped around the belt, their tail ends dangling from it like chains. 

The surface of Wei Ying’s tongue had suddenly gone dry, breath shuddering, struggling to swallow around the lump in his throat.

What the hell was that back at the cliff?! There…..there’s no way that this is what he actually looks like, right?!

Yes! Yes! That’s right! Ghosts and demons can be such vain creatures….only shifting into forms that suit their own self-absorbed tastes…. 

So caught up in his new groom’s appearance, he almost didn’t register the other man glide his way towards him till there was only a foot of space between them. Golden eyes meticulously studied his form. 

Black Water started speaking.

His mouth is moving! He’s talking to you! Snap out of it, Wei Wuxian! 

“-any discomfort?” 

Wei Ying blinked owlishly and in his infinite wisdom decided to reply back to the clear question with a:

“Huh…?”

That smooth brow furrowed in what looked like slight concern, but Wei Ying was sure it was annoyance. Their first exchange and he was already making a fool of himself. 

Wonderful.

Maybe he needs to start laying it on thick? Does he have to make himself look pitiful to this Ghost King and beg his forgiveness for not paying attention? Should he put on a coquettish mask? Start cooing and twittering like a brainless little bird?

Many men never tire from listening to songs that boast of how great and merciful they are. Was Black Water one of those men?

The older male stepped right into his space, close to the point that they were almost nose-to-nose. Wei Ying stiffened, biting his tongue so he wouldn’t dig himself a deeper grave.

He shut his eyes.

Might as well get it over with….

Fully expecting Black Water to steal a kiss -along with whatever else that was demanded of him- Wei Ying instead felt a slim finger delicately stroke his now-healed temple in what almost felt like a lover’s caress. 

Moonstone eyes fluttered open, confused.

Black Water wasn’t even looking at him. Too occupied in assessing whatever damage was left to meet his new bride’s perplexed gaze.

“I was asking if your injuries are still causing you any discomfort? Healing has never exactly been my specialty.” He answered Wei Ying’s poorly phrased question. His words quiet and rich with a touch of gruffness, the deep bass almost caused his skin to vibrate from how close both their faces were. 

Wei Ying’s breath hitched, goosebumps breaking out for a different reason now.

Frowning at Wei Ying’s lack of response, Black Water started reaching for his wrists to inspect them.

“No need for that!” He blurted, stuffing his hands inside the wide sleeves of his robes, like frightened snails ducking back into their shells. He rocked backwards, balancing his weight on his heels, hoping Black Water wouldn’t notice his ‘subtle’ attempt at giving himself more space. 

Doing what he does best, Wei Ying plasters on his winning smile and starts blathering:

“Lao Gong is so proficient! More than capable of erasing every scrap and bruise on this delicate wife!” 

“.........”

The longer the silence went on, the more Wei Ying could feel his very soul start wilting, like a plucked flower that was left to dry out in the sun for too long. 

The elder’s brow furrowed deeper as a complicated look crossed his face, but Wei Ying couldn’t possibly discern if Black Water was pleased with the compliment or not. He might have better luck deciphering the symbolic meaning behind every carving that he walked past in his nerve-wracking journey to get here.

Their sudden muteness could have gone on indefinitely were it not for the abrupt break in tension.

A mortifying gurgle rumbled through the lofty chamber, its echoes reverberating back to Wei Ying’s burning ears.

Wei Ying slapped a hand on his hollowed stomach, as if that would silence its cries for food. He started praying for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

Oh. Just put me out of my misery already…! 

“Pfff-!” Black Water just barely managed to stop his laughter from escaping. Covering his mouth and giving an utterly convincing performance of ‘Oh, dear! It seems I’ve suddenly got the coughs!’. 

Laugh it up now , you bully! Wei Ying mentally whined. What kind of host stuffs his gullet while leaving his guest, his new wife , to wander around his home without at least feeding them first?! 

If Wei Ying weren’t keeping himself in check, he would’ve thrown a fit and cussed out Black Water straight to his face. So focused was he on not vocalising his wounded pride, that Wei Ying couldn’t stop his lips from pouting slightly.

Noticing his new bride’s upset, He Xuan promptly wiped away any traces of humour on his face and cleared his throat. 

“What a relief. It seems I’m not the only one with a voracious appetite.” He gestures to the awaiting feast. “After you, Lao Po. ”  

End of Part I.

Worldbuilding Notes for this AU:

1. WWX DOES indeed have some cultivation training, but it's half-assed and incomplete. Essentially a hodgepodge between some techniques his parents taught him, tips that he got from some generous rogue cultivators and what he learned on his own. He barely has any knowledge of ghosts, demons and anything spiritual-beast related. Good thing he married a scholar!

2. The five fishing villages are a direct homage to the five clans in MDZS:

Lianhua = Lotus Flower/Jiang Clan

Huīshuǐ = Grey Water/Nie Clan

Lántiān = Blue Skies/Lan Clan

Rìluò = Sunset/Wen Clan

Jinyǔmáo = Gold Feather/Jin Clan

3. Before ya'll got on my case and ask how the hell did HX acquire all those expensive jewellery/robes, etc. The sea IS his domain. I can totally see him ordering his Bonefish to gather all the oysters and mussels they could find for the pearls. The rest have an in-universe explanation and/or HX just increased his debt to HC tenfold.

4. Lao Gong = Husband / Lao Po = Wife

My justifications for the jellyfish-spirit...? WWX needs a friend. Ya'll want him to wander around Nether Water Manor all by his lonesome while hubby's out..? Even XL can just go talk to Yin Yu and/or Ghost City residents whenever HC's not around!!

WWX is confused. WWX is panicking. He be asking: "Should I be wary of this man or jump his bones...?" Who knows?

Now. This whole thing was mainly setup, but there ARE plot-related reasons as to WHY there's a ritual and why HX seems completely okay with his marriage to WWX specifically. If ya managed to catch some of the hints, congrats. If not, stick around for the next instalment.

Hope you enjoyed! If ya did, please leave a like/comment! Many thanks~

[papenathys]

Mahashweta Devi and Sharankumar Limbale low key changed my life and the way I look at "aesthetics" of literature and palatability politics. I remember how when we were really young, growing up in Bengal, a pretty popular consensus among the upper and upper-middle classes (even among some lower middle classes of savarna Hindu Bengalis) was that Ashapurna Devi is the go-to author for Bengali feminism and feminist themes, while Mahashweta Devi, outside of selective circles of academic and scholarly vested interests was seen more in an "inappropriate"/"controversial" or grimdark sense. Her novels and short stories always raised eyebrows among the cushy Kolkata babus, who felt "uncomfortable" with the coarse language and explicitly gratuitous details she provided in her work. When I read Shekhar's The Adivasi Will Not Dance when I was 17, I also thought, was it necessary to portray these brutalities so graphically? I was in high school, I did not know about palatability as a concept, and how it plays into dominant-group narratives back then.

And then I grew up, and read Limbale's text, and it was pretty much an eye-opener when he noted that savarnas judge all literature, including the literature of marginality, relative to their own specific lived contexts. This is not just for literature, but all aspects of Indian identity in practice, and it's not, to me, simply an indictment of the alt right, but the left too. Note that even the most self-congratulating Bengali (or Indian in general) leftism is imbued with respectability politics– no wonder, you wouldn't catch your average Kolkata babu mentioning Marichjhapi without crying about how it was all some intentional plot to deface Jyoti Basu.

What I'm trying to say is, if Mahashweta Devi made any "respectable" Bengali uncomfortable, wasn't that the point? Why must she depend on dominant-group aesthetics and mainstream ideas of "literary fiction" to depict military violence against Adivasi people or the Kolkata police brutalities during Naxalbari? Why must her dialogue be "polished"- aka a dialect comprehensible to majority groups? Why should she shy away from depicting abuse, rape and violence when the mainstream Indian media and the govt are doing their utmost best to erase such accounts when it concerns Adivasi or Dalit people?

And here's a twist: Mahashweta Devi was herself a Brahmin, she wasn't an Adivasi or a Dalit voice. So the whole Left condemning her works + BJP removing her writing alongside Dalit authors from university curriculum is just a testament to how fucked our literary scene is. No matter how much we are torn by party politics, two very different political ideologies came together to condemn one writer because God forbid she chose to portray Dalit and Adivasi resistance and rage. You can only imagine how India treats its Dalit authors too.

Anyway, this rant was brought to you by a recent literary discussion with some Bengali elders who were hellbent on convincing me that Mahashweta Devi isn't worth my time and I should pick up an Ashapurna Devi novel instead. So much for playing comrade comrade. No matter how much theory you can spout, it doesn't change that most Indian mainstream savarna politicians, writers and political ideologies are extremely hostile to anything that might remotely posit that they are not perfect in their victimhood. It is true, we do see everything in India from a point of "how does this oppress/marginalize me specifically" rather than "from what privileged perspective am I speaking on identities that my dominant group oppresses". The same is true for literature, and art. This is why we keep yapping on about the British Raj and reclaiming our lost jewels from the Museums but lose our heads when it comes to realising they are not the only Big Bad in Indian history.

Texts mentioned for anybody interested:

Sharankumar Limbale, Towards an Aesthetic of Dalit Literature: Histories, Controversies and Considerations, 2004

Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar, The Adivasi will Not Dance, 2015

Mahashweta Devi, various works including The Mother of 1084 and Draupadi

[axuanmii]

admit you ship incest dude. the cn/jp shippers say its incest. pick up a book and translate it, it says kaeya is adopted. .. and heres a long paragraph about how incest is only between biological families and more disrespect to people who are adopted...

no idea why my inbox didn't give me this notif until now, but now's a better time than any to talk more about this.

i'm chinese. i speak fluent mandarin chinese. i've consulted other native chinese speakers about this, both genshin players and unrelated. i play genshin with chinese audio and english subs specifically to catch and complain about inaccuracies. i'd reveal more information but then i think it'd be trivially easy to doxx me if one knew what they were looking for.

fundamentally, the issue of incest lies in physical reproduction, yet i find adoptive incestuous relationships discomforting all the same. it's why i didn't like or finish go ahead (以家人之名) because i felt that it laid too much into the siblings aspect for romantic relationships to be feasible, and it was super contradictory from the initial general message of the first bittersweet yet wholesome episode.

however, personally, i just don't think kaeya felt like a part of the family until crepus's death and he really reflected on crepus's actions towards him (hangout). and even after beginning to view crepus as a father figure, he wouldn't have so shallowly made the transition for diluc to be his brother by adoption and consequently changed his entire mind about the guy (which you can see with the way he chooses to refer to both men with different terms, one adoptive and familial, one very clearly 'sworn', very consistently throughout the whole game. if that ever changes in chinese, well, at least you can know that i'll make a post about it if i still care about genshin by then.)

the localization team does make plenty of serious mistakes, and it's of my opinion that as a result, it has very clearly skewed character relationships with those mistakes, (cynari and collei, eulamber, some npcs in liyue, sumeru) some from cultural differences, some just from lazy translation overall. there's layers of complexity in how chinese utilizes honorifics and affectionate terms, as well as contextual consideration between fiction and reality, and sometimes i feel like the english localization team just threw it all into google translate and called it a day.

i don't even ship kaeluc that much. i like to call it the secret third thing where they can't get off their asses to talk about anything ever so they exist in an undefined space and to have them return to any semblance of a healthy relationship, platonic, familial, or romantic, would require a novel's length worth of development that hoyoverse will probably never write, and so my brain has made up novels of all three kinds and more.

however, i also don't care about people who do ship kaeluc or treat any other fictional media in an incestuous or otherwise problematic manner, regardless of language or culture. this is because i operate on a "don't like, don't read, don't interact" mindset. it makes being in fandom more fun; you should try it.

my disappointment wasn't aimed at the fact that i think too little people ship kaeluc. it just sucks to see people claim that that's what's wrong with the fandom and spin this evil gross imagery around the ship over a misunderstanding, especially when that's not how i view it. it's also the only thing vehemently regularly repeated ('klcers dni') when there's so many other issues with the game and the fandom.

(off topic but what's the worst thing that'll happen if a kaeluc shipper likes your fan stuff. it's not like they come into your tumblr asks to bother you with an "oh btw you're wrong about how you enjoy this media and this is what's right"-- oh wait that's what's going on here right)

including the fact that people like you purposefully go around searching in the kaeluc tag (which you probably did, because nobody is scrolling that far back in my blog to find this one specific post to complain about) to police and pick fights with people over a stupid issue from 2020/2021. i guess tumblr isn't a safe place to talk about kaeluc either lmao.

and to think i left anon asks on in the hopes that it could be an inbox for anyone who wanted to ask me art questions or just leave something positive and not feel too awkward (where do i get the confidence in thinking anyone would ask my incompetent brain for help lol).

to be fair, it's going to be my fault for continuing to draw attention to this by responding to such an ask instead of just deleting it and moving on but fuck it we ball.

this ended up pretty long but i feel like it would've been too rude to just say "会说中文的干嘛要翻书 :P". probably would've been funnier though and saved me a lot of time. kudos to you if you actually read this and read through everything.

final note: