#for now enjoy my terrible vocabulary

[monicahar]

“thanks for the flowers!”

“what flowers?”

in which they find out you receive a gift from someone that isn't them.

characters; wanderer, alhaitham, kaveh

; i keep seeing that damn tiktok 😐 gender neutral reader, fluff, crack,

WANDERER eyes you skeptically, suspicion being evident on his pale features as he scans your expression up and down. has he already caught on to your little prank?

“first of all, who in their right mind would court you? and with some sappy flowers as well?”

you return his unamused gaze, finding him very unfunny.

“you do know that you're dating me, right?”

“unfortunately.” he clicks his tongue, further leaning towards your face, brows still furrowed as if he's trying to decipher something, gazing at you with an unreadable expression that has your resolve crumbling. “is this another one of your antics to get a rise out of me? if so, it's not working.”

his lips break out into a grin upon watching your eyes widen. but your shock doesn't last long—him immediately seeing through your silly scheme isn't an unexpected outcome, funnily enough.

“you're too serious sometimes.” you pout at him whilst he scoffs, “just humor me. what would you actually do if i managed to receive flowers from another?”

“it's simple—you can't.” comes his swift and confident reply, offending you as you stare at him incredulously, weighing the implication of his words.

“you speak of me like i'm the most unattractive person in teyvat—what do you mean i can't?”

“you're an idiot. would i have really chosen you if you were unattractive in any way?” he crosses his arms before facing you completely, indigo hues staring directly into yours.

“i already eliminated all those who dare steal you from me.”

...?

you freeze on the spot, processing what you've just heard.

“...excuse me?”

“—just kidding. i'm no longer that type of person, hah.” he huffs out a derisive laugh, yet his humorous farce does not meet his eyes.

not finding any comfort in his supposed testament of it only being a joke, you opt to stare at him confusingly in return. weirdo.

ALHAITHAM, much like the wanderer, catches on to the prank immediately. whether it's intuition, scarily precise deduction or just the way you generally act weird when it comes to lying to his face—he still figured you out in the end like it's nothing.

but unlike the wanderer, he decides to humor you and play along. what a good boyfriend.

“...you mean you didn't give me the flowers?” you flutter your lashes at him, a horrible and terribly inefficient way to convince him that the whole thing with the flowers is actually real. alhaitham suddenly has the rare urge to laugh. since when did you act like this?

alhaitham shifts in his seat. “no. who do you think it's from?”

“hm.” you hum thoughtfully, bringing a finger to your chin as if in deep thought. the scribe briefly wonders how far you're willing to take this joke. but he digresses—the chances of him actually getting mad at you are akin to that of kaveh finally shutting up—

“maybe kaveh? he grew an interest in flowers recently, so i've heard. maybe he sent some as like a sign of friendship or something along those lines...there's no way it means something else, riiiiiight?”

alhaitham pauses his train of thought.

speak of the devil.

momentarily doubting his conclusion that you're just pulling a prank, he quietly glowers at you as if silently telling you to take back your words.

“what about him?”

you immediately cower upon the drop in his tone—raising your arms in defense when alhaitham moves to stalk closer to you. “i was joking! i didn't get any flowers from anyone and last time i conversed with kaveh was when i—”

“let's go.” he grabs the back of your collar and drags you along, a newfound heavy weight in his footsteps as an indescribable and uncomfortable feeling creeps up on his neck.

“i really was just joking, 'haitham! i was bored and i wanted to annoy you for a bit! i swear!”

even if it wasn't true, the thought of kaveh gifting you flowers without his knowledge—

alhaitham's expression subconsciously turns sour. quite unlucky that you couldn't witness the extremely scarce sight of jealousy on your boyfriend as you are comically dragged against your will behind him.

“the nearest flower shop is just around the corner. tell me if anything piques your interest.” he says in way that has no room for argument. he is getting you flowers now.

KAVEH falls for it, obviously. not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed outside his designated profession, you see.

“i don't remember buying any flowers...” he mutters to himself, the gears in his head turning. it's almost laughable when he finally pieces your words together, a look of disbelief painfully present on his faxe but by some miracle, you resisted the urge to burst out in giggles right then and there. “wait...i didn't send any!”

“is that so...then who would send me flowers other than you?” you edge him on, instigating at its finest, much poking a sleeping bear with a stick while you circle it tauntingly.

an actual enraged kaveh is something you've never seen before, just some tantrums and endless ranting about some clients and his roommate. you've always wanted to see it—just not directed at you, hopefully.

“that's...ah, people already know you're dating me though, so it can't be someone hitting on you. maybe it's just from a relative or—”

“really?” you tilt your head, feigning a bit of confusion. “then i suppose i should keep these red roses then. i'll ask tighnari how to keep them alive, i guess.”

“w-wait, wait—could you repeat that?”

“hm?” you face him, “i'll ask tighnari?”

“no, the one before that.”

“...i'll keep the red roses?” you had to hold yourself back from grinning ear to ear when his eyes widen.

it's not unexpected that someone versed in the beauty of art would recognize one of the most common flower's meaning. quite the handy trivia.

he immediately stands up, grabbing your hand in tow as you yelp in surprise at his abruptness.

“kaveh?!”

“those flowers mean love! like, actual romantic love! i'll burn it for you right now! where'd you put it!?” the intensity of his ruby gaze sends shudders down your spine.

“it's not like i reciprocate it—”

“still, no one other than me should be sending those...!” kaveh tightens his grip on your hands, “i don't like the idea of someone hitting on you. i can't let anyone attempt to take you away from me...”

you blink. “kaveh...”

“—that's why show it to me now! or i'll bite you!”

“okay, okay! jeez...”

now...how are you going to break the news to him that it was actually yellow roses, and most definitely not from an admirer?

the biggest hater of my work is myself. wtf am i writing bruh ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

[crescentmp3]

ehehe...

[melzula]

well since requests are open i wanted to request a zuko fic?

zuko x waterbender reader in which someone from team avatar walks in on them kissing?

i feel like it’d be funny idk lol 😂

a/n: i love this trope it’s so funny. also it’s like subtly mentioned reader is a water bender since i didn’t wanna just shove it in there awkwardly. anyway hope you enjoy!

summary: a private moment between you and your boyfriend is interrupted by your unsuspecting friends

“Are you sure no one saw you come in here?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Zuko says with a huff after closing the flaps of your tent. “You know, I’m starting to think you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“You know that’s not true,” you argue with a frown. ��I just enjoy having some privacy. I know those guys are going to make a big deal about us being together, and I just want to enjoy our relationship without having to deal with any prying eyes.”

“I know,” he admits with a sigh. “I’m just tired of sneaking around. Do you know how difficult it is not to kiss you or check on you after a fight with my sister? It’s torture.”

“It’s just until the war is over. There’s a lot at stake right now, and it would be a weird time to come clean. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“I hope you’re right,” Zuko murmurs with a frown, one that immediately melts away at the feel of your arms wrapping around his midsection. It’s hard to be upset when you’re smiling up at him with the purest look of adoration in your eyes. Despite everything, all of his flaws and mistakes and cruelty, you love him, and it fuels the warmth inside of his heart knowing he has someone like you. Maybe he would have joined the Avatar and his friends sooner if he knew it would lead him to you.

“At least we’re finally alone,” he notes with a faint smile before leaning down to press his lips against your own in a long awaited kiss. He hasn’t been able to give or receive affection all day, and it isn’t until now with your chest pressed against his own that he’s finally able to truly feel relaxed.

Unfortunately, you’re both too engrossed in each other to notice the rustling of your tent flaps as Sokka and Toph let themselves in without a second thought.

“Hey, y/n, Toph and I are gonna head into town, do you want to- oh, gross!” He cries after catching Zuko and yourself mid lip lock.

You both jump at the intrusion, knocking your head together on accident and groaning in unison at the impact.

“Sokka!” You cry out in embarrassment. “Monkey feathers, don’t you knock?!”

“It’s a tent! There is no knocking!” He yells back defensively, equally as upset as you are. “I can’t believe you guys were kissing!”

“We weren’t kissing,” Zuko argues, his face red with embarrassment. “We were… hugging… with our… mouths?”

“Oh, spirits,” you groan, your palm hitting your forehead in embarrassment at Zuko’s horrible attempt at lying. For a Prince, he has a terrible way with words. You’d think all that time spent with his Uncle would make his vocabulary more eloquent.

“If Toph could see she’d be very upset right now!” Sokka scolds, but the girl beside him simply shrugs.

“Actually, this works out great for me. Katara owes me five gold pieces now,” she says with a grin.

“You guys knew they were dating and didn’t tell me?!” The water tribe boy says in offense.

“I had a hunch, but Katara disagreed, so we made a bet.”

“Enough already! This is mortifying enough as it is,” you groan impatiently. “Sokka, we’ll talk about this later. For now, I need both of you out!”

After getting the two to leave the tent, you shut it closed with an irritated sigh. You’re absolutely humiliated, and you don’t think you can show your face to your friends ever again.

“So much for keeping it a secret,” the fire bender mutters.

“You,” you say with an accusatory finger pointed at the Prince, “need to learn how to lie better.”

“I know,” he admits meekly, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Sighing, you open your water pouch and tend to the growing bump on his head from your previous collision. You can’t stay mad at him when he looks so flustered and sweet, so instead you merely throw your arms around his neck and pull him back in for another kiss.

You can focus on coming clean later. For now, you just want to enjoy your moment of peace with the boy you love.

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin @lora21

[thebluester2020]

[ZZZ] "How To Recieve An A+ In Housekeeping!"

Summary: Attempting to get a job in Victorian Housekeeping Co. is a very strenuous process! One must show a wide variety of skills, good vocabulary, and excellent manners— all three were skills that you were failing at but, luckily the leader of the company had the perfect method to teach you these skills and it all starts with a program! Warning(s): Dom! Lycaon / Sub! Reader, Brat-Taming [Reader's a bit mouthy at best tbh] Spanking, Slight Edging, Cum Denial [Kinda? Lycaon encourages reader not to cum but doesn't do anything to enforce it tbh], Lycian being gentlemanly as hell. (Feel free to tell me if I missed anything!) Side Note(s): I won't say I am/am not a furry. But I will say that my taste in dudes will always favor them where they're stoic and serious but have a secret soft side. Respectfully, those types of men make me want to do the sexy splits on them.

Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this <33

"Your manners are terrible"

When those words left the wolfman's mouth sternly as you sat before him, only a desk separating the two of you, you could've sworn you felt a metaphorical anvil drop into your stomach. You had been job-hunting for a couple of weeks now, after your last gang had disbanded due to the leader getting caught up with the law. You no longer had a steady flow of cash (albeit a little illegal ) coming in!

From gang member to attempted housemaid...it was laughable. Even to you.

And clearly, the leader of the Victorian Housekeeping company thought so too from the way he looked at your resume with a strict gaze once more before resuming looking at you. You were fully expectant of another harsh sentence to slip from his sharp-toothed youth until...you heard a heavy sigh escape him.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, the very room seeming to react to the movement by the way the single light above you two flickered. His then he huffed. "There is a way to improve to improve your manners, however, you'll be learning from me personally."

You gasped. "Really?! Thank you so much, man!"

His ear twitched at the casual "man" you threw his way. "...Sir or mister is a more proper way of speaking to your male superiors."

You cleared your throat and uttered a 'sorry'. "The program will be for three weeks. Each week will be dedicated to a specific set of manners that you are to master if you wish to join the company."

"Which are?" You responded.

"The first week will be vocabulary, communication with clients, and the correct words to address people by," As Lyacon said this, he opened a drawer on his side before pulling out a piece of paper and sliding it to you. You slowly began to read over the paper, one that seemed like a contract of sorts as the wolf continued to talk.

"The second week will simply focus on posture."

You scoffed as your eyes flicked back up to his. "Posture? Ain't that just walkin'?"

"Proper posture is harder to achieve than one may assume Ms. Y/N." He said. "The third week will be—"

The sudden clearing of his throat made him stop immediately, your face suddenly but quickly turning red as you reached a section on the paper that caught your eye.

Complete submission is expected by those who train under Von Lycaon, especially those he offers "favors" to.

"F-Favors...?"

"Favors hint towards a sexual nature, if I'm to assume that was the inquiry to your question?"

In your former gang, you had heard about Von Lycaon and the whole attitude of the white wolfman. He was a pinnacle of perfection in seemingly everything he did! There didn't seem to be a single thing he half-assed, to put it crudely, and what's more? He didn't get distracted. So...for a document to suggest that he wanted submission during sex?

You didn't know if it was shocking or expected.

"I didn't expect the Lycaon to need a document to garner sex." You said.

A rare chuckle left him. "I don't," He answered. "But everyone learns quicker and better when praise and pleasure is included, correct? This is merely a suggestion for you to learn faster. You are more than welcome to opt out of this."

"And if I accept?" Upon that question, the corners of Lycaon's mouth curled up slightly as he slowly leaned in until you could just barely feel his breath.

"Then you will learn fast. On my honor, I promise you."

You should've said no to this optional part of the program. All you needed was a job and Lycaon made it clear that there was a sexless version of the program where you'd simply learn the old-fashioned way! No pleasure or sex included but...as your eyes steadily trailed over the thiren, you couldn't deny he was a handsome individual. It wouldn't be unpleasant in the slightest to have benefits while completing your training under him. And as you steadily came to that conclusion, your thighs beginning to clench underneath the desk.

The thiren briefly sniffed at the air before he closed his eyes and exhaled. He was as still as a statue for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and offered you a pen from his breast pocket.

"I didn't give you an official answer—"

"Your scent gave me a suggestion." His raspy voice in combination with the sudden feral look in his eyes...you all too quickly shooed away any doubts you may have had before you began to sign away on the line at the bottom of the paper. And once you did, sliding the paper gently back to the wolf, he read over it briefly before he folded it neatly and placed it back into a drawer.

"We shall begin Monday," Lycaon said. "Please be prompt and on-time, I don't tolerate tardiness."

"Yeah, yeah." You scoffed.

And thus, your training as a potential housemaid for the Victorian Housekeeping Company has officially begun.

. . .

| Week One |

You had slept in, you had forgotten to set a timer over the weekend, too engrossed with the fact that you had basically agreed to have sex with Lycaon during your three-week training! The second you arrived home, it was a struggle to not touch yourself to the thought of what he looked like underneath his kept-together appearance.

You imagined he'd be soft to the touch judging by how much fur he had.

Would he be firm with his gaze, demanding you to be perfect even in the heat of the moment? Or would be he gentle and accommodating with you?

No matter how much your body cried out for you to indulge yourself a little, you saved it until you experienced it for yourself.

But right now, as your head was bowed down in apology to the wolfman for making him wait over forty minutes to your first day. You had a strong feeling you wouldn't be experiencing anything pleasurable today. "Once again dude, I am SO sorry!" You said.

"I forgot to set a timer, then I wanted to stop and get some breakfast along the way—"

"Stop," He snapped his jaws with a growl seeming to bubble just underneath the surface, the sight of his fangs making you shudder out of fear and...the slightest hint of excitement.

"First appearances are important, the most important out of any interaction and you sullied it on your first day of training? How do you expect to work for the company with such a flippant attitude?"

"I said sorry—"

"Sorry does not cut it Ms. Y/N. Excusing being a minute or two late is another matter but forty? Punishment is the only fitting way to solve such blatant disregard for other people's time." At those chilling words, Lycaon took a single step toward you before he took your chin into his hand, his eyes scanning over your nervous form with a critical gaze before he eventually sighed.

"I have a punishment in mind, please see to it that you are undressed in my office within' five minutes, and be on time."

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers before you huffed defiantly. "I'm not doing that!" You yelled.

His ear flicked, to him? You sounded like an impudent child, screaming and doing anything to get out of being scolded by their parent. "No?" He tilted his head.

"No!"

A wolfish smirk crept onto his face. "Every minute you stand here is an additional minute to your punishment Ms. Y/N. Do take care to remember that."

And so, there you stood.

| + | + | + |

You wouldn't be able to claim that he wasn't patient for the entire duration you had a fit about being punished on the first day of training. For about ten whole minutes, you stood there staring at the thiren until you eventually got bored and decided that "your punishment wouldn't be that bad" and simply went to his office!

You sat on a black couch and waited and when Lycaon came in?

The way he so quickly got his hands on you felt like you were being thrown around by an uncouth beast, a complete switch from the gentlemanly wolf you were talking to just a few minutes ago.

Slap! "Count." He ordered.

"O-One—Ah!"

He tutted his lips with a shake of his head as his hand slapped against your ass again, your maid uniform tugged up to your midsection as he pinned your hands down with his free hand. "Proper communication is most effective when you're speaking clearly Ms. Y/N...also, it's "one, sir"."

Another slap against your red behind rang out in the air, your body jerking forward a little at the movement. "At this rate, you'll never reach fifty." He sighed.

"W-Wait...!" You begged. "J-Just give me a break...so I can c-catch my breath—" When he slowly inched his hand upward again, your eyes widened as you quickly remembered your manners. "S-Sir! J-Just let me catch my breath...please."

If your eyes weren't blurry with tears, your mind getting fuzzier and fuzzier as you tried to ignore the ache in your cunt. You could've sworn you saw his tail move a little. After a minute, however, a sharp gasp left your swollen lips when you felt a finger graze against your sex, the featherlight touch making you shudder as you whipped your head around to look at the Lycaon.

Unconsciously, his tongue poked out to sweep against his upper set of canines as he focused on how your slick oozed out from your pussy so shamelessly. But at the same time? He figured he shouldn't have been shocked at the lewd sight, his keen hearing didn't miss the way a tiny moan would escape your lips at each slap. It was as if you wanted him to keep going and didn't want your punishment to end anytime soon.

Such behavior wasn't befitting of a potential future employee at the company. "Are you done recuperating? If so, then let us continue."

"W-Wait..." You begged. "J-Just a little time- Ah!"

"Now, now—" He pressed his hand down on your wrists a little more, lightly pinching at your thigh with the tip of his claws to calm your squirming. "—If you focus and count Ms. Y/N then your punishment will be over very soon, please remain focused."

After a final warning, he was quick to resume his smacks against your ass. The pain and pleasure eventually blurring into one another enough for your brain to somehow find a way to "center" itself. And, after around twenty minutes...Lycaon finally released you from your bent-over position over his lap and got up.

A lingering rebelliousness in the back of your head wanted to curse out the wolf as he stood, fixing his cuffs until they were neat again as if he wasn't rocking a blatant boner in his trousers! Yet as your mouth began to open as he walked further away...it quickly shut when he started walking back to you after grabbing something from a bookshelf behind his desk.

"What is that?" You asked.

"Aloe cream, it should help with the burn and any burning sensations."

Oh, you thought.

How...nice of him.

At your silence, his head tilted as he sat down next to you. "Are you alright?"

"Huh? Oh, y-yeah...I just wasn't expecting aftercare." You blushed.

"Your work would be even more affected if I didn't do this, I wouldn't want that." Suddenly, your heart skipped a beat.

. . .

| Week Two |

You didn't want to admit it to yourself at the time but you knew full well as to why your heart skipped a beat that day. At first, you tried to joke and claim that you were a masochist starting to bloom! Von Lycaon was handsome, yes but you knew how to distinguish between work and personal lives! Besides, you wanted money more than you did romance and if the latter interfered with your money...you weren't in any shape or form interested in it.

But, at the second week's coming, this week focused on posture if your memory served correctly. You couldn't lie or joke to yourself anymore.

You developed a crush on your future boss.

And it grew harder and harder to deny that fact in your...current position. Naked aside from your short black heels, you were standing right in front of Lycaon with his pants pulled down just enough to reveal his leaking dick. The tip seemed to turn increasingly into an angrier red as you continued to stay frozen in place. "Are you uncomfortable?" Lycaon's words snapped you out of your thoughts before you shook your head.

"N-No sir! It's just..." You went quiet for a second. "How...how is this going to teach me posture?"

"If you would come closer, I will show you." Like a siren's song, the beckoning of his clawed finger made you take small steps forward until you were finally in front of him. "I'll be letting you take control of me for some time," You could've sworn you caught a smirk on his lips at his words. "If you manage to fuck me until I cum with the correct posture then consider your training done, and welcome to your new job as a new maid to the Victorian Housekeeping company. I'll be generous and not even include the third week of training."

"But—" As his hand found its way to your hips, he gently tugged you forward until he slowly maneuvered you to straddle him on his lap, his cock throbbing against your stomach as beads of sweat started to appear at the back of your neck. He reached the middle of your stomach, easily! And that wasn't even considering his girth. "—If your posture fails, you will unfortunately stick to the original training program. And I must warn you, most do not manage to get through week three."

You jumped a little when you felt Lycaon's hand move down to your pussy. "What are you doing?" You voiced out shakily, your clit throbbing at Lycaon's touch as one finger alone was enough to cover your entire clit.

"Preparing you of course," He said with an "obviously" tone. "No matter how much I can smell your eagerness in the air—" A sharp moan escaped your lips when his finger started to slowly move, your cheeks burning at the fact you let out such a noise from such little stimulation. "—I doubt you will be able to fully take me without a little prep."

"Y-You..." You bit your tongue to keep a curse from flying out, your hands quickly moving to his shoulders as you tried to ground yourself and not lose yourself too quickly to the pleasure. A task that you were quickly failing at as you felt a knot slowly begin to form in the pit of your stomach, scorching hot tears brimming your eyes as a single line of drool fell from the corner of your lips.

And Lycaon was enjoying every second of it.

If he were to be honest with himself.

He didn't want you to succeed this time.

After having so much fun with you last week, he would say that he had gotten a bit greedy. As entertaining as it was to tame your bratty behavior and mold it into something more palpable as someone who would be interacting with clients often, it was torture all the same to him to not shut you up with his cock instead! It wasn't enough to rut into his hand at the end of every day, heated pants leaving his lips as his tongue lulled out of his mouth like some common dog begging for a slip of meat.

To say that it was unbecoming of him to set you up for failure was an understatement, rubbing your needy bud until you nearly squirted on him wouldn't make you last very long when you were actually seated on his cock. And as cruel as it was for him to say...how unbecoming and un-gentlemanly it was...

He was so fucking eager for you to fail.

"S-Sir..." His ears perked to your whining as your head fell his chest, his ears then moving to the sound of lewd squelching coming from your pussy. "Please...I-I'm so close..." You whined.

He allowed himself to play with you a minute longer until...he took his finger away.

He struggled to withhold a laugh at your state, your eyes seeming to be confused and stuck between wanting to glare angrily at him or beggingly like a wanton whore for him to continue. "Don't look like that," He said. "If I were to make you cum now, you would be too shaky to fuck me."

You were too shaky now.

But, you'd first kiss the seat of a toilet lid before admitting defeat.

"I-I won't fail this..." You said with determination, although breathlessly.

His tail wagged ever so slightly at your determination. "We shall see," He responded before he relaxed against the couch with a deep sigh. "Please begin at your leisure Ms. Y/N." When you took him into your hand, you felt a surge of confidence at Lycaon's not-so-quiet sharp inhale of breath. You prayed that he was just as needy as you because as you lined him up to your entrance and started to slid him into you, every inch that sunk further into you made your mouth gap wider and wider until you were certain you looked like a gasping fish.

He rubbed against your walls so nicely too, his girth stretching you out just enough to where it made you drool as it touched spots inside of you that you hadn't had a clue existed until today!

"F-Fuckkkkk..." You moaned out once you were fully seated on him.

You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, desperately trying to ignore that burning feeling in your core as you began to move.

"Shit." Oh, how you just wanted to just shove a hand over his snout to keep him from letting out such sexy noises. His raspy voice and the way his thumbs rubbed encouraging circles into your hips...it wasn't good for you. You'd cum faster at this rate.

"Faster," Lycaon suddenly ordered, opening one of his red eyes to look at you.

"I...I can't- Oh!" Your words caught in your throat when he suddenly fucked up into you. A squeal nearly leaving your throat as you shut your eyes tightly to try and force back that urge to cum.

"Disobeying a superior now Ms. Y/N?" One of his hands slowly dragged up your back before it gently shoved you forward a little. Immediately, you fixed your posture although you nearly fell back over a couple of times. "You should watch yourself, my type of punishment for this act won't be very fun."

You doubted that.

But, as your hands tightened on his shoulders and you fucked yourself more quicker onto him. Tears started to flow down your cheeks more easily as you couldn't deny the burning feeling in your stomach anymore, how the way Lycaon's dick throbbed inside of you and pressed against your most sensitive spots...the urge to beg him for the chance to cum, just once was on the tip of your tongue but you tried to stay focused. "Oh my God..." He moaned deeply.

"Fuckkk..."

"A-Are you close?" You whined.

He scoffed. "Not even close," You felt your hopes nearly crash and shatter at those words. "But...your pussy feels so good on my cock," He praised, his tail thumping against the couch unabashedly as he stared up at you with hooded eyes and a feral gaze. "Perhaps, instead of a maid, you should be my personal breeding toy."

His smirk grew when he felt your pussy tighten around his cock.

"Yeah?" He asked. "You like that?"

You shook your head, shutting your eyes tightly as if not seeing him would help your situation anyway. However, as you felt a furred hand cup the side of your face, the feeling of breaths hitting your face. Your eyes slowly cracked open to the wolf thiren's face right in front of yours, panting and moaning with little to no shame before he smiled. "So pretty like this Y/N..." He said before his leaned down to begin pressing kisses to the side of your neck.

Briefly, the thought of whether or not this was a part of the training flashed in the front of your mind. But...as quick as it came, it was gone. You wanted to believe that...he wasn't following some manual when it came to his actions, that they were meant just for you and you alone. "You're so wet, making so much noise...I think I was right in my earlier suggestion hm? Maybe you will do better as my toy."

You shook your head. "Don't lie." He lightly nipped your shoulder, the sharp sudden pain being just what you needed to throw you over the edge before...Lycaon's ears moved to the sound of gushing and the feeling of wetness splashing against his pants and a bit of his thighs.

Without a second thought, his fingers shot down to gather some of your cum onto his fingers before he tasted you, a groan rumbling out as he almost shocked himself with how fast he got hard again. But before he could mention it, much less suggest it, when Lycaon returned his gaze to you. He saw you passed out against his chest, the very sight making him laugh ever so quietly before he sighed.

He supposed he was feeling a touch bit generous...he expected you to cum within seconds of fucking yourself onto his cock but it took you longer than that! To the point, he actually began to worry about cumming first or not! Although he had a mind not to be, he decided to be generous and forgiving seeing as you fucked him until the point of total exhaustion on your point.

He'd give you a passing A+ for effort.

[tmntxthings]

(First of saw your recent ask with the anon and I hope you’re feeling a bit better since answering that! Please don’t rush to answer this or your other requests and i hope you feel better soon!)

I AM CHEWING ON YOUR DONNIE X READER WORKS OML BRO WHAT ARE YOU FEEDING YOUR INNER WRITER YOUR WORK IS ✨DIVINE✨ 😔👌

I cant resist making a request but you know Donnie flies/hovers with his battle shell in some episodes right to get around?? So what if Donnie having an s/o who is fascinated by the idea of flying, so one day, after much pestering Donnie gives in and decides to fly them around New York for a bit. BUT only if he is there with them, cuz Donnie is not about to have a stress induced heart 

attack if they loose balance. 

Donnie himself doesn’t really understand the fascination with flying cuz….well nothing is especially different, it’s just the city but from high up. But then mid sentence he looks to his partner and stares in silent awe at the fascination twinkling in their eyes as they admire the view??

I’m sorry I’m such a goddam sucker for this sort of stuff

一∑ Nights Like These 。・゜・

author’s notes: you paint a pretty picture anon, I could see it all play out thru my head! hope you enjoy <3

warnings: fluff, unedited

—————————————————————————

“Y’know what would be cool?”

Donatello blinked, his stare deadpanned. He was over this. You had asked so many times already. And each time, he had given you his answer. A resounding no. So he continued to tap at his phone while you sidled up next to him on the couch.

“Donnieeeeeee!”

A drawn eyebrow twitched. He wasn’t going to deign that with a response. You were being trivial at this point.

“Please!”

He let out a long sigh. Clicking his phone shut as dark irises finally turned in your direction. By this point it was clear you were never going to let it go. The word no, didn’t exist in your vocabulary. At least not when it came to the possibility of flying.

With his attention now on you, a speech was suddenly underway.

“I’ll do everything you say! Take a whole Donnie-training-course on how to fly a jetpack!! Just let me try! Please! Pretty please!”

You sure did know how to beg. Maybe it was unfair of him. But he didn’t like the idea of you in the air at all. You weren’t exactly known for coordination. You sucked at driving video games. How would you be able to command a jetpack that could go from zero to a hundred in seconds flat?

It was dangerous.

You could get injured or worse! There were so many terrible scenarios that ran through Donnie’s mind, he almost went back on his phone. But your hands latched onto his arm, pulling his thoughts back to the here and now.

“Nothing bad will happen! You’ll be right there beside me!!”

It was weird how you knew exactly what to say. Exactly how to sway him. Maybe his face was an open book, or maybe you just knew how to read him too well. This time his sigh was one of defeat.

You cheered.

~

After many, many lessons Donnie finally felt it was safe enough for you to put the jetpack on.

By this point you knew what all of the buttons did. All sorts of emergency protocols. And you may even be considered a certified pilot depending on the country.

Rigorous couldn’t even begin to describe what regiment Donnie had put you through. But it all paid off in the end. Because now you were strapped in.

“Alright, looks like it fits. How does it feel? I designed this one according to your specs.”

Donnie was circling around you. A hand underneath his chin as he looked for a reason to call the whole thing off. But you were on the moon.

“It’s perfect! Oh my gosh, I can’t believe it. Finally!! We get to fly together!!”

How could he shatter that bright smile of yours now? He’d put this off long enough. So he nodded, and led the charge out of the lair.

~

“Remember, if you feel out of control—“

You cut him off before he could finish.

“Don, I know! Stop and hover. Can I power on now?”

“No not yet we have to go through all of… Y/N!”

There was no patience left within you as Donnie kept talking so you just took off mid-sentence. He hollered after you. He took chase, his own jetpack roaring to life.

You were going way too fast. Donnie couldn’t tell if you were even under control! Just above the rooftops you flew by. Weaving past units and it became clear that you did know how to fly. His anxiety lessened but he still kept tailing you. Just in case.

At one point you slowed down enough for Donnie to be flying right by your side. Your smile dazzled him as you glanced over. Eyes twinkling in awe as you pointed out the bridge where Donnie and his brothers did the pizza box stacking competition.

“Race you there!”

You shouted and not a second later you were going max speed.

Now you may be a natural but Donnie had been flying far longer than you. The only advantage you did have was a slight head start. The wind picked up as the two of you flew higher. The finish line apparently being the highest point on the bridge.

Donnie won. He knew the best path to take after all from a projected route via his goggles. He watched as you made it to him. Slowing down and then circling him in the air while you laughed out in joy.

“This is amazing!!”

You exclaimed as you landed in front of him. It was high up, the wind whipping past the both of you. But the cold didn’t seem to affect your spirits at all. Your arms were raised in the air, back turned to him, whooping out for all of New York to hear. None of them would, not even the passengers in their zooming cars below. But Donnie could.

His heart did a strange thump beneath his plastron. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He felt a little breathless.

“Thank you! I- just, thank you for this! I never thought in my lifetime I’d be able to do something so… so..!”

The words were slipping from you as you had faced Donnie to express your gratitude. This was something that only happened in movies. That only happened in dreams! Your hands came up and moved in an expression that tried to convey how big this all felt to you. These emotions!

“We can do it again. However many times you like.”

Donnie replied after a moment.

You didn’t let the shock pass your features. You had wondered if he would let you fly again. So you had tried to get it all out of your system. Not knowing if the first would be your last. You smiled brightly for him.

“My worries seem to have been for nothing. You’re a natural at flying.”

A compliment. You could only smile brighter.

“Well, I don’t know about all that,”

And his mouth opened to argue. Not liking how you were putting yourself down. But before he could you continued.

“I had a great teacher!”

You mused at how his mouth snapped shut. His eyes darting away, a hand coming up to rub the back of his bandana.

“Really. He was the best! He’s too smart!”

He had to turn away as the compliments kept coming. Had the wind stopped? It was suddenly a bit warm up here. You had the nerve to giggle at his shyness before you powered up your jetpack again.

He turned immediately back to you, expecting you to take off again. But this time you hovered. Offering your hand to Donnie. He couldn’t help but take in the view. The night sky your backdrop, few stars even more satellites. But it was as if you were glowing before him.

His own hand reached out, fingers brushing against your palm, before taking a firm grip.

He held your hand.

[nekovmancer]

Broken porcelain

pairing: Ramattra x f!reader  prompt: sexual tension when tending to someone's wound from this list warnings: semi-nsfw, mentions of blood, injuries, semi-nudity, swearing, reader being a bit masochist etc etc word count: 2272 a/n: backstreet's back, alright! and finally. 😎 I’ve been a bitch with a big B for Ramattra over the past couple months, and of course I had to write a piece on that robot guy. He gives me… feels I can’t explain. So, for all my fellow robot fuckers, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing! Feedback is always appreciated and please please please send an ask, a chat, anything so we can talk about this big guy and more fanfiction prompts. 😭 also on ao3!

Who would ever say to be a human amongst killing machines would, impressively, be a dreadly task? Or deadly, you would remark to yourself after a long walk of dragging your wounded body through the corridors from the training field to Ramattra’s personal workshop. At least, those new assassin omnics would perform their duties impeccably, you could tell from the way they cut through your skin without a single issue.

The wound was still covered under the thin layer of the tank top you have on, the white fabric damp of crimson blood denouncing something went terribly wrong, not to mention the pained expression contorting your face. 

As soon as he eyes your state, if Ramattra could bring a worried expression to the surface of his faceplate, he would, a mirror to the torment running through his systems. He was an engineer, not a human healer, but you needed him to act more as such in the present moment if you’re both willing for you to stay alive, which you indeed were. 

Growing impatient, not to mention the pain reaching under your skin, you adjust yourself slowly on top of his workbench, holding your side to prevent any further damage. Your fingers get moist with blood, and that has your lips twitching. “Can you fix me or not?” 

“That depends on your meaning of fixing,” he states, a stoic demeanor on the outside despite feeling quite the opposite inside. Feeling. Something he didn’t think to be inclined to, at least not when those diverged from the violence he was shaped to perform as a being… and yet, here they are, as foreign to him as the surgical aspects of flesh and bone. “I can’t weld you, obviously. At least, not as a first resource,” his slight humor brings a faint smirk to your lips, slowly shaking your head in a quiet response. In a lighter tone, Ramattra proceeds, and now it’s definitely a command. “I would like to have a closer look.”

Quietness follows, not as fast as the warmth spreading from your neck to the tip of your ears. To say you hadn’t considered you’d need to remove your shirt was unnecessary, in front of him of all people, ‘cause you’d rather overcome your own fear of blood if a second thought had you aware of the chances before. But as the old saying remarked: if you are in hell already, just go and sit on the goddamn devil’s lap.

Proceeding a thick swallow, you do as you’re told, diverting your eyes to a corner to avoid examining the cut yourself, or to avert them from Ramattra’s, anything and everything were an excuse in such a situation. It hurt just enough to be something you knew you couldn't handle alone, and considering how sharp that assassin’s knives were… fuck’s sake, what a weak fool you were.

On the other hand, at the sight of your almost bare torso, Ramattra felt inexplicably tense. The wound itself was not too deep to reach anything vital, but would need a patch up indeed in order to heal properly. Yet, his sight wasn’t restrained to that minor part of your skin, and that’s when tension was found. Maybe the vocabulary wasn’t a perfect fit, ‘cause that jolt of electricity running through his circuits was something else, something as sublime as the curve of your hips, and the way you shallow breaths of anticipation had your body quivering, despite an enormous strength to keep it still. He could hardly find beauty in human beings, and let’s not even mention himself, but that was a whole different scenario… warm, with a hint of degradation he couldn’t ignore, and something that could only be named as akin to desire. 

The silence was killing you now, almost making you forget the very pain which brought you there in the first place. “Will we be helding any funerals?” you risk, in the same light humor he used with you before. At least, if you didn’t consider the shaking tone in each syllable you’d pronounced. You thought Ramattra couldn’t  never understand your concerns fully, even if he invested all his force to: if the worst happened, he could be reconstructed, you were there for it after all. But as a human, it’s not like you have a respawn chance anytime. That’s why, aside the anxiety turning your stomach into a knot, you needed him to act. 

“You speak as if it's more severe than it is in fact,” he muses, tilting his head as the scanners on his optics do the rest of the work, searching for the right proceeding in a shared data file, where he was hoping to get anything from an omnic model whose initial propose, contrasting his, was to heal, not to kill. “No funerals, you have my word. The pain may be harsh, but the wound itself is of little harm in the bigger picture. You’re safe,” the addition of the last sentence has you sighing in relief, and a pinch of pain reaches you once more, but it’s bearable. Ramattra made you feel protected, or better, cared for. The warm feeling is enough to soothe your anxiety, dissipating the chill air in the workshop for a little while before rushing up to your cheeks as you’re reminded you’re still half naked in front of him. 

“Lay,” he commands, and your breath gets caught in your throat in the act. Only if your mouth were open, your heart would surely jump out if it during one of its chaotic heartbeats, contrasting the steady tone on Ramattra’s voicebox, echoing those words without a single trace of malice. But when they hit you, they sounded profane, leaving a delicate trace of forbidden to the tip of your tongue. 

You curse your mind as you lay down, a shiver erupting from the contact of warm skin to the cold metal of his workbench’s surface. Fuck, he’s your commander, superior office or whatever goes between you both, your boss to be short. Thing is he saw a purpose for you and spared your life long ago, and that purpose goddamn sure didn’t imply any… deeper contact than the occasional intellectual help you provided, with efficient (and smaller) hands and a cunning mind. After all, no Ravager was made to indulge in such a thing as intimacy, the very same thought cursing through Ramattra’s systems right now. He wasn’t built for delicacy, a single gentle touch for his standards would be brutal enough to leave you bruised for days, and how he would lament to see such perfect skin ruined by his own hands… unbearable to even think of it without feeling a strange sensation housing between his metallic limbs, pushing further inside in search of a bloody beating heart among the cold hardware. 

It wasn’t the first time he felt unsure in his existence, but that was a whole new thing. To think one like him was able to possess a spirit tender enough to be mesmerized by such a fragile thing as you touched him not physically, but deeper than it could ever be… how thrilling it was, but insufficient to make him search for its source on his internal data to completely erase it. No, never. He was actually holding into it with every fiber of his soul, curious to see which path it would lead him through. A bit embarrassing, at first impression, like the sight of you would burn his optics until they melt.

After all these years working along, was it there all the time? Within him, within you? He would search for it later, revisiting each time you shared each other's company in his memory, to see where a quiet admiration turned into this. 

After gathering the resources to fix you, ensuring everything was sterilized, he turned to sight over your form once more. Ramattra could sense the rapid heartbeat against your chest controlling your breath motions, the rising and falling of your chest following along, where he caught a peek of your nipples drawing a small circle under the fabric of your top, the last barrier between him and your fully exposed torso. Thankfully, unlike any human, his faceplate didn't betray any of his thoughts. They’re guarded within his systems, safe in his memory and imprinted there forever. Nothing could ever make him forget of you, nor time, nor enemies, nor… fuck, the injury. 

“It would feel better if you were asleep,” he commences, carefully. You’re already scared for it seems, and it’s not on his wishes to make it worse. “Instead, I will ask you to bite on this,” the discarded cloth of your tank top is brought to your lips, and your heart could have stopped right there. Instead, avoiding the disbelief, you silently obey. “Try not to move. I shall be slow.”

A nod follows, and you gather your best to not whine, or flinch, or sob too much when his hands begin to work, stitching the wound close. Whatever sounds leaving your mouth are muffled, and the pain is great. But erotic. And, fuck, you should be loosing your mind by this point. How could your brain process such agony in a pleasurable way? You’d be blaming the omnic in charge of patching you up, for sure. It was him, after all, all about him. 

Ramattra was enormous, and the effort he put in each precise movement didn’t go unnoticed. He could have discarded you, blamed you for your mistakes, assigned anyone else to deal with this bullshit, but there he was: the infamous Null Sector leader, treating you as a precious porcelain tea-cup, once broken, now being patched in threads of gold, despite the gold being metaphorical. It was a form of art, wasn’t it? You’ve read of it somewhere, once. If so, right now, you’re his masterpiece.

To say he’s being delicate is a statement. Ramattra is afraid he could shatter you again, worse than they did with you before. The responsible for it would be severely corrected, later of course. The pads on his fingertips could never be soft as your skin feels under them, and an eagerness to venture further brings a shiver of electricity through his spine. Should he ever be thinking of it in your state? In fact, was it reasonable to have you consuming his memory like this, injured or not? What could be a groan echoes from his voicebox, and within a few long minutes, it was done. 

Your jaw clenches to the minimum effort of raising your torso, sitting on his workbench once more as a small discomfort to the newly sewn cut emerges. Covered in bandages, you can’t see his work, but there’s no blood and the pain is moderate, so you trust with your eyes closed it’s perfectly fine. Your shirt is sitting by your side, bloodied and wet from your own saliva, but you don’t mention reaching for it. 

Blinking, your eyes search for him, meeting the stoic faceplate turned to you. Silence lingers as you both stare at each other, considering every single thought that coursed through your minds during the late couple of hours. Was it genuine? Absolutely. Would you voice them? No, surely not. Tension is still there, so palpable you could touch it, and shattering it would come with a price. 

A small blush color your cheeks red, and you finally manage to break eye contact with a hint of timidity. Too much to ask of you for a little time of strong, contrasting emotions, still tickling under your skin as the adrenaline begins to sparse. Clearing your throat, you’re the first to speak. “I apologize,” it begins as simple as it, almost ending the sentence there as your eyes don’t dare to move from your lap and you choose carefully what to say, and what to keep to yourself. Ramattra may have performed a solid progress towards emotions, but you feared he would fail to comprehend the turmoil in yours. “It wasn’t strict of your concern, nor a matter you should care for as you did, and I-”

“I had to,” he cut you off, sternly. Now that you’re safe, his worries tend to other subjects, still resonating over you. Was he too obvious, despite his best efforts? Couldn’t be, and yet he wished fervently for you to point it out, verbalizing what he was too afraid to: he wanted to keep you close, and safe, more than he ever did. “Whatever happens to you is my business, especially if it's a menace to your well being,” Ramattra takes a step closer, his fingers aching to reach for your face, and soothe that sorry expression out of it. Instead, he keeps them to his sides, clenching them a fist. “So don’t apologize for it. It wasn’t your fault, in the first place, and yet I’ll ask you to be careful and not wander over the training field whenever a new IA is being tested.”

A short nod follows a faint smile. His words were gentle, not explicitly voicing what he meant in between the lines, but you knew it nonetheless. Ramattra cared for you, more than you could have thought, and enough to satisfy your heart. “I don’t even know how to begin thanking you.”

“Dressing will do,” a chuckle reverberated in his metallic rib cage, and if his words alone wouldn’t catch you yet, it would be enough to make your face red as a cherry for, somehow, you were able to sense a trace of malice in Ramattra. “Rest now, human. I shall meet you when the day is done.”

[thenameswinterfics]

CAOINEADH

Fandom: The Last Kingdom Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Banshee!Reader Settings: Season 2, brief mention of moments from S3 to SKMD Summary: While wandering outside Dunholm with his mother, Sihtric is visited by a creature whose presence brings terrible news to his family. Years later, the Banshee returns to the mortal lands and Sihtric, now grown up and in the service of Uhtred, faces the consequences of a bad omen. But the tragedy also brings them closer together. Word Count: 5,2 K Warnings: Angst, mention of blood, mention of death, mention of main character death(s), human/monster romance, hopeful ending? , me writing Finan's Irish accent. A/N: After a long time, I'm back to writing for my favourite Dane rat boy. I'd somehow forgotten how much I loved and enjoyed writing for him, especially after a period of putting him aside for a while. This feels like I'm republishing a fic of his for the very first time, so I'm terribly nervous. I hope you like and enjoy it. If you find the ending a bit rushed, I'm sorry. I finished it while it was late at night in my timezone, and everything will be fixed eventually when I'm awake and more aware of my actions. Many thanks to @foxyanon , @legitalicat and @zaldritzosrose for helping me with the Banshee lore, for writing Finan's accent, for the emotional support, for the beta reading and last minute corrections, and to @sylasthegrim for the early beta reading and emotional support as well.

This fic is my entry and first submission to the Fan-Frankentober event, organized by @fandomeventcenter. Here the masterlist to take a look at the other works.

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE. I APOLOGISE IN ADVANCE FOR MY GRAMMAR AND VOCABULARY MISTAKES.

Header by me (template by @zaldritzosrose) Dividers by me and @zaldritzosrose

READ IT ON AO3 (COMING SOON)

Caoineadh: Irish and Scottish Gaelic pronunciation of "keening" (to cry, to weep); traditional form of the vocal lament for the dead in the Gaelic tradition.

By the time Sihtric stopped running, he had no more memory of the place he was in.

His hands, clenched into small fists, rubbed his tired eyes as he tried to scan the surroundings, looking for any detail that might help him orientate himself in the unknown space. He could not recognize the long tree trunks rising from the ground, their dry branches seeming to touch the twilight sky as he watched the sun's rays filter through the few remaining canopies. 

The place was eerily quiet, the sound of the wind blowing and moving the branches and leaves on the ground the only sound to break the surreal yet disturbing atmosphere. He felt a shiver run down his spine and the little Dane suddenly hugged his shoulder, as if to hide his head between them like a turtle. 

It was one of the few times he and his mother had left the strong walls of Dunholm together, Sihtric enjoying the fresh air of the forest while Elflaed was busy gathering flowers and herbs that he had little interest in. Sometimes his curiosity would get the better of him, his big, mismatched eyes fixed on Elflaed's wooden basket and how many herbs she had managed to gather. When his mother felt his eyes on her, she would patiently stop picking and crouch down beside him, patiently explaining what she was doing as she wrapped his small body around her, only to see her son wriggle out of her embrace soon after and play with small sticks nearby. 

Sihtric was usually a quiet and obedient child: when his mother asked him to stay close to her, he obeyed without a fuss. That day, however, something caught his attention, a heartbreaking wail that filled his ears and shook his heart: it was a gentle but sad song that carried pain and sorrow, hiding a sense of concern and care towards to whom it was addressed. Armed only with a small stick and with curiosity teasing him, Sihtric dared to disobey his mother for the first time, and entered into the woods while leaving his mother behind.

And there he was, lost in an unfamiliar place, with nothing to defend himself but a small stick. He was too young to call himself a warrior, barely able to hold a knife, let alone wield a sword that was too heavy for his tiny hands and a shield properly. Hiding and fleeing was the only option he could take in case of real danger, for he had spent his whole life hiding from the wrath of his cruel father; but the surroundings would make the task impossible, as the tall and twisted trees casted long shadows, and the undergrowth cracked with every step he could take.

Suddenly, the silence of the forest was broken by the same sorrowful chant that dragged him in the deep of the woods. Holding his wooden stick in his hands, Sihtric moved carefully in the direction of the voice, trying not to make noise while the ground cracked beneath his feet. 

The walk was short, and he found himself in front of a small lake he had never seen before. Squatting on the bank was a young lady in a blue gown, her black hair cascading down her shoulders like pitch-black watercourses, giving the little boy her back as she continued to sing her lament. Sihtric could hardly understand what she was doing, her head almost hidden beneath her shoulders, her hands working frantically to move the water in small ripples.

Holding his breath and trying to be as quiet as a mouse, Sihtric crept up behind her, lifting his small head and trying to find the right angle where he could see what she was doing underwater. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, fear and anticipation creeping into his bones as he felt the keening close to him, the chanting drawing him in even if he couldn't understand it. But as he crept closer, something beneath his boots cracked softly, and the sound was enough to make the lady turn and show her face to the boy.

It was the first time he met you. 

Sihtric watched with frightened eyes as your icy blue gaze locked on his and a low hiss escaped your mouth, your pale complexion adorned by scarlet tears rolling down your eyes. Behind you, piles of clothes lay scattered on the grass, others dripping in the water that had lost its transparency and had become muddy with blood. 

The little Dane found the strength to stand up and try to run away, but he soon fell, tripping over a stone behind him. Your ghostly presence, now calmed down after the initial fright, lightly approached him and crouched down. One of your slender hands rested on his cheek, your touch as cold as the death itself. But the words that came out from your lips were way colder, breaking the silence with your voice as soft as the silk but sharp as a piece of glass. 

“She cannot escape to the Other World.”

“She?” “Escape from what?” “What is the Other World she is talking about?” These were the words that filled the boy's mind, filled with nothing but fear and the coldness of your touch. But soon Sihtric's tiny body was enveloped in a familiar warmth, and two arms lifted him from the floor. It was only when warm, trembling lips were pressed to his forehead that he recognised the touch of his mother, who had searched for him after losing sight of him.

“Sihtric!” Elflaed cried while holding her son close to her. “Why were you here all alone? I told you never to leave my side, never! Oh, my sweet boy!” 

The young Dane watched as he silently pointed to the spot where you appeared before him, but a cold realisation hit him as you were no longer there, gone like ashes in the wind.

Sihtric did not answer, too lost in his mother's warmth and love, and the bad omen you gave him still shook him to the core. He clung to her presence, and each time your words echoed in his mind, he sought comfort in his mother's presence, even when they left the forest and the warmth of her small hut welcomed them.

But a few days later, the opening of the Other World shook nature and its creatures. And his mother's soul was claimed after a long agony.

Standing outside Eoferwic, you looked up at the walls that surrounded the town, admiring the mix of Roman, Danish and Saxon architecture that was unfamiliar to you: you were there when the Romans laid the foundation stone on the ground, and the same souls were the first you guided to the Other World, announcing the sad event in the form of a manifestation to the families you watched over. 

And you were called to do your duty again: to find the same boy you met years ago, to tell him that more of his family's souls will be claimed in the days to come. They will not be gentle and innocent like those of his mother and grandparents you guided through the other world: they were violent, reckless, stained with blood’s innocents and sins far from forgotten. But it was up to the god or gods to decide where their souls would go in the afterlife. 

Your pale eyes scanned the area, and when you found a small stream where you could wash the dirty clothes you were carrying, you walked over and dipped your hands into the cold water. You watched as your fingers swirled around the cloth and the water lost its translucency, a faint reddish tinge staining it.

The night was still, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees, lightly caressing your raven locks. You continued to scrub the clothes in the water as your wailing began, your lament filling the air and mingling with the sound of the rushing water as your eyes watered and scarlet tears rolled down your white face. 

As on that night, something soft cracked on the ground and your wailing stopped. You lifted yourself from the ground and turned towards the sound, and soon found yourself crouched beside a young man, probably trying to sneak up on you without attracting attention. 

He was a handsome man, the most beautiful your eternal eyes could ever have seen; his features sharp, his fair skin adorned with a few scars on his forehead, eyebrow and cheekbone, a knotted tattoo crossing part of his head, his dark hair cut at the sides and combed into three plaits and knotted at the back. These were features that were strangely familiar to you, your mind trying to remember when was the last time you saw him. 

But it was his eyes that captured you the most. There was pain, melancholy and innocence in them - the same light you had found in the bicoloured eyes of the little Danish boy you had reached outside Dunholm. You felt a sudden flicker of recognition, your eyes widening slightly as you recognised that lost and frightened boy in the man he had become. The years had moulded him into a skilled warrior, but the softness of his eyes remained unchanged, you noted. 

You chose a cautious approach, slowly closing the distance between you. You noticed his body trembling and his jaw clenching, his muscles not moving from where he was: it was still unclear to you whether he wasn't moving out of fear or anticipation.

“It has been a long time, sweet boy,” you broke the silence, using the same nickname you had heard his mother call him. Sihtric stood frozen, partly enchanted by your ethereal appearance and your voice, as melodious as the birdsong at sunrise.  

His eyebrows furrowed and his expression changed from alienation to curiosity: your figure was too familiar to him, but he could not remember where he had first met you.

 “Do… Do I know you, lady?” the Dane asked, holding his breath as the silent nod of your head answered his question. 

You took a long pause before answering him, "You do, in a way," you said in a soft voice that carried the weight of your grief. You took a step closer, noticing that the Dane was shifting his incongruous gaze slightly away from you, "But I have known you since you were a little boy playing spy in the deep forest.”

One of your hands reached out and rested on his cheek, the cold touch awakening something in Sihtric that he thought he had buried deep in his heart. He remembered your figure knelt near the lake shore, your icy blue gaze that penetrated deep into his soul, the cryptic prophecy you had given him but he was too young to understand.And then he remembers the mother he lost, and how it was one of the last nights they wandered the Dunholm woods together, and how after her death the Dane desperately tried to find you to explain, but you never showed again.

Instinctively, one of his calloused hands reached for yours, shivering at the cold of your pale skin. But he never pulled you away: instead, he leaned against you, finding the softness of your touch endearing.

“I remember your touch,” he murmured shyly, lowering his gaze as it briefly met yours, fascinated by your pale eyes, “It was you, all this time,” he continued, earning your satisfied hum.

“It is your family that forged our bond,” you announced with a solemn tone, absently doing circles on his skin with your thumb, “It was your mother’s souls that bound you to me.”

The mention of his mother made Sihtric snap back to reality, and pain filled again his mismatched eyes, “My mother’s soul?” he repeated in a whisper, a slight trembling could be heard in his voice, “What did you do to her? Why didn’t you save her?” 

His voice broke down when he asked his final question, and the red tears rolled down your cheeks furiously “Why did you take her away from me?” 

“It is not me who willingly chose to wrestle your mother from your arms,” you murmured softly, your other hand resting on his other cheek, cupping his face completely. Your thumbs gently wiped away his tears, and you could hear him draw in a sharp breath. Under the moonlight, you could see a faint blush in his cheeks.

“It is fate that foretells a mortal's permanence in this world and how their entry into the Other World will come about,” you explained carefully, as if you were talking with a child. “It is my duty to show myself to you and to guide you through the painful parts of death. Your pain is my own burning.” 

An uncomfortable silence fell over you, the weight of your words making it almost impossible for you both to speak. Finally, you summoned the courage to speak again, and your next words sent shivers down his spine. 

“The Other World is shaking, more souls from your family should be claimed,” You solemnly stated, and your words brought a sense of uneasiness and confusion in Sihtric. 

“Lady,” The Dane lowered his gaze, his cheeks burning at the sight of you, his body trembling at the surreality of the information he was receiving that night, “I have no family left outside my mother and my grandparents,”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, amused at his naivety, "Even if they neglect you, there are still ties of blood that fate will sever."

Sihtric clenched his jaw, his gaze darkening at the memory of a father who neglected you and looked at you with disgust only because he was guilty of being born a bastard, and of his half-brother who always looked at him with the same disgust for their father. The news of their imminent deaths brought him an unexpected sense of peace, and the chains of his tortured past will be broken forever: but he would fear how their deaths would affect him, when the damage they had done was far from repaired, and the memories of his past would knock furiously at his door, reminding him that no matter how hard he worked to forge his own path, he would forever be marked as a slave.

The Dane was about to open his mouth to reply to your words when a loud, rough voice called him out from a distance. 

“Sihtric! Come back here, yer little runt!” Finan’s voice brought him back to reality, forcing the Dane to shift his gaze and look at him. 

“I am coming, Finan!” Sihtric replied to him as quickly as he could, so that he could face you and ask you about the fate of Kjartan and Sven in death.

But when he turned his eyes again, you were gone. And a sudden emptiness filled his heart and saddened his soul.

Later in the evening, the atmosphere within the walls of Eoferwich was playful and joyful. Warriors gathered around small tables outside, filling their stomachs with food and ale while telling stories of women, successful raids, or simply myths and legends from their homelands. 

Sihtric's mind was elsewhere that night. It was common for the warriors who shared a seat at his table to see the young Dane so shy and taciturn, a pattern they justified from his earlier days as a slave in Dunholm, his eyes darting around while his body tensed at the proximity of the too many people in front of him.

But this time it wasn't the echo of his past that tormented him: it was you, your stunning, ghostly presence and melodious voice had bewitched him and altered all his senses. It was as if he was seeing you for the first time, for he had seen you when he was a little boy, unaware that his world was about to collapse upon him and that he would have to rebuild it all by himself. Now that he was a young man and more aware of his own feelings and the world around him, it felt like a string pulling him towards you, longing for your touch and the way you spoke of destiny and its inexorable flow. And the mystery surrounding your figure made you even more desirable in his eyes, and he often wondered if he was facing a goddess herself.

Sihtric's thoughts about your figure were suddenly interrupted by Finan's speeches about his homeland, Ireland, its customs and its most famous legends. One in particular caught the Dane's attention, and he shifted his gaze from his reflection in the mug to the Irishman.

“I told yer tha these creatures ain’t nothin’ but an omen of death!” Finan spoke with such emphasis, looking at Clapa and the few men at the table listening to him. When he felt Sihtric's gaze resting on him, he continued his story. “Legends say they’ll appear in front of yer, sometimes washing bloodied clothes, and they’ll cryin’ and wailin’ somethin’ terrible tha will hit ya family.”

Sihtric listened intently to Finan's words and felt his hand tremble as he gripped his mug of ale. He felt all the dots connect at once, especially when he saw you washing dirty clothes and singing a mournful chant, your wailing so tearful that it filled the listener's heart with sadness. He also remembered facing you twice and seeing the tears of blood leave your eyes. 

There were no creatures like you in the Norse legends and beliefs, and Sihtric wondered how a creature from a different faith could become the spirit guardian of his family.

“I found a beautiful lady washing a pile of clothes not so far from here,” The Dane murmured against his will and soon the animated atmosphere died down and he shrugged as he felt all eyes on him. His mismatched eyes found the Irishman's brown ones and with a slight nod he silently ordered him to continue.

“She was singing something,” Sihtric continued, his voice faltering slightly as he could feel the intensities of their gaze on him, “It was a lament, something so heartbreaking that it chills the blood in your veins.”

His gaze rested on Finan while he spoke his last words, “She brushed my skin and was cold at the touch. And then she was looking at me with her pale eyes, crying blood-“

“Cryin’ blood, yer said?” the Irishman asked in an urgent tone, and Sihtric nodded his head. Then he reached for the Dane's shoulder and squeezed, but not too hard: Finan knew what the wrong touch could do to a former slave, especially one as young as Sihtric.

“That woman you claimed to have seen before… Did ya know what a Banshee is?” Finan asked Sihtric, and received a shake of head as an answer. The Irishman sighed quietly, and leaned his face close to the Dane. 

“Tha’s the spirit I was talkin’ about before. They’re bound at yer family and they’ll come wailin’ and cryin’ blood while announcin’ the death of yer loved ones. She can be either a gorgeous woman or a vindictive old witch. Tha’s someone ain’t to be trifled with, remember this.”

Sihtric gulped at Finan's description of the Banshee, which was nothing like what you really were. You were so gentle with him, taking care of his pain and not putting the burden of grief on his shoulders. How could such a sweet creature as you be the dangerous spirit that Finan described earlier?

“She treated me with nothing but kindness, Finan,” the Dane replied almost innocently, and the Irishman grinned at his words. 

“Then ya were a lucky bastard!” he retorted in an ironic tone, gently slapping Sihtric’s cheek and returning to his seat. 

The conversations continued with more stories of the Banshees and Irish legends until Uhtred broke the mood by calling for Sihtric, who obediently rose and reached for his Lord. And after preparing the final strategies of war, everyone fell asleep, thinking of the battle they would face at Dunholm and how you would draw the veil of death over their heads.

After a day of celebration, Sihtric found an opportunity to sneak out of Dunholm fortress through the small door in the east wall used by the servants. He followed the small watercourse that flowed into the forest entrance and, armed with his sword and dagger, he walked into the heart of the forest, his movements light as a feather to avoid any upcoming dangers.

Once again, the prophecy you told him about your family proved true, and on the day of the battle both Kjartan and Sven were killed, their souls taken by you and sent to the afterlife. While the event lifted a great weight from Sihtric's shoulders, free at last to forge his own destiny without the cruel shadow of his father tormenting him, he wondered if you knew the difference between your afterlife and his, and if his father's soul did not rest beside Elflaed's. The image of Kjartan distressing his mother even in the afterlife made his heart skip a few beats: he would rather accept slavery under the cruel Lord of Dunholm than see his mother tormented in heaven, having found the peace she never had in life.

Finding you would be the only way for him to be reassured and to have the answers he wanted. But finding you would also mean surrendering to your cold touch, losing himself in your lifeless eyes that stirred emotions he could not believe he was feeling. Finan had warned him to be wary of spirits like you, but you were nothing more than a comforting presence at his side, a guardian who would watch over him even if he could not feel you.

Fortunately, Sihtric found the little spot where he had found the two of you the first time, remembering the details of the foliage and surrounding vegetation. And there you were, sitting near the shore, gazing out at the shimmering water, your presence quiet and not filled with your lamentations. When you appeared, Sihtric noticed how your pale face was cleared by your scarlet tears and held his breath at how even more beautiful you were without crying, the pale rays of the moon caressing your skin.

"You came," you said with a gentle smile as you stood up and approached him.

"I thought I would find you here, lady," Sihtric replied sheepishly, his cheeks turning red as he saw you closing the distance between us. He swore he had never seen such a beautiful creature as you. 

"I realised I never asked what your name was," the Dane continued, but you cut him off with a shake of your head. 

“Names are not important for eternal creatures like us,” you explained while you cupped your cheek in your hand, brushing his skin with your slender fingers, “you do not need to know my name to feel close to me. I will always watch over you, Sihtric.”

“I refuse to believe a creature as beautiful as yours is deprived of a name that does her justice,” Sihtric replied, closing his eyes while abandoning himself to your touch, ignoring the lump that was forming in your throat. 

You could not remember what your real name was, for you had forgotten it when death took you in its arms. You did not remember your former life as a young woman full of hopes and dreams, and how a violent death, coming from those closest to you, extinguished your light forever.

Ignoring all your thoughts, you shook your head and looked at Sihtric, who covered your hand with his calloused one and pressed his lips to your palm, feeling the coldness of your skin against his. It was a small gesture of affection that set a heart beating that you had forgotten you had, for it beat only with sorrow and grief.

"You claimed the souls of my father and half-brother today," it was Sihtric's turn to break the silence, wrapping his strong arms around your slender waist and pulling you close. Even though you were a ghost, you looked so real in his eyes and he was content to touch you and cradle your form.

"The doors of the Other World have indeed been opened to them," you replied, almost lost in his touch, "but for them there is another path to take, one filled with eternal pain and damnation."

The sight of his body tensing at your words saddened you, so you spoke quickly to reassure him, "Your mother and father have taken different paths in the afterlife. They will never meet again.” 

Sihtric felt another burden lifted from his shoulders, and his body suddenly became light: he was glad to see that his dear mother's soul was enveloped in the eternal light of beatification, while his father was probably rotting in the depths of Niflheim, surrounded by cold and darkness, for he died without a weapon in his hands. But even if he had gripped his sword tightly with his last breath, Sihtric did not believe that Odin would open the gates of Valhalla for him.

“Thank you,” the Dane whispered softly, giving you the first sincere smile you’ve ever seen while watching him growing up. His bicolored eyes shone with a renewed life, tasting that freedom he thought he could never have in his life. 

But a new realisation hit him hard, and the light in his eyes was replaced by a look of suffering: your duties were done, and you would return to the veil that separates the living from the dead, and watch over him silently but without concealment. He was not ready to say goodbye to you, not after he had found a person who would treat you with kindness and make his heart beat faster, it mattered not if that person was a creature from the afterlife or not.

“Do not go, please,” Sihtric pleaded in a feeble voice, his jaw clenching as well as the grip he had on you, afraid that you might vanish at any moment. He moved your body close to his own, resting his warm forehead on your cold one.

“I have to, Sihtric,” you explained quietly, though you felt your eyes burning and your scarlet tears about to escape. “I am bound to the spirit world, preparing families for their upcoming deaths. You are a young warrior, with life burning inside you.”

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the warmth his living body is giving to you, a warmth you used to radiate as well. And when you felt a rivulet of blood escaping from your eyes, Sihtric’s arms were quickly cupping your cheeks, wiping them with his tattooed fingers. 

"One day, when the doors of the Other World open again and the veil between our worlds forms its rift, they will give me the call to take you, and only there will you be mine forever," you added, the words slipping easily from your tongue as you lifted your gaze and locked it in his eyes. You have never had anyone look at you with love in their eyes, not even in your previous mortal life. Sihtric was sent to you to show you that a damned spirit like you could be loved and deserve to be loved. But he was the right person at the wrong time. 

“Promise you will live and wait for me until your hour will come.”

Sihtric took his time to calm down, closing his eyes and breathing slowly to calm the tears that were about to fall and to suppress the pain inside him. He thought he had found the right person to spend the rest of his life with, to take you as his wife and build a family with you. But he had to face the cold truth that you were not a living being and that you would soon have to leave his side.

The Dane opened his watery eyes again and looked at you with burning desire as he gently lifted your head with his hands. "I promise I will wait for you, my love," he swore, clutching his Thor's hammer with one hand, "and when that day comes and death takes him, I will be ready to go. And there I will be yours forever."

You both raised your faces to each other like a magnet drawing you close, sealing your eternal promise with a kiss that poured out all the love you both had carved out of each other, but that your time had not yet allowed. And when you reluctantly broke the kiss, you slowly turned and walked towards the small lake, your body disappearing into a cloud of mist that slowly dissipated into the air, the sound of a bird flapping its wings in the distance. Sihtric watched your disappearance with pain in his heart and watched over the lake until morning, when he returned to Dunholm to be reunited with Uhtred and the others.

Over the years, Sihtric had kept his promise and lived a true warrior's life, the once shy boy growing into a skilled warrior and confident man. He became one of Uhtred's most trusted allies and closest friends, and together with Finan and Osferth they wandered the borders of Mercia and Wessex, the Danelaw and East Anglia, eventually reclaiming Bebbanburg for Uhtred, who reclaimed his birthright and became its lord.

Feeling that you were always watching over him, you only appeared sporadically to bring him and his band of friends bad news: it was your job to inform him of the impending deaths of Gisela and Thyra while he was at Coccham, to warn him of Father Beocca's death before their first attempt on Bebbanburg fortress, and to claim Osferth's soul at Rumcofa. Uhtred was next, succumbing after a long and arduous battle, followed soon after by Finan, too old to even stand properly on his feet.

You were at his side, emptying his heart of grief as his mouth claimed yours in fleeting kisses before you went back to hide in the veil. You watched Sihtric grow old over the years, loving every single wrinkle on his face and every white hair that appeared over the years, while to him you were always the same young woman he fell in love with when he was a young and inexperienced lad.

And when he grew old and grey, surrounded by nothing but the walls of Dunholm, of which he had become lord, he felt the doors of the Other World open and a bird flap its wings, followed by the sound of a gash. With dying eyes and a tired smile, he watched you keep your own promise and claim his soul as he breathed his last, and feeling his body rejuvenated by the effects of eternal life, he took you by the hand as you reached the gates of the Other World, and with a long, desperate kiss, you sealed your eternal life together, and your souls at last lived and rested in peace.

If you've come this far, thank you so much for reading my fic! Hope you enjoyed it! Please, leave a comment if you want to be added in the taglist or be removed.

Sihtric Kjartansson Taglist: @whitedarkmoonflower @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @foxyanon @legitalicat @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @sylasthegrim @lord-aldhelm @sihtricsafin @arcielee

@volklana @gemini-mama @ladyinred2248

[lairofsentinel]

Since this user's posts seem to have been deleted in previous opportunities I copy-paste their words here because they express exactly what I feel about this game. Dragon Age has died, unfortunately.

I'm a big time Dragon Age lover and have enjoyed every game in the series. Personally, I think Inquisition is the best in the series. And I was excited for Veilguard right up until I actually began playing it. Now, I want to clear things up at the start as to what I look for and believe makes a good Dragon Age game. To start, I DON'T CARE ABOUT COMBAT. I. Do. Not. Care.

You can make it Origins tactical. DA2 fast tactical. DAI hybrid. God of War action, I don't care. Dragon Age has always had combat that was...fine. A nice distraction and breakup in between the bits I actually care about: narrative ROLEPLAYING, story, characters, and exploration. I don't give a crap how great the combat is if the narrative roleplaying and writing are poor, I'm not playing BioWare titles for amazing gameplay. I am here for the story, the characters, and the roleplaying. Truth is, for a time I considered DATV's combat to be the best in the series.

And this is why I feel the game is a terrible Dragon Age, because it lacks or fails to respect those elements concerned with narrative roleplaying, story, characters, and exploration. Now, in many reviews and online videos you'll hear some reference often to the drop in writing quality. And a lot of time people will incorrectly say that the writing with the characters is to "modern" or "Marvel quippy" or not "dark" enough. I think these people are wrong, they recognize there is a drop in writing quality from previous games but aren't able to articulate why that is.

Dragon Age has never adopted any sort of faux medieval speech and vocabulary (though we'll get into this more later). This is a series that used "epic fail" as a thing someone uttered in the very first game. It's always had anachronistic dialogue and banter. So why is it such a drop then? Why is it considered poor? Simple. This is a game that does not believe in the world it has setup for over a decade. It does not believe in or engage properly with its own world and lore. I mean, look no further than the title "The Veilguard" a phrase that is never uttered by anyone in our group, and further proof it was a last minute marketing change. Compare to Inquisition where the title is apparent from the start in the game and has actual meaning.

You see, characters in DATV do not feel or react to events the way they should based on the lore. Why is no one constantly asking what the hell the Inquisitor is doing? The Inquisitor is kind of a BIG DEAL when it comes to Solas and Elven Gods, my Inquisitor drank from the WELL OF SORROWS! So why are we sitting around thinking at the start, "hmm lemme think who I can contact who might know more." The Herald of Andraste! They know more Rook, the guy that is technically your boss. The Inquisitor! Who else have you been working for this entire time? Who do you think told Varric to recruit you?!

But even removing the Inquisitor, the Elven Gods being real and also near synonymous with the old Tevinter Gods is kind of a BIG DEAL. It was only a theory fans crafted long ago that slowly revealed itself to be true. And it completely upends known religious dogma on all sides. Yet, why aren't people we meet going through a massive existential crisis? For instance, the Veil Jumpers we initially meet were presumably told off-screen about Fen'Harel, and are seemingly cool with this massive knowledge alone. But then we talk about those two other Gods being released and they're like, "well, shit those two aren't good." As if they have any clue if the fables about those Gods are real when we previously just upended everything they thought about the Dreadwolf! Why are you acting like this is another Tuesday?! Your entire religion is wrong. In that same conversation, Strife notes "Solas might be a bastard, but compared to the Evunaris? Let's just say they weren't know for being kind rulers."

My brother in Anduril, what are you talking about! Elven religion teaches that Elgar'nan was so beloved by the Earth that it "the land brought forth great birds and beasts of sky and forest, and all manner of wonderful green things." And that he fought the jealous Sun that tried to burn the land and all beasts away. Custom says that he and Mythal, "created the world as we know it" after defeating the Sun. He is literally described as one of the "good" Gods. WHY ARE YOU ASSUMING HE IS EVIL! It's like finding out Satan is real, but not as evil as have come to believe and then being told Jesus Christ is back and a devout Christian going, "well shit, that can't be good." WHAT?!

The same goes for Andraste and the Chant of Light, it took me 30 hours of playing before ONE character mentioned Andraste and the implications with the Chant and it was never brought up again. Our entire party is seemingly made up of unphased atheists. Now compare to something like Inquisition which explored this aspect HARD and was amazing for it. You'd get into great debates with religious figures and party members about the implications of Corypheus actually being a Tevinter Magister of old. And you'd talk about what it means towards the religious dogma preached and how much is true. And these intense political and religious discussions are present in every previous game, and not confined to a single conversation with one party member where it is seemingly resolved.

These conversations do not happen in DATV because there is no depth to the writing or engagement with the world. The Elven Gods are evil and need to be stopped. That's it. We don't need to think about the implications this has on Dalish customs and religion. Fuck it, all the Dalish are going to still wear their Vallaslin slave brand tattoos. Let's forget about Trespasser implying Solas was removing them from followers coming to join him. Let's even forget they were likely all told at this point that they are slave brands, nope still going to wear them yet speak blasphemy with every sentence against our Gods. No one cares about Andraste or The Maker or the Chant. Big deal if these Elven Gods contradict the overwhelming majority religion in Thedas. Not a single party member has religious or cultural objections to killing the Elven Gods; not a problem. Not one single elf wants to join Solas in tearing down The Veil and getting immortality again?

Again, let's forget about Trespasser setting up Solas gathering MANY Elven followers from Dalish clans who would be super inclined to join him after experiencing CENTURIES of discrimination and slavery by humans. The better question is what Elves wouldn't join Solas at the start? And what Elves wouldn't look at the other two Gods and go, "meh, maybe we should give them a try. They can't be worse than humans, right?" In DA2 you had elves joining The Qun to escape the discrimination of humans, but not ONE ELF wants to join Solas or Elgar'nan? Those Ancient Elves in the Temple of Mythal? I guess they all died, right?

This extends to EVERY single element of Dragon Age that previously had depth to it, it now has been completely removed. Those murdering Antivan Crows? Oh, they're just good Italian Mob Family that protect their city. Tevinter? Yes, it has poor people, but we're trying to do better. Oh, slavery? No, no we don't show that here. The Qun? The what now? No, they are all Antaam now, and so that means they are all generic evil warlords. No, they don't even attempt to follow their own hardcore view of The Qun like when Templars split from the Chantry, they're just warlords now that like plunder. Dwarves and their rigid Caste society? We don't do that here. Elves and racism across Thedas? Elves used to experience racism? News to me, what's a Shemlen? Never heard of that term, we like all humans. Pirates? That is insensitive, we are Lords of Fortune and we are sure to return any cultural artifacts found to their rightful owners; it belongs in a museum after all. The fucking Fade and spirits? Wait, you mean its different than generic fantasy spirit world? I'm sorry, that's too complicated here.

This either intentional disregard of the lore or plain ignorance also extends to environmental design. The asset reuse from Inquisition is particularly hilarious and must speak to the developers not having time after the switch from MP. Why are the same statues found in Val Royeaux in DAI also in Tevinter and Antiva? Why are those stupid Fen'Harel Wolf statues EVERYWHERE? Even in the catacombs of other Elven Gods! There are no statues of Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain. Nothing for June or Anduril. Dirthamen. Falon'Din. Nothing. No, the only Gods that seem to get statues are coincidentally the ones who already had assets created for DAI or past titles that could be reused. Hmmm.

This continues into character designs too, why do the Veiljumpers and Shadow Dragons all dress richly? They are supposed to be poor as fuck. There's a codex entry about Veiljumpers finding a lost cache of old ancient elven armor and weapons and so boom they all get to dress like High Elven Lords and not the dirty, poor, wandering Dalish clans they are supposed to come from. Why do this? There isn't even an attempt to explaining why the Shadow Dragons, an organization supposed to be secretive, has branded clothing in bright rich colors and fabrics for all members. Naturally, it must be incredibly difficult for Tevinter authorities to not identify them.

This lack of depth and verisimilitude, naturally, affects all the characters. Because in this game you cannot roleplay and you cannot ask questions. In Dragon Age Inquisition, once you started the game, you could immediately interrogate Varric about what happened to every DA2 character despite the Inquisitor never meeting them, you know because it respects its players. You could speak to shop keepers, blacksmiths, your horse master. You could interrogate every single person to learn more about them and the world. The same goes for your player character in DA2 and Origins. You show in Denermin and find yourself knee deep in a quest to help Wade the Blacksmith craft the perfect armor. Here you can't actually speak to a single shopkeeper to ask questions and get some lore bits. You can't ask party members questions about their background, religious beliefs, upbringing, their factions, etc. You can't ask any returning characters any questions either about what they've been doing. Enter a brand new area? Great, you're not asking anyone questions about this never before seen place.

How does a lost Dwarven thaig survive every single blight? How are their immortal lichs in Neverra? How long has that been a thing? Why haven't they told anyone about the Elven gods or any other knowledge they've accumulated in an immortal lifespan? If immortality is so "easy" why can't Solas just do that to restore the Elves? Why are the Venatori, Tevinter Supremacists, following Elven Gods? Wouldn't that be a major identity crisis? Why would Antaam, who still preach the Qun, follow an Elven God that speaks blasphemy with ever breadth? Sshhhh, no questions. You get what is directly told to you and that's it, no follow-up questions.

Party members do not conflict with each other or interrogate each other's beliefs which is why their banter feels inconsequential and meaningless. Lucanis is a assassin, he kills people for money. The same organization that marked Zevran for death for failing a contract. The same one that took him as a kid and trained him to murder, often brutally, for coin. And yet no one really seems to care. He's just a nice Italian assassin from a nice assassin organization. Who cares. Let's instead talk about cooking, at length. Harding, a devout follower of Andraste, has no qualms with Elven Gods wreaking havoc on known religion. We get one conversation you can tell her to believe what she wants, and that's the end of that debate. Bellara also gets about two whole conversations about the conflict concerning her Gods wreaking havoc, both easily resolved. We don't need to think about any larger implications or doubt her loyalty when the Elven pantheon are seeking to restore her people that have been discriminated against since forever. Emmerich, a necromancer of Neverra, apparently has no religious belief. A codex entry even states that those of the Mourn Watch don't know where the soul goes after death. They don't like to think about it. Buddy, Mortalitasi belief is literally that our souls return to the Void alongside The Maker, but to keep balance a exchange must be wrought with The Fade to allow a spirit to house the now empty vessel. How do you not know the religion and customs of your own faction and land? This man has a whole quest line about funerary rights, yet not ONCE mentions religion and what he believes happens after death?! Sshhhh, no questions. No thinking.

Hey, remember The Fade? Remember how mages go to dream there every night. Remember how The Black City is always visible there? No? Well, we don't either. You won't see The Black City in The Fade. You might see it in The Crossroads in a closed off section, even though it is NOT The Fade. Oh, we're going to have you physically enter The Fade in multiple quest lines and no one will think it's a big deal. No, you still can't see The Black City. Now, The Fade is reduced to nothing more than your generic fantasy spirit world. It has none of the previous rules and lore that bound it before. Demons can bind to non-mages and we won't attempt to explain it. Solas fucks with The Veil and not a single mage notices a change in their dreams when they sleep at night. No biggie.

Lastly, let's return at last to the actual minutiae of writing. I stated at the start the writing isn't bad because of Marvel quippiness, which the series has always had. I was partly lying. Yes, the series has always had anachronistic dialogue. It has had meme language in its own previous titles. But, it was just that, a small joke here and there. For the most part the series actually tried to use it's own sort of "older" speech patterns. I think a perfect example has to do with Taash, she eventually finds her own identity and declares she is proudly "non-binary." Literally stating, "so, I'm non-binary." I have no issue with this sort of inclusivity in Dragon Age, it's what the series is known for. Yet, why does that sound wrong? Simple, it's far too anachronistic. It doesn't belong in Dragon Age. In Inquisition, Dorian let's us know he's gay. But he doesn't say, "I'm gay!" or "I'm a homosexual" those terms would not exist in his world. Instead he says, "I prefer the company of men."

And it's these little subtle changes in writing that makes it feel all the more different. We went from "I once ventured in to The Fade to serve the Old Gods of Tevinter in person. I found there only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. Now I shall return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world gone wrong. Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods. And it was empty."

To: "Well, shit. That can't be good."

So, what do we have when all is said and done? Well, we have a decent generic fantasy action game. An intentional attempt by the developers to remove every edge from the world of Dragon Age in place of a very simple, easy to understand world with not much depth beyond what you see. You don't need to think, just play and have fun. This is beyond turning a MP game into a SP game, which so blatantly obvious in this game. DA2 was developed in 16 months, but is carried strong by its writing. You see, nothing prevented them from just acknowledging their own world they created. It costs very little to write around what already exists. Even if you can't make no assets or redesign the world. Writing is cheap and having characters voice these elements is not as costly as a redesign. No, they chose to remove the edge in every element because this was design intentionally for the masses with easy to understand world and zero depth.

But I wanted to play Dragon Age. I wanted to get into intense religious debates with party members as known lore is completely upended. I wanted to debate Elvish clans deciding to join Solas or the other Gods due to their treatment by human society. I wanted to debate the ethics of necromancy with the Mortalitasi of Neverra's Crypts. I wanted to engage in intense debating with Solas on the ethics of his goal. I wanted to see Tevinter react to a real push for anti-slavery and actually see the slavery in the slave capital of the world. I wanted to butt heads with the Antivan Crows and call them out for the murderers they are. I wanted to see the Black Divine and debate the Chant of Light with them. I wanted to speak to the Archon of Tevinter and see how he felt about the Venatori's past efforts in Inquisition. Hey, what happened to Meredith Reborn in Kirkwall and her idol and Red Templar worshipers? Forget about it.

We got none of this. I got a game that is pretty much disrespectful of its own world. I waited 10 years for this? Why even bother if this is the result? They may as well have just killed every previous character we ever knew, including Solas, offscreen and started anew with this game. Because as a Dragon Age game and sequel, it's terrible and no returning character is how they should be.

And when we get to the ending, that's pretty much what they did. Everything you did in all the past games? Well, that was pointless. Everyone is probably dead. King Alistair. Gaspard. Celene. King Bhelen. The Arl of Redcliffe. The Divine. The Circle of Magi. The Templars. The Seekers. Everything, everyone, and every organization that existed in the South is likely dead and destroyed. And now Dragon Age can become what they wanted, a generic fantasy IP.

But I just wanted to play Dragon Age.

[tired-and-ticklish]

Rough Day

Summary: Angel Dust's had a rough and long day at work, no pun intended. Niffty helps him unexpectedly relax.

TW: Tickling, Mentions of Valentino, Mentions of Angel's job, Swearing, Mentions of safewords being ignored.

I couldn't get this idea out of my mind after seeing this scene from the show.

Part Two

“Oh fuuuuuuuck!” Angel groaned as he entered the hotel, cracking his back as he did.

Today had not been a good day for him. First, Valentino wanted some ‘quality time’ with him, which always put Angel in a terrible mood and headspace. Then, that fucking moth had him work for what felt like an eternity. No rest, no food breaks, nothing. Everything felt sore, and the spider was just happy there was a shower at the studio. Otherwise, he’d have to wait till he got to the hotel to clean up.

He just wanted to face plant into the first soft object he found and pass out for the rest of the day.

“You look messy!” Nifty said, startling Angel as she hopped out of a potted plant. “What happened to you?”

“More like ‘who happened to me?’ and the answer? Everyone. Twice.” Angel groaned, beginning to head for the couch. “Val had me working sixteen hours on a fucking limb! The absolute dick-”

The spider demon’s rant was cut off, biting his lip slightly. He hadn’t noticed Niffty jump onto his back, until he felt her dusting him off, tickling him and causing him to freeze. Angel quickly reached his lower arms around and tried to pull her off before anyone could notice.

“I appreciate the help.” He told the maid “But I don’t need dusting.”

“But, you’re messy.” Niffty repeated, and as if to emphasize her point, trying to reach up to fix Angel’s hair.

“Yeah well, I’m not some piece of fucking furn-Ack!”

The maid was ignoring him, as Angel felt the feather duster now on his neck. This was bad, he realized as he bit his lip. Sure, he was the taller demon, but Niffty was faster, already out of range of his hands and back on his back. He needed to stay composed, as he noticed Husk, Charlie, and Vaggie watching him from the sidelines.

“N-Nihihihihift, c-come on, I think I’m c-clehehheeean now.” Angel tried to plead, a few giggles escaping as the duster left his neck and headed for his worst spot, his armpits. Having six arms was both a blessing, and curse, especially since the spider had kept his worst spots from when he was alive. There was no way he’d be able to keep it in if she got there.

“You’re clean when I say you’re clean.” The cyclops told him, and before Angel could attempt to plead any further, the feathers made contact.

He clamped his upper set of arms down as a small squeal came out of him. The spider demon felt an unintentional smile begin to form on his face, and despite his clamped arms, the duster was still moving.

“N-Nihihihihfty plehehehehease!” He couldn’t help it anymore, laughter was starting to pour out of him.

“Angel… Are you…Ticklish?” Charlie asked, and Angel could practically hear the smile in her voice. Though, considering the Princess of Hell, that was an easy thing to listen for.

“N-Noohohohoh, fuhuhuhuhck ohohohohoff!”

“Oh my Satan, he actually is.” Vaggie said, clearly enjoying the show as she chuckled.

“Niihihihihihffty plehehehehease!” Angel covered his face with one of his hands, trying to hide his smile.

It wasn’t that Angel hated being tickled, or wasn’t used to it. He hated when Valentino did it, or any of the clients Val gave him did it. ‘Safewords’ and ‘boundaries’ were not words in the Overlord’s vocabulary, and oftentimes, he and the clients would be too rough, making the spider demon cry out in pain more than pleasure. They made fun of him, and touched places he hated, especially his feet, especially when Valentino was in a bad mood.

But the gentle tickles of the feather duster? Niffty not staying in one spot too long as he felt her move it to his ribs? That was the kind of tickling Angel enjoyed, the softer side of it, and it was embarrassing. He was a pornstar, for fuck’s sake, he shouldn’t enjoy something like this! Or at least, if he did, it should have been in the kinky sense. 

And yet, he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the non-sexual aspect of it, how freeing it felt to just laugh and let himself go. Angel Dust liked being tickled, and the idea of his hotel companions finding out embarrassed him even more. Even so, Angel couldn’t find it in himself to throw the smaller sinner off him. Sometimes, Niffty reminded him of Molly in a way, and that tugged at the part of him that still cared about people.

“W-Waahahahait wahahahait shhihihit!” Angel’s knees buckled, him sliding to the floor as the maid continued dusting him off, though he heard her let out a small giggle, obviously knowing what she was doing.

“Just a few more spots, then you’re done!” She assured him, letting out another mischievous laugh as Angel squealed.

“P-Plehehehehease Iihihhihi cahahahaan’t tahhaahake- NOHOHOHOT THEHHRHERE!”

His lower set of armpits was attacked, for some reason, those ones were much worse than his upper arms. It was like the further down you went, the more sensitive Angel’s body became. And yet, he still wasn’t feeling any actual distress. Hell, the weirdest part about all of this was that it was helping him relax.

“NHIHIHIHIHIFFTY!”

As soon as it started, it was all over, Angel feeling the feathers being removed. He caught his breath, hugging himself in an attempt to get those phantom tickles away. Looking up, he spotted Husk, who had lifted Niffty off the spider demon.

“Hey, I think I saw some roaches on the other side of the hotel-” The cat demon began, and, as the mention of any sort of bug, the cyclops maid took off like a bullet. Husk shook his head a bit, before offering a hand to Angel. “You still alive, legs?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Angel said, waving one of his hands while another accepted Husk’s. The spider was pulled to his feet.

“How are you feeling?” Charlie asked, Angel’s cheeks turning a shade of pink as he realized they had all seen him lose it.

“I-I mean, it wasn’t… awful.” Angel said as casually as he could muster, trying not to let them know he enjoyed it. The Princess of Hell let out a small squeak, sparkles in her eyes.

“We could do that for trust exercises!”

“Do… what?”

“Tickling!”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea!” All four of them were suddenly startled by Alastor’s presence, the Radio Demon apparently having been watching from wherever he had been. “After all, you’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

“Well that sounds like a big fucking riot, but I’m going to pass.” Husk said, already starting to back away despite how calm his voice sounded.

“I-I think Niffty got me enough for the day.” Angel began, also backing away.

Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor were looking at them with mischievous smiles, coming closer toward the spider and cat. Husk tried to remain casual, like he wasn’t trying to run up to his room, while Angel held up all four of his hands pleadingly, a nervous smile already stretching onto his face.

“Ten~” The Radio Demon began.

Both Angel and Husk took off like two bats out of Hell, hearing Charlie’s excited giggles and Vaggie’s threatening teases as they ran. Soon enough, Alastor’s countdown was finished, both girls running after their targets. The Radio Demon twirled his microphone cane, before casually following along.

‘What an interesting venture this hotel is turning out to be.’ Alastor thought with a chuckle.

[thefandomenchantress]

Chapter 2 Episode 15 Spoilers below!

Since Ace being the culprit has brought about so much pain to ace lovers, including me, I figured I'd make a list of all the good things that him being the culprit brings to us. Even though Ace will (probably) be executed next episode, that doesn't mean that nothing good came out of this, right?

-Ace's backstory may be revealed much sooner than expected! Before we would've had to wait for chapter 3 or chapter 4 and so on, but since Ace will be gone soon, almost everything not revealed next episode will get told to us in a bonus episode! (I think every dead person gets one of those? Idk if that's officially confirmed). I doubt Teruko's gonna find, like, Ace's diary in chapter three detailing his life story, so if we're ever getting the Taylor Lore™, it'll be in a bonus episode! Plus, a bonus episode would come out a lot faster than the whole of chapter three, so more Ace content sooner no matter what happens in it! And there's always the chance he gets picked for an FTE, since dead people are on the list of options.

-Ace canonically has neat, fancy handwriting. Begone rumors of Ace having illegible, traditionally boy-ish handwriting, he actually writes like a 19th century scholar and I find this very funny. More evidence for my 'Ace likes reading and writing and wanted to become a romance author' crack theory, since he also reenforced his particularness about vocabulary in chapter 2 part 2. (Our only remaining question: Does Ace actually have terrible spelling ('responsibel'), or did he just think Eden would?)

-Ace is very good at being sneaky and often overhears things he shouldn't. I can't wait for this to be used as a plot device in numerous fics ("XANDER YOU'LL NEVER GUESS THE SHIT I JUST HEARD DAVID SAY ABOUT YOU WHEN HE THOUGHT HE WAS ALONE").

-Ace will have to be included in the dead (formerly a) trio posts forevermore. Get ready for Xander-Min-Arei-Ace shenanigans.

-Now that the cast has been forced to acknowledge that being dumb and angry aren't Ace's only traits and that he's just as human as the rest of them, Ace is much less likely to be seen as just those two things by the average viewer. Ace's popularity, or at least the amount of dislike towards him, seems to have shifted since the last episode, and I'm happy more people are able to enjoy what his character has to offer now. He's a cool little guy. I've literally NEVER seen the Ace Markey tag this busy before.

-We got so many cool Ace CGs guys. SO MANY. Including one where he's hanging upside down on the swing set and looks weirdly cute for someone in the middle of a murder plan.

-Also new sprites! The DRDTdev gave Ace a redesign knowing full-well that it would only get a singular chapter of use, and I massively respect that. We already got some new sprites in part 2 of chapter 2 so far, and I'm guessing next episode he'll probably have at least one more breakdown sprite before he dies.

-For someone who no one in the cast liked, he's definitely going to leave an impact. He's finally made at least some of the cast realize what happens when they ignore the issues right in front of them. Ace shouts about how everyone hates him and sees him as an insufferable idiot? Eh, probably nothing, we don't have to worry about that. Sure, multiple people told him he's gonna die next in here, and he almost got murdered, but that won't amount to anything. What's he gonna do, murder someone--WAIT SHIT Ace step away from the Arei I repeat step away from the Arei-- (plus Teruko parallels). I'll probably go more in-depth about this sort of thing in a different post.

-WE NEVER GOT TO SEE WHAT'S UNDER HIS GLOVES. Kyoko and Mukuro both had hand-related secrets that connected them to the plot later on, does that mean Ace will have some sort of relevance to the mastermind or overall lore later on? Like a Mai tattoo situation? (Or maybe it's another thing that may be alluded to or discussed in the bonus episode)(Or left to interpretation but I hope not because I have so many theories).

If you have any more suggestions for other good Ace-related things the culprit reveal brought us, let me know and I can add them to the list! We need as many good things as we can think of right now...

[shock]

really enjoying the uncle-to-a-2yrold phase of being an uncle right now. in the span of an hour we played instruments terribly, i cartoon-snore pretended to sleep in his pile of stuffed animals, played cat noises on a soundboard, got told 'surprise!' before being handed another farm animal about 6 times, he fell and hit his head on part of a chair but i rubbed his head and told him to dance it off and he tried sooo hard and danced it off and started laughing so we went and told his mom how AWESOME he danced it off, i whispered at him to go tell people they were stinky and he did so, we spelled words out of scrabble letters on the floor and i taught him how funny it was to make up new words like 'TEEBIE' and 'HOOL', pretended my hand was a talking creature who couldn't see trying to find him, had various magic spells cast at me with a colored pencil, had a giant stuffed charmander thrown at me while being told 'CHARMANDER!!!', and when he tried to jump on me we reminded him that i was still healing so i couldnt pick him up yet and his understanding is that uncle jack's boobs were broken so they fixed them but they still need to heal and they're getting better and we showed him how different the scars looked compared to a month ago and he's so genuinely curious and caring i love that i get to be an uncle who not only is privileged to be part of a person's formative experiences as a casual trans person but also GETS TO BE THE GUY WHO TEACHES HIM TO PUT 'WHAT THE FART?!' IN HIS VOCABULARY!!!!! 😈😈😈😈😈😈

[dodger-chan]

Starting my self-indulgent birthday posting a little early, because I'm stressed and gonna need the distraction.

I spent much of the last year working on Reveal the Yearning Desert (now complete!), so probably all the posts will be about that. Here I offer a short scene that I considered placing in chapter seven, or alternatively a short au fic where Steve and Eddie are dating, set shortly before season four.

(I wouldn't say this qualifies as a sex scene, as it begins with Steve using his safe word, but I wouldn't read this at work)

-------------------

“Demogorgon.”

Eddie froze. He hadn’t been expecting to hear that word.

Well, obviously he hadn’t been expecting it. He wasn’t trying to freak Steve out, or hurt him. Not more than his boyfriend liked to be hurt. 

He could figure out what he’d done wrong later. First he needed to untie the ropes. Remove the blindfold. And check in with Steve. Shit. Eddie was terrible at this.

“What’s wrong, Baby?” he asked, freeing Steve’s wrists. “Were the knots too tight?”

Steve shook his head: a nonverbal denial. Eddie should probably insist on words. Later. For now, any communication would do.

“Do you want some water?” Another head shake.”Some space?” Steve’s hand shot out and grabbed Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay, okay, I won’t go anywhere. Is there anything you want me to do?”

“Talk?” The word sounded choked out with effort.

Eddie nodded. He could talk. He was good at talking. Eddie always had a lot to say, much to the annoyance of nearly everyone he knew. If teachers could put needs to learn to shut the fuck up on report cards, he’d bring that comment home every semester. He was a chatty guy.

Except right now, apparently, when words had been requested.

“Right, talking.” Eddie told Steve about his plans for his next campaign. To expand on the legend of Vecna. To bring the Lich King into play as the surprise final villain. He’d probably have to repeat it all later; Steve didn’t really get DnD, but he liked to hear about it anyway. By the time Eddie ran out of nerd talk his boyfriend was looking much more present. So Eddie asked, “Can you tell me what I did wrong?”

They hadn’t been trying something new, or particularly intense.

“Nothing. I just felt…” Steve scowled and pulled away. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d’ve been okay in a minute.”

Shit. Eddie had framed the question wrong, and now Steve felt bad. Not the result he was going for.

“Honey, I want you to tap out if something feels off.” Gently, Eddie cupped Steve’s chin in his hand and turned his boyfriend’s face back to him. “Pain, or nerves, or just lack of horniness. There’s no bad reason to stop.”

“But you weren’t doing anything wrong,” Steve insisted.

“Okay, so I didn’t screw up.” Eddie shrugged, faking nonchalance. He must have messed up somewhere. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t enjoy.”

“I know.”

“Now, can you tell me what felt wrong?” he asked. Steve looked away again. “You don’t have to justify it; I’m only asking because I don’t want to accidentally do it again.”

Steve sighed. He pulled Eddie’s arm around him.

“I’m not really sure. I couldn’t see you, and I couldn’t hear you, and I thought I smelled-” Steve cut himself off abruptly. “I can’t.”

There were a lot of can’ts with Steve. He used can’t for so many things: lack of vocabulary, unwillingness to analyze his own emotions, a sense that he should be feeling differently. Eddie had a pretty good idea which this was.

“So next time, maybe skip the blindfold? Or I could talk more?” Eddie offered. Steve would get over his insecurities or he wouldn’t. For now, figuring out what would make Steve feel safer was enough. “Keep a cigarette burning so all you can smell is tobacco?”

“Hey, some of us are trying to quit.” Steve elbowed him in the gut. Not very hard; more of a nudge. “But, um, more talking though. I think that would be good.”

[crisiscutie]

yandere female sephiroth with a fem darling who's really clingy and sweet to her pls? calling her mommy, constantly following her around, nuzzling into her tits and wanting to suck on them, hiding behind her/burying her head in her tits when the other male sephiroths come around, grinding against her thighs, begging to eat her out and to get eaten out by her and just wanting to be mommy's good little girl

tysm for ur time!

Yandere Female Sephy headcanons with NSFW? Alrightly. HoS episode.

Content Warnings: NSFW, Mommy Kink. Milk/Nursing Kink. Noncon/Dubcon. Teratophilia.

When the other Sephiroths came back from their conquests, they weren't terribly surprised to see yet another version of themselves in this strange house.

Just another competitor for their precious darling's affection.

AC Sephiroth's patience had worn thin as he added yet another Sephiroth to his hit list. But he is still eager. His excitement within builds as the time for his plan to fully claim darling drew near.

You felt oddly at ease with this female Sephiroth. Sure, at your first meeting, she was absolutely terrifying:

She tried to smother you with her large breasts and the soft, cold steel of her Masamune brushed against your sensitive skin. Yet lately, she's been nothing but loving and caring.

But maybe it's a cruel trick for you to let your guard down? But no matter; you're falling for her.

She is already at an advantage over the other Sephiroths since she can enter your garden feeling no revulsion or anger. Or so you think.

And you definitely did not call her "mommy" when you two first cuddled together, no no. It was a slip of tongue. Probably because C.C calls you that in your most intimate moments and the damn word made its way into your vocabulary.

Sephiroth was taken aback when you addressed her as mommy, but when she saw the happiness it brought you both, she gladly accepted it.

She began to push your body closer and closer to her large breasts. You tried to hide the blush on your face, but in the end you were powerless and could not resist any longer.

You love the way her large, pillowy breasts jiggle when she moves. And they provided a good wall between you and her male counterparts.

As you lay against her breasts, her shapely fingers gracefully moved up and down your delicate body.

"You enjoy this, don't you, darling?"

You nodded, and in your shyness, you couldn't help but nuzzle into her breasts.

She wrapped her shapely fingers around your jaw, gently prying it open as her other hand freed her bare, swollen breast from the confines of her trench coat.

Before you can ask her what her intentions are, she quickly pushes her large nipple into your mouth.

You hesitantly sucked on the flesh, feeling so out of place. This was incredibly common with C.C and his twin, and now you're on the receiving end. What an odd reversal.

Soon, love and comfort radiated through you; it was like your bond with her was deepening. It's no wonder why C.C loves doing this with you and why he won't drink from a bottle.

When her corrupted milk flowed into your mouth, you involuntary squirmed. Her hand continued to wander down your body, coming to rest at your nub and stroking it.

"Be still, darling~,"

You began to eagerly suck on her nipple. She responded with a dark, seductive laugh. The milk is now pouring into your mouth.

"That's it, take of all of mommy's milk, my sweet girl..."

Those words had the same smoky, sinister resonance when you two first met.

You don't care though; you just wanted more of her creamy, thick milk.

You felt your bond with her growing stronger and stronger, almost like two parasites that had latched onto each other.

After that, she began nursing sessions more and more, determined to make you crave her milk.

Even as you slide your wetness across her thighs, asking her to eat you out or for you to eat her out, she will delicately demand that you drink her milk first.

Of course, you would happily oblige.

Though, sometimes you wish she wouldn't be so rough with you in sex.

Much like some of her male counterparts, she doesn't seem to cut you any breaks, even when she's in a good mood.

She often enjoys the friction of her wetness against yours as she sits atop you in the Amazon-position, tightly grasping your delicate ankles.

Her big, wet clit mockingly pressed against your little erect clit, a sign of her dominance.

You would beg her to stop and show you mercy, but she was deaf to your pleas, laughing wildly and ranting as just like OG Sephiroth.

One day, she beckoned you to the guest quarters, claiming she had a "surprise" for you.

She stood in front of you, her body curvaceous and inviting, with a small towel covering her lower body. Her heavy and swollen breasts were leaking corrupted milk.

"Is mommy's little girl ready for her surprise?"

When the towel is pulled away, an unsettling sight is revealed: a Jenova Spawn clinging to her, its tentacles sunk deep into her orifices, keeping it securely fastened to her form.

Her big, sensitive clit was standing up and quivering with desire.

Her slit pupils were constricted as her big clit twitched rapidly, signs of her dark desire towards you.

One of the spawn's sucker tentacles reached up to her clit, giving it a long suck.

The sucker tentacle seemed to pump her clit rhythmically.

You were filled with terror as a combination of maniacal laughter and moans of pleasure escaped her lips while her clit rapidly enlarged and formed into a massive, veiny cock that had a mixture of both alien and human features.

"I'm immensely grateful to Mother for the opportunity to experience this~"

The size of her newly formed shaft was immense, making it impossible for you to take. It made Sephiroth's hands look small as she held it, it exuding pre-cum. She can't possibly... NO.

Her previous expression of sweetness and love had now morphed into a cruel and desirous expression, as if she was a lioness ready to devour her prey.

"You're so cute when you're nervous..." she said, as she pulls back the foreskin to show you just how bulbous the head is.

"Don't worry, you can suck on my tits while I fuck you! Wouldn't that be so good~"

You only stood in shock and terror. Her hands ran along the pleasure bumps of her new alien shaft, and her large breasts bounced with each step she took toward you.

Your Jenova Cells are your best hope for a swift recovery after this...

Yep, darling forgot this Sephy is just as deranged as her male counterparts. xD

[benkyoutobentou]

Hello

What are some good resources for learning Japanese?

Thank you for asking!

For just starting out, I recommend JapanesePod101's videos on both hiragana and katakana.

For beginner grammar, I used and really enjoyed videos from both Japanese Ammo with Misa and Miku Real Japanese (both on YouTube). Misa's videos are a lot longer and more in depth, but if you want a quick overview of a grammar point, Miku's videos are great. Both channels also have lots of other Japanese learning content as well!

For beginner textbooks, Genki is well loved, but I haven't used it myself. I also believe that there are YouTubers who make videos based on the lessons within Genki, if that's up your alley. I won't even name the textbooks I used to start out, because I'd never recommend them.

To get started with kanji, WaniKani is a popular choice that seems to work great, but it's a pretty pricey subscription. I use the app Learn Japanese! - Kanji, which is a one time purchase of 10 USD. It can be buggy, but it has a built in spaced repetition system and, hey, it's ten dollars.

The subreddit r/LearnJapanese has a huge resource list here, but I only link this hesitantly, as my main advice to using it is to look at the resources, and never darken r/LearnJapanese's door ever again. That place is horrible and will eat all motivation you have to learn Japanese. I saw someone ask elsewhere if it was possible to be fluent in Japanese because they saw someone on that subreddit say it wasn't. Seriously, it's bad.

As for my current resources, ie. very much not beginner resources, I'm slowly but surely making my way through Tobira. I really like it as a textbook, but I also just use it as far as I need it. To elaborate, I came back to it after a while of not using it, and found that it was just a bit too easy now (singing the praises of immersion!), so I've been skipping around on the reading comprehension questions, because I just don't think they're worth the effort for me right now. The later chapters probably will be, though.

JPBD is a lifesaver for me right now. I've fought with Anki on multiple occasions and had it work for me many times, but right now, the premade decks are what are gonna get me to study vocabulary, not pretty pictures. I also really like the ability to study a deck before you read something, rather than only being able to study vocabulary retroactively. The example sentences can be weird or terrible, but it allows you to choose from multiple sentences or make your own, so the benefits absolutely outweigh the drawbacks for me. Another thing of note is that these flashcards only go Japanese-English, so if you want to have the option to do English-Japanese cards, you might want to stick to Anki (or idk rip the decks and put them in Anki).

If you're ready to immerse and want to start a collection of physical books, I buy 90% of my Japanese language books through CDJapan. They have multiple options for shipping and are generous enough with sales and rewards points that usually I can get that to cover the cost of shipping. Plus they sell at Japanese retail price (minus tax!) so it's extremely reasonably priced.

I hope this helped a bit, and good luck on your language learning journey!

[tavyliasin]

Writer Interview Tag

I was tagged by @redroomroaving and once I'd finished feeling about a hundred emotions from reading I managed to follow it up.

I definitely got a little personal as well, and I know I’m prone to rambling so I’ll pop the questions and answers below the cut. A mild CW for discussion of physical pain and some very very light mentions of mental health. Tagging @morb-untamed @sweetmage @dmbakura @hydropyro @ineadhyn @nicocoer @wixed to do this if you would like to, but there is absolutely no pressure to talk about yourselves or in any personal detail. And anyone else reading this who I missed tagging (I forget names and tags so often, forgive me) please feel free to use me as your tag-in and let me know so I can read your answers too.

When did you start writing?

I have no idea, truly. Stories and reading were a big part of my life since before I could read, and as soon as I could read independently I devoured books and imagined stories in quiet moments. There are a few things I’ve worked on under another name, another identity, but no massive published works. A couple of unfinished SFW fanfics, and some larger original projects that remain on hiatus. As for writing smut and spice and taking fanfic more seriously? That all started in September 2023, and has just grown from there. I was hesitant at first, and you’ll see that in my early author notes, but from there I feel I’ve truly grown in my style and skill, as well as my creativity and ability to delve into character details and kink alike.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

Since writing more, I’ve become a terrible reader. I can’t really focus on it for long because my brain goes into ADHD rebellion and says “no, no, we don’t want to read story we want to create story” which is endlessly frustrating when I have stacks of unread books and a ton of fics earmarked by very talented authors. I will say there is a particular thing many may notice in my works – when writing, I very rarely refer to genitalia in direct terms. It’s just a personal preference when writing, you won’t find the word “cock” in any of my works, but contrary to how it might sound I have absolutely no issue with reading it in the works of others. I am an odd creature, I freely admit that. So…yes, there are themes, pairings, styles, and vocabulary features that I enjoy reading but do not write myself.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I don’t hear comparisons really, and I don’t aim to emulate anyone either, though I will admit I try to keep just a few little moments of humour or sly winks to the audience in similar ways to Terry Pratchett and Douglas Adams. Just those quick lines or cutaways that for a moment join reader and author in a little shared joke.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I can only really write comfortably in one place, at my PC. I have 3 screens set up around my seat, which is actually the end seat of a reclining sofa, so I have a heated pad behind my back to reduce pain. I have a mini fridge with drinks on the table beside me with the side screen that has Discord on it at all times, my larger screen (the TV) sometimes has character images for reference or notes or just Spotify up so I can swap songs and playlists quickly. The last screen is in front of me on a table that goes over my footrest, and my keyboard is on a lap desk over my legs. 

I’ll almost always have my headphones on, and a small fan when it gets too warm. Sometimes I do end up a little chaotic with snacks in reach and meds also on the table so I don’t have to have anyone fetch them for me.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

It can’t be controlled. The muse is as fickle as it is demanding, when it’s there it wants everything all at once, and when it’s gone?... It leaves a devastating emptiness that honestly I struggle with at times. Even right now, tonight I planned to write, but when I finally got the free time and got set up…nothing feels appealing to try. So I’m doing this instead, and not forcing it. 

There are things I try at times, and things I recommend, too. First? Before you start writing, tend to your basic needs. Do you need a drink? Food? Relevant medication? A nap? A talk with a friend? A bit of fresh air or physical movement? If one of these needs hasn’t been met, it’ll likely soon become an obstacle to your writing. I like to have a drink and snack ready and with me when I start so it’s there as and when I might need it, and I do rely on caffeine like a stereotypically unmedicated ADHD author…

Second, set the mood. It can help for some people to have this routine, to get their playlist going, to be in the right place, to have the things that set a whole zone and bubble. For a while, I had a specific hat I would wear when writing for another project. I could tell myself “I am putting the hat on now, so I will focus and do this thing” and in some way it trained me to write more. I know others who have done things like always listening to a specific genre of music to write, so now when they hear that genre they get the urge to write. Third is take a shower. Nothing gives me more ideas than a good shower, and I even bought a waterproof notepad and pencil set so I can make those notes whilst in there and not fret about forgetting an idea. Other than that, I recommend going back to the thing that inspired you to write. Play the game or watch scenes with the characters you want to write about, find their voices and mindsets. You can also close your eyes and imagine the scene like a play – put the characters on your stage at the start of the scene and watch what they do in the scenario. Let them show you how they react. Some people also do well to write out a plan or bulletpoints, but I find personally this can bite me in the ass because the process of writing can often stray from my original plan. Which isn’t a bad thing, but it can feel frustrating that I didn’t use ideas that I was initially passionate about.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Ah here it is. Whilst I could go quite simply with the kinks that I keep utilising that don’t surprise me in the slightest – I know well that I enjoy writing a spicy shifting of power balance between strong-minded characters, as well as a lot of BDSM kink – there are deeper parts to this. Identity. That’s a theme that keeps rearing its head beneath a lot of works, and you’ll find it most noticeable in how I write both Haarlep and He Who Was, but it tends to worm its way into other things too. It…did not surprise me, though, because it’s something I have struggled with over this past year within myself.

I created this name, this identity, as a way to be comfortable in sharing kink fiction and spicy works without it being easily identifiable under my actual name. I still don’t like to be too personal, or share my face or real name under this one, because I would rather keep a few close friends and family out of sight of my fandom thirsting. I’m certain a lot of us are the same – it isn’t really about shame but knowing that I, and they, would likely not be comfortable discussing this level of subject matter. I’ve relaxed a little over time, and have no doubt that a few may have worked out who I am and simply kept it quiet which I appreciate endlessly, just as I appreciate that those who do know both of my identities have never shared that information or made it public. I’m happy to meet people in person, just not to have my self online shared with my other self, as I’m sure you can understand. Anyway, I digress…

Something that the keen-eyed accomplice might have noticed in me is a shift in my speech. I used a few more mannerisms and speech patterns, particularly terms of endearment, under this name when I began. It was a way to separate the self, as well as to engage with a different audience in a different way. I explained it to the few who knew both early on as “same person, different font”, because I don’t change who I am just a few parts of how I speak or interact…but I’ve dropped a lot of the endearments now. Partly because there were more than a few who expressed they were uncomfortable with this in conversation – which I fully respect and understand – so it was easier to just drop them entirely rather than double checking or switching vocabulary between people and servers. But it has also fallen away a little as I have become more comfortable with both sides of myself, allowing them to integrate again more, and I owe a good amount of that to being able to meet fandom friends in person and find that they didn’t turn away from knowing all of me and instead have become even better friends. 

So…yes, the theme of names and identity keeps popping up. The power of names, the importance of identity, how one can hold on to one’s sense of self when it feels as if it is wavering, or when a role must be played. It’s little wonder I was so strongly drawn to so many favourites. Another recurring theme, of course, is pain. Physical. Whilst this is often in the form of kink and pain play, I’ve written a few pieces where it has been a point that is not about the sexual and positive side. I am in pain. 24/7. Without end. It will not get better. It has been this way for over 10 years. The level of the pain is “I cannot walk more than 10 metres before it is too much”, and “I have to drastically reduce and monitor my physical activity to prevent pain getting worse”, so I feel very intimately familiar with pain. You’ll find it in my writing as visceral and detailed descriptions of the sensations, because I’ve felt every one of them and might just be feeling them in that moment as I write. 

I’m going to keep trying to write short comfort pieces, too. Because as I once wrote as a dialogue line for Halsin, when Tav asked how he always seemed to know the right thing to say:  

“Sometimes we say the things we need to hear the most.” 

What is your reason for writing?

Every reason ever. There’s…not a lot I can do in this body. So many hopes and dreams and even careers I’ve had to leave behind, through the struggles of mental and physical health. Whilst the former is far better, the latter is the issue… But writing is something I can do with little physical effort. If I’m in pain, I can take my medication and absorb into fiction. 

I started writing smut as a challenge, but also as a way to tell a story I was becoming rather attached to. My main longfic was one born from playing the game, and wondering about telling the story between the lines, giving reason to the choice the player character was making under my instruction. Since then, it has grown to be so much more.

I’d love to sit here and tell you “I only write for myself, I don’t need external validation” but that…would be a half-truth at best. I write because I love sharing these stories, I love that they can reach out and touch hearts and minds in ways I might never know, but I adore when someone does send back their echo across the vast void between us to say “I enjoyed this” or “this story made me feel something”. That’s…it’s everything to know I have some value. Which sounds a lot like I’m pinning my self-worth on feedback or kudos, and whilst I can’t deny that’s a hard habit to break, I do know it isn’t everything. I just want it to still be something. To know I can do more than just…exist. 

Truly if you were to ask me what I feel the purpose is to my entire life, it would be “to leave each corner of the world I touch a little brighter and better than it was before I got there”, and whilst I know that’s impossible to do all the time I still want to try. And writing? Sharing stories? That’s leaving a positive mark, giving someone enjoyment in their day – yes, even sexually, with the kinky and sexy writing. That is still a positive to someone’s day, an indulgence, something that lifts them and certainly nothing to be ashamed of.

If I can do more than that with emotional writing, with comfort pieces, with cathartic moments and with stories that have more meaning behind the words…all the better.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

The best are the ones that pull out favourite lines or moments, but honestly every single comment means the world to me. An incoherent keysmash, a simple “I loved this”, even those are such a boost particularly on a hard day. 

Readers, please know how much it helps. Even a click on the kudos as an anonymous guest, it’s…it lets us know we aren’t just shouting into the void. It tells us those Hits are not people just opening up the fic then closing it because they hated it. It means the whole world to know we’ve done something that you enjoyed, in whatever way that was.

I’ll also say that some of the ones that have meant the most and have stuck with me are comments on the more personal pieces, like with The Love of Loviatar – the Abdirak x Reader fic where I play a little with worlds colliding to allow a reader character who experiences chronic pain (remarkably similar to my own, don’t think about that too hard) to have that moment with Abdirak who validates and appreciates them exactly how they are. Gentle care mixed with BDSM, trading the bad pain for the good pain, the pain that is welcome and has purpose, a little fantasy of enjoying what the body can do rather than being trapped by what it cannot… Every time I get a comment there, I damn near cry. Or just openly cry. They mean so much. I know how much Abdirak can mean to us, and I am so glad I can reach you all. 

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I…well… To be thought of at all is an honour. I’m shocked any time I encounter someone who has read my works, despite logically knowing I have a good number of readers from the numbers alone. I just…don’t look at those numbers often, it’s not good for me. 

I’d like readers to know I care about them. Every last one. To know I would love to tell all the stories they want to read, and that I fully welcome their messages, comments, and even friendship when we share social spaces. There’s something special about the connections we can make in unexpected places, and I’m just delighted to be here sharing stories with you all. 

I don’t need high respect, endless adoration, or some kind of pedestal. I’m a human, unfortunately – squishy and fallible and flawed and suffering and there is still beauty and worth to me even when I don’t see it myself. Just saying that last part louder for everyone else who has loud negative thoughts of themselves. It’s ok for you to see my flaws, and it’s ok for us all to have love for one another despite those flaws. Love in the platonic sense, of course – there are levels of connections we make with people from a distant echo of a brief exchange of words to the direct warmth of a friendship. It’s as important to not underestimate the value as it is important to not overestimate our closeness to people we don’t truly know.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I am beginning to believe it is the wild ideas I have for crackship pairings and turning them into something serious and meaningful. I love taking an unlikely coupling then finding what makes them actually genuinely work. 

I’m also getting quite confident in sensual writing as well as kink, in the particular style that I have for it. I know well that it isn’t to everyone’s tastes, but those who do enjoy my style and method will always have something in the buffet of fic to fill their plate.

I really hope to transfer this to my original work when I get it finished, as I feel like just maybe I might have a niche of style that isn’t as often seen in published works. Then again, I’m not exactly devouring raunchy original fiction so perhaps I’m entirely mistaken and would get ripped to shreds by critics of the genre. Who knows? But I will try to get published when it’s done. I hope a few of you might even read it someday.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

Ahh definitely both. I have written characters and pairings I’m not personally into that much, though sometimes (Yurgir) I have found myself enjoying the character after writing with them. It’s a fun little quirk, I start writing something thinking “am I into this?” and realise later “oops new kink acquired” or “ahh ok I see why people like [character] so much now.” 

I do really love writing requests or rare pairings/characters that readers haven’t seen before or are excited to see more of. I hope to keep doing a mix of that and the characters/pairings that I love most myself. If there’s something you’d like to see, I’m more than happy to take suggestions – there are a few kinks, characters, and tropes that I have a hard “nope” line on (not kink shaming, just personal comfort levels – I love that you can enjoy those things elsewhere I am just not the chef to cook that dish for you) but otherwise I love wild ideas and writing something that someone explicitly wants to read~

How do you feel about your own writing?

I really struggle with this one, but I think many of us do. I go from feeling confident that people enjoy what I’ve written and that I have this skill to bring worlds and characters to life with mere words on a page, yet other times? I will freely admit some works of mine take longer because I just hit this point where I just cannot tell if it’s any good. I know intellectually that I have the same style, tropes, stories, kinks that people like and enjoy, but as I’m sat there staring at it I’m questioning everything because I’m just not feeling it. That seems pretty natural, I think, that we are the worst critics of our own works because we’ve read them so many times or thought far too hard about every word and line… But I tend to solve this with an external view. Beta Readers have saved works from near extinction by checking it over, telling me what does need fixing, and reminding me that actually the rest of it is just fine I’m simply overthinking it all because my mind is struggling with something else like fatigue or pain or just a low kind of day.

So… Overall, writing has been a new life for me. Particularly in this last year, trying something new – expanding into NSFW fanfic has found me countless new connections, friends, experiences I wouldn’t have had otherwise and a real feeling of accomplishment and validation that just wasn’t happening in WIPs that were taking too long and getting no feedback at all. 

Writing isn’t just something I do, it’s inextricably a part of who I am, and in its own way it continues to shape exactly what “who I am” can mean.

And I am grateful to every single one of you who has shared this journey with me so far. I cannot wait to see how far we can go together~

[imightgetbetter]

the age old question

thought of this sweet little thing and needed to write it. no warnings. just tooth-rotting sweetness. enjoy!

Home. That’s all you’ve been thinking about since you left the house this morning way too early (albeit begrudgingly); all you’ve thought about is going home and crawling back into bed with Matty and spending your day wrapped up in his arms. He’s only been back home for a few weeks, in your home together, a home that felt way too big without him, and he’s only home for a few more weeks before the band is going off to start recording and producing the next album. Matty wanted to spend time with you, and you wanted to spend the rest of your day in his presence, just soaking in the time that you have, the time that you missed while he was gone.

Only a few lights are on in the house when you pulled into the driveway, most likely something Matty has done to let you know that he’s still awake and waiting for you. His car is in the driveway, and you can feel the excitement in your chest as you unlock the front door and toe of your heels, your jacket slung over the coat rack to the right of the door and your purse on the table. Quiet hangs over the whole house, and you walk into the kitchen to try and see where he is, disappointed when you see no one waiting for you. On the kitchen island is a bottle of wine and a glass ready for you, and your lips spread into the widest smile seeing a cheesy card on the counter, the inside reading, Always the proudest of you, gorgeous. Just wanted to tell you how much I love you. Quickly, you poured the wine and grabbed the glass, leaving the card on the island to put away in the morning. Light footsteps on the stairs echo around you, and your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion when you see the light off in your bedroom.

Going in the room, you quietly snuck into the bathroom, turning on the light as silently as possible and going to shut the door, only to be interrupted by a raspy, “Gone all day and now I can’t even see you naked. That’s an awful way to treat your boyfriend, gorgeous.”

On your bed, Matty is tucked under the covers, his curls splayed out over the pillow, his eyes hooded and certainly exhausted. His smile is lazy, a half-smile that you’ve seen countless times, a smile that you’ve kissed off his face in the middle of the night when you’re both awake and can’t sleep and he says something so sentimental and sweet that you aren’t sure there are words in your vocabulary that could comparatively match to his.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” you say excitedly, walking out of the bathroom and towards him, leaning over him and laying your mouth on his sweetly, kissing him over and over again until you physically can’t kiss him without catching your breath. “I haven’t had a chance to breathe all day. All I wanted to do was come home.”

“I would’ve come and saved you,” Matty murmurs against your mouth, grabbing your face and kissing you over and over again. “My gorgeous love, you look so beautiful, but you should get changed and come to bed. I want to cuddle you.”

“Absolutely, I can do that,” you smile, kissing his stubbly cheek and walking into the bathroom, laughing when he quietly shouts to leave the light on and stand in front of the door. “How was your day, baby? Okay?”

“Good day, I think,” Matty says with a smile, watching you admirably as you toss your clothes into the laundry bin and stand naked in front of him, grabbing a stray shirt and bringing it over your body, the hem hanging near your thighs. “I saw your parents. Mum says hi.”

“My parents?”

“Mum needed some help around the house,” Matty shrugs, his smile growing wider as you turn the bathroom light off and pull the covers back on the mattress, climbing underneath and shimmying as close to him as physically possible, your body nearly underneath his. “Had to talk to your dad, too. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Matthew, you left things on the computer the other day,” you say, quirking your eyebrow suggestively and bringing your hand to his cheek, rubbing against the shadowed stubble. “Are you thinking about proposing? Is this something we need to talk about.”

“I don’t know, my love,” Matty hums, turning his head to kiss your palm sweetly. “Would you say yes? If I asked you, now, would you say yes? Would it be different than last time?”

“Not even a question,” you say with a smile, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I would say yes, a million times. Cross my heart. I don’t even think you need to ask. You could just say, ‘Marry me’, and I would be happy because I would say absolutely.”

“Good to know,” Matty smiles sleepily, leaning forward and kissing you gently, a content hum leaving your lips. “Much different than this conversation a year ago.”

“Things were very different a year ago, Matty.”

Matty goes quiet, nudging his nose against yours and whispering against you, “Are you happy?”

“Happiest I’ve ever been,” you say surely, taking his face in your hands and kissing him passionately, holding him as close to you as possible. “I’m very proud of you, you know. I like seeing you healthy and happy.”

“I know,” Matty says against you, his hands holding you tightly to him, barely an inch of space between you. “I would do anything for you, you know that, don’t you? Anything to have you with me forever.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. You have me.” Matty leans his forehead against yours, kissing you deeply, his mind traveling between you, your kiss, and the little velvet box tucked away in the bedside table to your right, something you know is coming, you just don’t know when.