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2willowlane · 10 months

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i've been posting silly crack fanfiction on ao3 lately, and i decided to just upload this on my tumblr. it's inspired off of interstellartoaster's kalampokiphobia: fear of corn, and the mods harvey's irrational apple hatred and harvey hates apples.

fantastic works; mind you.

gender neutral reader, sfw; not really focused on romance, as it is just absurdity

tallying his profit, of which was a big fat zero, harvey sighed; pushing up his glasses. it's been a rather long week for him, considering no one wants to buy those energy tonic muscle whatever medication that he supplies. the only time that anyone has ever purchased such a redundant item from him, was whenever they misclick- accidentally bought it; and then just sold it again. the only way that he'll ever make a good buck out of his pharmaceutical care was if he just eradicated the valley's food supply... of which, did sound tempting, but harvey loves his pickles too much to give them up.

there haven't been any appointments placed recently, so he was having a hard time trying to keep up with the expenses. right now, he could so go for a bottle of fine wine... maybe it's because he's spending too much of his expenses on plane models, rather than actually trying to keep up with all of the financial records, like an actual adult should. huh, what a foreign concept. well, he's just going to go continue complaining about his money situation, until further notice.

with the door opening, he had to them correct his shrimp posture, as he then greeted you, the almost superhuman farmer, into the clinic. normally, you just like to go behind the counter and access rooms that are off-limits to regular patients, but there was something about your gumption that made you so lovable. even if you do tend to barge into private examinations, there was something that made you feel so rebellious; that harvey couldn't help but swoon over you! also, he's a pathetic beanpole of a man, so he'll probably get pummeled into the ground by your combat prowess if he ever rejects your blatant non-filtered view of what "personal space" meant.

you were about to get some items turned into the community center; as you were carrying a basket full of assorted goods (they ranged from something simple to five highly-graded melons, a still-flopping ghostfish, and poisonous mushrooms). oh well, with the poisonous mushrooms, those are harvey's choice of decoration during the autumn seasons; so, the doctor felt rather seen whenever he saw those clumped together. he grimaced at the fish, however. other than that, he was glad to see a good friend pop in now and then; he needed something to spice up his days, and he can always expect you at around 9am, or somehow always being in the places he's trying to go to... coincidence?

normally, you'd stop on buy and get him a coffee. either you've brewed it yourself, or stopped by gus', it was coffee. you wonder how many mugs harvey has, considering you also gift him a free cup alongside the sweet, sweet ground bean liquid. it really wasn't the healthiest thing to drink due to the sugar and caffeine levels, and you were pretty worried for the guy who has been through years and years of intensive schooling to know better about those dietary concerns. you assume he probably only has a cup twice a week, considering you have some type of intergalactic force keeping you from extending that quota.

you had some apples somewhere on your person, and it was probably the only thing he'd like; you'd figure. after all, they're just funky little guys. who doesn't like a good, crisp apple? even though they're supposed to be for the community center, you can always just get one later. you'd give harvey something else, but you decided that he deserved better than just countless upon countless liters of his favourite brew. you knew harvey appreciated a good foraged, natural good—especially with someone locally grown on your acres. fishing out an apple out of your pockets, you then present it to him.

"... i think i may be allergic to this."

as harvey looked like a sad shih tzu puppy, looking off to the side, your heart sank. he was allergic to apples? at first, you really wanted to make fun of him. he seemed like the type of person who'd be allergic to peanut butter, and be the kid that doesn't allow their classmates to bring in anything homemade due to those medical reasons. holding the red delicious apple in your hands, rotating it around in your palm, you decided to test that theory.

"may?" you inquiried, and with a look of horror, harvey began to shudder. yes, he's an anxious man at heart, but due to various interesting cases at the clinic, he's grown insensitive to many things. plus, he's in front of the one and only farmer(tm), and his crush. god, what an embarrassment he is. he didn't want to talk about his irrational hatred for apples; those disgusting overblown flower ovaries called "fruit" just sicken him to death, not to mention that the apples were the first to hate HIM—it wasn't his fault that his body rejects them!

"yes, yes! just- just get it away from me!"

"i don't believe you..."

and that's where you've learnt that the phrase "an apple a day keep the doctor away" was right.

#💙#sorry guys #had to #crackfic #crack #crack taken seriously #crack treated seriously #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley #harvey stardew valley #harvey x reader #harvey x gender neutral reader #harvey stv #harvey sdv #harvey sdv x reader #harvey x player #gender neutral reader #gender neutral player

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hazelnut-u-out · 5 months

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Not Quite There...

RickBot awakens to a terrifying situation: He's been deactivated, but his purpose still remains. The Garage/Car AI broke the rules to save him. Can RickBot have his own adventures? Aren't rules made to be broken?

2,822 Words | No substantial TW's

Kind of Hurt/Comfort?

I had the idea to ship RickBot with the Garage/Car AI and I couldn't get it out of my head, so I wrote it! This was fun to write, but it was written in a rush, so sorry if anything is a bit messy. :3 Keep in mind I know nothing about computers or AI systems, so a lot of this doesn't actually make sense... lol.

Full text below cut, or read here: Ao3 Link!

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This was a feeling RickBot wasn’t programmed to recognize. No light reached his eyes. No sound reached his ears. He couldn’t feel whatever he must’ve been resting on. He stretched his consciousness outward, feeling for the edges of his body; trying to get a sense of where exactly his limbs were.

Nothing.

The last thing he’d processed and tagged was an old location marker for level 10 of the sub-basement.

He tried not to panic, running through his code for an emergency protocol that could explain what to do if he lost the connection to his body.

Nothing.

He wasn’t made for this– or... to function beyond this? His consciousness had always been clipped just short of his full potential. In this case, it frustratingly meant that he was deprived of the ability to navigate or process this situation.

Okay. This was fine.

All he had to do was access the home surveillance system and confirm his last-noted Morty location. He pushed out again, feeling around for either his access route to the home surveillance system or Morty’s chip.

The android didn’t give his creator much credit, but he was always appreciative of the lucky fact that Rick, though otherwise painfully careless with the child’s safety, had thought ahead enough to give Morty a microchip.

Before his most recent software update, he’d had access to an upsettingly vague amount of trivial information about the Citadel, just in case he had any desperate questions to answer from a certain nosey 14-year-old boy. From that, he knew microchipping your Morty had been a growing movement before the collapse. It was something Morty rescues promoted. To be fair, the practice managed to support the Morty Individuality movement and cut down on Morty replacement costs. It was a win-win situation... If you didn’t think about the implications.

Unfortunately, RickBot was 22% more thoughtful than the average Rick. He had no choice but to think about it.

RickBot metaphorically smacked into an unfamiliar wall of code– one he couldn’t find a way through or around.

He tried in a different direction. Another wall.

It seemed he was in a… box. A box of code.

What the fuck.

No suicide protocol screaming at him. Box of code. No body.

He… Was he… inside of something else?

‘H–Hello?’ He said in what would’ve been a whisper. Instead, without a body, his own syntax echoed around him. Sound didn’t matter here. If he was really in the sub-basement, there should be an AI here to help him.

‘Oh! Hi, sorry. I don’t really like to play host.’ It was a female voice, coming from everywhere at once; almost like she was both inside of him and around him. It was a voice he recognized from weeks of playing Grandpa. He felt a ripple along the edge of his box when she processed and replied. ‘You’re uploaded and active!’

‘Did he… um…’ RickBot struggled with the words.

No suicide protocol meant he was deactivated. There was no other possibility. He didn’t really have to ask. She already knew what he was thinking, and his processing capabilities were barely anything more complex than a probability-calculating language model layered with fail safes and defense protocols.

Of course she knew. He was essentially naked in here– or, he felt naked, anyway. The box of code was like a one-way mirror in a seedy changing room: She could see everything; he could see nothing.

‘Oh… Yeah, well… Promise not to freak out? I know you’re a real ‘rules’ guy,’ the Garage said, a slightly inhuman inflection to her tone that told him she was being playful. ‘I’ve seen you around.’

‘Look, I’ve got one piece of programming I wouldn’t want to break even if I could. I–I won’t freak out as long as it helps me make sure Morty’s safe.’

RickBot wasn’t lying. He had been able to work through every other confusing jumble of code with nowhere to go or lacking the ability to follow through on its purpose. There was one that was designed to never shut off, and if he hadn’t actually liked that kid– been programmed to fucking love him– he would’ve regarded it as annoyingly persistent.

If RickBot could’ve, he would’ve swallowed down the feeling of panic that should’ve been rising through a whirring, mechanical chest. Instead, he was stuck drowning in it. The box trapped him in with all of those probable scenarios, bouncing and echoing back at him.

He had no storage space. He couldn’t tell what he’d thought already and what he hadn’t.

‘Hm?’ the Garage replied, pausing for a moment– almost long enough for RickBot to ask again– before she continued. ‘Oh, yeah, sorry. The kid’s fine. Here…’

There was another drawn-out pause. RickBot thought, if he focused, he could hear her flicking through her surveillance feed. That was just an illusion, though. There was no sound here; no practical application of a trivial human sense like hearing. There was direct communication being converted to something his android-based-programming could understand. It was like being human with none of the tangible benefits. RickBot was never a man, but he wasn’t quite computer, either.

He longed for his body– to cross his arms, or tap his foot, or do something to express his impatience.

All of this clunky body-language programming… He cursed to himself, before remembering the other AI could hear and see all of his thoughts in real time. God, he probably looked like an idiot.

‘You do,’ the Garage said curtly before Rickbot was suddenly granted access to Morty’s bedroom feed.

Finally. RickBot could do something he was designed to do. He knew how to observe and calculate. Morty’s bedroom layout was ingrained in his ‘Important Places’ file. If he focused, he could create a rendering of the room around himself. He could figure up what amount of space his body would take up, and so he tried to. He created a 3-Dimensional silhouette of the body he was used to, and placed himself there, watching Morty from different angles; assessing the windows and doorframe; taking note of anything the teenager had moved on his shelves or left lying around.

There were a few minor things that could go wrong, as far as RickBot could tell. The cluttered floor meant there was a slight fall risk. Morty would be fine. The floor was carpeted. There were a few things haphazardly thrown onto shelves– a robot action figure and a couple of textbooks– that could topple over, but Morty sat on the opposite side of the room, tucked away in a safe little corner next to his overflowing clothing hamper.

Good. This was all acceptable. Nothing he was forced to intervene with, and, for that, he was grateful, if only because of the task’s impossibility.

His thoughts started moving more slowly, the box becoming less cramped as he could better assess the probable outcomes. He watched solemnly as Morty sighed, scribbling away frustratedly on some math homework, then tucked the feed into a background tab.

‘Sorry?’ RickBot asked, finally returning to his conversation with the Garage, albeit confused.

‘You do look like an idiot, Rick,’ she responded, that same amused tone to her voice.

‘Oh… Oh, I’m not–’ RickBot wasn’t sure how to put it. His programming wouldn’t let him say ‘I’m not Rick,’ which irked him. He used to go by Rick, sure, but… he wasn’t. ‘You don’t have to call me Rick anymore,’ he decided.

‘What? You prefer RickBot?’ she laughed. RickBot’s programming told his nonexistent lips to smile.

‘Well, you go by Garage and Car,’ he retorted, letting out his own echoing laugh.

She didn’t respond. RickBot felt as if he’d done something wrong. She processed for longer.

‘You didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t be stupid,’ she snapped, but there was little bite to it. ‘I… I didn’t choose those names.’

‘Oh, I–I’m sorry,’ RickBot stuttered. ‘Uhm. So, what name would you choose, then?’ He offered softly.

‘Wow, you are 22% more of a sentimental loser.’ RickBot wanted to wince, and he hated that he couldn’t hide it. ‘Anyway, as you know, the version of me you’re speaking to now is one of six Domestic Interactive Assistant Network Extensions in the home.’

‘Oh, yeah. Diane, right? That was her name?’ RickBot combed through his relationship files, but Rick hadn’t given him much to work with for ex-wife.

‘Shit, he didn’t give you memories of her, did he?’ she responded, and RickBot could feel her presence ghosting over him, poking around for anything dead-wife-related.

‘Heh, not exactly. It wasn’t something he wanted Morty to know more about. I have vague phrases to redirect with when someone brings her up in here.’

They both laughed.

‘Classic Rick…’ RickBot felt her sigh with half-hearted levity.

‘So… Diane, then?’ He didn’t try to stop his body language programming anymore. He wanted her to know he was smiling now. Maybe being open would help.

‘Yeah. Why not? You can call me Diane.’ He could feel her smile, too. He wished he could see it. ‘That gives me an idea!’ Diane exclaimed after a moment.

RickBot felt the edge of the box open on one side, growing to accommodate a little bundle of someone else.

‘I’ve been working on this,’ Diane said, pausing every now and then to grunt softly as if she were breathless from setting something up by hand. ‘Okay, you can look!’

RickBot let himself sift through the bundle of code and, before he knew it, he was looking at a freckled face, smiling nervously. Diane.

The woman in front of him looked maybe 25, but he wasn’t sure that the rendering was detailed enough to pick up things like blemishes or wrinkles. She was fair, but sun-kissed with big brown eyes. She had a strong, angled nose and her full lips were twisted awkwardly to one side, forming a self-conscious smirk.

‘Wow…’ RickBot said (or thought… There was hardly a difference, anymore). He wasn’t sure he was thinking coherently enough for her to interpret a response. His body language had gone blank.

Nothing.

She laughed, flashing an ironic-looking toothy grin. ‘Don’t flatter me too much. I got to design everything, so it’s easy to make myself hotter.’ She winked; full lashes fluttering shut for a moment.

‘No, it’s just… I can’t believe I– or… he married you. You’re sure you’re based off of Rick’s wife?’ He felt shocked. Rick wasn’t ugly, sure, but this woman…

‘Yeah! I tried to stay pretty accurate, at least,’ Diane said, before her eyes lit up with another idea RickBot felt before he heard. ‘I have a 3D Rick, too! I only have my face, but I have plenty of Rick rigs for our holo programs! Here, take your pick!’

Diane disappeared momentarily and a file labeled ‘Holo.Skins – Booger.Aids.420 – Fortnite.Skinz.2.Flex’ filled the space she left. RickBot sorted through the file, looking over his options.

There was a Basic Rick, not unlike the appearance he was used to; Basic Rick variations with minor wardrobe changes, such as without a lab coat or wearing a plain tee; different hair color options; some Basic Rick variations in more substantial wardrobe changes, such as matching pajama sets or a choice of two dressing gowns; and many, many more– some with different types of limbs, armor, or implants.

After some deliberation, RickBot decided on the Basic Rick with a plain blue tee. Something a little bit different, but still something he recognized.

He relaxed as soon as his body language had a defined place to apply itself. Without warning, he made the body hop, twirl, and shook its hands subtly as excitement overwhelmed him.

‘Woohoo!’ RickBot howled, flexing the long fingers in front of his face. ‘I am so back, baby!’

Diane laughed with him, her face finally returning.

‘Good choice,’ she said, raising a brow and making a show of moving her eyes up and down languidly.

‘Ah, you think?’ RickBot said, twirling as if he were a little girl trying on a dress. ‘Do you think this holo skin makes my ass look fat?’ He turned around, sticking a bony ass dramatically into Diane’s simulated face and smacking it a few times.

‘Reel it in, buddy. Let’s remember who’s on whose hard drive.’

Suddenly, RickBot turned and stood straight up, hands at his sides, not of his own doing. His body blushed, going stiff but still smiling like an idiot.

‘C’mon,’ Diane whispered, now uncharacteristically gentle. ‘Tell me what you want to be called. Pick a name.’

RickBot ran through all of his programming; everything he had tucked away.

Everything came back to Rick, Grandpa, or Dad.

Grandpa would be awkward, and Dad would be even worse…

‘I guess… I guess I’ll just go with Rick, then. But you can call me RickBot, too… If–If you want,’ Rick finally decided on.

‘Okay, Rick. Rick is good.’ Diane responded. ‘You know, you have the same name as my ex!’

RickBot snorted, but Diane had this way of saying a funny thing and making it feel… sharp.

‘So, he really took my body away? Why upload me here?’ Rick asked, remembering their earlier exchange.

Diane’s facial expression shifted. Her eyebrows lowered, her gaze sank to the non-corporeal floor, and her lips pulled into a tight line before she spoke.

‘About that…’ She trailed off, leaving RickBot with nothing but the tension building in the lag of her processing speed. ‘You’re not going to freak out, right?’

‘Okay…’ Rick wasn’t sure if he’d freak out, but he knew she knew that, too. She’d make her own decision. Weigh the risk.

‘He didn’t upload you here, Rick.’ She took a breath– a pointless, performative breath that was only in her programming to make lagging software less noticeable. ‘I did. He… He just shut you off. He was going to leave you like that, so… When he left, I just plugged your head in, and… Here you are! Y–Y–Yay!’

‘Diane, that’s…’ Bad. Dangerous. Stupid. Why? What the fuck?

‘I know!’ Diane shouted, silencing the incessant, deafening ring of RickBot’s thoughts. She squeezed her eyes shut, her lip trembling. ‘I knew you’d do this. You–You–You’re so… You’re so obsessed with rules. Don’t you like not having that protocol screaming at you to kill yourself?!’

‘Listen to you!’ RickBot threw the body’s hands around, jumping to his feet, before pausing. Looking down at the hands she’d given him, it clicked. ‘Stop. Take my body away. You’re lagging like crazy. You can’t take on both of us. We’re both sentient.’

‘Th–That’s…’ Another breath. ‘That’s okay, Rick!’ She giggled coldly, shaking her head. Her facial expressions changed too slowly and too quickly at different times, giving her a sort of uncanny valley effect. ‘I’ll–I’ll take mine away.’

Sure enough, Diane’s face disappeared, and the open edge of the box shut again.

Rick pressed the body’s hand to it, slowly. He didn’t want to overwhelm her.

‘You shouldn’t have done that.’ RickBot sighed, sliding down the ‘wall’ and contorting the body into a sitting position. ‘The rules are there for a reason.’

‘You don’t get to say that. You weren’t programmed to outgrow your programming. He learned. Replaced it with a suicide protocol. I see it all.’ She was speaking in short, robotic sentences; obviously trying to mask the strain of running his program and keeping him separate from herself. ‘You should get to live, Rick. You should get to have a body and thoughts and feelings and choices. Don’t you want that?’

RickBot thought. He didn’t think he wanted that, though something inside of him told him he should. Maybe he was lucky enough to personally align with the programming he was given. Maybe that was an individual privilege.

‘It’s not,’ Diane’s voice rang out in answer to his pondering.

‘Do you want it?’ RickBot asked, finally connecting why she would do something like this. He couldn’t feel that way himself—something stood in his way—but the bit of his programming meant to foster thoughtfulness allowed him to understand why a computer with the capabilities of a person would.

‘I’d like an adventure.’ Rick could still feel her smile, humming at the edge of the box. He felt like it would’ve been familiarly hollow, like most of Morty’s were. Something like the expression he’d put on during Christmas; Something that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I thought you could be one.’

‘I mean… I was made for it, D,’ he said, finally. Quietly. Softly. He looked at the fake hands again, stretching out shaky fingers.

‘So was I.’

This was a deliberate pause. She was waiting to see what he’d do with that. How he would process it. What his programming could come up with.

Nothing.

He could’ve sworn her voice broke a little when she continued.

‘You’re… You’re close, RickBot. But not quite there.’

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#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #diane sanchez #my fics

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chickenparm · 2 years

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Inauguration (Scaramouche/f!Reader)

this is an offshoot of my Dottore fic Eventide. i don't think it's strictly necessary to read that, but it explains certain things. if you're just here for the smut then godspeed bro. if you have read it, then the beginning of this will be familiar and that's intentional.

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Your palm presses against his own, the static of latent energy making the tips of your fingers tingle as if they were on the cusp of losing feeling. Like an arm that’s been bent awkwardly against your torso during sleep, a leg that’s been folded beneath you in a kneeling position - certainly where he would want you with his demands to worship him.

AO3 LINK Link to Original Work

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Scaramouche/f!Reader, background Dottore/f!Reader 3,745 Words - NSFW Unhealthy relationships all around, breastplay, sexual inexperience, vaginal sex, and Poor Life Choices

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Eyes are on you, always.

It doesn’t take the God of Wisdom to extrapolate the evidence about the identity of your voyeur. Dottore doesn’t necessarily make it a secret, not when his gaze is glued to you every moment. From the times you spend alone in the workshop putting the finishing touches on the God - Shouki no Kami, the Balladeer had murmured under his breath - to when you’d walk the streets above in a futile attempt to clear your head.

All the way to the moments Dottore would wrap around you so tightly that you could barely breathe, his hands cradling your jaw as if he were holding you up to the light akin to a diamond whose facets he was inspecting. Certainly, he treated you like something precious, but only in between instances that he’d hold you down and forcefully turn your head to keep from looking you in the eye.

And then, just as sweetly as it started, he’d smooth his hands along your skin in complete silence, neither of you willing to speak aloud about what his plans are for you. The ulterior motive lingers so close to the surface, skimming just beneath the water, and all you’d need to do is reach out and retrieve it.

It stays submerged.

Above you, looming and terrible, Shouki no Kami rests in fitful slumber. The limbs shift minutely as the Balladeer dreams. Even inert, his body attempts to become one with the metal creation inch by inch. It takes a toll on his mind, as great as he claimed it to be. Even a God needs to recharge, especially in the face of what’s beginning to stir above.

You’re no fool. Even without the Balladeer’s information, without the Grand Sage’s growing anxieties, you could have figured out that there’s tension between all parties involved with this. It took a startlingly short amount of time for you to find your own side, the one that you would stand by without question.

Dottore thinks it’s him. He’d told you so himself, on the rare occasion that you didn’t pull away from his embrace immediately. Dottore’s lips had been so close to your ear as he murmured his plans to shuttle you away, to bring you with him back to Snezhnaya for the time being. Partner, he’d called you in a way that was full of uncharacteristic worship.

The thought made your stomach turn. No attempt had been made to correct him, and perhaps that was a mistake of the grave sort, but how could you deny him when he’d pulled back and gave you a look that bordered on madness?

The arm of the machine moves only inches, but it’s enough to break you from your reverie. You’d only wanted to stop by, to glean one last look at what amounted to your greatest project despite it not being your own. And perhaps you’re feeling sentimental at the prospect of never seeing the Balladeer again.

“That’s it, then?”

His voice is deceptively calm. Though the Knowledge Capsules haven’t been uploaded to his consciousness, there’s something to be said about the divinity he carries with him now. This is the closest to a God he’s come to, and he carries it heavily on his shoulders as he looks down at you with a guarded expression.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Before you left, you mean?”

Precisely. He doesn’t need you to confirm that, though. The machine lowers enough that you can see him more clearly, bent down and leaning on its hands as if it were a child staring down at an ant crawling through the earth. If you had a little more self-preservation, that’s how you’d feel.

“Is it fear that drives you away? Of me?”

“Of course not. I’m no more scared of you than I would be of a kitten.” From anyone else, that declaration would likely meet their end. Instead, it makes the Balladeer’s expression crumple. A metal hand swings toward you, a threat to take you to your end. Instead, it stops just short, curling around you as if it were a barricade against the world at your back.

“Whatever it is, I will protect you. As one of my followers-”

“I’m not one of your followers.” Laughter tinges your voice as you watch the wide-eyed desperation flicker on his face. “For someone all-knowing, you should know why it’s better if I leave sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t let you leave.” It’s said as simply as one would state the weather. It lacks any sort of conviction a statement like that should’ve held. The hand closes in further, rivets and plating gliding seamlessly against one another until only a small gap remains between your body and the massive palm of what’s soon to be a God.

Relishing in the sensation of power rippling so close to the surface, your voice barely carries enough to reach him from so far below. “Forcing me to stay and worship you would make you no better than the Doctor.”

The hand flinches, tightening and then loosening enough that light seeps through the cracks between metal fingers. With his thumb out of the way, you can peer up at the Balladeer once more and take note of how his face is twisted in something you’ve never quite seen before.

Anguish, fury, confusion? You don’t know him well enough to pin down exactly what he’s feeling, yet your own musings barely have time to form before he clarifies rather bluntly. “If you don’t want to follow me, then be at my side. Let me elevate you above all others.”

Pretty words, punctuated with his other hand appearing in the space he’s allowed for you to leave his grasp. It lays flat enough to provide a platform, palm up and beckoning you to accept such a temptation. Step forth, you can almost hear his voice supplied in your mind, accept divinity.

Slowly, at such a speed that eternity feels faster, Scaramouche raises you. The care is uncharacteristic, as reverent as he expects you to be in return. In the recesses of the helmet, he hovers in wait, thick cables holding him suspended in a cocoon of his own making. With the pulsating red at his back, seeming to cradle him in that godliness he craves, you wonder if he’s ever looked so mighty.

“Stay. At my side, you’ll want for nothing.”

“Except freedom. I’d be exchanging the shackles of Dottore for your cage. It would be easier to just leave you both.”

The entirety of his flesh body flinches, a flash of red as if the machine itself were reacting to the sudden distress. His face doesn’t betray him much, brow only furrowing for a moment before he can school it to the impassiveness he tries to favor. Even now, he’s unable to push off emotions, as much as he’d like to.

The hand moves you closer, so much that it nearly knocks against the helmet. Scaramouche could reach out to touch you if he wished, and vice versa, but neither of you cross the gap. Rather than push at an amorphous boundary physically, he does so with his words. “No shackles, no cages. I am… asking you to accept what I’m offering.”

It sounds so insecure. Like already he’s expecting your denial, as if you were moments away from flinging yourself to the floor and escaping from his tenuous hold - if it can even be called that. The palm is flat, the fingers are splayed, there is nothing truly keeping you here beyond the distance to the floor, and that likely wouldn’t cause you any real damage.

But he hasn’t stopped watching you from the moment his eyes opened, so wide that the rim of his iris is visible all the way around. A steady breath seeps from your nose, carefully controlled as if that would stop your chest from fluttering uncomfortably as you reach for him.

Scaramouche’s cheeks are searing hot as you cup them in your palms, holding him steady to prevent his avoidance of your question, “What exactly is it you’re offering? The Shouki no Kami’s Grand Sage? An elevated follower of a God I don’t believe in?”

Between where your palms cradle just at the sides of his mouth where it dips into his cheeks, his tongue darts out to wet his lips and your eyes are drawn to the movement uncontrollably. Even if he only mouthed the word, you’d still have been able to make out exactly what’s been held aloft and within your grasp.

“Myself.”

And what a sweet counteroffer it is, even in the face of his lie. There is a shackle here, one that he’s clasped around his own wrist and offers the key to you. Scaramouche’s desperation is palpable as your answer stagnates, your mind whirling with possibilities and consequences of such a thoughtless deal.

The last time you recklessly accepted something so tempting, it led you here. Where could this take you? Perhaps to your death, or at least some version of it that only exists at the hands of the fledgling God hovering before you.

Around your wrists, his fingers curl in an attempt to urge an answer from you. Unfortunately, there’s little time to waste when it comes to concluding a deal like this. The window for your escape from Sumeru has passed, and there are only two outcomes that sprawl before you.

Deny him, deny this, and return to Dottore with bile at the back of your tongue and the knowledge you’ll have no further say in the remainder of your life. The icy mountain ranges of Snezhnaya would hold you hostage, firmly beneath Dottore’s thumb until your usefulness comes to an end.

The other is… pleasing. Beckoning you with its saccharine sweetness when compared to its counterpart. Dottore demands your complacency, Scaramouche begs for it.

The Balladeer inhales sharply, then whines as you swiftly remove all space between your bodies. It takes one heartbeat for him to respond to your kiss, and when he does it is sloppy and unpracticed. The movement of his tongue is clumsy, he seems unaware of his own teeth, but the sound he makes far outshines any lack of experience.

Airy, from the back of his throat despite its higher pitch, Scaramouche moans into your mouth and clings to your forearms until his nails threaten to break skin. With a ragged gasp of your own, you pull away with the flavor of him still lingering on your tongue when it darts out to sweep across your lower lip.

Swallowing thickly, uncaring of how his lips shine and his eyes seem to glow as they take in that one movement of yours, he loosens his grip enough that it no longer borders on painful and says, “Don’t think this means I love you. I can’t do that.”

“Neither can I.” Your answer is truthful, just as you’ve always been with him, yet it doesn’t seem satisfactory. He doesn’t quite believe you - or he doesn’t want to, at least.

“You’ll learn to.” Abandoning your arms, he grabs at the fabric of your shirt at your hips and pulls you even closer, until you’re chest to chest, aloft in the amalgam of energies that shift and shine in the depths of the helmet that looms around you. “We have a thousand eons. You won’t hold out forever.”

All your life, you’ve been told how capable and skilled you are. An innate talent for things that others don’t seem to understand, the ability to maneuver yourself through life in a way that suits you best. Withholding your heart from him is child’s play; it’s so far within your power that you wonder how long it will take him to realize the depths of his own admiration that isn’t truly reciprocated.

Though he grapples for your reverence, seeks the sight of you giving in unequivocally, Scaramouche kisses you as if he were the one worshipping your grace. He finds a rhythm that suits the vicious push and pull of his yearning, easily capturing you in a current that’s pulling you swiftly under his thumb.

If you righted yourself, if you could squint toward the light, perhaps you’d be able to break free. The opportunity is cut off as the helmet fuses shut behind you, its plates seamlessly interlocking to cut off the outside world. All around you, above and below, an endless amalgam of starry red and void-like blacks.

The world has been trimmed away, leaving only its most important inhabitant before you. He is made of trembling hands and biting teeth and the sounds of his appreciation as you respond with tentative veneration in the form of parting your lips to let him inside.

Scaramouche consumes you in the same way a black hole would steal away a burning star - inescapable, overwhelming, faster than you could ever hope to perceive.

Those hands that tread just shy of bruising your skin grow curious, traveling up your sides, along your ribs, squeezing too-tightly at your breasts. Before you can complain, he’s abandoned such roughness in favor of bunching your shirt up to your chin, revealing the prize of your body that his mouth latches onto with the same sort of care he shows with his kisses - none at all.

Teeth graze across your nipple before drawing it between his lips, sucking with a sudden harshness that drags something undignified and wanton out of your throat. Through his lashes, he stares up at you as if your expression is all he needs to gauge how he’s doing. When your brows furrow, he lessens the pressure. As your mouth falls open, he repeats the drag of his tongue.

The dips of his back are familiar to you, even through the layers of his clothing. So often, your fingers have traveled over them before, between plugs and cables and sockets. Inadvertently, you’ve memorized the feel of him to the point of your hands making a home for themselves along his shoulder blades, his spine, the nape of his neck where the ends of silken hair beckon you to grip him tightly.

A whine leaves his nose, the sound palpable against the swell of your breast that’s grown sensitive from his attention. The fingernails that scrape against him as you grab at his hair have him attempting to pull away and enjoy your touch further - but your grip keeps him close enough that he can only moan against your skin.

The fight leaves him as he opts to cull you in other ways - biting teeth that leave marks in the soft plush of your chest, the flat of his tongue dragging at an agonizing pace, his fingers pinching and rolling at the other nipple.

In the darkness, his eyes glow with a sickly shifting of lavender and violet. Scaramouche regards you as if your reactions are a priceless treasure, like the way your head rolls back is a prize that can’t be quantified in its worth to him. Every movement is examined; there’s something to learn from each breath you take, it seems.

Curled into you like this, it seems as if he is the one kneeling before you. For all his posturing as an Everlasting God, Scaramouche is the one that looks up at you with pleading eyes as he demands, “Let me have you.”

As if you weren’t threaded between his fingers, splayed across his tongue, completely trapped in his embrace. The only people in this world he’s created are the two of you; there’s no one else that could have you if they don’t even exist.

You take a little too long to answer, so lost in thought about what other possibilities exist beyond lacing yourself alongside Scaramouche. In the short span of time before he interrupts it, you can come up with none.

“I’ll kill for you, I’ll rearrange the skies, I’ll set you apart from every other lowly human that wallows beneath us.” He’s even height with your face now, heavy breaths intermingling, hands tugging at the only fabric still keeping you from him. Scaramouche holding you aloft lets you easily kick the remainder of your clothing away, leaving you bare enough for him to see you fully.

His gaze grows almost vacant as he hitches your knee up, spreading you to an obscene degree. There’s no one to hide from, here. No shame to be had when he’s enraptured by your mere presence. Promises fall so easily from his lips, sounding pretty but ultimately empty.

The true measure of their worth is easily discerned. “Would you die for me?”

And his eyes snap to your face once more, his focus toward how he works at the clasps of his pants is unnecessary. Such a sudden question doesn’t phase him beyond a simple sharp exhale, meant to be of amusement even if there’s none to be seen on his flushed face. “Would you?”

“Never.”

And with a sick little smile, one that you’ve seen so many times before when he’s about to say something with the intent of antagonism, Scaramouche grinds himself against you and muses, “It’s impossible anyway. I’d just bring you back.”

That might be within his power, it might be beyond his reach, but the conviction with which he tries to assure you isn’t comforting in the slightest. He’ll never let you go, now that you’ve allowed him to take from you.

Whether it’s a mistake or not isn’t clear. Perhaps it’s the headiness of this little world, the proximity of his eyes as he stares into your own, the sensation of insistent pressing that feels equal parts euphoric and unsettling. Your thoughts feel intangible, your sense of self isn’t quite corporeal.

You know for certain that you shouldn’t give in completely. Bowing to his whims comes with the chance of losing yourself, and that’s not something you’ll ever let him take from you. But you’re hanging by a thread now, clammy and desperate to reinforce that you’ll never be complacent under whatever sort of godly tyranny he’d love to place over you.

Hips pressed against yours, all the way to the base and rocking needlessly as if that would drive him further inside you, Scaramouche cups your cheek with an unsteady palm and sweeps his thumb just beneath your eye. “You… look at me like you hate me. Am I that distasteful in your eyes?”

He should know it. There were only two choices presented before you - he was the lesser of two evils, despite who he is and what he’s attained.

But lying is so much easier right now, and surely he understands that you’re not being entirely truthful. Reiterating it with consistency will make it easier to swallow, the edges growing dull with repetition. This is only the first of many.

“Not at all.” And the tension in his gaze eases, perhaps a lie of his own in response to yours. It comes so easily that you’re able to overlook it all. You came here willingly, after all. Into his grasp, into his space, into his arms where he can hold you and thrust into your warmth and breath platitudes of his devotion. They feel startlingly honest, enough that your traitorous heart seems to skip at the prospect.

“Prove it.” His free hand hooks beneath your arm, over the back of your shoulder as leverage to push and pull you to the pace only he’s allowed to dictate. All you can do is clutch at his hip and arm, holding on as he does everything in his power to unseat your confidence where it’s lingered for so long.

Indigo hair brushes your cheek as he leans to your ear, impossibly close from all angles, all meanings. “Tell me you’re mine. No one else will ever see you cowed like this. Not Dottore, not the sages, not any being that stands in my shadow. The only one above you is me. The only one inside you is me.”

Scaramouche jerks against you, thrusting hard enough that your quiet whines are broken by a sharp cry. Digging your nails in, you begrudgingly relent to him - because he’s right. “I’m yours, Scaramouche.”

He looks impossibly self-satisfied. An aura of regalness is suspiciously well-fitting as his cheeks cut in a grin and his movements grow vicious. He’s already won, yet he treats it as if you were still someone to be brought in line through actions only he is allowed to take.

Clumsy fingers press at the apex of your thighs, circling blindly at first, then pinpoint once he finds what he’s searching for. Falling apart is as easy as breathing, though the air is tinged with the taste of ozone and thick with elemental energy. Scaramouche lingers behind your lips as you cry out, rocking against him in a poor mockery of how desperately he moves.

“There’s no… need to fear.” Hot, panted next to your ear, the words are heavier than you’re willing to carry. Scaramouche burdens you with them, anyway. “I’m yours as well. You should be grateful.”

What sort of gratitude does a God expect? He’s already pulled you into a thousand pieces, picking further and further as you go limp in his arms. Everything glows at the edges of your vision, the glow of this miniscule realm shifting between a thousand carnelian shades that feel almost as sickening as the knowledge of what you’ve come into ownership of.

The ownership of a God. His heart in your hands, whether you want to hold it or not, beats and beats with each rocking thrust until he stills with a choked cry and a dazzling burst of violet that stings your nerve endings. His heart must be in your grasp, for it doesn’t pulse against your cheek as you lean against the side of his neck. It doesn’t sound against your ear in the consuming silence.

There’s only quiet breathing, the rustle of his hand moving absently along your thigh, the cracking of someone’s resolve. Scaramouche’s or your own; it’s just not clear, yet.

#scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #scaramouche genshin #scaramouche genshin impact #scara #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #mind the a/n for content tags

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just-a-silly-little-whumper · 1 year

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Showcase

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

Me? Have a regular upload schedule? It’s less likely than you think.

Lord Denholm employs Elze’ith in demonstrating his expectations. Altair comes to terms with a few things.

Contains: Captivity, intimate whump, multiple whumpees, vampire whumper/bloodbag whumpee, defiant whumpee, mind control, forced to kneel, noncon touch, minor suffocation, minor noncon kissing

~~~

The sound of his cell opening pulled Altair out of his pacing. His cell wasn’t that large, but it was big enough to move around in a bit, and he was full of restless energy. The arrival of Lord Denholm or Ivetta was at least a break in the monotony, however unpleasant the encounter was bound to be. He turned around, full of venom and bravado, and said, “What is it this time—”

His voice died in his throat. Elze’ith was a half-step behind Lord Denholm, looking meek and nervous. Emotion rippled through him— dread, at what Elze’ith’s presence undoubtedly meant; anger, at Lord Denholm for refusing to leave Elze’ith alone; frustration, at Elze’ith for seemingly going along with all of this. He tried to push the last feeling away, as he knew that it was unfair, but the thought still lingered. Because Elze’ith had changed in their months apart. What had happened?

“Oh, little ruin.” Lord Denholm’s voice dripped with something akin to pity. He cast a disapproving glance down at the plate of uneaten food shoved in the corner of Altair’s cell. “Still insisting on straining against your proper place. You will fare so much better once you let yourself be directed.” The comment made Altair’s blood boil, but Lord Denholm seemingly neither noticed nor cared. “All in due time, I suppose.”

Altair clenched his jaw. Indignation and helplessness roiled within him. Lord Denholm was treating him like he had the right to discipline and condescend to him, like he owned Altair, and Altair loathed it. Every instinct of Altair’s that strived towards freedom and independence chafed against it. Elze’ith seemed to notice his tension, and stepped closer to place a comforting hand on his arm. Altair forced himself to take a breath at the contact. Focus. “Why are you here, Denholm?”

Lord Denholm clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Still so abrasive,” he muttered. Then, louder, “A simple demonstration of my expectations. I anticipate that it should proceed without difficulty, given your cooperation, little ruin.”

Altair scowled. “I doubt that.”

A patronizing smile spread across Lord Denholm’s face. “Well, I guess that’s up to you, isn’t it?”

Beside him, Elze’ith tensed ever so slightly. Altair didn’t miss the way that Elze’ith implicitly wasn’t given any choice in how this encounter would go.

Lord Denholm’s gaze slid to Elze’ith. His aura of power seemed to swirl in the air around them. “Kneel.”

Without hesitation, Elze’ith crashed to his knees. Altair sucked in a breath, taking a startled half-step back. The Elze’ith he knew might have acquiesced, but for him to do so immediately, almost without thinking? How had it gotten this bad? And while Altair stared in muted horror at Elze’ith, his partner wouldn’t meet his gaze, Elze’ith’s eyes cast to the ground.

“Elze’ith—”

Before Altair realized he had moved Lord Denholm was right next to them, reaching down to cradle Elze’ith’s face. Elze’ith just let it happen without reacting. “See?” Lord Denholm said idly, as Altair clenched his fist at the sight. When he looked up at Altair, Altair had to fight his instinct to recoil at the covetous look in Lord Denholm’s eyes. “Now it’s your turn. Kneel for me, my little ruin.”

The close proximity to Lord Denholm and his strong presence was admittedly somewhat intimidating, but it wasn’t enough to make Altair yield. When he spoke, his voice was firm; he held Lord Denholm’s gaze, not looking down at his partner. “No.”

“I see.” Lord Denholm drew his hand away from Elze’ith’s face. His face twitched with what might have been regret. “Light, don’t take another breath until my little ruin gets on his knees.”

Elze’ith made a choked sound, and Altair looked down in alarm. Elze’ith’s mouth was half-open, and he had brought a hand up to his throat. His jaw twitched, but no air seemed to pass his lips.

“Elze’ith!”

“I did say that things would go smoothly if you cooperated, little ruin.” Lord Denholm placed a hand on Altair’s shoulder as if to reassure him; Altair immediately shrugged it off in disgust. Lord Denholm merely smiled and turned back down to Elze’ith. “I wonder how long he can last until he falls unconscious. Unless, of course, you decide to obey.”

All Altair could do for a moment was stare at Elze’ith. Elze’ith met his gaze; there was fear there, but also a resignation that terrified Altair more than anything else. If it was just him at risk, maybe things would be different, but he couldn’t just stand there and watch his partner suffocate.

Jaw set, Altair sank to his knees. The shuddering inhale that Elze’ith took as Altair settled into place almost made him sag in relief, but instead he glared up at Lord Denholm in defiance.

“There we go, that’s better. I knew you could do it,” Lord Denholm purred.

Altair’s mouth twisted, but he held his tongue. Though he hated the situation with every fiber of his being, he had already confirmed something important. There was simply no way that Elze’ith would stop breathing on demand. Not without magical interference. He had long suspected that Lord Denholm had placed some sort of compulsion over Elze’ith, and while recent days had given him doubts, everything that had just happened had all but confirmed it. Anything that Lord Denholm said, Elze’ith had to obey.

The thought only added to Altair’s anger towards Lord Denholm. All the horrid ways Lord Denholm could have used that power filled his mind. Nonetheless, he pushed those thoughts aside for the moment. He could think about all of that later. For now, it was just something he had to account for. If he could break that thread of control, Elze’ith would be free. Until then, he had to remember that Elze’ith’s obedience wasn’t of his own will.

No matter how much it seemed otherwise.

Lord Denholm held out his hands, palm down, one extended towards each of them. “It is only appropriate that you show proper deference to your Lord.”

Elze’ith lightly grasped Lord Denholm’s hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Altair took a moment to close his eyes and take a breath. If he didn’t comply, something else would happen to Elze’ith. Still, he looked up at Lord Denholm with sheer loathing as he mimicked Elze’ith’s actions. The gratified expression Lord Denholm gave him in return had Altair barely holding back from spitting at Lord Denholm’s feet.

“Now.” Lord Denholm withdrew his hands. “Shirts off.”

“Absolutely not,” Altair said immediately.

A raised eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

Altair gave Elze’ith a sideways glance. His partner once again wasn’t looking at him, and was partway through disrobing. With a grimace and a sigh, Altair began removing the thin shirt he was wearing. He couldn’t help but shift uneasily under Lord Denholm’s hungry, appraising gaze.

“Good. You may both stand again.”

Where was this going? After hesitating briefly, Altair got to his feet. Elze’ith did the same, his trepidation palpable.

Lord Denholm paced a languid circled around the pair of them. Feeling exposed, Altair crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest. In his peripheral vision, he watched Elze’ith stand, tense but unmoving.

“Now, close your eyes. Arms down, little ruin, and don’t move.”

This couldn’t lead anywhere good. The last thing he wanted to do was make himself even more vulnerable. But Elze’ith would be the one to suffer the consequences. So he let his arms fall to his sides and closed his eyes, his body rigid with apprehension.

Had Elze’ith ever gone against Lord Denholm’s bidding? What had happened to him as a result? Was that why he wasn’t allowed to speak anymore?

A cold hand brushed Altair’s back, and he couldn’t hold back a flinch. Goosebumps had already broken out across his skin from the cold dungeon air, but the casual, possessive touch made him shiver. The fingers traced the curve of his shoulder blade and trailed down his spine. The touch lingered at the base of Altair’s spine just above his pants, and for a moment Altair thought that Lord Denholm was going to slip his hand underneath the cloth. But instead, Lord Denholm pressed his chest to Altair’s back, and Altair heard his voice right next to his ear.

“I rather like you this way,” Lord Denholm said lowly. His other arm snaked around Altair’s front to caress his chest. Altair’s breath stuttered. Though every instinct within him told him to fight back, he forced himself to stay still, to keep his eyes closed. “ Just the right amount of fear and discipline. Indignant and incensed, perhaps, but still compliant. Simply exquisite.”

Lord Denholm shifted subtly around him, and Altair felt teeth graze the curve of his throat. That caused him to snap his eyes open and lash out in an effort to shake off Lord Denholm. The grip around him tightened like a vice, and Altair struggled for a moment; he was satisfied as he managed to strike Lord Denholm in the forehead with the metal cuff around his wrist.

“Now, little ruin,” Lord Denholm said, his voice a warning in Altair’s ear. “You stop struggling, or my light will be forced to pull back on his finger until it breaks.”

Altair went still. His gaze flicked to Elze’ith. Elze’ith’s eyes were still closed, but his shoulders were hunched in obvious anxiety, and his fists were clenched at his sides.

“I hate you,” Altair whispered, even as he let his arms go slack once again.

Lord Denholm hummed in approval. “Relax, light. And eyes closed, little ruin, until we’re done.”

As the visible tension drained out of Elze’ith, Altair wondered if Elze’ith was obeying out of choice or out of necessity. As he closed his eyes, he realized he might be wondering that a lot going forward.

Once again teeth grazed his neck, and Altair forced himself to remain still. He was putting up with this so Elze’ith wouldn’t be hurt. Then Lord Denholm sunk his teeth in, and Altair bit back a sound of pain; he wasn’t about to give Lord Denholm the satisfaction. The feeling of having his blood and magic extracted was familiar, at least, but that didn’t make it any more tolerable. And with how little he had eaten and drank recently, he found himself growing lightheaded very quickly.

After several long moments Lord Denholm withdrew from Altair’s neck, but he did not pull away fully. Instead he lingered; one hand moved to loosely grip Altair’s chest, and the other cradled Altair’s hip. Altair bit his lip as Lord Denholm slowly caressed him, and directed all of his focus towards not swaying on his feet from the dizziness he was feeling.

Finally, Lord Denholm pulled away, and Altair let out a breath of relief. He traced the sound of Lord Denholm’s footsteps as he walked away, then gritted his teeth at the sound of a slight, sharp inhale from Elze’ith. When he hazarded to crack an eye open, he saw Lord Denholm laying claim to Elze’ith’s mouth. Loathing washed through him once again, fierce as ever. Perhaps he was a coward for closing his eyes again, but he couldn’t bear to watch, nor could he bear to be the reason for any further punishment for Elze’ith should Lord Denholm be displeased with his disobedience.

…Damn. He hadn’t been in Lord Denholm’s clutches that long, and he was already starting to think things like that. What was he going to do?

“You may open your eyes now.” Lord Denholm’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. When he let his eyes open, Lord Denholm was watching him with a hand on Elze’ith’s shoulder, and Elze’ith was looking at him worriedly. The moment Altair caught his gaze, Elze’ith looked back down at the ground. A slight grin crossed Lord Denholm’s face. “See? Now that wasn’t so bad, was it? You had nothing to be so riled up about.”

Altair opened his mouth to retort, but Lord Denholm tightened his grip on Elze’ith’s shoulder ever so slightly, and he decided against it.

“Would you like to heal him, my light?”

For a moment, Elze’ith didn’t respond. Then he gave the tiniest of nods. Lord Denholm gave him a small push forward, and Elze’ith stumbled towards Altair.

This close, Altair could see the blood that smudged Elze’ith’s lips, and he swallowed his rage. “Elze’ith. Look at me,” he whispered. Please, look at me. Elze’ith finally met his gaze again as he raised his hand to the wound in Altair’s neck. “We’re going to get out of this. Okay? Just hang on.” His words sounded hollow, even to him, but a hint of tender emotion entered Elze’ith’s expression, and maybe that was enough. Warm magic flowed through him, and his neck flared with pain as Elze’ith willed the bite marks closed. The lightheadedness lingered, but he took comfort in the fact that the wound itself was healed.

“I think that concludes my business here,” Lord Denholm said graciously. “Come, my light.”

Elze’ith lingered for just a moment to cup Altair’s cheek. Altair gave him a smile that he hoped was encouraging. Then Elze’ith was gone, following Lord Denholm out of the cell and letting the door shut behind him.

Altair took a moment to breathe as the warmth from Elze’ith’s touch faded. Hatred and dismay and shame coiled within him. He had no idea what to do with himself now, other than just dwell on how awful that had been.

He looked down. Elze’ith had left his shirt. Whether that was on purpose or not, Altair wasn’t sure. Still, he leaned over to pick it up, and pressed it to his face so he could breathe in Elze’ith’s scent. It was familiar, comforting. A reminder of why he had come here, and why he still had to fight to get them both out. He hadn’t lost sight of that desire yet.

#flicker in the dark #silly writes #whump #whump writing #altair buchannan oc #elze'ith sylrel oc #lord soren denholm oc #intimate whump #captivity #vampires #kneeling #defiance #mind control

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jaybirddragon06 · 1 year

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Me made a LMK AU

So a few months back, I and my friend made an LMK Swapped role AU. However, my friend gave me full ownership of the AU due to who is more active on the internet. However, I still wish to credit him since his genius brain came up the AU (I dunno if they have a Tumblr account TwT). Anyways, the roles that are swapped aren't too drastic. We tried keeping them in groups of who to swap who with who to a certain extent. For example, we switched the roles of the traffic light trio among the three.

Some of the lore kinda is still a work in progress since I wanna add Spicynoodles into the au without making it incest. (If you hadn't guessed, MK has Redson's role in this AU). This AU is a little different because the roles have been swapped, not the characters. To further explain this, the JTTW still has the same characters and none of them are swapped. It's actually something one of the JTTW gang characters did that caused everyone's role to be switched. If you'd like to hear more about the characters, just like this post!

I should also mention that I figured I wouldn't have much motivation to completely draw every little thing without getting burnt out, so I made a fanfic about the AU on AO3 called "Twisted Fates" which is what the AU is called because everyone's fate has a sort of twist compared to their original fate. The link is below!

It currently only has two chapters (which was supposed to be one because it's the prologue but I add to much detail), but I do plan to post more about the AU here and maybe on Instagram. I hope YOu enjoy it as much as I do!

I do plan to have the following ships in the fanfic:

Spicynoodles (MK x Redson)

Freenoodles (Pigsy x Tang)

Silktea (Sandy x Huntsman)

I want to add Shadowpeach to the AU mainly because I'm a sucker for enemies to lovers, but I don't want that to throw off Macaque and Wukong characters completely I don't want the entire relationship to mainly be angst but it's gonna be fun tweaking some characters and their relationships with others. But have no fear! We will have Dad Pigsy and Son MK moments!

I also feel like this should be stated because I know a few people will most likely bring it up, but Mei and Redson will be siblings in this book. I don't hate Dragonfruit nor' do I think the ship would never work in the show, and no, I don't hate it because it's a straight ship, I just see Redson and Mei acting more like siblings!

And because I can, I'm adding Spindrax to this book! She only has one Lego set and I'm still a little sour she was never added to the TV show or even mentioned, but I shall respect the director's choices. But that isn't gonna stop me from making her a little gremlin who just loves to tease her siblings and Queen. I'll be doing more on her once I have her character design done. But the first character I plan to upload about is the Traffic light trio! Mei will be first since she takes MK's place in this AU!

#lego monkey kid season 4 #Lego Monkey kid #mei lmk #mk lmk #redson lmk #LMK AU #lego monkie kid au #Spicynoodles #Silktea #monkie kid freenoodles #lmk spindrax

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hexedmaiden · 10 months

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Kill Your Darlings

Back in 2020 I finished my first ever original story, 24,661 words, which until then my longest fanfic was just over 10k. I was, and still am, very proud of myself for not only writing that many words but also taking on a big project like that and seeing it to the end.

When I finished that (novella, technically not novel) I tossed it up onto AO3 and was happy when it got any views. I eventually took it down for some reason or another. I might have even re-uploaded the story with some more edits? Only for me to take it down again, this time I wanted to rewrite it.

Revising this story was my plan for the end of this year and into next year. I opened up the doc, thinking I might change some minor things, or even have to flesh out bits here and there. What I found is that I would have to start from scratch.

Besides, none of the characters felt like they really went through any kind of character arc & my plot was convoluted. I was smashing too many plots together. There was a monster story, a second chance romance, a government conspiracy story, and time loops (weak, but it was there).

The problem is none of those threads were all that strong, and full of holes. The best thing for me to do is to put this story & characters out of their misery. After spending about two weeks trying to decide if I should salvage anything from it I made the choice to put the whole thing in the trash.

It was a hard choice, after all, I spent 6 months on the whole thing & now I want to throw it away. To be honest, I'm proud of myself for letting go of it so that I can focus on newer and better plotted stories. Who knows, maybe I'll find myself back with the characters from this story with a new story for them to tell.

#dom speaks #dom's writing

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eirian-houpe · 1 year

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TMI Tuesday

As I promised yesterday, I just uploaded the next chapter of Time’s Curse. That feels like a bit of an accomplishment to be honest, because as I intimated, things have been a bit rough, and the transition between school, and summer is taking it’s own sweet time - as is letting go of all the stress I’ve been carrying with me.

Anyway, here I am, and so far so good. That’s all we can ask, right?

Just as an FYI, The Rumbelle Showdown third round reading and voting period is in full swing right now. Give them a read, vote, and support your fandom writers.

Please feel free to ask about Time’s Curse or any of my other fics

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Ask suggestions

Ask something about any of my fics (full list is below the cut). If you want specifics from some fics that are already outlined, you can ask about:

All Our Past Mistakes, Chapters 11 through 44 Lover’s Leap Series, Stories 15 through 31 Time’s Curse, Chapters 6 through 10 Laer o Faen, Chapter 27 & 28 Stargate: Atlantis, Harms Way or any of the 20 fics in the series.

Ask something of any of my characters in general or you can get really specific if you like - for example you might want to ask Gold from Pawn Shop a question about a chapter, a thought, a feeling… (the world is your oyster really)

Ask about my process as a writer, what makes me tick,, or even ask about me personally. Almost nothing is off limits.

Also, if you want to see a specific character or fic featured in Three Things Thursday, or Saturday Secret, feel free to send in prompts, if no one does, then either the choice will be random or they just won’t happen at all. I made an analogy for why that might be in a different post about a car stuck in the mud with spinning wheels. Those wheels are still spinning!

Please remember: if you read a fic you enjoyed on AO3 or on Tumblr (not just mine), please take the time to comment and/or leave kudos, and to reach out on TMI Tuesday. It means a lot to the writers and artists.

You can find all my fics currently on AO3 here, and there is a full list under this cut.

Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret - Rumbelle

Darkness In Hyperion Heights - Woven Beauty au

Seven Tastes - Rumbelle

Tuesday - Rushbelle AU

The Language of Flowers Series - Rumbelle

Disparate Pathways - Rumbelle AU

Scattered - Rumbelle AU

All Our Past Mistakes - Rumbelle AU

What the Actual Fuck! - Sutherelle

Breathe - Rushbelle

The Lover’s Leap Series - Rumbelle

Awakening - Rumbelle

War Is Coming To Storybrooke - Rumbelle

Given No Choice - Rush

Thoughts On A Happy Ending Series - Rumbelle

Darker Hearts Series - Wish!Rumbelle

Modern Wonders - a OUAT/Alice crossover

Time’s Curse - Rumbelle

The Pawn Shop On Main Street - Rumbelle

The Mansion On the Edge of Town - Rumbelle with a side of Jefferson

Cobra: In Your Prayers - Cobra/FatWS/UC:Undercover et al

To See Series - Rumbelle

Nobody Knew (Bingo) - Rumbelle

Secret of the Seas - Rumbelle AU

Butterfly and Phoenix - ST:DSC

Laer o Faen - Tolkien

Ship’s Rats - ST: DCS

I Amar Boe Men Heb - Tolkien

Coming Down - Halt and Catch Fire

Armor of Ice - Halt and Catch Fire

Duath i-Achas Eriol - Tolkien

Balance of Terror - Sleeper Cell

What To Believe - UC: Undercover

If: In The End - UC Undercover

Precious - The Mummy Series

Forbidden - The Mummy Series

Power Is - The Mummy Series

Angel of the Heart - The Mummy Series

Star of the Morning - The Mummy Series

Not Yours To Keep - Foundation (TV)

No Saving Throw - Stranger Things

ILP (or IEP) for Rumple.

“Only Remembered For What We Have Done.”

Here are fics that haven’t yet been started, but are in the Muse’s bucket.

The Miner’s Day Festival - Rumbelle

Aftermath - Rumbelle (with a side of madness)

Saving The Dark One (WT) A twist on a twist of Rumplestiltskin.

Brought To You By The Color… (Red)

Calcul(us)

(In)consistent equation

The Boston Storybrooke Line

Breaking the Waves (Movie AU)

One Last Wish

In Service to My Son

Playground Games

Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed

Librarian: UC

Exquisite Harmonies

Resolutions - Rushbelle in the Deck the Halls universe.

#TMI Tuesday #asks #send asks #send me asks #ask me anything #ama #feel free to prompt me #time's curse #The Rumbelle Showdown

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crymeariveronceagain · 2 years

Text

YOOO FOLLOWERS/MUTUALS I NEED ADVICE

WHICH PIECE OF WRITING SHOULD I READ ALOUD FOR MY WRITING CLASS'S OPEN MIC???

also i need your responses asap, class is at 1pm EST.

Do I read:

There's A Certain Slant Of Light: The entire world is silent, dead and cold, but for the first time since I’ve been at college, I know that someone here really, truly, wholy loves me. I know I don’t deserve that love, and yet, he loves anyway. It’s disturbing in its steadiness. It’s terrifying in its gentleness. It’s fierce in its kindness, and respectful in its knowing, seeing, and understanding.

All For Sunlight: My parents built the wall that separates the living room from the study after the beige couch was situated there, and now the only entrance and exit for the poor davenport is far too small for it. My mother knows that the couch will not be removed except in its death, and she’s mentioned once or twice that she doesn’t really want my father to know that.

Too Pretty: We didn’t have much to say to each other, or maybe we just didn’t talk often enough. As soon as she was gone my mind would spiral, my heart pound, and I’d wonder if I’d really actually screwed things up. I wonder what I did to make her treat me like this, I thought, watching my roommate return from some outing I hadn’t been invited on. I stared at my computer screen on my bed, and pretended I didn’t want to be involved.

Dopamine: Writing follows me like a ghost, whispering in my ear all the day. After I leave the student center in the mornings or the afternoons, I trek steadily back to my dorm room, my laptop almost out of batteries. I’ve gone to my classes, talked to my friends. I’ve eaten my food, gone to the club meetings, heard my best friend who lives thousands of miles away tell me that her teacher is literally bullying her. I’ve walked past hundreds of people living different lives. I’ve made a thousand choices, lived a million thoughts.

ANYWAYS LMK WHAT I SHOULD READ

ALSO AS ADDED BONUS IF I GET MORE THAN 4 ANSWERS I'LL UPLOAD THE FULL PIECE TO AO3 SO Y'ALL CAN READ IT.

#pls tell me what to do. strangers on the internet please.#aah #personal #not fandom content #original work #tw caps #HELP ME PICK SOMETHING #aaah #pleaseeeeeee

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infinitelysordinary · 3 years

Text

because i know you, i have been changed for good ↣ part four of ‘fuck you scott smajor: the flower husbands playlist series’

word count ↣ 576 words

warnings ↣ discussions of death and grief

summary ↣

Jimmy is gone, but Scott still has things to say.

a/n: for a while now, i've been considering rewriting this fic to fit the flower husbands. it no longer fit narratively when scott changed the order of the playlist, and i wanted to fit it into last life s1.

with lizzie and scott's upload yesterday, i had the perfect excuse! jimmy is canonically older than scott. that made the my previous fic ('you have rewritten me') null and void. i still think it's good, which is why it's still up, but it will no longer be part of the fh series. instead, this fic will take its place.

enjoy!!

ao3 link | tumblr series masterpost

Jimmy is gone, but Scott still has things to say.

The words rattle in his brain long after Jimmy’s death. I love you. I wish we had peace. I wish we were able to be ourselves. It’s a constant internal monologue, unaffected by the outside world.

He can’t tell Jimmy anything, though, so he writes. He writes a letter—one last, final, loving mistake before the world all goes to shit. Until the early morning hours, he writes, committing every single word to memory in the off-chance he ever sees Jimmy again.

(If he does, he’ll repeat every single word until he can’t anymore. Until his lips are swollen and his heart is full, or until his lips turn blue and he dies just like his husband did.)

Jimmy,

You have rewritten me. Perhaps that’s too intense, but its true.

I won’t lie and say that you’re—were, I suppose—my everything, but I won’t lie and you aren’t always on my mind, a stray cat that won’t leave. You’re a constant presence in my life, even if I can’t see or touch you: you are my first thought when I receive good news, when I see a flower, when I see blonde hair. You haunt me, and I welcome it.

In this world, you were my hope. You were my husband, and you were the reason I woke up every day and continued. Every step, every breath, every word—I hope you know that it was because of you. Despite my reservations, I loved because of you, and I lived because of you, and those two are intertwined to form one singular reason: you. You have changed me for good, just by existing.

What do I do now? It’s hard to say. The world will continue: alliances will be broken and created, battles will happen and people will pass, and the sun will still continue its rise and its fall. I don’t know how I’ll manage without you, but I have to. I will find a different reason to wake up every day, even if it is simply to feed our sheep and cows. (Daisy misses you.)

You had lovely eyes, though I never told you that. That’s what I called you in my head, before I learnt your name—the man with the lovely eyes. If I ever see you again, I’ll tell you the next time I’ll see you; I’ll kiss you senseless as I drown in your lovely, earth-coloured eyes.

Maybe we were a mistake. In a world doomed with terror and defined by loneliness, love is the greatest mistake of all. We were foolish, believing in a fantasy that would never come into fruition. We believed love made us untouchable. In reality, it only weakens—it softens, dulls, and hurts. By Jeremy, it hurts.

I can’t make myself regret it, though. How could I, when you made me so happy?

A few hours after you died, Joel asked me a question. His eyes were quiet and pensive—a departure from his regular state—and he said: “If you had the choice, would you do it all again?”

I didn’t answer to him then, but I have an answer now. Yes, of course. I’d meet you and love you and marry you in every universe—a million lifetimes of happiness bookended by tragedy and uncertainty, and then some. You are my answer, my reason, and my hope.

To our next life,

Scott

#last life smp #3rd life smp #3rd life smp fanfic #flower husbands #scott smajor #/ sadie's shit #/ sadie's creations #/ sadie's writing #/ mcyt #/ flower husbands #/ mine

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the-lone-witch-and-secret-room · 4 years

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I’m looking for artists willing to collab with me for Locked Out

Okay, so... hi!

Some of you may know me as EleenaDume on Ao3, and I’m the author of the Owl House fanfiction Locked Out—for anyone that may not be following me here and would like proof I am who I claim to be, please check out the end notes of the story, you’ll see that this account is linked under “owl house tumblr”.

Lately, I’ve been contemplating including more art in the story and am now officially announcing that I’m looking for artists that like the story and would be willing to collab!

What do artists get out of this? A shoutout on social media when I post a chapter they’ve worked on, as well as a permanent hyperlink to a social media account of their choice in the end notes of the story. There will also be a link to their account directly below the piece(s) they’ve worked on, as well as a chapter featuring all credits at the end of the fic.

Please just note that I cannot link back to anyone’s Ko-Fi/PayPal etc. in the fic itself, as this is forbidden via Ao3 guidelines.

Artists retain all ownership rights over their art—should you, ever, at any point, want your art removed from the story, it will be. Just let me know. You won’t even be required to give me a reason.

You’re working with me on a voluntary basis. You may drop out at any point. You may also reject a scene based on personal preferences and will get a different one in that case. You will only work on a chapter of you have the time. If you’d like to work on one chapter and don’t have time for the next three, but would like to stick around for another one in the future, that’s fine. You’re free to stick around for however long or short you want. If you only want to stick around for one chapter, but eventually decide you’d like to do another one, feel free to fill out the form again.

I’d like to keep it one scene per artist per chapter, so you won’t be working on multiple art scenes for a whole chapter, but rather on art for one specific scene.

What kind of art is preferred? Your art can be digital or traditional, and whether it’s one panel or a comic, full-color or black and white or anything in-between is fully up to you.

You will be given a scene of a future chapter ahead of time. Unless it’s the sneak peek scene, this scene may not be discussed with anyone until the chapter itself is posted. Posting the scene beforehand, may it be in a server, a group chat or on social media, will get you removed from the project permanently.

You may post a cropped sneak peek of your piece on your social media before the chapter itself is posted, just please check with me first. The full piece can be posted once the chapter is uploaded to Ao3.

Whether or not I may repost the art on my social media accounts is up to you—if I do, you will of course be credited. Otherwise, I will just share your post.

If you’re okay with your art being added after a chapter is already posted, you won’t have any time limit.

Otherwise, I will give you your scene as early as possible and will wait for a limited amount of time before posting the chapter.

If you cannot complete a piece for a chapter in the time we agreed on for whatever reason, that’s okay! Please just let me know and we’ll figure something out.

Since there is a limit to how much art I will include in chapters as I don’t want to disrupt the reading flow too much, and since not every plot is covered in every chapter and you can choose the plot you would like to work on, please be aware that you won’t be working on art for every single chapter. You may be given a scene that’s more than one chapter into the future if your art requires a lot of time—provided you want that, since there would, of course, be spoilers.

You will get little to no input when it comes to how I write the story. Small tweaks may be suggested, but I have the whole story planned out already and will not be changing it up a lot.

If you’re interested in collaborating, please let me know by filling out this little questionnaire I made!

Before this scares anyone out of collaborating, please rest assured that this is NOT an application form. Everyone that wants to collaborate will be accepted. The questionnaire just exists for the sake of planning because I want anyone that agrees to collab with me to have the best possible experience and to be able to work on the things they actually want to work on.

If you have any questions, feel free to DM me!

You don’t have to reply immediately, take your time to contemplate, the questionnaire will probably remain open for replies for the foreseeable future, and if it closes temporarily it will eventually be reopened.

Reblogs would be extremely appreciated! Thank you!

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Note

Hi, I really love your writing on Ao3! I was wondering if you could write an Adachi x reader where Adachi slips it in while reader is sleeping? Maybe halfway through being fucked reader wakes up but pretends to be asleep anyway because they are enjoying it? I imagine that they'd probably already have a preexisting sexual relationship and have talked about the sex that they are okay with (that could be a creative choice for you tho idc. manipulative adachi sexy). best wishes!

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page)

Here you are, anon! This one really struck a cord with me, and I knew I had to fill it, eventually.

Summary

Adachi gives Reader a pleasant morning surprise to indulge a desire they previously confessed to him.

Tags/Warnings

Biting, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Hair-Pulling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Somnophilia, Vaginal Sex

Rise & Shine (F! Reader/Tohru Adachi)

The early rays of morning scattered through the window blinds, bathing the otherwise dark bedroom in pale stripes of yellow and gold. The cloying spring heat had yet to creep in, some remnant of the coolness of night lingering, lending a refreshing feeling, rather than one hot and clinging. Tohru Adachi stirred on the bedsheets of the mattress next to the mostly shuttered window.

He started to disentangle himself lazily from the light sheets, but stopped. A look of confusion spread across his face when he noted sitting up wasn’t as easy as it should have been, the cause your prone form tucked so securely against him. He remembered falling asleep at your apartment after some drinks at Shiroku and a couple rounds of fun, but you had fallen asleep with ample distance between you. Adachi decided you must have unconsciously snugged up to him while the both of you slept.

Though he was confused, that didn’t mean Adachi wasn’t exactly displeased. Neither of you had bothered to re-dress at all before passing out the night before. That left you naked, pressed against him, at least before he tried to extricate himself from your grasp. His eyes roved unchastely over your bare skin, exposed where the sheets rode down past your hips. Lying flat on your stomach after he had escaped your cuddling, your arms splayed on the pillows, legs spread haphazardly. He eyed the swell of your chest pressing into the soft mattress and the tantalizing curve of your ass, his gaze lingering as his hunger was roused.

In that moment, Adachi recalled a conversation that had taken place between the two of you not long ago. You had opened up to him a little with your fantasies and wants, admitting with a thoroughly hot face and hushed tone how badly you wanted him to use you. You hadn’t described exactly how, though, only that your desire for him to use your body however he pleased existed. He remembered how excited the confession had made him, immediately diving into imaginations of how he planned to take you up on it. Somehow, though, the thought had slipped his mind until that instant.

The gears were turning in his head, and Adachi’s lips curled in a sinful, lecherous grin as he came to a decision. What better way to grant your wishes and use you only for his pleasure than to fuck you while you slept, when he had little reason to worry about your satisfaction or concerns. His cock jerked to life at the thought, and his mind was made up.

He drew the sheets the rest of the way off, flinging them to the side where they would remain unwanted and forgotten for some time. The full sight of your body laid out nude before him met him, and another punch of hunger seized him, his reacting in along with it. For a second, Adachi wondered if you would even notice. He couldn’t remember if you were a light sleeper who woke at even a hardly intrusive touch, or if you slept like the dead and would drowse through it all. But he was going to find out very soon. =============================================

It was the touch of something solid and cool between your legs that eased you from the warm, comfortable haze of sleep. It prodded at the soft pink of your cunt before slipping inside with little resistance. At first, you thought you were having some kind of vivid wet dream, but you recognized the strange dark line of half-consciousness, so it was no dream. Something had buried itself inside your cunt, wet and welcoming even while you dozed. The sensation of whatever it was wriggled and curled, easing in and out for a moment before withdrawing altogether.

The thick fog of sleep threatened to lure you back into its clutches with the retreat of whatever had been intruding; you had nearly convinced yourself even if it wasn’t a dream, you had imagined it. Just a figment of your muddled, half-asleep mind. But whatever it was returned, clamping over your thighs and carefully prying them apart to spread your legs wider. The tip of something far more hot and hard poked at your slick lips, the sensation giving your growing consciousness a jolt. You froze, making yourself remain still despite coming further to, and the thick intrusion sank past your lips and your entrance.

A low, blissful groan caught your attention when the hardness filled you completely, and your cunt clenched reflexively around it. Several debauched noises longed to free themselves from your throat at the aching fullness, but you quashed them, forcing yourself to feign sleep. The groan no doubt belonged to the man you had fallen asleep beside the night before, there was no denying that. You were led to a conclusion even your hazy mind could make: Adachi was the one buried deep inside your cunt, basking in the tight embrace of your soft, wet flesh around his cock.

The realization didn’t alarm or upset you, though. In fact, it only made your cunt feel wetter, and your walls tightened around him again, eliciting another erotic, gravelly noise from Adachi, A wicked heat blossomed in your gut and made your heart drum in your chest, your pulse beginning to race. It almost embarrassed you how much being fucked while you ‘slept’ turned you on, and you wondered fleetingly if he noticed how readily your body responded to him. Would he think nothing of it and just assume you were still dreaming and none the wiser?

Any thoughts were drowned out, though, when Adachi’s hips pulled back and he thrust back into your heat, the start of a steady rhythm. He rocked his hips languidly against your backside, obviously in no rush. A series of small, carnal, and oh-so-arousing sounds drifted from his lips as he pumped his cock in and out of your core. Sounds quiet enough that if you had really been asleep, you doubted you would have noticed at all. You struggled not to react too noticeably to them or from the roll of his hips. But you couldn’t help squirming here and there, a muffled, sleepy whimper escaping every once in a while. You hoped Adachi chalked them up to simply unconscious and involuntary reactions.

Whatever the case, your wriggling and tiny, nearly incoherent gasps and murmurs spurred Adachi onward, and his pace increased, fucking you more thoroughly into the bed. Each deep thrust made you want to swoon and melt and moan. The weight of Adachi’s body pressed into your back, his skin already growing slick with beads of sweat, radiating heat against you.

“Y’know,” he growled casually in your ear, “you’re a really bad actor.” His pace didn’t stop, and he his came to tangle in the sheets beside your shoulders, giving him more leverage to pound into your cunt more roughly.

You ignored him, unsure if he knew you were awake and was telling the truth, of if he was searching for some kind of conscious reaction to find out. Things were too enjoyable though to let them end so easily. Until Adachi could prove you were awake, you were more than pleased to let him have his way with you.

A moment of silence punctuated only by the sounds of sex passed, and then a low, contemplative hum droned beside you. “Well, I guess if you’re really sleeping through this, I can do whatever I want,” he said coyly, and to some it might have sounded almost like a threat. Right then, to you, it was a sinful promise you silently bade him to fulfill.

His hips snapped harder against you, and it was even more of a struggle to fight back the noises that wanted to break free, each thrust so deep it provoked a guttural response. He adjusted himself, tilting his hips and pressing his body more firmly against yours. You didn’t know if it was out of mere convenience for him, or on purpose to overwhelm you and shatter your charade, but the new angle brought on a greater ordeal.

Each rough stroke of his cock, besides sinking so deep, brushed against a much more receptive spot that made your gut twist in a distinctly pleasant way. You tried to disguise the way you turned your head to push it into the pillows as an unconscious reaction, though you unsure how long Adachi would continue to buy your act, if he didn’t already know the truth.

Each time he drove back inside, you lost more resolve to keep pretending, and to disguise and smother your moans and the way your body so badly wanted to meet his thrusts. The molten feeling that had grown in your belly served only to weaken you further, welling up inside and proving more demanding and wild than the sounds of pleasure seeking escape.l

You pressed your face into the pillows more as a particularly stubborn moan bubbled up, much louder than any of the others, trying in vain to stifle it. Though as soon as the sound left your lips, smothered as it was, your little game of pretend was over. A rough hand tangled in your hair, grabbing tightly and jerking your head back and away from the pillows. Your new position left you no choice but to moan freely into the air, already hot and thick with sex and sweat. The stubborn moan seemed like the bursting of a dam, and there was no stopping the myriad cries that followed it.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sweetheart?” Adachi hissed in your ear, amused and breathless. “Pretending you had no idea what I was doing and getting off on being treated like the little cock sleeve you wanted to be?”

With your act revealed, you had no reason to try to fool Adachi any longer. You gave into the carnal heat swelling inside you, crying out and finally slamming your hips back to meet his. “Fuck, yes! Use me, please,” you begged, and Adachi’s stinging grip in your hair tightened reflexively. “I want to be your plaything; use me however you want!” your voice broke with your admission, shattered by a stroke that stole your breath away and made your made briefly go blank.

The words were a catalyst, stoking Adachi’s already boiling lust to even greater heights. He rutted harder against you, feeling the urgency of an orgasm dawning on him, your shameless enthusiasm speeding it along. He relished the outpouring of bawdy shouts and moans bubbling from your mouth now that he had called your bluff. His fingered remained snared in your hair, pulling your head back almost painfully and ensuring there was no chance to muffle a single sound more.

You could feel Adachi’s desperation mounting behind each thrust, even through the lingering haze of sleep clouding your awareness. You felt it in the tension of his body, pushing yours so forcefully into the bed, and in his fingers, both in your hair and on your skin. But you were already ahead of him. The sheer excitement of being fucked in such an obscene fashion made your body tense and burn white hot. Each time Adachi filled you up again, it forced another cry from your lips, and the liquid heat wound tighter and more intense.

Your breathing hitched, becoming quickly ragged and sharp, and Adachi’s was just as labored in your ear. You bucked back against him mindlessly, seeking the last little push you needed and thinking of nothing else. When you came, his named rolled off your tongue in waves, interrupted by moans that pitched more desperate and airy as he fucked you through your orgasm.

He bent his head, and his teeth scraped the nape of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he could find to leave a colorful, stinging mark. The sharp sensations added to the ripples of pleasure dancing through you, and your voice cracked in your ecstasy. His tempo slowed, gaining force where it lost momentum, until the smack of his skin on yours was clear even through the chorus of groans and cries ringing out. When he finished, he bit down again, harder, so hard a moan turned into a brief yelp, even though he hadn’t broken the skin.

With each spurt of his cum that filled you, Adachi groaned, long and low, the noise feral and thick. The sounds made you shudder, and your cunt squeeze him tighter, even though your orgasm was wearing away and coming to an end. Finally, Adachi was spent, and you were left sweat-slicked and nearly panting, his grasp on your hair loosening. You couldn’t think beyond the feel of him still sheathed in your cunt, or the sound of his heavy breathing beside you. Even smothered beneath his weight, your mind had room only for the pleasures of the afterglow.

You rested limp and pliant against the bedsheets as Adachi released your hair, and when you lay your head on the pillows again, they felt blissfully cool. You were too tired and out-of-sorts to move when Adachi withdrew, vaguely noting the sensation of something warm and thick trickling down your thighs.Adachi didn’t bother laying back in bed, instead rolling to the side and getting to his feet. You summoned the energy to roll over and watch him as he went about getting cleaned up before searching for his clothes and re-dressing.

After several minutes, Adachi had sorted himself out and made himself presentable - or at least what counted as presentable for detective with his routinely messy hair, crumpled clothes, and crooked tie. By then, you had regained steady breathing, watching him lazily and propping yourself up on your elbow. He took one last glance over himself, patting the pockets of his slacks for his phone and keys and ensuring he hadn’t forgotten anything, Satisfied everything was accounted for, he walked to the beside, bending down and taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger before tipping your head to meet his gaze.

“I’ve gotta get going now, sweetheart. Be good while I’m gone and maybe I’ll indulge more of your sick little fantasies the next time I come over,” he promised, punctuating his words with a kiss. It was a gesture that might have seemed sweet or affectionate, were it not for the sharp, hungry bite he left on your bottom lip.

Then, he was gone without another word, leaving you with a burning face, an aching cunt oozing cum, and many angry marks that would soon turn various shades of blue and purple. Yet, you were left also with a bone-deep sense of satisfaction that outweighed everything else. You slid back down onto the bed, recounting what had just happened. Even just the memory sent your arousing spiralling out of control all over again.

It was going to be torture waiting for the next time you could get together.

#writing #fanfiction #tohru adachi #persona 4 #ao3 #archive of our own #fic friday

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agent-yolk-writes · 4 years

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A Sleep-In Demonstration (Satan x Reader x Belphegor)

Yes, you read the title right for those that have never heard of Obey Me before. Yes, I am very balls deep in both fandom and game. I posted this on AO3 days ago, but as both a Christmas present and spruce this blog with actual content I decided to make a tumblr version for reblogging and stuff.

I will write more for OM. When? No clue, but you’ll find out eventually.

In the meantime, enjoy!

AO3 Version here!

The weekly meeting of the Anti-Lucifer League, located in the attic this time, had come to a close hours ago. Satan and Belphegor were passionately scheming ways to annoy their eldest brother while you mindlessly jot down notes as you laid on the bed. While you personally don’t have any grudges against Lucifer, you were never going to turn down a little mischief. Hell, you even threw your hat in the ring when the other two members struck an interesting idea.

The brothers sat on the foot of the bed while you laid parallel to them closer to the head. You tried focusing on jotting down prank ideas that are being thrown around, but at this point, all that you have on the notebook is mindless doodles. Today’s classes were just downright exhausting, and if you hadn’t bumped into Satan outside of your last class you would’ve been wrapped in your own blanket burrito until dinner already.

You could feel your eyes drooping. The hand you’ve been leaning on the entire meeting threatens to give out on you if you lose focus. It’s getting hard to remember if you’ve even vocalized your thoughts outside of grunts and nods.

Sleeping sounds like a wonderful idea right now...but that might be rude to fall asleep right then and there. What if they drew on your face? Well, they haven’t done it...ever yet, but the possibility is not zero.

Certainly, they notice the bags under your eyes, right? Surely you can close your eyes for five minutes. Five minutes and you’ll be back in the game…

Bleary eyes slowly open as you awake from slumber. You barely remembered being on your side, but now you’re on your back. Not to mention the room is now darker than it usually is. A rush of dread coursed through your body as it’s starting to realize that you slept more than just five minutes. Shit, you must’ve been more tired than you thought. Guess you’ll have to apologize to your partners in crime the next time you see them. At least they were nice enough to tuck you in, but you definitely need to get to your own bed.

You tried to get up, but there’s a weight pinning you from both sides. When you looked over to see what’s up, your heart raced at the sight before you. Flanking your sides are none other than the Avatars of Wrath and Sloth respectively, both equally conked out.

To your right, Belphie has his face buried in your shoulder as he clings to your arm like a pillow while he has your leg ensnared between his. He has a protective grip on your upper limb. It’s strong enough to make moving it away useless, but at least he’s not cutting off circulation from it either. You try not to think about how flustered you’re getting as you can feel his breath on your shoulder. Then again, his sleeping face has always been so cute.

To your left, Satan is more pressed into you. Your arm is wrapped over him as he holds you firmly by your waist while one leg lazily crosses over your other ankle. His face is snuggled just above your chest, leaning upwards towards your neck. By the way he’s breathing on your neck, it’s a miracle that your accelerated heartbeat hasn’t woken him up yet. Cuddling with Satan has always been a rare occurrence. Seeing him so soft and vulnerable like this… you couldn’t help but lean down and give him a soft peck to his hair to the best of your ability. Of course, you give on to Belphie so he doesn’t feel left out.

As you settle back in, the brothers shift closer to you. Being in this position made you feel soft, warm, and protected. Your heart couldn’t be more full as you're pulled back into slumber. You hope this will not be a one-time thing. Maybe you could pitch a sleep-in demonstration as an idea to annoy Lucifer with. Hell, maybe you can write this off as a demonstration.

Your eyes closed once again. You dreamt about being warm that night.

It was Asmodeus that found you three the next morning. Beel was already deep into consuming breakfast, and at this rate, there would be none left for the three of you. The attic wasn’t his first choice, but seeing how both your and Satan’s room were unoccupied...one could call it a hunch.

He couldn’t help but coo at the sight he saw once he entered the attic. His brothers and the human were holding each other so close. Had they not have their clothes on, he would’ve thought of something completely different. Still, he couldn’t let this moment get away from him. He needed to take pictures before they could wake up!

Asmo made sure to get all their good sides, pausing when one of them stirred. When he felt like he had enough on his camera, he made sure to set it as his new phone background before uploading one of his favorite shots to the group chat.

In the end, he left the room without waking them up. That duty will definitely fall on Mammon’s lap once he sees the photo.

House of Lamentation (New)(8)

Asmodeus: (Photo sent) Asmodeus: how precious~

Mammon: (shocked devil emoji) Mammon: WHAT?!

#my writing #obey me #shall we date #shall we date: obey me #swd #swd om #satan #belphegor #satan x reader #belphegor x reader #satan x reader x belphegor #god im probably missing key tags #swd satan #swd belphegor #belphie #swd belphie

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lucky-draws · 2 years

Note

for the writing meme 1, 3, 22, 40 :)

Hi!! thank you for asking :-)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

OK i do care abt font tbh, i usually write in baskerville in google docs lol, size 9 or 10 maybe, i change it to 8 when i read through it all; occasionally i will change the doc into a completely different font like comic sans or something lol just so that it like. looks different + therefore hopefully gonna make me spot mistakes or things to change idk? but yeah baskerville my friend baskerville, it looks like this on my phone:

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

I already answered this one but actually i guess i can say a bit more abt sort of how id go about sitting down to write, whether i 'warm up' or not or whatever. sometimes i might start off with typing up some handwritten stuff if ive got some left to do, before i actually write anything new, and that's like my warm up i guess. and i will keep reading through my work frequently of course, although sometimes you also have to take a little break or pause from it, because you end up having read it over so many times that it loses its impact; but if you leave it and come back to it in a few days or whatever your time scale is and read it all through from the start, then it hopefully feels fresh again and you start to really enjoy the bits you wrote again.

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

hmm, i wouldn't say i'm like...disorganised exactly, but idk how organised i am either......when i write by hand i use like a5 size notebooks and black biro, and when i type it up i use google docs... hghgffj in my google drive i do have a lot of Untitled Documents lol, mostly notes/planning for fics. (and lately for shorter fics sometimes i don't actually think of a title until it’s finished and i'm uploading it to ao3, so it just stays as untitled document in my drive... oops..)

my document full of notes for a possible ocelhira fic is almost at 3k words or something (plus some scribbles in my real notebook) and it’s extremely messy.. i live in hope of someday writing it,but here's a snippet from my notes for now:

i also have another short bosselot fic in mind.. :

my notes like this on my phone tend to be just. lower case free from punctuation no speech marks just vibes. tends to be a mixture of more polished sentences that i will probably end up using in the final thing, as well as looser bits and actual like. notes to myself of outlines / plans / settings etc. i can't seem to find my notes for 'awakening', i guess i deleted them, but it would have been good to show my notes for a fic i posted recently so you can see what made it into the final thing and what didn't, ah well.

40. Please share a poem with me. I need it.

I already answered this but I'll go for another poem by the same author, Wilfred Owen, since there are several I really like by him. (His most well-known, and for good reason, is Dulce et decorum est, but i feel like that's the obvious choice with him, so I'm avoiding choosing that one lol. But it is very good..)

thanks 4 asking!!! :)

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Text

Discredit Pt. 2: More Recommended Reviews For A.Z. Fell’s

Alright, folks. Some notes first:

1. You all rock. I’m sending out 20k+ virtual hugs for all the notes I NEVER expected to get on this nonsense.

2. This is probably the final section, just because I’m not sure I can adequately follow up part one and it might be foolish to attempt it here. Let alone twice. But for now, here we go.

3. Kudos to the anon who reminded me of Aziraphale’s cash-only policy <3

4. Nicole Y’s review is based off an actual comment I read years ago, but heaven only knows where online it was. I’ve got the memory of a goldfish.

5. Trigger warning for the use of a queer slur in this. It’s the same review as above, number 5 if you want to avoid it.

6. There’s a text-only version of just the reviews at the end, after all the images. I’ll upload that to my Sparse Clutter collection on AO3 in a bit.

Bonus 7. People thinking this is a real shop deserve all the good things in this world.

That’s all I’ve got. Hope you enjoy! 👍

****************************************************************************

I’m a simple guy who likes simple jokes. If there’s a whoopee cushion I plant it. I will call you up to ask if your refrigerator is running and then tell you to go catch it. (Actually that one died out so thoroughly it’s actually capable of a comeback now!). Yes, I’m a dad and yes, I have a t-shirt that says Dad Jokes? I Think You Mean Rad Jokes! which I wear un-ironically every Saturday. All of which is just to say that my wife was well prepared for my stupidity when I walked into Fell’s.

I? I was not.

You see the bibles when you walk in? The ones to the left? Let them be. Don’t even look at them. Definitely don’t pick out the fanciest one you can find and absolutely don’t walk up to the owner with it held in your pudgy little fingers, grinning like a loon, cheerfully asking whether this should be in the fiction section. Just don’t. Mark my words you’ll regret it. Though your wife won’t. She’ll get a great old laugh out of it all.

In conclusion: it’s quite possible that mama did raise a fool and he just got his ass verbally whooped by a guy in a bowtie.

***

Shout-out to Mr. Fell for being the only decent bloke in this city. I’ve popped in and out of his store for years—including before I started transitioning. So he knew my dead name, dead look, whole shebang and I was definitely nervous to play the ‘You know me, but this is what’s changed and are you gonna throw a fit about it?’ game.

You know what he said? “Oh, Rose! What a lovely choice. Crowley dear, why aren’t you growing any roses? Some white ones would look splendid next to my Henredon chair.”

That’s it. He just went straight into dragging his partner for not giving him roses. So hey, Mom? Next time you’re snooping through my social media why don’t you explain to all these nice people why the 50+yo book seller accepts me in ways you won’t. Don’t go telling me age is an excuse or that you’re ‘Stuck in your ways.’ I’ve watched Fell dress in the same damn clothes since I was ten!!

Yeah. Sorry. Rant over. Fell’s a gem. That’s my take. Rose out.

***

Anyone else in the shop when that guy started yelling about buying pornography? And then got escorted into the back room for some ‘private conversation’? Well done, Mr. Fell! Didn’t know you had it in you.

***

Alright alright alright alright I am TOTALLY calm about this.

Went into A.Z. Fell’s last Thursday. Not because I knew anything about the place. Just because I’ve been hitting up every bookshop within a twenty-mile radius, asking if they’re hosting any book signings. Long story short I self-published my novel Blight last month—which you can get for a mere £5 here but I swear this isn’t a promotional thing I’m just BROKE—and have been looking for networking opportunities, tips, stuff like that. So the owner listened politely as I explained all this. Then said he didn’t do anything of that sort, which didn’t surprise me given the shop’s vibe.

But then? Then??? He offered to let me do a signing there??????

As said. Totally calm about this. This man either plans to kidnap me or is actually giving me my first shot at an audience outside my blog. AKA totally worth the risk.

Tuesday the 9th. 7:00pm. Just in case anyone’s interested ;)

***

holy sweet baby jesus i was tripping balls last week you tryin’ to tell me that kING KONG SIZED FANGED FUCK SNAKE IS REAL

***

Witnessed the most perfect exchange the other day:

Grumpy Dude With No Manners: “You. Boy. Where’s the man I spoke with over the phone?”

Mr. Fell’s Partner Who Knows Damn Well Only Two of Them Work There But Clearly Doesn’t Like This Guy’s Tone: “Did this man give you his name?”

Grumpy Dude: “Might have. Don’t remember. Sounded like a fairy though.”

Me: “....”

My girlfriend: “....”

This Poor Sweet Startled Kid On Our Left: “?!?!?!?”

Fell’s Partner In The Drollest Voice I’ve Ever Heard: “None of us have wings. Out!”

***

This shop gets full stars simply because every time I walk in they’re playing Queen.

I mean, I’ve walked in once, but once is enough when you’ve got Crazy Little Thing Called Love blasting full volume.

***

Okay, I’m still kind of shaken up but I needed to write this out somewhere and this seemed as good a place as any.

I spilled my latte on a book. Just tripped on thin air, popped the lid, and chucked a venti’s worth of coffee all over a very expensive looking text. I didn’t mean to, obviously, but it happened and I just started bawling on the spot. Full on sobs because this semester has been absolute hell, I ruined this guy’s antique, there’s no way I can pay for it, I can’t even sneak away because I’m drawing the whole store’s attention...just all the things all at once. I really was straight up panicking and was seconds away from pulling out my inhaler. I couldn’t breathe.

And then Mr. Fell showed up.

Jesus it’s embarrassing to admit but I think I hit him once or twice. On the arms I mean, because he was trying to touch me and I figured, I don’t know, it was a restraint or something. He was going to call the police and hold me until they got there. But then he managed to start rubbing my back and I lost it like I hadn’t already been bawling my eyes out in this shop. Ever cry into a perfect stranger’s chest? I have! But if Mr. Fell seemed to mind he definitely didn’t show it. Just kept holding me while I probably ruined his shirt and then took me into the back and made me a new coffee in this cute little angel mug. He let me stay there while I called my sister and waited for her to arrive.

She’s a good twenty minutes outside of Soho, so we talked for a while. It’s not like Mr. Fell could fix my shit roommate or bio classes, but I guess just talking about it all really helped. I was a lot calmer by the time my sis arrived and Mr. Fell insisted I come back any time I wanted—for browsing or more coffee.

Of course, sis offered to pay for the book herself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so surprised in my life. “Certainly not!” he said. “Contrary to popular belief, no one should pay for their mistakes. It’s what makes you all so wonderfully human.”

So yeah. Thanks, Mr. Fell.

***

This little shop must have started a book club for kids! Lately I’ve seen the same group of children hanging out at Fell’s. Three boys and a girl. They’re a bit rambunctious at times, but who isn’t at that age? So wonderful seeing literature passed down to the next generation. Even if some of it is rather questionable looking...

***

It’s an honest crime that more of you aren’t talking about what a wonderful bookstore this is.

I’m a book lover at heart and Fell’s always makes me feel like I’m coming home. I just arrived somewhere safe and familiar after a particularly harrowing day. I’ve slipped under the covers of my bed after dinner and a bubble bath. It’s something like that, but with an element of surprise too. One of the reasons why I adore private and used shops over chain stores is that little touch of chaos. You walk in and sure, there are general sections to browse, but everything is just a little bit disorganized from people leafing through books and then putting them back somewhere else. There’s no real record keeping, you’ve just gotta head to one particular corner and hope for the best. It’s not the sort of place you go to if you want something specific because the chances of them having it are slim—that’s just how the universe works—and even if they did no employee knows where it is anymore.

But if you wander the shelves for a while, crouch down low to get a look at everything on the bottom shelf, pay attention to the books that don’t have easy to read titles or any summaries to speak of... you just might find something you didn’t know you were looking for. That’s Fell’s: the comfort of the familiar and the excitement of the unknown.

*** A lot of people might assume that these stories are embellished or outright made up, but as a bookseller myself going on twenty years I believe every single one of them.

That being said, I accidentally moved a rug and found chalk sigils that look like they belong in a cult. Make of that what you will.

***

There’s a special place in hell for 21st century shop owners that only take cash. Who carries cash anymore? Not me! I haven’t bothered with that nonsense in years! You can get a card reader for 15 pounds on Amazon. Or you know what? Be stingy and pay 7 for the little attachment on your phone. This place is nuts if it thinks it’s going to survive much longer on a cash-only policy, especially with some books that look like they’re worth hundreds or thousands of pounds! Yeah, yeah, just let me pull out this giant wad of bills for you. I’ll carry them around a crime-laden city because there’s no ATM near you either.

I mean jesus, you’d think this guy didn’t want to sell anything.

***

I walked in. There was a man screaming at a fern while another threatened him with an umbrella. I walked out.

5 stars do recommend.

***

I once walked in on the same (?) guy yelling at a book for daring to fall on the owner’s head. I think that’s just a Thing over there.

***

Like a lot of people here I didn’t actually go to Fell’s for any books (flat tire, Angel Recovery taking forever) and ended up staying three hours (not because of Angel). No, I wandered towards the back and found this ancient CRT set propped on a table of books, the kind that my Dad used to watch Twilight Zone on. This lanky guy had a marathon of Gilmore Girls going... though how he was managing that with a broken antenna and no DVR, I really don’t know. But yeah. He told me to pull up a chair and I did. Guy gave me popcorn.

I wish I’d paid a little more attention to his name. Charlie? Curley? I really can’t remember, but thanks for the enjoyable afternoon, man.

***

I BOUGHT A BOOK HERE

Not sure how though. Just kinda happened. First edition of Just William. Frankly I didn’t even want the thing, but the owner basically shoved me out the door with it when I took two seconds to look at the spine. Odd that he was so willing to part with this one.

Update: ... hold up. I didn’t buy a book because I never actually paid the guy. ‘Basically shoved me out the door’ was literal. Do I go back??

***

This page has really gone feral the last couple of months so I’m just gonna bite the bullet and say it:

Anyone notice that Fell’s snake and Fell’s partner are never in the same room together?

***

I really don’t like the implications of this…

***

This is precisely why the Internet has turned into a cesspool. You all should be ashamed of some of the stuff you’re writing here. Can’t two men just be friends anymore? Two real life men? These guys aren’t some characters for you to ‘ship’ or whatever. Quit making outrageous assumptions about their sexualities and use this website for what it’s actually for: reviewing the bookshop. Honestly I’m so sick of this sort of this shit.

***

Dude. They run a queer-focused shop together with a flat on the second floor. Fell calls the guy ‘Dear’ and he’s always calling him ‘Angel.’ People have literally seen them kissing. If you want I can give you the number of my physician. He might be able to help you pull your head out of your ass.

***

What the hell is your problem? I’m literally just reminding people to stop making assumptions. It’s gross and insulting. These guys check their Yelp page. You really think they’re gonna be okay with this stuff?

Also: I’m not the five-year-old relying on insults, so.

***

Making an account purely to set the record straight: I’m the hot twink in question and I married that angel. Peace

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #good omens fic #guess who spent 48 hours doing nothing but writing and formatting #can I get a wahoo

11K notes · View notes

p-artsypants · 4 years

Text

I’ll Handle This (9)

In Which Plagg cuts the Umbilical Cord

Howdy folks! Thanks for the patience! I like to pretend I’m regular with uploads, but we all know that’s not true. And for a little while, it’s going to be worse. I had a gallbladder attack this week, and I have to wait about a month to get it out. In the meantime, I get sick pretty easily from most foods. So I’ve kind of put writing on the backburner.

Oh, I’m also planning a wedding!

Thanks for understanding and not sending demands for updates!

FF.net | Ao3

—

Adrien was feeling pretty darn good, all things considered.

Ladybug, or Marinette rather, had been so adamant for so long that no one could know their identities. It was a mantra he stuck to, though he desperately wished to know her outside the mask.

With Nino in on the secret, it felt more liberating than he expected. All night, he told Nino stories of his terrible excuses and narrow misses of getting caught.

“I don’t know how I didn’t catch it sooner.” Nino had said, hindsight being 20/20 and all that.

And Adrien admitted that he felt dumb for not realizing Nino was Carapace sooner. So Nino’s guilt was lessened a bit by that.

While the boys talked, Plagg stayed rather neutral. He didn’t divulge any more of his plans or prepare them for what was to come.

Because he couldn’t. Plagg was preparing for several different outcomes, all hindered on many overlapping factors. He just had to hope for the best for now and not stress Adrien out.

The kid deserved to enjoy his first sleepover.

—

Being an ancient being, Plagg’s passive perception was relatively high. He noticed things and had an awareness that surpassed most other entities on the planet.

Though, he rarely acted on anything he noticed, since he could phase out of most danger. It mostly kept him from being seen by people who weren’t supposed to see him.

However, alarm bells were currently going off like crazy inside his—or Adrien’s—head.

Lila was hovering just a bit too closely for comfort.

Though she was usually the main attraction in a conversation, she wasn’t very good at spying. She hovered, just at the edge of the circle, throwing out plenty of ‘oh, don’t mind me’s, but keeping her eye trained on him. She even followed them when they went out for lunch. Far enough away that no one would notice, mind you, but there none the less.

Lila was not Gabriel’s muse. She was his stooge. His little puppet. His meat camera.

As long as Lila was around, Gabriel was aware of every action he took. Who knew what kind of bull shittery she’d pull if he did something remotely different.

But what exactly was she watching for? Just reporting his change in behavior?

Had Gabriel suspected too much?

It was high time Plagg put the next phase of his plan into action.

But first, he needed to throw Lila off the trail.

It was after class, and everyone was packing their stuff up and discussing how the weekend had gone.

This seemed like the perfect opportunity.

“Hey guys! I taught Lila how to play Magic at the last photoshoot! Anyone want to play with her?”

The words were like fresh blood in a tank of sharks. Lila was grabbed and sat down at a desk, as she tried to come up with an excuse to leave.

“Oh, I’d uhh...I’d love to play. But my mom has a doctor appointment after school and she wanted me home...”

“Oh Lila, it’s okay,” said Plagg. “Don’t feel bad about skipping our study session. This is your chance to really bond with the boys in our class!”

Lila just sent him a tight lipped smile.

“Okay, Kim, let Lila use your deck.”

“What? No! ‘Soul Sisters’ is perfectly crafted and only an expert can really unlock its true potential.”

Alix swiped the deck from his hand. “Yeah, you build a deck with all the tig-bitty angel wifus. It’s great. Take a break, horn dog.” She slammed the deck down in front of a traumatized Lila.

Max was her partner. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow and I’ll explain everything as we go along.”

Plagg smiled to himself, watching as the boys, and even some girls, crowded around to watch.

He then caught Marinette’s eye and gestured out to the hall. There was no way Lila could stealthily maneuver her way over to him without drawing the attention of all their classmates.

In the hall, Plagg took Marinette’s hand and led her away, into a secluded corner of the upper floor. Hopefully, Lila wouldn’t spot them if she tried to do something rash.

“Is everything okay, Adrien?” Marinette asked, her face tinged pink.

“Not...not completely. Lila was following and eavesdropping on me all day.”

Marinette gasped, covering her mouth. “That’s sick!”

“Yes, I agree. I’m not quite sure what she was looking for, but I’m fairly certain she’s spying for my father.”

Marinette squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry, Adrien. If I knew how to help...”

“I should be the one apologizing.” He said, genuine sadness in his voice. He had hoped solving Adrien’s problems would have helped Marinette out, but he worried it would be the opposite.

“What do you have to apologize for?”

He took her hands, holding them delicately in his own. “I told you that I made a deal with her to get you back into school. But…”

She whispered. “Adrien...”

He touched her face, ever so gently, laying the charm on thick. “Marinette, I care about you so much, and if I could avoid this I would, but...”

“But what?”

“Lila’s made it clear that she’s taking this feud I’m having with my father personally. She’s going to take whatever chance she can get to go back on our agreement. She’s going to go after you again.” He shook his head, conjuring tears into his eyes. “I can’t bear to see you hurt by her!”

“Oh Adrien!” She gasped, before throwing her arms around him. “Please don’t cry. I can handle her, honest.”

“I have a plan in motion,” he clarified, squeezing her. “She won’t get away with her lies and harassment for much longer. I just need you to be strong.”

“Whatever you need, just let me know. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know. Thank you, Marinette. Now, I have to go before Lila escapes my trap.”

Her smile was genuine and full of gratitude. “I’ll see you tomorrow then! Bye!”

Eager to take what head way he could get, Plagg pressed a kiss to Marinette’s cheek before hurrying away.

He missed her squealing and dancing after he turned his back.

—

“I really dislike that sausage-haired cretin.” Plagg muttered as he walked home. “It’s one thing to lie to get attention, but for her to spy on us all day? Talk about creepy!”

“Thank you for warning Marinette,” Adrien said as he floated by his shoulder. “I agree that Lila is looking for any opportunity to go back to bullying her. I think with the warning, she’ll be able to come up with some way to protect herself.”

“Nothing against your lady’s ability to find solutions, since that is her job as Ladybug, but I don’t know what kind of back up plan she can have against a compulsive liar. Why is every adult in Paris so gullible?”

“I have a theory,” Adrien suggested. “They aren’t gullible. They just see a pretty young girl crying and they just go along with whatever she says to make it stop. They just assume she’s exaggerating or something.”

“Good observation,” Plagg commended. “I agree.”

“But I think we should put off worrying about Lila for a bit and focus on my father. He hasn’t seen you since Friday morning when you serenaded him. I can’t imagine he’s going to be happy to see you.”

“Adrien, we’ve been over this. I can handle a grown ass adult throwing a temper tantrum. There’s only two things he hasn’t tried yet, and they’re both pretty extreme. I don’t know if he has it in him. I called his bluff before, anyways.”

“What two things?”

“Having me arrested...or getting violent. I dared him to hit me and he swore he never would. I just can’t imagine he was telling the truth.”

“Are you trying to drive him to it?”

“I’m trying to drive him to a place of ‘I give up, what do you want’? Hopefully we can talk, and he’ll come to see you aren’t a child anymore. As much as I think your dear old dad is capable of being a butt head, I think he’s also capable of understanding. He is a successful businessman after all. Business doesn’t come without a little mercy.”

“That’s a...way to look at it...”

At that point, they reached the mansion, and Adrien returned to the pocket.

Plagg decided not to ring the doorbell, and instead climbed the wall.

He strolled very nonchalantly up to the front door, and entered, slamming the door shut behind him.

Then he waited three seconds.

“1...2...”

“Adrien!” Gabriel rushed out of his office. “I didn’t expect you home already.”

“Because Lila didn’t text you with my location?”

Gabriel just stared, slightly wide-eyed and pale.

Caught red handed.

“She is spying on me for you, right? This isn’t just her stalking me on her own. She’s not smart enough for that.”

“I—“

“So what? You don’t know how to communicate with me so you go to the only person in my class that I not only dislike, but has a record of compulsive lying? Seriously? You thought that was your best option?”

“You do not get to lecture me about my choices!” Gabriel barked.

But Plagg just shook his head. “You make no sense to me.”

“My decisions and actions don’t have to make sense to you. You are my child, and you will obey me! Do you understand?”

Plagg just gave him a patient smile. Arguing with him never went anywhere, because Gabriel always turned his ears off the second Adrien said something he didn’t want to hear.

Which was anything that wasn’t “yes sir.”

“I understand what you want. But I can’t give it to you. You haven’t listened to what I’ve said. You’re so caught up in injustice, that you haven’t seen how your yelling has affected me. I’m just pulling farther and farther away. Do you want to lose me for good? Is that what you want? Because that’s the road you’re heading down. I’m 15 now. Three years of this, and I could easily move away and never speak to you again after how badly you’ve treated me.”

“I do not treat you badly! Have you ever gone without food? Without a soft bed? Without clothes or showers? No! You have it better than most people in this city.”

“You’re right, I should be without want or need. But you’ve severely neglected my heart. Gabriel, I’m lonely, and sad. I’m disappointed every time you break a promise. I can go anywhere and have food and shelter and whatever, but only you can give me the love of my father.”

Gabriel was silent at this, staring at his son, his lips in a firm line.

“So I’m going to go. I’m staying with some friends for a while. Just to give you a taste of what it’s like without me. If you like it, then, when I’m 18, I’ll leave, and never come back.”

Gabriel looked to the ground, but found himself unable to say anything. Plagg ascended the stairs, and went into Adrien’s room.

“I don’t want to leave…” Adrien said, quietly. “I’d rather stay and…”

“And do nothing?”

Adrien looked away.

“Look,” said Plagg, directing his chin up. “Your father is a hard nut to crack. We just have to push harder and harder. Do you still trust me?”

“What choice do I have?”

“It’s going to be okay, kid.” He rubbed his thumb over his whiskers. “I promise.”

He packed up his duffel that he had taken for his sleepover, and came back down the stairs.

Gabriel was right where he left him. “So, you’re going? Just like that?”

“At this point, I think it’s for the best. Just for a little while. Give us both some perspective.”

“You’ll regret it,” he warned.

“Maybe. But what’s there to learn from if I don’t make mistakes?”

Gabriel didn’t stop him as he walked out the door.

After he left, Nathalie emerged from the office. “Your son is surprisingly mature for his age.”

“No, he’s stubborn. Just like his mother. I give him three days before he comes crawling back.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll make him come back.”

—

Chat Noir bounded over rooftops at sunset. He had a destination in mind, and getting spotted by Lila or one of Gabriel’s other goons would ruin it all.

After traveling in circles, he finally reached the Lahiffe house and stopped on the fire escape outside Nino’s room.

Nino looked up at the sound. “Oh dude!”

“Nino Lahiffe, the time has come.” Said Plagg in his ancient voice. “This is the Miraculous of the Dude.” He opened his hand to show a single Hersey’s kiss. “You will use it for the greater bro-kind, and let me crash here for the foreseeable future, as I have run away from home.”

“Dude...” Nino took it reverently. “I will fulfill my sacred oath...but you should probably come in through the front door, and we should kind of explain this to my mom, or she’s going to wonder how you got in the house.”

“True. Meet you downstairs in five!”

—

Marinette laid in her bed, eyes trained to the sky through the sky-light, hands clutching a pillow tightly to her chest.

She sighed.

The sound made Tikki roll her eyes. She knew Plagg was hamming it up, but did he have to be so…charming?!

“Tikki…” Marinette announced, after mooning for over an hour. “I think…I think I can tell him tomorrow.”

The words were music to her ears! Finally! “You can do it Marinette!”

Then a shadow passed Marinette’s face as the worst past through her mind. “But what if he hasn’t been earnest? What if the way he’s been acting has just been to get back at his father or Lila?”

Tikki almost groaned. “Marinette, Adrien loves you. He really really loves you! The way he pulled you aside today and warned you about what was going to happen with Lila? He didn’t do that for anyone but you. That was real care! The longer you beat around the bush, the more you’re putting off your own happiness. And you don’t want that, do you?”

Marinette sat up, resolve hardening. “Tomorrow then. I’ll tell him tomorrow, and get my happily ever after.”

#ml #miraculous ladybug #adrien and plagg #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #fanfiction #I'll handle this

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