#i will just leave this one uncommented

[jollymalt]

forgiveness

[softspiderling]

and there you are on your knees | j.v

summary:

For a split second, your eyes met and it felt like he could see right through you. You tried not to flinch, keeping your head straight on and your gaze locked on him, hoping he would would avert his gaze. But he didn’t.

“Bent. Knees.”

Oh.

OR; Prince Jacaerys Velaryon arrives at the Twins to secure passing for the troops marching for his cause. He is successful in more ways than one.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: SMUT! 18+, MDNI, oral sex (male receiving), p in v, as usual, Jace has been aged up to 20!

word count: 1,8k

author’s note: remember when i posted that pic of jace like three weeks ago? i looked at it last week and went "what if...?👀" and this was born. idk😭😭 also am i crazy or hasnt anyone written anything about this scene before?? that’s illegal🙅🏻‍♀️ anyways tagging my hotd bestie @eldrith ily thanks for letting me yap your ear off, happy reading y’all🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You had heard rumours about the first son of Queen Rhaenyra; every lady that had met him sighed over his luscious dark brown locks or the handsomeness of his face that seemed to be carved out of the most expensive stone in the whole realm. Still, you were quite taken aback by how beautiful he really was when he crossed the bridge of the Twins, his dragon waiting for him in the greens just by the tower.

He truly knew how to make a first impression last.

“Lady Frey, Lord Frey,” Prince Jacaerys said, nodding to the sitting pair, hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyes flickered to you for a second.

“Lady…?”

“Frey, my Prince.”

Prince Jacaerys raised a surprise eyebrow but let it go uncommented, only eyeing you up and down very briefly before taking his sword off as he sat down.

Lady Frey poured him wine and without much preamble, they begun their talks of trades. You kept yourself mostly to the back, fulfilling your role as a ward, ever present but never putting your nose in affairs you had no business in. You tried to listen, the Prince seemingly asking for passing for troops coming in from the North, which Lady and Lord Frey agreed to after some negotiations; but you tried to use the advantage of being ignored to take in the Prince. He was young still, but he carried himself with a certain aura of power and confidence, which was a given; he was the Crown Prince of the Seven Realms after all.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted and you quickly put your very inappropriate thoughts about the Crown Prince away, trying to pay atention once more.

“You want Harrenhal.”

Lord and Lady Frey glanced at each other in silent conversation, while the Prince finished his drink, standing to hold his cup out for Lady Frey to refill.

“For that, my mother will want more than your crossing,” Prince Jacaerys said easily, his chin held high.

“What does her Grace desire?”

Prince Jacaerys discarded his cup on the table, leaning both his hands on it, towering over Lord and Lady Frey. For a split second, your eyes met and it felt like he could see right through you. You tried not to flinch, keeping your head straight on and your gaze locked on him, hoping he would avert his gaze. But he didn’t.

“Bent. Knees.”

Oh.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were scandalous and really downright filthy as the prince kept thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth, one hand fisted around your hair, the other holding onto his tunic, so he had an unobstructed view of you.

When Prince Jacaerys had asked you to show him the privy before he left, you had not expected him to back you into a secluded corner of the hallway, his lips upon yours and you felt like you were in a dream.

You were on your knees, your pretty dress flared out on the dirty floor, the hard stones digging into your shins, likely leaving bruises, but you couldn’t find it in you to care.

“If I had known the Freys had such a pretty little thing for a ward, I would have come sooner,” Prince Jacaerys grunted, making you whine softly. He tightened his hold on your hair a little, snapping his hips up and tears sprang into your eyes as you nearly choked at the sheer size of him. Your hands grabbed at his waist to steady yourself, as he fucked his cock into your mouth, before he pulled out with a groan.

“Fuck, you nearly made me release,” Prince Jacaerys muttered, swiping his thumb over your lower lip. “But I am not quite done with you yet.”

He grabbed you by the arm, helping you stand, pressing his lips against yours, inarguably tasting himself on you, but Prince Jacaerys didn’t seem to mind. You pulled away from the kiss, your chest still heaving and your cheeks red. All of this was new to you, and you were embarrassed that you had to catch your breath.

Prince Jacaerys looked down on you with a smirk, brushing the sweaty hair off of your forehead.

“Turn around,” he said, turning you by the shoulder to press you up against the cold stone of the wall. “Have you ever laid with another man?”

“No,” you answered with a shake of your head, your cheeks turning a deeper red, nervous and excited at the same time, at the prospect of a man taking your maidenhood, the crown prince of the Iron Throne nonetheless.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you repeated, voice breathless. "Please, I want this."

“I’ll try to be gentle,” he whispered into your ear, his teeth nipping at your earlobe, making you shiver.

Slotting himself against your back, Prince Jacaerys lifted the skirt of your dress to reach between your legs, his fingers rubbing over your pearl, your hips bucking in surprise as you moaned out.

“Patience, my sweets,” Prince Jacaerys rumbled, trapping your skirt under his arm, which he snuck around your waist. His fingers circled into your folds, gathering your wetness before he dipped one finger into your cunt.

“Oh Gods help me,” you moaned, writhing in his arm and Prince Jacaerys only chuckled.

“No Gods here, only me.”

He pumped his finger in and out of your cunt, until your walls acclimated to the intrusion and he added another finger, making you roll your eyes to the back. Never before have you felt such pleasure down there, you weren’t sure if you could go back to not knowing how it felt.

“Just… One more,” Prince Jacaerys mumbled, adding a third finger and you felt incredibly full, like you were split open, but in a good way? The pads of his fingers kept brushing against the spongy part inside of you, which made you curl your toes in your shoes. You leaned your forehead against the cold stone, feeling a growing sensation in your lower stomach.

“I think… I think I might..” you groaned, your lips parted.

“What?” Prince Jacaerys said, his breath hot on your ear as he kept fucking you with his fingers. “Are you going to come, Lady Frey?”

“Y-yes, my Prince.”

“Call me by my given name and I’ll let you.”

He pressed onto your pearl with his thumb and you swore you saw black for second before you came, a moan of his name on your tongue.

“Incredible,” he whispered, pulling his hand away to tug on his cock that had been rutting against your backside, leaving a smear of his precum on your skin.

“This might be uncomfortable at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

You weren’t quite sure what Prince Jacaerys was talking about when you felt the head of his cock breaching your cunt and you let out a small gasp.

It hurt at first, and you let out a small breath as he kept pushing his cock in - Gods, did it ever end?

“Gods you’re tight,” Prince Jacaerys groaned, his hands gripping your waist when he was fully sheathed inside of you. You only whimpered in reply - how would you previously think you were full when he had three fingers inside of you? This was no comparison.

You let out a laboured breath, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down your temple and you shifted on your feet, letting out a surprised moan when it caused delicious friction of the Prince’s cock inside your cunt.

“Ah, you’re feeling it, don’t you,” Prince Jacaerys whispered lowly in your ear, bringing your hair to the side, so he could place wet kisses upon your back. “The pleasure coursing through you, like you have never felt before?”

Just as the words left his mouth, he started to thrust his cock into you with no abandon. The sounds of skin slapping skin filled the hallway, coupled with his grunts and your moans, it was a miracle no one stumbled upon you, but even if they did, you didn’t know if you’d care enough to stop.

Your blunt nails scraped against the walls, as the Prince’s cock kept going in and out, you were starting to see walls. It wasn’t long before you could feel the warm sensation in your lower stomach forming again, this time so much more intense.

“P-please,” you whimpered, your whole body feeling like it was burning.

“Lo ao’re beri nyke jāhor mazverdagon ao ñuhon,” Prince Jacaerys whispered into your hair as his cock drove into you.

You were too fucked out to realize you didn’t understand him, and definitely too fucked out to ask what he had just said to you, clinging to the wall for any semblance of support as your body shook with every thrust.

“I’m almost there,” Prince Jacaerys grunted, his hand finding your pearl again as he slowed his thrusts, instead thrusting harder, finger pressing down on your pearl. “Will you finish for me, my sweets?”

“Yes,” you moaned. “Don’t stop.”

The Prince only chuckled, not once pausing his movement but accelerating the circles he was drawing on your pearl, until you finally broke, a wave of pleasure washing over you so powerful it knocked you over.

“Gods, Jacaerys!” you moaned, your cunt pulsating in its wake, your eyes fluttering shut, leaning against the wall.

You were only standing because the Prince kept a steady grip on you, his cock still fucking into your wet, soppy cunt. His thrust stuttered before he gave one last, thrust, shooting his warm seed right into your hole, your cunt milking him for everything he was worth, the seed escaping from the sides, dripping down your legs as he pulled out.

With one hand, Prince Jacaerys tucked his cock back into his pants and letting your dress fall back down, his other hand holding you upright, your knees still weak.

“Can you stand?”

“I think?”

His hand was firm but gentle as he turned you around, a smirk on his lips as you looked up at him through your lashes, completely ruined. Again, he pushed the hair out of your face, almost lovingly, as if he didn’t just shoot his seed into your cunt, his seed that you could still feel trickling down your leg, beneath your dress.

“Maybe I will be back,” Prince Jacaerys said, wiping his thumb over you mouth. “Make sure you really are staying loyal to the rightful heir of the Iron Throne.”

You chuckled breathlessly, looking up at him. “House Frey would welcome you with open arms.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up, slowly released your waist, before he leaned down to kiss you deeply. You sighed softly against his lips, but the kiss was over sooner than you had wished, your mouth chasing his.

“Be good, make sure your guardians keep their words or I will come for their heads.”

With those words, Prince Jacaerys left you in the dark hallway, still catching your breath. This was not how you had envisioned the Crown Prince’s visit to go.

But who were you to complain if he was so generous?

────────────

Lo ao’re beri nyke jāhor mazverdagon ao ñuhon = if you’re lucky i might make you mine

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author’s note: thoughts?👀

[kneelingshadowsalome]

What about princess reader who falls for Konig? He's a retired royal soldier (Bit of an age gap but I was thinking more like he was so good he was able to retire early) that she saw every once and a while and she does the typical "disguise myself as a commoner so i can sneak into town" routine and he pretends he doesn't know but he used to serve her family so ofc he fucking recognizes her

He tries to be gentle with her but honestly she should just be happy he isn't ratting her out to her family 🙄🙄🙄 (not that she minds)

CW: 18+ MDNI. Medieval AU, forbidden love, mutual pining, virgin!princess!reader x veteran!knight!König. Undefined age gap (reader is of legal age which means she’s "old" for an unmarried woman of this period). Reader is kinda coercive, König is implied to be a virgin too. Bittersweet romance vibes, brooding guy/gentle girl trope, ambiguous ending.

Word count: 6.4 k

You never thought you’d have the guts to slap a knight. 

Violence is unladylike, and even if you’re a princess, it doesn’t mean you should force your status down someone’s throat like that. Far less his, the man you were taught to respect and listen to because he’s a man, and older than you. 

The fact that he was also an anointed knight didn’t seem as important as the simple truth that he possessed a cock between his legs, and it always annoyed you to no end that this was the reason why men ruled the world. As a lady still unwed, you’re supposed to be afraid of cocks, especially if they’re old and gruff. 

But you never were afraid in the presence of your father’s most loyal knight. He was your sworn shield too, and the only time he had been away from your side was when he asked to go on a pilgrimage to some chapel nearby. Said he wanted to seek forgiveness for his sins.

A man like him must have a lot to pray forgiveness for, but knowing that he could split a man in half with that greatsword of his doesn’t stop you from sneaking out one night as you follow him outside the castle walls and into the local inn.

Dressed as a stable boy, you watch with wide eyes how he gulps down three pints of beer and doesn’t turn any dumber from it. His speech never slurs, his shoulders never slump, but when some kitchen wench sits down beside him, your breath gets caught in your throat. 

You look at the odd couple for a moment or two, watch how your father’s knight, the secret object of your silly daydreams, finally loosens the strings of his purse and offers the girl a copper coin. 

It’s more than you can take, so you shoot up from your bench and march to him. The woman looks up at you with lousy disinterest as you ask the man of your dreams if he’d like to have another pint of ale. Your knight recognizes you immediately, even in your too-big tunic and your uncomely hose, even with that dirty felt hat covering your hair.

And he’s mortified, from what you can tell.

Both your eyes are wide now, and the woman beside him is smart enough to leave. She slides herself off the bench and sneaks past your side, and your valiant knight just looks at you, looks at you, looks at you. 

You should be worried that he’ll snitch about your adventures to your father, but right now, all you can do is stare at him like he’s the thief, caught fresh and red-handed. Because he is a thief, and a devil, the worst man on earth when he was supposed to be the best. You snort to let him know how much you despise him—for coming here and bedding women for money when he’s supposed to be a sworn, celibate knight—but what truly hurts here is that he’s bedding someone else than you.

When you march out of the inn, he follows you, even dares to lay his hand on you by grabbing your arm outside. That’s when you turn on your heels and deliver a fat slap on his cheek, lightly stubbled and sweet, something you had hoped to plant a kiss on for many, many years.

“Your grace,” He grunts and rubs his chin, slightly amused. “Have I offended you?”

The slap couldn’t hurt that much, and this man never does amused. Even now, the mirth extends only to his eyes, never to his lips. 

“You know perfectly well that you have, sir,” you clasp your hands in front of you, now entirely his princess even though you’re dressed like a peasant.

“My lady,” he bows both in body and in voice. “I truly don’t know what crime I have committed.”

You’ve never seen him so… jovial.

Usually this knight looks like there’s a stick up his ass, that someone pissed in his porridge and shat in his stew, that there’s nothing but hailstorms and calamity in his life. 

Were you any more clever, you’d leave him be, but God has made it so that you’re drawn to battered and beaten animals. Of course you’re drawn to him too, lonely and spiteful as he is. This man broods so much you sometimes wonder if he’s the reason why it rains so violently up here in the hills. He probably summons dark clouds above the castle with those ponderous frowns alone – but now he’s looking at you as if he just woke up from the dead and walked into the shy sunshine after a long, harsh winter.

“You… You shouldn’t bed women,” you tell him, and he looks at you even more curiously.

“You shouldn’t pay for it,” you mumble next – unladylike, again, especially when your eyes turn to your shoes and away from that hawk-like, calm stare.

There’s a short silence after that, and you almost turn heel and walk back to the castle from the desire to escape the weight of his eyes. Eventually, he shifts his weight to the other leg and clears his throat.

“I sometimes pay for women to hold me. There’s nothing more to it.”

You raise your eyes to meet his, but the mirth is all gone now. It’s replaced by solemn acceptance, some sorrow you never even knew he had. Yes, he’s always silent and looks a bit pissed, but he’s not heartbroken, no, not your brave knight…

“To “hold you”, sir?”

The sorrow is covered with white lashes before you get to the bottom of it. Something tugs at the corner of his mouth—shame and frustration, probably.

“To hold me. Like a mother would. Is that a sin?”

His eyes search for yours from under dark brows, they beg for your consent as if it mattered to him. They’re quite catching, his eyes; enchanting in their intangibility. You know he doesn’t need your acceptance, nor is he threatened by your disgust. He’s unreachable, untouchable, forbidden—a mountain you can never climb because you wouldn't even find it among the mist. And those eyes see everything but feel nothing: they haven’t taken part in the troubles of this world in years.

…

He evades you for the whole of next week. 

Leaves the hall if you choose to dine there, walks away when he sees you at the stables, looks through you if you have the courage to address him. You stand watch by the window every night to see if he slips out of the castle, but it seems your knight has lost his interest in kitchen wenches and copper hugs. 

It burns like hot broth in your stomach, the thought of him in some other woman’s embrace. This mighty giant of a knight, kneeling in front of a girl, paying for her to simply put her arms around him. 

You’re not sure if you’re childish to believe him and his words. To trust that he truly goes to them just to be held. You’re not sure if you’re the worst lover of poor, crippled creatures for not wanting to let him have even that...

Because you wish to hold him yourself, here, in the softest of all beds. Just wrap your arms around him after you’ve unburdened him of that heavy mail and thick gambeson; you’d help him with anything he needs. Let him sigh against you and have those lines of worry on his brooding face smooth somewhat. Maybe sing a soft song for him to help him sleep...

The thought of him being so lonely that he spends his wage on girls just to have a hug is driving you to madness.

It’s tearing you to pieces because he would never, ever have to pay you to hold him. 

It’s forbidden, you know: this love you’ve harboured for years. He’s far below your rank, even as a bannerman, he’s far below you even if he’s taller than the tallest war horse in your father’s stables. He’s older than you too, but that’s hardly the biggest problem: your father took his second wife when he was five and thirty and the maid was seventeen. The match was considered perfectly normal, even healthy, but this would not. This would cause an outrage.

Oh yes, you’re to be wed far away to some sadistic young lord if your father has his way. You’re sure they’re already gossiping about it in the streets: how you should’ve been sold like a horse years ago. How is it that you’re still here, burdening the kingdom with your presence and swallowing up coin? 

If they only knew that you’ve fought against every match with tooth and nail, the townsfolk would work themselves into a small uprising. And you’re not against marriage because you like it here so much... You’re against it because the knight who dresses himself in black mail and makes the servants piss themselves with his heavy footsteps alone makes your heart flutter like never before.

Your father would kill both of you if he knew.

And you wonder… What would he do? Your pale, brooding knight?

Would he scoff and turn his head away if he knew you dreamed of him before sleep, would he be appalled to hear that you’ve touched yourself to the thoughts of him? Would he think you a whore…?

You dress differently that night, the night you catch him escape the dull horrors of the castle once more. Boredom oozes out of the walls here, a poison of nothingness and despair. The stones won’t offer warmth, not even during the height of spring, so it’s no wonder that your knight is headed elsewhere for warmth and a mug of ale. 

You dress accordingly to see what this toughest of knights is made of: with a brown woolen skirt and a white cotton blouse, you look the part of a kitchen maid who forgot half her garments at home. 

People look at you in the streets, but without your usual attire and with your hair styled differently, they wouldn’t know who they’re looking at even if they saw you frolic around like this in court. You know they’re looking at you because you're a half naked woman ripe for taking, stubbornly out at night and dressed so suggestively it’s a miracle no guard rapes you before you reach the inn. 

Maybe it’s the royal pride that keeps them away: you certainly look like you haven’t toiled in the fields or shoveled horse dung in your poor miserable life. There’s an air about you, and he notices it too, far before you’ve sat your pretty bum on the bench next to him.

“What are you doing,” he asks with a slightly alarmed voice.

He has that stick up his arse again, sits so straight that you’ve never seen such a ramrod back on anyone. When you set your hand over his, he only blinks.

“One silver to hold you, sir,” you lean to whisper on his skin, the shaved cheek you’ve wanted to kiss for so, so long. “What do you say...?”

He’s still breathing, even if there’s no sound to prove that he is. You can only see it from the rise and fall of his chest, covered by a stained, cream-white gambeson, that he’s breathing. He’s big, even without his armor, big and strong and intimidating, a tower of strength in one man.

“I cannot bed women,” he talks to the stout logs that make the walls of the inn, refusing to even look at you after one quick horrified glimpse.

“Who said anything about bedding?”

“This is a dangerous game, your grace,” he warns with a low purr when you won’t relent. 

His voice is parched but smooth, and you smell smoke; delicious smoke from the fire that sticks to the clothes of a person who spends too many hours staring into a fire. You smell ham and earth and leather and sweat, horses and metal, the rusty stench of mail gone bad.

You wonder how you smell to his nostrils – is it something sweet? Fresh herbs and lavender oil maybe, or soft, spun wool, some tangerines and summer wine?

“I’m not your grace,” you tell him, nose now touching the bridge of his ear. “Not in here.”

You see from the turned sleeve of his padded tunic that the hairs on his arm are standing on end. His eyes are closed, and you can finally hear his ragged breaths. Desire speaks in them, or then you’re in over your head... Why else would he sound like that, like he’s already making love?

“One silver, sir, and I’ll hold you all night,” you repeat softly, and he swallows with a dry, open mouth.

“I don’t have such money on me,” he rasps, voice drenched in slow, drowsy want. 

He wants this; wants, wants, wants….

“Really? Is my price too high?”

“Far too high for a man like me.”

You breathe a smile upon his skin, the place where his neck meets his jaw. Running your fingers across his wrist, you leave little to the imagination and you both know it.

“You can pay for the room and we’ll see how much you have left after that.”

“Princess, this is–”

“Hush.”

He’s in pain now, you can see it: the sharpness, the distant eagle gaze from his eyes is gone. He can barely keep his lids open, and when you peel the sleeve back with your hand, pet him like he’s one of your cats, press your lips on the spot you know is the most sensitive, he groans.

“You’re going too far,” he whispers, but won’t move. Breathless now, he can’t even speak with dignity. Gone are the distanced grunts and the composure, even the stick in his arse has melted away. 

If a touch of your lips and the softest caress can do this to him, what would happen if you straddled his lap? How would it feel to be pressed against him, naked and entwined in a mutual embrace?

“You didn’t say no to that other girl,” you breathe more kisses on his skin. “Am I so horrendous…?”

“You–” he starts, opens his eyes somewhat. “You are teasing me on purpose.”

“You never were the brightest of my father’s knights,” you smile a little laugh in his ear. 

He grabs his pint as if that could save him; out of fury or lust, you don’t know. And that’s when your little adventure gets interrupted: someone must’ve had enough of this disgusting display of seduction and whoring. 

“Pardon me, lovebirds. The room’s a copper, if it please you,” a tired voice says from somewhere above. “And the ale is–”

“Ja, ja. I’ll pay,” your knight grunts with such annoyance that you’re not sure if he’s mad at you or the poor soul who interrupted you two. 

Everyone here must think that you’re here to make some coin on a lonesome, desperate man. And he’s desperate, by God, he’s desperate… But when you walk upstairs and into your room, he takes a dip in cold waters without you knowing anything about it. When the door shuts behind you, your knight is back to the unbroken effigy he was last week, as he has always been. 

“You sleep there,” he points at the bed. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“There’s plenty of room on the–”

“One more word from that pretty mouth and I’ll tell your father what you’ve been up to.”

You’re sent to your bed without supper, in your silly clothes, and get to watch how he barely takes his boots off before setting himself down on the floor, back turned to you. The innocent question “You think my mouth is pretty?” only gets an irritated scoff for an answer.

From under the linens, you watch him sigh and slowly turn to stone on the cold floor. There’s a big rug there but it’s barely enough to keep the chill out, and the hearth is cold during late days of spring. You’re warm enough here under your sheet, but you would be warmer if your knight was here with you… Warm body against yours as you both hold each other through the night. 

If only he could be enticed here by lying that you’re freezing... His honor would force him to share the bed with you, and your poor knight wouldn’t have to wake up with sore joints. The more you listen to him let out those occasional sighs, the more you want to shake this man. This silly act of martyrdom has to come to an end, now.

Slipping out from the warmth of your bed, you tiptoe to him. You know he can hear you, probably cursing in his mind with that crude foreign tongue of his. Laying yourself down behind him, you snuggle close until your front is glued to his back. 

It must pain him to have a maiden leave the comfort of her bed and trade it for the dirty floor, but you wonder if there’s pleasure in the pain when your touch finds him once more. And it’s not just want and lust you feel when you place your arm around him. It’s not motherly love either, although you do feel like you’re embracing a giant child who doesn’t want to be comforted. You know nothing about how lovers touch or hold each other, you’ve never touched a man other than your father, and those touches were never affectionate and warm, those touches were barely there at all. 

You wonder if you should be scared: you were taught that men will fuck everything that moves when given the chance. If a man of his size chose to take you here on this floor, there would be nothing left of you. Such an outcome seems dubious, however, when your sworn shield acts like he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper when he continues to be stiff as a rock in your embrace. “You don’t have to pay me. Surely you know that you don’t have to–”

He moves, and at first you fear he’s about to rise and dart to the door. Make a run for it and slam it shut because you pushed it too far, his dumb, danger seeking maiden. 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, he turns around and buries his face somewhere in your neck. He does it so forcefully that you’re almost sent to lie on your back, and you barely catch the naked pain in his eyes before a rough arm snakes itself around your waist and pulls you close.

Warm breaths hit your skin, sending all the little hairs in your body shooting up – were he to move an inch further down, his face would be buried in your tits…

And then come the tears.

You’ve never heard a man cry like that – well, you’ve never heard a man cry at all. You didn’t even know they knew how to weep. It’s like all the tears in the world are reserved for women and children because there’s no wetness even now: your knight cries in thick, dry sobs, shudders that shake the both of you, years and years of suffering sighed through gritted teeth and into your hair.

Slowly, so slowly, you place your arm around him once more. Your hand barely reaches the middle of his back, so vast is this man, now only a crumbling mountain in your embrace. But when you won’t waver, when you refuse to turn your tail and run, he slowly melts in your arms like spring snow.

He still breathes as if in pain, the sounds that come out of his mouth heartbroken and strained. You’re not surprised to see that even his crying is an act of violence; he’s a man inconsolable. 

And yet, you console him. Comfort him. Like a mother, you stay and let him cry his fill in your ear as he clutches you, threatening to tear the back of your poor cotton blouse while doing it.

When he’s done, the shakes recede and his body is warm and calm, soft, almost. He pants and swallows, comes down from it with so much shame that you’re sure he has never done this with anyone, not ever before.

And then…

“I beg for your forgiveness, my lady,” he gruffs on your skin. “That was–”

“Shh... It’s alright.”

You caress the back of his neck, sweaty from the toil. He releases the fabric of your blouse only to grab it again in an even tighter fist. The face in your neck is buried deeper, his lips now pressed right over your throat.

“It has always been you, Geliebte... God knows it has always been you.”

You freeze in the middle of his confession, the panting on your skin intolerably thick now. When you swallow against his mouth, he pulls you against him, the body that used to be rigid and cold now like a hot, thick furnace, threatening to devour yours.

“You must know it too,” he whispers. “You must. You’ve seen my torment. Tell me you’ve seen it…”

He’s not demanding more than he is desperate, some dam suddenly being breached by a long-held flood.

If anything, you thought he hated you... You thought you were alone in your anguish, but it turns out he has carried the same soft secret all these years.

And it drowns you for a moment, his want and yours. Hands trying to touch whatever they can, mouth searching yours like he’s about to die if he can’t have a sip. You’ve heard what happens to women who allow themselves to get groped in dark hallways and winding steps; they hardly ever escape a man’s touch with their maidenhood still intact. And yet, this is what you’ve always dreamed of; a hot, blunt, forbidden encounter with this man. 

Now that he’s finally on fire for you, you’re not so sure though. What if you’re about to mate with a beast?

“Sir…” you whisper when he plants trembling kisses down your throat. He thinks you’re only moaning his title in the throes of pleasure, and squeezes you against him so hard that a tight little whimper is squished out of your mouth.

“I’m–I’m untouched,” you tell him before he sends his face between your tits, and it finally has the effect you feared and hoped for.

He freezes too, in the middle of tearing down your blouse. A shivering hand releases the fabric slowly, reverently; it rises to cup your face as your flushed knight meets your stare with shame.

“Of course you are,” he hushes upon your lips, strokes your cheek softly. “I cannot bed you. I know. But let me…”

He blushes while searching for the right words. That’s the moment when you start to suspect if he’s ever even been with a woman. What kind of a womanizer would blush when they’re about to make love to a lady?

“Let me make you feel good,” he finally suggests. “I’ve heard… of a way.”

He almost stutters when he says it, and you wonder if this is what he’s prayed forgiveness for. If he’s been thinking about different ways of wrecking you so much that it’s enough to send him to hell…

“And then,” he continues, “we’ll never speak of this again. You’ll become my lady, and I’ll become your sworn shield once more. We’ll be as we always were. As it always was...”

You’re not sure if you like that – returning to your status quo, becoming who you were before clutching each other on the floor like mad animals about to mate. But you nod. 

Whatever he wishes to do to you, it must be something good, and you trust him. Even after he showed you a side of him you’ve never seen before, you’d trust this man with your life.

Your valiant knight carries you back to bed, and delivers on his promise. He never undresses you, he never defiles you. He just lifts your ankle to his lips and gives it a soft, reverent kiss, grazes your shin with his mouth before starting to worship you like a pagan idol of old.

You don’t know where he heard about it–at the stables, or the kitchen, at the barracks or the taverns–but the way with which he makes you squirm doesn’t require a cock, not even a hand. His lips are gentle, but his mouth is hungry, and you don’t know how to feel shame when he’s buried under your dress like that. You can’t even see his face when he makes you his, claims you with his mouth alone. 

It must be a sin to not take you like a man takes a woman on a wedding night; it must be a sin that it does not hurt at all, what he wants to do to you. But you don’t care. Love is much better and far messier than how they depict it in the songs, and no one ever talks about the noises a man can make when they pleasure a woman.

He groans like a beast, but moans like a whore – it sends a flush of hot blood up your cheeks to hear him so utterly needy and vile. Your knight who barely gave you a grunt as a greeting in your father’s hall now whines with a broken pitch between your legs. His hot sighs drown your own, and you thank Saint Mary and all the angels that there’s loud music and booming laughter downstairs. It’s still there, the dirty tavern, even if you’re being sent to heaven on this bed...

He gives you mercy only after you break upon his mouth with a series of tight cries. Spends a lengthy amount of time under your dress too, licking and kissing you clean.

He doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to get out of there, but when he emerges, he looks like a drowned, happy puppy, this giant, brooding knight… The sight seizes your heart in a flaming hand that you know will never let go: it’s forever engraved in your heart, that drunken, devoted stare. You thought that men had the needs of an animal and that women were put on this earth just for them to have their fill, but when you look at your knight, it appears it’s the other way around... This man has finally found what he was looking for. Between your legs, he just found his Heaven on earth, his Holy Grail.

And so he returns from his quest with a devotion that leaves you breathless. Takes you in his arms like an injured bird, making you feel like it’s summer already, and the world is nothing but songs and tales and long nights of bliss.

“Know that I am yours,” he says. “Until my dying breath and even beyond, I’m yours.”

It’s a pledge, not a statement, and it’s said with so much weight that the vow he swore to your father pales in comparison. 

“Sir... You always say such silly things,” you whisper back while lying in a pool of shimmering love, a heaven on earth indeed. Not even anointed, true to their faith knights talk like this… And he just smiles languidly when you raise a hand to brush his cheek. 

He looks like another hug could save him, like a simple adoring stare from you is all that is needed to keep him going for another year. It irks you that he’s ready to settle for so little when you’re ready to give him everything he’s ever wanted and more. With what just happened, he’ll live on for a thousand, thousand years, he’ll survive even the coldest of nights – but you won’t.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him, and a flash of fresh panic crosses his eyes.

“Süssling…”

He says it with worry, but does nothing when you send an exploring hand to his bulge. Drawing a sharp breath when you sweep your hand over it, he goes rigid again, this time for reasons other than just nervousness.

You’re younger and therefore more impatient, which means you’re at the strings of his pants in no time. He looks at your greed with a slack jaw and a set of furrowed brows, but never tries to prevent you. It only spurs you on that he’s acting so shy in front of an eager maiden when other men would already be bullying their cocks in your unexplored heat.

“This is madness,” he whispers when you pull out the heavy, hard cock that reminds you of the members you’ve seen on horses and bulls. 

Of course the man’s big down there when he’s practically a myth walking… And there must be a way to pleasure him too, some lovely devilry that will leave you a maiden. A virgin for him to take on your wedding night – because you will marry this man, no matter what anyone says. You’ll burn the whole kingdom down before giving yourself to any other man.

You wrap your fingers around him to punctuate it that he’s yours. If he feared you might mirror what he just did to you, he makes no comment about it when you don’t, only whines when his cock is snared by a frail but eager hand.

“Princess,” he warns, slightly out of breath. “I will stain your dress…” 

“Shh. Show me how to please you.”

The worry in his eyes is wild and bright, but the way your fingers mold around him leaves no space for arguments. A broken, stiff sigh is punched out of him when you begin to move: if he won’t show you how, it’s no trouble at all to try and find out yourself. 

But when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of him, he finally brings a trembling hand upon yours. He starts to guide you, adjusts your grip, huffs when you both apply pressure on it. The curious creature that you are, you look down to witness the ugly beauty of it all.

It’s intimidating and rough, the cock in your hand... It looks like a weapon, honestly, a battering ram that leaks heady liquid from the head. Smooth and heavy and ripped with veins, it’s like a too hard muscle about to bludgeon something, and your hand is making it drool profusely. Would that it were inside you, you would be in grave danger, and why is it that you find the prospect so seductive?

His hand is far bigger than yours, and it makes your heart run wild, the way he tries to be gentle while using your grip to get himself off. He can’t even keep his eyes open from the shame, just takes a quick glance at your enthralled face before squeezing his eyes shut once more. 

“Look at me,” you command softly, and he obeys – what else can a sworn knight do? – but you can see that the poor man is on the verge of tears. Shaking and panting, he stares at you while fucking himself with your hand, and when you close the small breath of air between you and kiss him, he melts.

The first thick spurt surprises you completely, you even mewl into his mouth when it shoots to stain your dress. You didn’t expect that to happen, at least not so fast… And because this is the first time you’ve seen a man come undone, you quickly leave the panting, moaning mouth and look down. 

There’s so much of it, and the release is so violent; it looks and sounds like it hurts because the man is shuddering and groaning as if stabbed. Thick, white pulses of seed coat the brown wool of your dress, but it soaks the semen gladly: there’s nothing left of his cum other than dark, damp stains after he’s done.

And there’s no end to his shame. He pries your hand away from his cock as soon as he’s somewhat composed. Does it with a shaky hand, wipes what little stains of hot, wet seed you have on your palm to his pants, and all you’re thinking about is what it would feel like to have this giant trembling and groaning like that above you, inside you… If you could even take all of that thick, brutal length. If he would be able to move away when inside your heat, if he’d let you hug him again, just hold him close so that he’d never ever leave anymore…

“I have soiled you,” he mutters while looking at your skirt.

“Nonsense. You have only claimed me... I’m yours now.”

“Princess… No amount of silver–”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare.”

You actually manage to kiss him silent. Tears begin to run down his face when you show him where he belongs. It’s the final surrender as he pulls you into his arms and finally drowns you in love – at last, you find yourself under him as he takes what's his. What seems like hours later, he breaks the kiss, only to look into your eyes with full-blown adoration.

“How am I to live without you after this?” 

“You don’t have to. Not ever,” you say.

“Princess. If there was any hope for me to have your hand, if there was any hope that your father would give it, I would have carried you away from this place years ago.”

For a while, you fear it’s the fear of sin that burns him. But then you realize it was always only just you. 

He looks so anguished now, even more in pain, when all you wanted to do was relieve his agonies. This was only a taste of what he can’t have. You both took a bite of the forbidden fruit but can’t eat the entire thing – no wonder he looks like he’s cast out of heaven he didn’t know even existed.

“Sir, I cannot do this,” you grab his face with both hands now. “Please don’t make me do this...”

He sighs and looks at the mess you just made. He’s broken every oath he’s ever taken, and the evidence is scattered right there between you. The only thing deadlier than this would’ve been if he pumped all of that hot, fluid sin inside you.

“Sweetling,” he laments. “Look at us. You’ve already ruined me. Ruined us both…”

“It’s called love, silly.”

He breathes a short, shy smile, the first you’ve ever seen on him. It’s cute and makes him look young, the quick flash of teeth between unruly lips, the almost bashful, downcast eyes that are not quite ready to meet the full brunt of your devotion.

“Ja,” he breathes. “Ich weiss.”

Then he brings his eyes back to yours, his smile slowly making way for a more serious expression. He lifts a hand to touch your cheek, and you find yourself soaring in the sky like a bird, a phoenix that has risen from the dead. It’s heavenly, the way you both caress each other, here on the lowly tavern’s bed, covered in salt, sweetness and sin.

“Your father will have both our heads if he finds out,” he tells you as if you needed the reminder.

“I pray our heads will never be separated then.”

He snorts a quick smile again. It makes you heady, that you’re apparently the only one who can make this gruesome giant laugh. 

“You’re dangerous, princess,” he gruffs. “I knew you were trouble… And yet I curse all the years I left you in peace.”

“I know,” you smile. “Never the brightest one, my love...”

When you lie in his arms that night and tell him about your silly little fantasies, he grows hard again. When you tell him you now have new ones—ones where you’d want to feel him inside you—he looks like a man condemned to death. 

The stares he shoots your way make it clear that he’s lost – no matter what he says, he can’t be kept away from you, not anymore. You suppose he’ll forsake even more secret promises and vows before forsaking the pledge he swore to you. Even at the cost of your lives, he’ll come scratching at your door, howling for some quick, hot love in the night, begging for you to give him everything he has denied himself. 

And eventually, you grow more serious too. While lying in his arms, safe and tucked away from all the horrors of this world, you play with the leather strings of his gambeson, tugging them and twisting them around your finger like a child.

“There will come a day when they promise me to another,” you whisper, wondering if he’s already asleep. 

He promised to never leave your side again, he promised. And still… What will happen when the carriage and horses take you to some distant, hostile kingdom, far away from him? What if you only get this summer together, and then nothing no more?

“They’ll take me away,” you tell him, almost without a voice. 

A soft, hearty grumble answers, a man who finally knows what he’s fighting for.

“No one will take you away, sweetling. Not as long as I live.”

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (42/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The new bed is here! And Joris isn't happy about it!

Warnings: 18+ (mentions of sex), fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

series masterlist

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A/N: LETS GOOOOOOOO!!! FORZA FERRARI!!!

“It was really nice of you to take the photos for Enzo and Charlotte,” Charles says as you both get into the car in the afternoon. He buckles up and starts the engine. 

“It's my job, after all,” you smile and make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat. 

Charles steers the car out of the driveway. "Well, actually it's your job to take pictures of me, not of my brother's engagement," he corrects you, for which you gently punch him on the shoulder. 

“I still enjoyed doing it,” you say. "I'm very happy for Enzo and Charlotte. They seem like the perfect couple.”

Charles purses his lips and nods. "They've been together for a long time. We were all wondering when he would finally pop the question. But I didn't think he'd actually do it during Christmas.”

You look at him. ”Why not?”

“I don't know,“ he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "I would have thought he would have done it in the summer, after a nice day on the boat and then maybe at dinner.”

You look at him. "Maybe he wanted to combine it with something nice – and Christmas is a celebration of love.” You can't help but grin. “And he didn't have to buy her a Christmas present, just a ring.”

Your roommate laughs. “Should I do the same to you next year? Just propose to you so I don't have to get you a gift?” 

You know it's a joke, but when the words leave his mouth, you feel warm. You roll your eyes in mock annoyance. “Absolutely not.”

The Monegasque steers the car through the streets of his home country. “And how should I propose then? Do you want a trip in a hot air balloon? At Times Square, where everyone is watching? Or at a Taylor Swift concert while she sings Love Story?”

You can't suppress a giggle. ”None of that, please.”

“Then tell me.” He reaches out and grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. 

“Mmm. I've never really thought about it much. But I think I'd rather have a moment that's just for the two of us. Where no one else is watching, where we're on our own. No onlookers, no one to talk about it. Just the two of us – I think that would be perfect.”

Charles squeezes your hand twice. “Good to know.” He smiles at you briefly before looking back at the road. “By the way, I asked Pierre and Kika if they wanted to go to Lando's party with us tonight. I hope that was okay.”

“Absolutely. I feel like I haven't seen Kika in ages. But it was only – what – four days ago?” 

“I think so. They want to come around seven, so you two can get ready together and maybe have a drink.” 

Without thinking about it, you lean over and kiss his cheek. "You're the best, Charles." You can see the blush rising in his face, but you let it go uncommented.

“I know,” he says with a grin as he turns into the underground parking garage. When the car comes to a stop, you both get out and you press the elevator button while Charles takes your bags out of the trunk. 

“What are the parties like in Monaco?” you ask him as you both enter the elevator. ‘Do you have to dress particularly chic or does it depend on the club? How much money do I need to take with me? Is my ID card enough or do I need to take anything else?’ you bombard him with questions. 

Charles has to laugh. ”Haven't you ever been out partying?”

You shake your head and press the button for your floor. “Not in Monaco, no.”

The elevator doors close and you feel it transport you upwards. The Monegasque looks down at you. “The club where Lando's friend performs is chic, but not super chic. If you like –”

“Where the fuck have you been?” an angry Joris bellows at you as the elevator door opens. 

You almost have a heart attack from the shock, but Charles just looks at his best friend in confusion.

“Since when did you stop checking your cell phones? I've tried to reach you ten thousand times!” Joris's face is as red as a tomato as he snarls at you angrily and you get out of the elevator without saying a word. ”I was still asleep! And I didn't even get to eat breakfast!”

Charles puts your two bags down next to the apartment door. "And a good morning to you, Joris. How can I help you?” He walks past him, deeper into the apartment, Joris follows him, seething. You follow them in silence.

“How you can help me?” Joris asks snappishly, leaning on the kitchen worktop with his hands, before pointing at a few sheets in front of him with his index finger. “Next time you order furniture, at least be home when it's delivered, or leave your own cell phone number so they can call you if they ring the doorbell and you don't open it.” 

Charles opens his eyes wide. ”Our bed.”

Joris sneers. “This shitty bed has cost me valuable hours of sleep. And I certainly shouldn't have driven here.”

Charles can hardly keep a grin off his face as he turns around and opens the fridge. "How many bottles of wine did you drink yesterday?", he asks, placing eggs, vegetables and bacon on the counter in front of him. 

“Two.”

Your roommate gets a bowl and a pan out of a drawer before he starts to crack the eggs into them. “Did you throw up in your front yard?”

Joris rolls his eyes and watches as Charles prepares his hangover breakfast. "No.”

“Then congratulations,’ Charles grins. ”Then you had a successful Christmas.”

The omelette tastes so good that Joris's anger disappears with the first bite. He talks about Christmas dinner with his parents and his brother and the family vacation planned for next year, while he shovels the omelette into himself like a bulldozer. In between, Charles slides him coffee across the counter in a cup, but doesn't dare get closer to his hungry and hungover friend. 

“By the way, the bed is very nice,” Joris finally says, pushing the empty plate away. ‘You could have at least warned me.”

“I'm sorry,’ Charles apologizes with pursed lips. ”Are we friends again?”

Joris sighs. “Of course,” he smiles, getting up from his chair to embrace his oldest friend. They both pat each other on the back before letting go. “I have to go now. By the way, I gave the delivery man a €150 tip for kindly setting up the bed. Thank God you had some money lying around.”

Charles watches his friend go in the direction of the apartment door with confusion. “The setup was already included in the price.“

The photographer purses his lips. "At least they got a nice tip," he finally says, before leaving the apartment and leaving you two alone. 

Without saying a word, you take the dirty dishes and wash them in the sink while Charles puts your bags in the bedroom. When he returns, he stands directly behind you. You can feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes. 

“We also have a dishwasher, you know?” he whispers, laying his chin on your shoulder. His arms wrap around your middle, his chest pressing against your back. 

You nod and lean against him. “But we don't need to run the dishwasher for that,” you reply, breathing in as his hand slowly slides under your sweater. “It was very nice of you to make Joris breakfast, even though it's already afternoon.”

“Mm-hmm,” Charles hums softly. "It was the least I could do. It was really nice of him to come here to take delivery of the bed. I'd completely forgotten that I put down his cell phone number." 

“Joris is a good friend.”

“He is,” he murmurs and kisses your cheek. ‘But I prefer to have you lying in my new bed." He gently pulls you out of the kitchen towards the bedroom where the new bed is. Joris was even kind enough to make the bed; dark gray sheets are smoothly stretched over the mattress and you would love to snuggle up in them. 

“It looks incredibly cozy,“ you smile. 

“Come on.” Charles gently pushes you towards the bed. “I told you I wanted you in it.” He watches you with eagle eyes as you slowly crawl onto the bed and slip under the covers, putting your cell phone on the nightstand. As if you've been conditioned, you have to yawn. 

“The bed was definitely the right decision,” you smile and stretch your arms to fold them behind your head. "But it was definitely the wrong decision to trick me to get into it.”

“Why?’ your roommate chuckles. ”Too comfortable?”

“Definitely. I'd love to stay here forever.” You tap the empty side of the bed next to you. ”Come and try it out.”

Without wasting another moment, Charles circles the bed and lies down next to you. His arm wraps around your middle again and pulls you towards him so that your chests are touching. “I see your point. It is pretty comfortable.” His hand slides up your back under your sweater until it finds its place between your shoulder blades. 

You close your eyes and breathe out. “Do we have to go out partying tonight? I mean, can't we just order take-out and stay in?”

“Of course we could do that,” he smiles. 'But I highly doubt you want to cancel on Kika and Lando.”

You sigh. ‘We could invite everyone here," you suggest. ”The bed is big enough for all of us and –”

“Absolutely not,” he interrupts you and shakes his head vehemently. ‘The only ones allowed in this bed are already in it. Nobody else is allowed to snuggle up in the covers. Besides, I don't like the thought of you lying in a bed with Lando.”

You raise your hand and gently run your fingers through his brown curls. "Are you jealous?”

A deep growl escapes Charles' throat. “Maybe.”

You lean forward and kiss his stubbled cheek. ”You do know that Lando is the reason we're friends again, right? Because he called you when you were in Italy?”

“I am aware,“ he mumbles, pressing you closer. "Doesn't mean you have to share a bed, though.’ 

“You don't have to worry about that,” you grin. “There's only one man I want to share a bed with.” He looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “Don't worry, Charlie. You're the one I mean, of course.”

“Perfect.”

You lie in bed for a while, legs tangled and snuggled together. You gently run your fingers through his hair while his fingertips caress your back. Lying here with him feels so normal, so familiar, that you don't ever want to be in a bed without him again. 

“You still haven't answered my questions about tonight,” you say eventually, and your hand gently caresses the soft skin at the nape of his neck. 

Charles almost moans, his eyes closed. "I'll pay for you.”

“But I can pay for myself," you smile, even though he's not looking at you.

“Doesn't matter.” Your fingers pause in their movement. Charles fidgets a little, wanting for you to continue.

“You're about to fall asleep, Charlie," you giggle, but comply with his silent request. 

He moves closer to you and cuddles his face into the hollow between your jaw and your shoulder before taking a deep breath. “I'm not,” he replies softly. “But lying here with you is so comfortable.” He leisurely pulls at your sweater to reveal the skin on your neck and places feather-light kisses where your pulse is beating. Goosebumps spread across your body. 

“Charles...”

“Let's cancel on everyone,” he whispers, and his hand moves to your thigh to drape your leg over his hip so that you are literally pressed against each other, body to body. You feel his hardness against your clothed core. 

You sigh. “But you just said that we can't cancel,” you reply. “Besides, you already said yes to Lando and invited Pierre and Kika.”

“I don't care,” he breathes. “Let's be crappy friends and cancel at the last minute. I'm sure the others will understand.”

“What will they understand, hm? That the bed is so comfortable that we don't want to leave it?“ you ask him quietly. 

“That I'd rather be here in bed with you than standing in a crowded club.” His breath caresses your neck gently. “That I'd rather test out the new bed with you than yell at you over the loud music just to be able to talk to you.”

His words make your face heat up. You hope he doesn't notice. “Then we'd be very bad friends.”

“Then let's be very bad friends,” he grins against your neck before pressing a final kiss on your pulse. “We can make it up to them sometime. Just not today. Today I want you all to myself. Now that I finally have you back with me.”

You feel him press his boner against you and you absentmindedly tighten your leg around his waist. Your fingers gently press into his neck muscles and his breathy moans reach your ears. You can feel your arousal pool in your panties and you want to give in so bad. 

You want to stay home with him. In this bed. You want to repeat last night at his mom’s house, but this time the both of you would be able to show how much pleasure you give each other. You desperately want to hear him groan again, but now without the barrier of your hand on his mouth. You want to feel his cock against your pussy, sliding through your folds and gathering your juices. 

God, you want to repeat last night but without any clothes on. His cock nudging against your clit, sending jolts of electricity through your veins. His hands grabbing your ass and moving you over his length. You want to feel the the tip of his dick catching in your entrance before finally sliding in, stretching you deliciously. 

You want to fuck him so bad that it’s making you dizzy.

“What are you thinking about, mon amour?” Charles asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. 

Before you can answer him – which you don't really want to do anyway – your cell phone rings. The Monegasque reaches for it without hesitation, answers the call and puts the person on speakerphone. 

“Allo?”

“Hello, you two,“ Kika's voice sounds from your cell phone. ‘How are you? What are you doing?”

“We're testing my new bed,’ Charles replies with a grin, and you hide your face in the duvet. 

“You can't say that,” you say, reaching for your cell phone, but your roommate extends his arm so you can't get to it. 

“Why?“ Charles asks hypocritically. "It's true, isn't it?”

“Charles!”

Kika laughs loudly. "Should I call back in a minute? I don't want to disturb you guys doing whatever it is you're doing.”

“It's fine,” you call to her, although she would have understood you even if you had spoken normally. “What can I do for you?”

The Portuguese woman giggles. “I just wanted to ask what you would like to drink and what you are going to wear.”

You open your eyes wide. "Um, I have no idea. What do people wear in the clubs here?" You repeat the question you've already asked your roommate. 

“How about this?” She begins. "Pierre and I will come a little earlier and go through your closet together? The guys can play video games or something. And we'll get ready in peace and quiet."

You like her suggestion. ”That would be great.”

“Great. Pierre and I are going out for a quick shopping trip and want to buy some wine. You drink sweet, right? Then I'll bring you something.”

“Thanks!” you reply and with a big stretch you finally get to your phone in Charles's hand. "See you in a bit!" You hang up and put the phone back on the bedside table. When you turn to your friend, he's pouting. ”What's wrong?”

He turns on his back and crosses his arms over his chest, which is a little difficult considering your leg is still wrapped around his waist. “I was kind of hoping you'd cancel on them.”

A smile spreads across your face. You slide closer to him again and reach for his arms to separate them before you roll onto him. Your knees are next to his hips on the mattress and instinctively, his big hands find your ass. 

“I'm sorry, Charles,” you whisper, leaning down so that you are completely on top of him. Your elbows are next to his shoulders and your hands are finding their way into his hair again. ”We don't have to stay long.”

The Monegasque exhales. “As long as you promise me that we'll stay in bed tomorrow, that's okay with me.” When you purse your lips, he groans in annoyance and pushes his head back into the pillow. “Do I have to go to camp with Andrea tomorrow?”

You nod slightly. ”I'm afraid so.”

“That's terrible,” he complains, wrapping his arms around you. ”Then we won't see each other again until New Year's Eve! What will I do without you during that time?”

You don't want to think about spending the next few days without him, which is why you change the subject back to tonight. 

“How about this: Kika and Pierre are coming over soon and we'll party later with Lando and his DJ friend,” you begin your suggestion. 

Charles raises an eyebrow. ”I don't see any compromise I'm willing to make.”

You roll your eyes in mock exasperation. “Just let me finish. So - we're all going out to party in a bit, and when we get back home we can make ourselves comfortable in bed here, watch another movie and not get out of bed until noon tomorrow.”

“Do we have to be dressed to watch the movie?” he asks mischievously, and as you move to roll away from him, he turns you both so that he is now on top of you. He grabs your thighs and puts your legs back around his waist, and as he nestles against you, almost crushing you under his weight – which feels better than you care to admit. You feel his boner between your legs. 

“Charles,“ you moan softly as his cock softly nudges against your clothed clit. 

“Do we have to be dressed?” he repeats his question and slides his hand under your sweater, his fingers spreading over your sides. 

You breathe in his scent and bask in his warmth. “We don't have to,” you reply without giving a thought to what it means for you. But you couldn't care less about that right now. 

Charles's lips breathe light kisses on your neck. “Then it's a deal,” he whispers before withdrawing completely – leaving you high and dry. “Come on. Our friends will be here soon. And I doubt you'll want to be in our bed then. No matter how comfortable it is,“ he grins and leaves the bedroom. But as he walks through the door, you can still see him put his hand in his sweatpants to fix his erection. 

Somehow you're glad you have the same effect on him as he does on you. 

Hot blood courses through your veins when you think about how the evening will end. You would love to pull Charles back into bed, rip his clothes off and let him ravish you until you can't walk anymore. 

That will have to wait. 

But anticipation is half the fun.

[seleneprince]

0 | PROLOGUE

m.list

??? POV

They say that when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes—like a fast movie. Or a TikTok reel, skipping through your childhood and toward the present.

Apparently, it's meant to show you the mistakes you made before that moment. The things you did—or worse, didn’t. So you can spend your last moments filled with regrets. Sweet, isn't it?

Personally, I don't think that's true. At least, not for everyone. When you're about to die, you spend the last minutes you have left retracing the steps and decisions that led you here, one by one. Then, the epiphany hits: this was always going to happen. You’ve been heading toward this direction all along.

I know because that's what's happening to me right now. I'm dying.

Well—not technically. A more accurate description would be: I’m falling to my death. I estimate five seconds, at maximum, until I hit the ground and my time is over. After all, how many people survive falling from a tenth-floor window? Not many. Unless you got superpowers or a parachute, which sadly, is not my case. I'm a just a regular human.

Well, scratch that. I’m stronger, smarter, and generally more capable than most humans. But I still have limits—unnerving, frustrating limits. The kind that come with... being just human. Like weakness against gravity. It's so annoying sometimes.

Now more than ever, of course. Oh well...not like it matters anymore, I guess.

It’s not my first time falling from a considerable height—or being pushed from one—but usually, I can grab unto something before the worst happens. Or, even better, push them off instead. But this time, as soon as I felt the window's glass shattering against my back, I knew there was no saving this time. No ledge to grab. No lucky balcony to break the fall. Just air. And gravity doing its job too well.

My body barely twists mid-air, still reeling from the blast that threw me out of the damn window in the first place. But because instincts are hard to turn off, my limbs flail on reflex, like it'll help, even when I'm plummeting to my death.

It's amazing, really—how the brain still tries its damn hardest to keep you alive, even when you’ve mentally accepted the end already. Muscles tighten. Hands flail uselessly. Eyes looking for miracles.

But I know there are no miracles for me today. Never again.

So instead, I use my last moments to think. Think about all the decisions that led up to this. The arguments. The ambitions. The mistakes. The betrayal. The familiar warmth of rage boiling in my blood when I lunged. The delicious rush of adrenaline as I made them bleed, as I took out all my frustrations on their bones until the end.

I think about how part of me knew this was how it would end. Not necessarily the fall, but what it led to it. That part had been a long time coming.

And weirdly... I’m not really scared. I’m pissed, that's for sure—and in a lot of pain. Mildly satisfied too. It's not like I wanted to die young, but I always figured that when it happened, I’d go out in a blaze of something cool. And a fragmentation-EMP hybrid bomb? Yeah, that's cool as fuck. Bond-movie level cool.

The fact that it was built from my own design just adds a special flavour of irony to it.

Shame I can't have this moment recorded in video. Make it slow-motion and it could be used as a sick-ass scene for an action movie's trailer. Or played for my funeral. That would be awesome.

After everything that's happened, it just feels right. The perfect goodbye.

And yet...there's something that bothers me. A lot.

As my body goes down faster and the icy realization of my uncoming demise crashes over me, I think of my mom. My little siblings. Alfred. Duke. Even my dad...not the biological one, but the first one I had. The only one I've had.

I think of my friends, my life, everything I built...and now I'm leaving behind. Unfinished.

I can see my mom crying when she finds out, sobbing in that way she hasn't allowed herself to since she got married. She’ll break. She’ll be told that her daughter—her firstborn, her pride—is dead. Torn from her. And no one will be there to hold her the way she needs. No one will be there to comfort her through her raw pain and grief.

Alfred will try, I know he will. But there are parts of her grief he won’t be able to reach. The twins—my baby siblings—they’re too young. They’ve never had to carry that kind of emotional weight. And my father…yeah, she'll be alone in this.

I can see my little brother and sister hearing the news. Alfred will have to tell them, because mom would've entered a state of shock. Or maybe she tells them herself, pulling through the sorrow to do what she must, as she's always done.

They'll be confused at first, would demand to know more. Marco will definitely ask to see the truth for himself, and my sister—god, my little angel. She will rage. Against who killed me, against the system, against the world, against everyone and anyone she thinks have played a role in my death. And then, she will break down. Marco will follow her as soon as the reality dawns on him. As soon as he realises that I'm really not coming back.

Dad might hear about it from Arkham. If the news makes it through. Maybe he’ll cry, too. Maybe he’ll kill someone for it. If things were different, he would be by mom's side when it happens, and she would someone to rely on, to share the burden.

Alfred will be sad too, in his own way. He doesn't show his emotions as openly, but I know he loves me. Loves us all. He's watched me grow, taught me so many useful things...shit, I'll miss him too.

And Duke...oh shit, Duke. My best friend in that house, my other brother. The only one of them that never made me feel like shit. The only one I have never wanted to kill at some point. We were supposed to go to the arcade today, after his patrol was over. He doesn't know I'm here—he planned to pick me up from my rehearsal after he was done. Now, he might be the one to find my body first when The Signal comes to assess the incident. Maybe he'll be the one to pass the news to my family.

Oh God.

And now—finally—I start to cry. Of course this is what makes me break down. Not the pain. Not the inevitability of death. But the sheer, overwhelming reality that I never got to say goodbye.

And it's not fucking fair.

I know that people rarely get to say goodbye in this line of work, because we never know when our time has come until it punches us in the face and breaks it. But still…I believed I’d get the chance. That maybe—just maybe—the universe would make an exception for me.

Guess Duke was right, after all. I can be a bit too arrogant sometimes.

He was right about a lot of things, actually.

My body finally crashes, and the pain—god, the pain—hits me like an earthquake ripping through every nerve ending I have. I feel my bones shattering and pressing against my insides. It steals the air from my lungs, leaves me speechless for solid minutes.

I can’t even scream.

It’s like my entire being is on fire, burning in pure, unfiltered agony. I’ve been through plenty of shit. I’ve endured enough pain to build a high tolerance to it. I’ve fought through injuries that would’ve taken others out for good. But this?

Fuck.

This is different. This is worse than anything I've ever had. It's torture. Every breath I take it's like stabbing my lungs. I already taste blood on my tongue. My own damn blood.

And all I can do now is hope it ends quickly.

As I lay there, motionless among the ruins and shards of the shattered window that came down with me, I realize I’ve landed in an alley. It’s quiet—eerily so. Not even rats scurry nearby.

Somehow, I muster just enough strength to turn my head and glimpse the sky. Still early, it seems. Weird. It feels like I’ve been stuck in that warehouse for days.

The twins' classes will be over soon. Will Mom pick them up today, or Alfred? And how long will it take the GCPD or paramedics to arrive?

I strain my ears, trying to catch the wail of sirens from afar, but even that miserable effort sends a wave of pain through me that makes me close my eyes.

It’s getting harder to breathe. My heartbeat’s slowing down. I know what this means.

I’m dying.

Minutes left—maybe less, if God decides to be merciful for once.

Somewhere far away, I think I hear children laughing in the street. And my mind—traitorous, gentle—drifts to the twins. My baby siblings. I wonder if they got into trouble today. I wonder how long will it take them to move on from this. I wonder what kind of people they'll grow up into.

I see Mom's face as well. Her beautiful smile, her eyes full of warmth just for us. The strongest, bravest woman I've known. My idol. The person I look up to the most. The one I strived to become.

I wonder how she'll receive the news. I wonder if she'll resent me from not listening to her and causing her this grief, after everything she's already lost. Or if she'll mourn me in silence just to keep her facade, for the twins' sake, because they still need her.

I wonder if she’ll decorate my grave the way she decorated my first room—lovingly, meticulously, pouring all her devotion into it like it is the only thing she can control.

I hope they're fine. I hope, if there's something else after this, that I get to watch them from afar. Make sure they're okay until we meet again.

But as darkness begins to cloak my vision, and my body grows heavier—sleepier—there’s a small part of me that wails. Crying out in desperation, because she doesn’t want to die yet.

She’s scared. Terrified. She’s not ready to leave this world behind. Not yet.

Not the people we love. Not the memories. Not the laughter, the warmth, the mess of it all.

She wants to live.

Even now, even here—she still wants to live.

I still want to live.

That's my last though before my eyes shut completely, with warm tears running down my cheeks, and the blood soaking my clothes.

...............

.......

What's that light at the end? Is it the sun, or the gates?

[strwbrychffoncke]

"guess thats my own fault for makin you my world, now all i feel is blue,, 1.7k words ⸺ event masterlist synopsis: what would the matrimony between the god of the sea and his beloved look like? contains: lads rafayel x f!mc reader ,angst no comfort ,set before raf + mc reunite (in this timeline) ,depictions of Lemuria ,GoT!raf but hes kinda softer here lol ,possible inaccurate wedding ceremony depictions (never been to one bare w me) ,raf just wants his mermaid bride ugh ,yearning!raf ,thats all i can think of ,basically fluff until its not note: (unedited!) based off the unofficial leak/banner predictions w talk of a wedding card but make it angsty... i just hope i was able to execute it ok..? forgive me rafayel kissers i will make it up to u somehow....

-

the light in the depths of the ocean shone upon the interior of the main palace, highlighting the pearlescence of the pillars stretching towards the top, framing the windowpanes of glass that served as view upon view of the sparkling blue as fish of various sizes came and went. flora of various colors bloomed at the foot of each pillar, each small step, adding a touch of life to the endless royal white, reaching up towards the artificial light of the deep. silk curtains flitted and swayed against the various windowsills, and he was stood by one of them.

he blinked.

he found himself back in that underwater palace, in the middle of a long corridor that he knew all too well.

his arms were folded across his bare chest as he looked around, subconsciously seeking out something, or someone.

he took a few steps forward, away from the window, the various embellishments hanging from his clothes gently jostling with tinkling sounds as he made his way down the crisp walkway. his footsteps echoed down the empty halls, the only sounds accompanying them being the movement of the ocean around him.

a puzzled look crossed his otherworldly features.

the emptiness of the centre was not foreign but uncommon, only occurring should there be some grand event or ceremony taking place at the altar or elsewhere.

he gazed out through the clear windows, watching a school of fish swim by, eyes drifting up towards the waters' surface.

not that he could see it, not from down here at least.

he must've been lost in thought of the surface, because he missed the pitter-patter of steps echoing down the hallway towards him until the person's voice reached him.

"what are you doing here? we're going to be late!"

the informal way in which he's spoken to goes right over his head as he hears that voice, slowly turning his head towards the soruce.

he feels his breath leave his lungs.

its you.

though, instead of your usual attire, you're dressed in something completely different.

from head to toe, you're wrapped up in the traditional Lemurian wedding attire. its still a two piece but mostly white with light blues and pastels- a sign of the uncoming matrimony. the top fit to your exact measurements hugging your chest perfectly, pretty pearls embellishing the neckline with sheer fabric falling over your midriff. the bottoms are a similar white shade, the same pearls decorating the edges, light purple and pink pieces flowing beautifully from them. your shoes match too, creamy white and shiny, clicking beneath you with each step you take.

but what catches his attention the most is the headpiece.

there's pearls and little chains dangling from it and there's the same sheer fabric falling over your face-

your veil.

he's frozen, staring at you, and this only seems to agitate you further.

"helloooo? earth-to-fishy?" you step forward, waving your hand in front of him to break his trance.

he blinks.

when you see this, you quickly reach out for his hand, and pull him forward.

"come on, you don't want the elder to chastise you, do you, your grace?"

the last two words leave your lips in a teasing tone, throwing him a small smirk.

he scoffs, but the edge of a grin peeks from his lips.

"is that any way to speak to your God?"

"it is when you're late for your own wedding!"

he allows himself to be dragged away by you, trailing behind you with hurried steps (keeping up with your jogging as you drag the sea god) watching the way the fabric of your outfit flows behind you, the sounds of the colored beads and chains a pleasing jingle in the silence.

its only then that he realises his own outfit is much more formal than his usual wear (albeit still light, considering he's still shirtless), his outfit matching colors with yours.

a mix of feelings swell up in his chest, grasping your hand a little tighter. if you notice, you don't comment on it.

. . .

it isn't long before you arrive at the altar.

the beginning is a bit of a blur. sure, there's been ceremonies before that he's both attended and been a part of, but this was something else entirely.

all of Lemuria was here to witness the gathering of their sea god and his beloved.

he took his place at the front of the alter first, everyone's eyes following him to his spot, and looked toward the aisle that he only just realized was decorated with various shells, pearls, and small flowers.

something shifts, like a drop of water rippling over the ocean's surface, and there you are.

he had just seen you, but in this lighting, its as if you are the one everyone is here to worship, to watch become entangled with an outsider.

you were absolutely radiant.

you walk slowly, (a little bashful, he notes) giving everyone the time to admire the details of your outfit, the grace in which you carried yourself, your willingness to stand next to their god—

it filled him with a mix of pride and possessiveness.

while everyone was allowed to lay their eyes on you now, they were about to be witness to you being claimed by him completely (and he, you).

all of Lemuria would watch you two come together, as the sea god's betrothed.

two worlds combining in the name of love.

as soon as you're close enough, he takes your hands and tugs you towards him, throwing you off balance and almost making you fall into him, but you're quick to catch yourself.

you shoot him a look, and he only grins at you.

the ceremony begins, and you both stare into each other's eyes as the elder clears his throat and begins with the opening words.

its a bit of a bore, pleasantries and formalities about the dear god of the sea and his beloved joining together in this ceremony of love. rafayel stares at you as the elder speaks, noticing that a lot of what's being said might be going a little over your head, but he doesn't mind.

after all, Lemurian wedding ceremonies greatly differed from mere human ones, considering the dedication it means when they've found their one true mate for life.

Lemurians live for love, after all.

only after plenty of formalities does the ceremony officially come to you both, repeating vows to one another. rafayel wears something between a pleased and amused half-grin when you're meant to repeat words and phrases in Lemurian, trying your best to mimic him yet struggling to do so with how the unfamiliar language feels on your tongue.

after each phrase, you look towards him, tilting your head in a silent question.

'did i do well?'

and each time, he squeezes your hands in response, offering a short nod.

once you finish, he offers a pleased grin, easing the furrow of your brow and watching you breathe a deep sigh of relief.

you pout lightly then— an unspoken qualm.

'so difficult... you didn't prepare me for this!'

he tilts his head slightly, offering nothing but a lazy grin in response.

'i'll teach you more.'

. . .

shortly thereafter, the ceremony has reached its most anticipated point.

"by the power vested in me by the sea, i now pronounce you husband and wife. the lord may now kiss his bride."

his bride.

those words were like music to his ears.

he looked down at you, deep sunrise meeting your bright gaze, staring back at him with anticipation and something akin to nervousness.

he offers a smile, releasing your hands in favor of reaching for your face, parting your veil and cupping your cheeks in his palms.

he leans down, eyes half-lidded, heart pounding in his chest.

all of Lemuria would see...

"my beloved bride..." he murmurs.

the sea god and his beloved were meant to be.

his eyes flutter closed as he leans in.

his lips brush against yours, grazing against the soft warmth of your lips when you suddenly speak something against his.

"wake up."

his entire body goes rigid, and instead of cheers, nothing but white noise seems to surround him.

he feels your hand around the back of his neck, your head reaching up, lips leaning close to his ear now.

"you have to wake up."

he feels as if he can't breathe, like he's a helpless creature that's been cast to the deepest pits of the ocean, nothing but the sound of his heart beating loud in his ears—

he wakes with a start, gasping for air, his hand over his chest.

when he realises where he is, rafayel blinks his bleary eyes open, squinting at the sun peeking through the glass roof.

when had he fallen asleep?

"a dream....?"

he reaches his hands forward to shield the light from his eyes, but his gaze can't help but to land on his empty ring finger.

he drapes the back of that hand over his face, his other falling back to his side.

"my beloved bride......"

how cruel the world was, to conjure up his very fantasy and make it feel so real that he was able to hear your voice, see you in your entirety, feel your warmth....

his thumb absentmindedly traces over his lips.

what he would give to kiss yours again.

he supposes its partially his fault, turning over on his side to gaze at his half-finished painting depicting Lemuria in its glory days, something he'd continue longing to return to so long as it remained forgotten in the darkness— a grave of his creation.

but there was something, someone, who he longed for just a little bit more.

and if he could only choose one, then he figured....

he pulled himself to sit up, roughly rubbing his face against his hands, stretching his sore limbs before deciding to soak himself in a morning bath.

he had long since decided that he would wait on you, his beloved, to come back to him, to reach out to him, so that he could grab you, pull you against him, and never let you go again.

even if that was a wishful dream, he didn't forsake the idea of making you his bride altogether. even if it wouldn't be possible to have it done in his tradition, even if he wouldn't get his familiars to bare witness, that was okay.

so long as the ceremony was done by the shore, the sea's witness to it would be enough for the ocean to acknowledge the matrimony of the sea god.

for now, the sea that surrounded him would keep the secret of the stray pearls that fell from the former sea god's sunrise-colored eyes as he counted another day without you.

-

a/n: maybe i wouldn't have to make him suffer if the GoT had just come home to me sigh..........

-

[normanssurvivalsite]

Ace

(Alastor x male reader)

Explain to Alastor what Ace means

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"(Y/N)?" Called out Alastor to you

"Yes?" You answered not looking up from what you were reading.

"Would you like to go, get some coffee with me, in, what your generation calls, a date?"

Now to this you looked up.

"What?" You answered very confused

"In a...romantic way?" He tried explaining it to you thinking thats the part you didn't understand.

"I mean...I would love to but you dont have to push yourself if it would make you feel uncomfortable" you answered while you put your book down slowly on the coffee table.

"Uncomfortable? Why would it make me uncomfortable we are close are we not?"

Now he got confused as well.

"Well because...your ace and/or aro?"

"What is with that word, Rosie said it as well and the meaning of it still avoids me" he answered starting to get annoyed by his lack of understanding.

"What- ohhhh what did you say when did you die?"

"1933, however its quite rude to ask someone that." He answered looking at you in a scolding way.

"I'm sorry but because you lived back than thats why you don't know that word, please sit let me explain"

He sat down on the couch in front of you.

"Ok, so when we say 'ace' we refer to someone who has little to no sexual attraction and aromantic or aro is someone who has little to no romantic attraction. Of course there is much more to this subject but this kind of sums it up."

Alastor just stared at you.

Him? Not being interested in romantic relationships or sex??

Thats...true. He never felt the need to sleep with anyone he was doing totally fine without it. Romance...was another category completely however, and he didn't know if it was something he was interested in it or not.

He asked you out in the first place because he felt very good in your presence. He felt comfortable and content. Was that not romance?

"Alastor?" He has been staring at you for a while and it was quite creepy.

"Listen I understand thats a lot of information to process especially if you just realized some things about yourself so I can leave if you like-"

"No" Answered Alastor a bit fast. He has made up his mind. He might not be interested in a sexual relationship however he really wanted to kiss you right now.

"It might be true that I have not known this so far in my life or death, and you did make me realize some things about myself, but even so my offer still stands."

"Oh? Are you sure because I only want to if it doesn't make you uncom-"

You couldn't get the rest of your sentence out due to a pair of lips on yours.

Alastor kissed you.

You were stunned for a second but after you realized what was happening you kissed back immediately.

His lips were surprisingly soft, not to mention he did pretty good looking at the fact that it was his first kiss.

"Trust me, dear, If something would make me uncomfortable I wouldn't do it." He said grinning and holding your chin after you two parted.

You were a blushing mess.

You've never thought about Alastor that way, since you thought he was aromantic. But now that you did, fucking god, you like him.

Whit that thought in mind you kissed him again.

This time you stood up and he put his hands on your waist while yours were on his neck.

It wasn't a heated kiss and it will never be very likely you didn't want to step over his boundaries.

"...So my dear, would you like to get that coffee now?" He asked smiling while offering you his arm.

"I would love to" you smiled back at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Guys I have a serious problem Im literally shitting words I have never written this many fanfics in one go🥹

BUT YK WHAT WORTH IT CUZ I LOVE EM

I literally love almost all characters in hazbin hotel so much I JUST CANNOT STOP💀

Thank you sm for the correction @whyarewehere103 😎🙏🧡

I hope you enjoyed your reading ladies,gentleman and other, good afternoon good evening and good night🦖🧡

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Heya! It's been awhile since I last sent an ask here

I've been lurking and enjoying your fics :>

Id love to request something with our boy Sean Macguire since there's not much love for him. Maybe some headcanons in general and maybe how'd act with an S/o that never had sex before?

Ty and I hope you have a great day!

Hey, it's so nice to see you again! I hope you're doing good <3

I will definitely write some general headcanons with him, but I love the second suggestion so much that I had to write something longer <3

Tags: explicit sexual content, no use of pronouns, virgin!reader

Sean McGuire is a man of great confidence, especially when it comes to charming others. He's known for shooting his shot with anyone attractive who happens to be looking his way and you definitely are no exception. The first time he had laid his eyes on you, he knew that he absolutely had to have you. So he's been desperately working on removing your walls, brick by brick to get to your core.

One way of doing that is boasting about his conquests and skills, telling you (and the rest of the camp) how he has never disappointed a single lover or partner. Most of the gang just roll with their eyes when he does that and leave his dramatic declaration uncommented. Though you can't help but find his humor and attempts of wooing you endearing.

Still, you're worried that he might only see you as another "victory", another name to add to his apparently long list of successes. If only you'd know how deep his feelings run. Each glance, each smile directed at him, each moment of your attention, no matter how brief, makes his heart ache. Your eyes just have to lock with his and his oh so quick and sharp tongue numbs within seconds.

And now that he has you beneath him, gazing up at his face, your expression filled with need and want. It knocks the air straight out of his lungs and his mind, for the first time since he can remember, blanks. No words leave his lips, not a single muscle is able to move even an inch. Sean's hands are sweaty and clammy and he has to clench them into fists every now and then to keep the feeling inside them.

Before he had lead you to a more private and remote spot (meaning John's tent lmao. Sean promised that it's fine), away from prying eyes and ears, he had thought about jerking off. Just to make sure that he would last a bit longer than usual, but he was foolish and believed that he wouldn't need to do that. Oh, how wrong he had been. Gazing into your teary and desperate eyes, desperate for him and his touch, he could cum right into his pants.

Steeling his nerves, he tells himself that he needs to stay calm and lock the fuck in. After all, you've confided in him and shared that you haven't been intimate with anyone before. Obviously you're nervous and he doesn't want you to worry more than you already do. The day where you expressed the wish for him to be your first, he could have burst out into applause, a standing ovation in fact.

Sean tends to oversell his capabilities, painting himself as this wild Casanova when he himself knows that that simply ain't true. But Lord have mercy. When you moan and whimper like that, arching your back under his touch, it makes him feel like he's on top of the world. All of his typical cockyness comes back in one sweep and a cheeky grin starts to spread on his face.

"I'll take good care for ya.", he murmurs close to your ear as his hands try to push every possible button that gets more of those angelic sounds out of you.

As much as his dick twitches and throbs with need, Sean still takes his sweet time with you. He works you up until you're sweating, panting and begging for him to take you. That last part alone has him unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants in such a careful way as if he's attempting to crack open a safe filled with precious diamonds. The tiniest bit of friction could make him finish thanks to how excited you've made him.

With you being all prepped and ready to take him, he slowly slides it in, biting down on the inside of his cheek to stifle the whimper that is threatening to leave his throat. He freezes in the beginning, both to let you get used to the stretch and for him to focus on not cumming right then and there. Hell, he doesn't remember the last time he has felt this good with anyone and the way your thighs tremble around his hips doesn't help at all.

For the most part, his thrusts are shallow and slow, scared that he might hurt you. Though you squirm under him and arch your back, the look in your eyes a silent plea for him to give you more. Shit and he wants to give you more, but your walls are clenching down on his cock so deliciously that he sees stars. Sean conjures up a mental images to keep him from meeting an early release, as his hips snap forward a bit rougher.

The moan leaving your lips is as sweet as honey to his ears and no matter how much he fights it, he has to pull out now. His face is flushed when he spills his load over your thighs and his hair sticks to his sweaty forehead. Before he can say anything about it, you pull him down for a deep kiss which melts him on the spot.

Aftercare at first is rushed and being interrupted, because you have to sneak out of the tent before it's owner notices what's going and maybe shoots you where you stand. Sean ushers you behind one of the wagons where he peppers your face with kisses and holds you by your cheeks.

The intimate moment you had shared will not leave his mouth whatsoever, much to your surprise. He doesn't brag about it, but people do notice that something happened, because he can't keep his hands or lips off you.

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

Wei Wuxian and Narrative Agency – Part Two

For Xiantober Day Three: Conviction (of a sort)... in which the author temporarily forgets to focus on narrative agency or on Wei Wuxian, in favour of analysing relevant themes and characters that relate to Wei Wuxian. But he does get focus, and again, contextualising him is why i’m exploring these other things, so no harm done.

(Part One | Part Three | Full version on AO3)

It’s Not Just Optimism: Resentment and Self-Definition 

Before we discuss the narrative again, let’s take a break to discuss one of my other favourite aspects of Wei Wuxian. We’ve seen how the narrative treats tragedy, and we’ll soon explore how it reflects Wei Wuxian’s views on tragedy. But what actually are these views? 

Because the thing is – the narrative and plot can emphasise agency and choice all it likes, but focusing solely on that leaves out the character. And it’s Wei Wuxian’s character that deserves the credit for how he defines himself (…in-universe). If someone had gone through everything he had, who could blame them for being unable to keep going, unable to let go of resentment, unable to see anything that was still worth living for, to see any value in altruism?

(Also, I do have to emphasise this: you can have perfectly healthy coping mechanisms, but still get extremely traumatised. Everyone has a limit to what they can take, that limit differs, and that isn’t your fault. It just so happens that Wei Wuxian’s limit is extremely high (and even he reaches it when everything falls apart in such quick succession near the end of his first life!))

This isn’t something that’s ignored in MDZS. We see multiple characters who have gone through similar levels of suffering as Wei Wuxian, or even less suffering than him*, who do react in some of the ways mentioned above. Whether or not the narrative condemns them depends on if they hold onto resentment from their tragedies and use it to harm others – Xiao Xingchen and Qin Su, for example, aren’t condemned for their suicides (nor should they be, suicide/suicidal ideation isn’t anything anyone should be blamed for), because nobody was intentionally hurt as a result. But people like Xue Yang, who was treated cruelly and senselessly lost his finger, but went on to murder an entire clan as a result; or Jin Guangyao, who remembered the slights against him and his mother down to the exact wording of Jin Guangshan’s dismissal of her freedom, which may have justly hurt him but also unjustly lead him to both burn down a brothel and (separately) kill or imprison multiple innocent prostitutes; or Jiang Cheng, whose resentment for Wei Wuxian due to the latter’s actions lead him to harm many others after his death simply because they were similar**, are condemned.

Why mention this? Well, these different reactions show it isn’t just a quirk of the universe that people are more tolerant to pain – Wei Wuxian’s reactions are a deliberate choice on the part of MXTX, not a writing flaw stemming from misunderstanding the severity of trauma***. But more importantly, many of these characters deliberately foil Wei Wuxian, and so they can give us a good insight into what sets him apart from them (or rather, from the characters who aren’t completely broken by their pain, because that way we know it isn’t simply a difference in tolerance but rather one in attitude). And as I’ve discussed, this has to do with accepting events and letting them go, rather than holding onto resentment.

Part of this may come from differences in personality (though that’s never an excuse for hurting others) – but, though Jiang Yanli may claim Wei Wuxian was someone “born with a smiling look” (Chapter 24, EXR), there are two philosophies Wei Wuxian consciously holds onto that have to do with this attitude:

“Let the self judge the right and wrongs, let others decide whether to praise or blame, let gains and losses remain uncommented on.” Chapter 75, EXR translation

“Remember the things others do for you, not the things you do for others. Only when people don't hold so much in their hearts would they finally feel free.” Chapter 113, EXR translation 

And crucially, these ideas directly contrast the actions and mindsets of the antagonists above. All three focus on their ‘gains and losses’, with their suffering at the hands of others being a major motive to harm those others/those affiliated with those others (Xue Yang’s finger; the slights against Jin Guangyao and his mother due to the latter’s job; Wei Wuxian’s ‘betrayal’ and his role in Jiang Yanli’s death, as well as false blame on him for the deaths of Jiang Cheng’s parents, and Jiang Cheng’s inferiority complex). Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng are also very focused on their reputation, or in other words, on whether ‘others decide (…) to praise or blame’ them (according to Chapter 10 of the EXR translation, in what seems to be omniscient POV heading into Jiang Cheng’s, the latter ‘cared about maintaining his reputation above anything else’. Meanwhile, much of Jin Guangyao’s actions were taken to protect his reputation, including the brothel burning, as a part of the aim was to conceal which brothel he grew up in (Chapter 104)). 

Additionally, much of Jin Guangyao’s resentment stems from how others treat (‘blam[ing]’ him, insulting him), compared to how they treat others (‘prais[ing]’ them):

“But do you know what it was that made me lose hope completely? I’ll answer your first question now. It wasn’t that I’d never be worth a single hair on Jin ZiXuan or one of the holes in Jin ZiXun, it wasn’t that he took back Mo XuanYu, it wasn’t that he tried every possible way to make me a mere figurehead either. It was the truth he once told the maid beside me when he was out indulging himself again.” Chapter 105, EXR

Though the other points didn’t make him lose hope completely, the implication is that they did affect him too (as shown by how he speaks about them), with Jin Guangshan’s words about Meng Shi being the final straw. ‘Los[ing] hope’ here of course relates to holding onto resentment, as Jin Guangyao’s loss of hope is what led him to murder out of his hatred.

Finally, both Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng also hold resentment due to holding onto what they’ve done for others, or even onto who they themselves are, without being treated accordingly – and though it makes sense to be hurt by all these things and these reactions are valid, the pain from holding that in your heart and the danger from holding onto it is precisely why MDZS condemns it:

“Why is it that even if I face everyone with a smile, I might not even receive the lowest form of respect, while even though your father was extremely arrogant, people flocked to him? Could you tell me why we were born from the same person but your father could relax at home with the love of his life playing with his child, while I never even dared be alone for long with my wife, shivering out of fright at first glance of my son? And I was ordered to do such a thing by my father as if it was natural—to kill an extremely dangerous figure who could flip out and conjure up a bloody massacre with his corpses anytime! “Why is it that even though we were born on the same day, Jin GuangShan could host a grand banquet for one son, and watch with his own eyes how his subordinate kicked his other son down Koi Tower, from the first stair to the last!” Chapter 105, EXR

(He brings up his role in Wei Wuxian’s downfall due to this as well, in addition to creating any excuse he can to absolve himself of others’ blame – he’s being treated unjustly and hated for something he’s done, even though he was ordered to do that thing by his father and it made sense!)

Jiang Cheng, “Are you stupid? You only counted the time to return and not the time to go there? Let alone the fact that after I got there I had to lead people and search through the entire mountain for the old banyan tree, then dig open the hole that got blocked up by Wen Chao and his people, and rescue you within seven days. Where’s your gratitude?!” (…) He raised his voice, “You killed the Xuanwu of Slaughter together with Lan WangJi, bathing in blood! How great is that?! But what about me?!” He punched his fist into a pillar in the hall, clenching his teeth, “… I have also been running around for days, completely exhausted, with not one second of rest!” Chapter 56, EXR

(And, a bonus to show this being a part of Jiang Cheng’s mindset without stemming from being hurt by a specific event, even when he’s being encouraging:)

“So it seems that both of you killed it together. What’s yours is yours. Why would you give him all the credit?” Chapter 56, EXR

(This moment is a nice display of the contrast between Wei Wuxian’s and Jiang Cheng’s mindsets as well, with the former focusing on what Lan Wangji (‘others’) did for him instead of seeking credit for his role!)

To repeat – of course these feelings are understandable, and I’m not blaming them for feeling this way. What I am placing blame on is letting those feelings drive you to murder many innocent prostitutes, or to let this sense of a debt you’re owed (which is what the philosophy is actually warning away from, because if you hold onto what you do for others, the natural expectation is that they’re indebted to you and should do something for you as a result) turn into resentment towards someone for not acting the way you think they should, leading you to help murder them, even if your sister sacrificed herself specifically to save their life.

This is the danger of holding onto resentment. And are these actions not a choice? Would you, independent of MDZS, absolve someone of a crime because their ‘personality just leads them that way’?

The same is true for acting on these two philosophies, and letting resentment go. And it’s all the more impressive when someone has as much potential resentment to hold onto as Wei Wuxian does.

Of course, Wei Wuxian himself isn’t completely infallible – which further supports the idea that this isn’t just a natural, unalterable quirk, since we see him act contradictory to his usual self as well. But the narrative’s view of resentment in these moments doesn’t change. Importantly, the times he does let resentment drive what he’s doing, during the Sunshot Campaign and Nightless City (as well as him being quick to anger at Phoenix Mountain, etc), it isn’t presented as in the right**** — and though he still lets go of it quickly enough to protect a group related to the one that hurt him (people of the Wen sect, the cultivators who participated in the Siege), it doesn’t prevent the harm done during these times. Additionally, the times he metaphorically can’t control and reign in his resentment in the form of guidao – at Qiongqi Path and, again, at Nightless City – pain is caused to innocents (Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli). This is what his internal thoughts have to say when he comes across cultivators gossiping about him, shortly after Wen Qing and Wen Ning have sacrificed themselves:

No matter what he did, not a single good word would come out of these people’s mouths. When he won, others feared; when he lost, others rejoiced. Chapter 77, EXR

He’s hurt by other people praising and blaming him! Holding onto this philosophy isn’t automatic, that decision isn’t simply encoded within him somehow.

But that brings us to another relevant theme: that these characters aren’t infallible, because they’re not mythical creatures or concepts brought to life. Everyone is human.

However, although he thought that his heart was like a stone, in the end, he was still human, not some emotionless grass or plant. Chapter 8, EXR

OuYang ZiZhen, “HanGuang-Jun, why did Senior Wei collapse?” Lan WangJi, “Fatigue.” Lan JingYi was amazed, “I thought that Senior Wei would never get tired!” The other boys felt somewhat astonished as well. That the legendary YiLing Patriarch could collapse from fatigue from dealing with walking corpses—they all thought that the YiLing Patriarch should be able to settle them with just a snap of his fingers. However, Lan WangJi shook his head. He only said four words, “We are all human.” They were all human. How could a human be tireless? How could they stand forever? Chapter 84, EXR

Even with Wei Wuxian’s temperament, even with his attitude, he’s still human! Just as he’s not immune from being affected by harsh words to do with his past, just as he’s not immune from being affected by exhaustion, he’s not immune to being hurt by or angry at his circumstances. As we see in the Sunshot Campaign and at Nightless City, he’s not immune to dwelling on his misfortunes, to being driven by his hurt and anger and by resentment he holds onto (consciously! At Nightless City, Wei Wuxian deliberately accepts the curses thrown at him, because ‘anger was the only thing that could suppress the other feelings within his heart’ (Chapter 78)). 

But nearly always, he chooses not to. The Wen remnants he saved were innocent, yes, and Wen Ning and Wen Qing helped him previously – but in his second life, he could’ve easily kept holding onto his resentment and left the cultivators who besieged him, who killed him and those under his protection, to die at the Second Siege. But he didn’t! He held true to his own philosophy, to judge the right and wrongs yourself independent of what others do, and saved them.

Because this is what’s important to him, because this is how he wishes to act in the present, and because he doesn’t let himself be defined by the tragedies he went through.

The donkey seemed as if it knew that he wasn’t in a great mood [due to others bringing up what happened in his past], and for once, it wasn’t being loud out of impatience. A moment of silence passed, and it turned around to leave. Wei WuXian sat by the stream, not responding at all. It turned around to look, throwing its hooves onto the ground, but Wei WuXian still paid no attention to it. The donkey had to come back sulkily, biting and tugging on the corner of Wei WuXian’s collar. He could choose to go, and he could choose to not go. Seeing that the donkey had [gone] as far as to use his mouth, Wei WuXian decided to follow him.  Chapter 8, EXR*****

Immediately after this, he’ll continue investigating the puzzle of Dafan Mountain’s night hunt; he’ll come across a ghost, ask where it’s hurt and offer to take a look at it; he’ll rush off to save Jin Ling and the Lan juniors, figuring out the truth behind the dancing goddess and being the only one to do so. Just as it’s more important to the narrative, this – quick thinking, problem solving, compassion, doing the right thing, even seeking out excitement – is what Wei Wuxian finds more important about his own self, and what he chooses to focus on.

Some final questions to end things.

If you saw Wei Wuxian, without any knowledge of what happened in MDZS, without any work done by the narrative structure or by knowledge of tropes – would you have expected the backstory he had? Would you expect his parents to have died when he was at an age where he could barely remember them? Would you expect him to have lived on the streets until he was nine years old, or to have been taken into an unjust and extremely volatile household, or to have (chosen to) lose the source of powers he was very proud of – shortly before he was thrown, now powerless, into the equivalent of hell for three months? Would you expect his first life to have ended because protecting innocents (knowingly) led to the entire world crusading against him, because their siege resulted in him being torn apart? Or would you not think of tragedy when it comes to this person who gleefully jokes and teases, who’s so smart and competent and knows it, who doesn’t focus on the negatives, who acts so confidently on his morals, who revels in life so much?

If you only saw Wei Wuxian’s backstory with no context of his character, would you expect him to remain this way?

And, if you saw Wei Wuxian’s actions in the present day, without knowing what tragedies happened in his past, would he feel like an incomplete character?

It’s impossible to answer, of course – even in the present day, you get information about his past.

But I’m inclined to say no.

(Part One | Part Three | Full version on AO3)

—

*But again, let me emphasise – especially in real life, doing the trauma olympics is never good! As I said, everyone has limits, everyone’s limits differ, and just because one person can cope with something doesn’t mean another person can, even with the same mechanisms. And that shouldn’t lead to any judgement!

I say ‘especially in real life’ because in fiction, some characters’ experiences are often made similar or different to others’ in order to parallel or foil them  – in which case comparison is often the point. But trauma olympics (‘this person suffered x amount so the other person should be able to take it!!’) is still bad, guys (especially since, as with MDZS, those parallels or foils are often there to explore the harm they do to others as a result, not simply how much trauma they can take).

**My thoughts on rumours here. Tl;dr, if Jin Ling (someone who’d want to defend him!) is saying he did (and that he “never let anyone go” – Chapter 24), if sources like Lan Wangji and Lan Sizhui act as if this is the case (Chapter 10 – to defend, you could say personal feelings play a role, but Lan Wangji especially is someone who knows not to, and explicitly doesn’t, make judgements without conclusive evidence. Again, see my thoughts on rumours) – and if Jiang Cheng backs up this behaviour (eg by telling Jin Ling to kill every demonic cultivator he sees and feed them to his dogs in his introduction – Chapter 7), it’s probably not a simple unbased rumour. There’s enough evidence to support its veracity.

***However, do note that Wei Wuxian isn’t an outlier, either – Lan Wangji, Wen Ning and Lan Sizhui (once he learns of his heritage) are all examples of other characters who aren’t overcome or twisted by their pain, instead still aiming to make the world a better place. And this is Jin Ling’s whole arc, too!

****I delve a lot more deeply into this here!

*****The role this moment plays isn’t actually something I caught myself – it came from a post about a reread of MDZS’ earlier chapters. I can’t find it myself, but if anybody has the link, that would be great (so I can cite it)!

—

Also, a shoutout to this incredible meta by @righteousinadversity – it’s what made me want to delve into this aspect two years ago! It’s still one of my favourite metas, and you enjoyed this, you’ll definitely enjoy that, too.

[zarla-s]

I updated the GT Ghost Template! Ghosts are little desktop doodads I post about too much, I made a video about what they are here. Anyway, my template/site is meant to help you make your own ghost! Here are the changes. They're mostly coding changes so I don't have any interesting pictures to show of them sadly, unless you want pictures of just... text.

Updated yaya.dll to Tc571-5, meaning you can use ": all" on stuff now, and subsequently used that to clean up some of the menus. Write-up on ": all" on the walkthrough site still to come.

OnFirstBoot no longer asks the user's name/pronouns, I left the code in so you can add it in yourself if you want but by default it's not there. This will hopefully simplify the whole process down for a new developer.

Setting pronouns and your birthday are commented out in the config menu by default, you can uncomment them and fill in the dialogue for each function as you want. This will also hopefully simplify things down. Added some cute ascii banners too to help indicate the sections in the file as a result. :3

Simplified OnBoot and OnClose a ton by making the various time/day checks optional. The code's still there, you just have uncomment it and add it back in where you want. But this should make OnBoot and OnClose much less intimidating.

Similarly cut down the time/day if checks in aitalk.dic, they're still there but there's only one of each as an example of how to do one.

Made the screen boundary check opt-in. If you want to turn that feature on you'll have to uncomment a few things. I've heard more complaints about that feature than enjoyment so I figured it's better to leave it off.

Made the extra time check dialogue optional. THEY WON'T ANNOUNCE THE TOP OF THE HOUR BY DEFAULT ANYMORE. IT'S THE END OF AN ERA.

Made adding titles to the user's name like Lady or Master optional, so you can comment it in if you want but it's not enabled by default.

Rewrote and reorganized some parts of etc.dic, mostly emphasizing that it's not super important in the big scheme of things so people won't get stuck filling it out as much. Hopefully.

I know ghost updates aren't as flashy as art and fic but I spent a few hours doing all this and that deserves a post too! Trying to break some mental habits...

[patreon]

[pharawee]

Gather around, fellow BL aficionados, it's time for part four of my Pit Babe novel commentary.

(And if you want to catch up, here are parts 1, 2 and 3.)

A word of warning: since I'm pretty far into the novel now (every post summarises five chapters) expect heavy spoilers, plot twists and revelations.

Oh, and omegaverse shenanigans. So many omegaverse shenanigans. You've been warned.

Also, a small warning for talk about and the aftermath of SA. As usual, please take care. 💜

Now, where were we? Oh, yeah: Way is the big bad enigma and he's been hypnotising Babe all this time - but gently (tm) because, you see, Way really, really loves Babe so that makes it all right...

Yeah, no. Get fucked, Way.

Currently, Way is still passed out on the floor, but as soon as Babe has come to terms with whatever the hell just happened, Charlie (who came to Babe's rescue just in time, remember?) offers to wake him up.

How? Oh, that's easy. He can put people to sleep at will. It's one of the many powers he absorbed from other powered alphas. That's his whole thing: he steals powers and just keeps them - like Rogue in X-Men but without any of the downsides. And as long as he's alive, the powers stay with him, never to return to their previous owner. Unless they die, in which case Charlie loses that particular power forever. Which in turn means that if Charlie dies... but keep that in mind for later.

Oh, and another one of Charlie's powers: changing his scent at will. Goddammit, Charlie.

As for how he knew that Babe was in danger? Jeff told him because he can see into the future. X-Men omegaverse, here we go.

But anyway, when Way wakes up he's confused because the last thing he remembers is SAing his supposed best friend. Now there's Charlie staring daggers at him, and one very angry Babe. Since Way is pathetic (but not the good kind) he attempts to explain: yes, he's actually Babe and Charlie's adoptive brother. Their father sent him to lure Babe back home and, well, get him pregnant. That was ten (10) years ago.

But, you see, Way is such a nice guy (tm), he didn't want to force Babe! Instead, he set out to ruin him for everyone else, thereby making it impossible for him to grow or heal or trust or love. Whenever Babe met someone he connected with, Way swooped in to poison his mind. And whenever Babe recoiled from that new connection, he turned to Way - the only person he could 100% trust. Or so he was made to believe.

So the Babe we meet at the beginning of the novel (and series) isn't really Babe at all. It's the version of Babe Way wants him to be - and for what? For ten years of pining and mindfuckery? What the hell kind of plan is this?

Oh yeah, the kind that gets you punched in the face. Thank you, Babe, you're really speaking my mind here.

And this is the part where the novel really shines because it doesn't just gloss over the implications of abuse. It doesn't leave Way's many empty apologies uncommented:

"I know what I did was unforgivable. I—" "Did you just realize this? Are you like this because I found out just in time?" Babe's voice boomed as anger flared in his heart. No matter how hard he tried to suppress it, he couldn't. "When I'm unconscious, you can assume it's okay to do it, right?" "I didn't want to do it at all…" "I don't care!" Babe shouted. "The point is, I don't want it! And you have no right to do this to me!"

But when Way's attempts to nice-guy himself out of his predicament don't work, he tries to shift the blame onto Charlie. Because Charlie lied too and, after all, didn't Way warn Babe about him?

Yeahhh, he's still trying to manipulate Babe. Way isn't sorry at all, he's only sorry he's been caught. Or, as the novel aptly puts it:

For Way, this might be like a love confession. But for Babe, it was no different from admitting his crimes.

But the novel doesn't leave it at that.

"So what's next?" Babe asked in a calm voice. "Should I thank you?" "What…" "I asked if I should thank you because you didn't rape me?" [...] "Should I thank you for not forcing me to bear your child?" "Babe…" “Even for my life, my body, and everything about me, I still have to wait for your mercy?”

And that's that. Ten years of (false) friendship have been erased just like that.

Really, I'm sorry for adding so many quotes but this whole chapter is just perfect in its blunt directness. It excels in giving Babe back his autonomy - the very thing Way has taken from him.

We'll return to our regularly scheduled omegaverse shenanigans after this bit:

"Did you know that every time you said that [there was never anyone suitable for me], it made me feel like I didn't deserve anyone's love?" [...] "And it's as if the only love I can receive is love from you…" Babe's sobs were so loud that his voice trailed off, but he took a deep breath and continued talking: "…but you never asked me what I really want." [...] "You only care about your own desires. You want to have me. You want to have children. You tried to make me love you and then agree to have children with you. Even though you always knew that I never wanted to have children." "I know you don't want to have children. And I know why," Way replied with a look that seemed to understand. But Babe knew that he didn't understand anything, not at all. "But because I know. That's why I want to change your mind." "It's not your job to change me."

And then, when Way has the audacity to try and hug him, Babe throws him over his shoulder and slams him right onto the floor, and even Charlie is like, damn, guess for a moment there I forgot how amazing Pit Babe is.

Damn right he is!

Later that night, things are winding down and Charlie insists on staying with Babe - just to make sure he's all right. Because unlike some people (!) he actually knows when to give Babe some space, and so he settles down on the couch in the living room while Babe stays in his bedroom.

But, understandably, Babe can't sleep. There's too much on his mind, none of it particularly good. He misses Charlie and, really, he's in dire need of an emergency hug.

It's Babe who approaches Charlie (only of course Charlie knew all along because he has super hearing now and he heard Babe's tossing and turning. Goddammit Charlie). They reconcile and it's really sweet because, in stark contrast to Way, Charlie's apology is heartfelt and reassuring and full of compassion. He also knows that Babe has been through a lot, so when Babe engages in their usual ritual of make-up sex, Charlie is hesitant:

Babe is so strong that he can lift bigger people and throw them to the ground. But believe me, no one is mentally strong enough to not be hurt by dirty things like that.

I just love how clear and concise the novel is on this part.

Anyway, they talk it out and Babe says that he wants to try anyway. What follows is a really sweet sex scene (but don't worry, Babe's still getting railed by his daddy to his heart's content - some things just don't change). There's talk about wild horses. I don't know why and honestly I'd rather not dwell on it.

Meanwhile, Way is being chewed out by Khun Tony (aka everyone's least favourite adoptive father). He's quite a bit upset but, honestly, what did he expect? He's the one with the stupid plan in the first place. Why did he even agree to let Way pine into Babe's general direction FOR TEN YEARS until he maybe catches feelings? The dude can hypnotise people! Just order him to do his evil immoral job!

But anyway, it's too late now. Babe's powers are already gone so breeding him (whyyy...) is pointless. Tony has a new target now: Charlie.

To my immense relief even Way is like, ew.

But it matters little because daddy dearest has contigency plans in place (and where were these plans TEN YEARS AGO - worst evil alpha breeder ever!). He orders Way to leave X-Hunter and return home immediately - and who knows, once Charlie is out of the picture Babe might end up as leftovers for him. Okay then.

In happier news, Charlie wakes up the next day with Babe's hand on his, well, little Charlie. I'm not being a prude here, that's what Babe calls it. It's a whole conversation, followed by - you guessed it - more sex.

Something is different this time, however. Without hesitation, Babe tells Charlie that he loves him, and then he asks him to be his boyfriend - to which Charlie eventually agrees. More sex happens. Actually, all of this happened during a blowjob which is very on brand for Babe. Things get disgustingly cute when Babe realises that this is the first time they're ~making love~ as boyfriend and boyfriend. This leaves him incredibly shy. Thanks to Way's meddling, he never had a boyfriend, after all. This is his first time being in love, and it's exactly as adorable as it sounds. Only with more mindblowing sex.

This includes sex in Charlie's supercar after a training session right on the racetrack (again I ask, have you even seen the interior of a racecar? How? Where? And who's cleaning this up? The mechanics??) as Jeff and Alan watch from afar.

"Why don't the two of them get out of the car?", Jeff said quietly as he looked at Charlie's car which had been parked near the finish line for a while and he saw no signs of it coming down.

Oh, my sweet summer child.

But yes, I'm happy to report that Jeff and Alan are probably going to be a thing in the novel too. This Jeff isn't a mechanic though. He doesn't even study engineering but oceanography (because he likes the ocean even though he's never seen it - live your dreams, my dude!).

As they sit and bicker, Jeff is suddenly struck by what seems to be another vision of the future. Whatever it is, it can't be good because it makes Jeff cry. Uh-oh.

He asks Charlie to meet him at his condo, and Charlie immediately notices that something's wrong. Only this time it's not Babe he needs to worry about. It's all of them.

I'm worried too but mostly for my own sanity.

Remember when I first explained about Tony's evil breeding program? Ah, those were easier, more pleasant times. Because now Tony figures that if he can't get an enigma to impregnate Charlie, he'll just get Charlie to impregnate an omega (because apparently there's a 50% chance that the baby will be an alpha with special traits - why is this novel explaining Mendel's laws of omegaverse inheritance to me?) .

Jeff is an omega.

And this is what Jeff saw: if they don't act now, at some point in the future Tony will have Charlie and Jeff brought back "home" and use aphrodisiacs on them (one up for the trope counter!). Jeff will get pregnant and as soon as their baby is born Tony will dispose of both Jeff and Charlie. This will cause Babe to seek revenge and get killed in the process.

What did I just read?

The novel keeps this from us for a while, and just casually mentions that Charlie isn't overly worried. He even finds the time to be jealous when one of Babe's old acquaintances shows up to Charlie's next race. They argue. The race starts without them reconciling, so naturally that means Charlie has an accident during the race.

It's bad enough that he's transported to the ER. But as the whole team anxiously awaits any kind of news, Babe realises in dawning horror that his heightened senses are slowly returning to him. He can hear Charlie's slowing heartbeat and the doctors fighting to reanimate him.

He listens as Charlie is pronounced dead.

The novel then cuts to Charlie's funeral which is only attended by a handful of people, mostly members of Team X-Hunter. Babe does not cope well at all but at least he's got Alan and Jeff to take care of organisational things.

Speaking of Alan and Jeff. These two have grown quite a bit closer. Close enough that Jeff asks Alan to let him take a look at Charlie's crashed car. The police are already investigating but Jeff wants to see for himself. Hm.

Meanwhile, Babe is alone at his condo, going through several stages of grief all at once (really, it's heartbreaking but so is the length of this post so I'm trying to keep things short). He's interrupted during the bargaining stage by someone knocking at the door. It's Way and he's come to offer his help. Babe might be grieving but he's not stupid, and so they meet up at a coffee shop nearby.

Way all but confirms that Charlie's accident was Tony's doing. What he meant to do was incapacitate Charlie but unfortunately Charlie died. OOPS. What a brilliant plan, really.

Seems like even Way has had enough of Tony's evil schemes so he's banded together with another enigma in order to bring Tony down. Said enigma is actually Tony's eldest "son" who seems to have escaped from his control to do his own (financially very successful) thing and bide his time until Tony eventually slips up.

That enigma is none other than Pete.

That's right. Pete and Way have teamed up to bring down Tony, and they're asking Babe to help them. Babe tentatively agrees.

While this is going down, Jeff visits some random uncle's secluded house. He's greeted by none other than Charlie (now somewhat worse for wear but very much still alive) who's faked his own death with the help of a man named Reval. Charlie feels guilty for lying to Babe again but they can't involve him in this: once hypnotised, he's still under Way's influence (uh-oh...) and could risk all of their careful planning.

Their plan? Getting rid of Charlie's powers before Tony can get to them.

This is where Reval comes in. He also has powers: he can somehow disconnect an alpha (or omega or enigma, I suppose) from their powers - which is apparently a very difficult and time-consuming process (and would otherwise kill the alpha), especially with someone with as many powers as Charlie.

Why does Reval do this? Oh, he's Babe's real father who's been in hiding until now out of shame and guilt (and some memory loss). Surprise!

Also, very convenient. 🤡

[neighbourhoodspidey]

red eyes

gn reader (i made sure there were no pronouns used. let me know if i somehow still managed to make a mistake, my brain is so weird)

minors and ageless blogs dni.

a/n: this inspiration behind this is insane. which is why it may look rushed, or not long enough. this was purely self-indulgent as wanda can save us all. proofread but i wrote this as i went so there might be mistakes left. enjoy reading leave any feedback if you have any lets gooo

w/c: 3.7 k ish

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, questions about drug consumption. gay reader. gay wanda. shuri and riri trying to play matchmakers. reader being a mess. makeout, reader and wanda match their freak. that’s about it i think? let me know if i missed anything!!

It starts below the cut :)

She was like a dream. Angel. Dream angel? You had no idea what she could be because your eyes were focused on hers. How they could lead you into a never ending forest that you’d gladly get lost into. Your legs nearly gave out when she tucked her hair behind her ear and fixed her suit. A simple action. And yet it was enough for you to act like a teenager all over again.

“Are you opening a tab or…?” The bartender asked, pointing towards your drink, interrupting any further thought your brain could conjure about the stranger.

“I’m…I think I’m good here. Thank you.” You mutter more than you speak, too entranced by the redhead who’s leaned against the wall, twirling a drink in her hand. Sliding a generous tip as an apology for the amount of zoning out you've been doing, you slide off the barstool and shake off your nerves.

Why were you even feeling like this?

The music was blasting so loud that you can feel the vibration of the bass traveling through your body, a pleasant distraction from the current shivers. You wonder where Shuri and Riri went off too but are slightly grateful that they lost you. You're not sure you could handle their teasing on top of your current state. Which would be painfully obvious that something was going on.

As you walk through the crowd of dancing bodies you allow yourself to relax, following the rhythm. For a minute it works. You ignore the stranger’s entracing presence. Or it could just be the alcohol traveling in your blood that’s making you think this way. Either way you’re successful at forgetting her, so much so that you don’t feel a pair of hands around your waist.

“I almost lost you.” It’s like time froze. You don’t know much what to say, much less think. What can you even do in this situation? It almost felt like an eternity before you take another drink of liquid courage and turn around, mentally steeling yourself. Right. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve ever flirted with someone, right?

“Ah, there you are.” Shuri playfully pushes you away. You nearly choke, eyes widening to see that the mysterious woman you feared was in fact, your best friend.

“You can at least pretend you’re happy to see us.” Riri chuckles as she notices how lost you looked.

“It’s not that. You just caught me by surprise, that’s all.” You make another attempt to drink before Shuri stops you in midair.

“I hope it was a pleasant surprise.”

“Hey, you were the ones who abandoned me.” 

“Uh, I thought you told us that you’d join us later on?” Riri furrows her brows. Shuri checks your temperature before leaning in to whisper closely in your ear. “Did you take anything else other than alcohol? Because seriously–”

“What? No, no, I didn’t, I’m just…”

And there she was again. This time she’s dancing with someone, with her hands around them. You can’t tell their exact gender but you know they’re lucky. You yearn to feel the heat of her body against yours, those hands to guide your movements and those eyes to devour you.

“Yeah, okay. We’re putting you on water from now on.”

You can hardly hear what Shuri is saying, your eyes trained on the redhead. You never wished you were someone else until now. She whispers something to them, making them laugh and you feel a swirl travel uncomfortably to the pit of your abdomen.

“I don’t know Shuri…I think it’s more of a girl problem than a high problem.”

“What?”

“Look at what’s happening.” Riri points to you, who’s looking at the woman who is now looking at…you. She doesn’t even blink, instead pulling the person she’s with closer, staring at you, nearly challenging you to break your stare. And that seems to be enough to get you out of your trance because you shake your head, grounding back into reality. 

“What is…what?” Your heart is racing uncontrollably, in all sorts of different patterns. 

“Damn. I wish I could've filmed that. You were in another world.” Shuri snickers as she waves a hand in front of you. You hardly blink, making Riri look at you in concern.

“Okay, seriously what is going on with you? You sure you didn’t take anything?”

“I’m afraid Cupid shot that poor heart of yours.” At Shuri’s laughter you blink hard, turning away from the green eyed woman to your friends.

“Who?” Yeah. You definitely need a seat because your legs are completely giving out. That and you feel delusional, you think you’ve seen a hint of a smirk but that could be a trick of the light and your brain going hazy.

Your friends look at each other before guiding you to the bar, sitting you down. You appreciate their concern but it’s nothing big. You’re just being dramatic. Your ears barely register what they are saying. You hardly see the glass of water in front of you, her eyes still stuck in your mind, nearly enough to make your skin stick with sweat.

Downing the drink in one go, you take a deep breath, leaning into Shuri’s comforting touch.

“I did not expect to have to play matchmaker on my trip. Say Riri, are you down with me?

“Woah, woah, woah. No one is playing matchmaker. There is no match to be made. And we’re here to make you enjoy your vacation, not give you any work.” You interrupt, downing your glass of water in one go, choking miserably as the woman– stranger, angel? approaches you. 

“Are you sure? Because right now you’re– Wanda?”

“Shuri. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you. What gives?” Wanda, you’ve learned, leans in and hugs Shuri, offering a polite handshake to Riri. You could listen to that husky voice and her accent all day on tape.

“I’ve been on vacation from Wakanda, and my good friend here offered me a place to stay.” She gestures to you, which you take as a cue to act normal. But how can you when you feel like you’re going to melt at any moment because right now Wanda is looking at you and offering her hand. God her hands are so soft.

“Wait, you all…know each other?” 

You mirror Riri’s question in your mind, trying not to look too overly interested, you think you’ve already done enough with your staring.

“We go way back. Wanda was in a college exchange programme in Wakanda. A little before we met.”

“And how do you know each other?” This time Wanda turns to you and you nearly choke on air. You really needed to get a grip on yourself.

“Uh…college…volleyball?” You uncontrollably drop your voice to a whisper. Your whole body trembles under her gaze, a shiver trembling throughout your entire body. It’s uncomfortable, yet addictive.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She leans her ear closer to your lips and it takes all the courage to not stumble on your words. Her scent invades your senses. It’s something sweet and floral, yet so heady that it’s entrapping.

“Volleyball. College.” 

You were better than this. You don’t think out of all the people you’ve spoken to you were this miserable. Fortunately for you she doesn’t pay any mind. In fact she almost finds it amusing. It’s refreshing to most overly confident and shallow people she’s met. You were refreshing, in a way.

“It was a tie, if you’re asking.” Shuri nudges Wanda, trying to hold back her laugh from how absolutely of a mess you are right now. You wonder if she’s trying to put in good words in your honour. 

“From what I heard it was pretty impressive.” Riri adds as she signals the bartender for another set of drinks.

“It was forever ago. Besides, with the internship at The Daily Bugle I don’t think I have much time.” You steal her drink, ignoring her look of indignation. 

“But I heard you still play occasionally? Next week we’re going to train with other friends, just for the good memories. You can join us if you want, Wanda. Besides, we have lots of catching up to do.”

“How could I not?” And right now she was staring directly at you. This time, you choke on your drink.

“Shit, are you okay?” You feel your heart beating out of your chest at the way she rubs your back. Air. You need air.

“I think…outside. I need to go outside.”

“Do you need our help?” 

“I’m fine, Shuri, I just need a quick breather…”

You need more than that.

“Why don’t we go outside? Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, I think you two need to go outside. Riri and I will stay here and look over our things.”

“Is that okay with you?” Wanda turns to look at you for confirmation and you numbly nod your head. Honestly, you’d go anywhere she asks you to.

As you walk away they subtly shoot you a thumbs up, only replacing with a wave and a farewell when Wanda promises to get you back.

She leads you to a set of stairs, the sound of music slowly fading away. She has her hand on your back the whole time. Not too forceful but guiding. As you reach the final set of stairs she leads you to a balcony. The cold air is inviting, instantly cooling your nerves. Wanda lets go of you and you almost…no. Be honest with yourself. You miss her warmth.

“Feeling any better?”

If she keeps on talking with that accent and that voice you don’t think you’ll be.

“I’m alright. Just…y’know. Those evenings. One of those evenings. I mean I’m not always like this, I’m chill. I mean not chill chill, but…” You were rambling, waving your hand as you cleared your throat. 

“I get you. Got too overwhelmed?”

“Yeah…” There is no way that a question could take that long to answer.

“Mhm. That happens. It felt like everything was closing in on you, right?” 

“Yeah. Like I couldn’t escape.” You’re not sure how she can still hear you with how low you’re speaking. Maybe it’s because you’re missing how close you got.

“Well. I’m wishing that’s not the case for you right now.” How did basic human decency turn into a new standard for you? With the way she was smiling softly at you and keeping a careful eye, you think you have your answer.

“I’m alright, thanks…Wanda.” Saying her name felt so good. God you’re weird. She probably thinks you’re being weird right now.

“I’m glad you are…?” She trails off, waiting for you to finish her sentence. What could she want? Your name? Right. Your name. 

After giving her your name she tries it out. You’ve never paid much attention to it up until now and you swear you only want to hear it out of her. In all the ways you can think of.

“It’s nice to officially meet you. Shuri’s never done a presentation for her friends before…looks like I’ve been missing out.”

“Oh, you didn’t miss out much. I mean I’m the least interesting out of the bunch. Really.”

This is not the coolest way to introduce yourself.

“Says who? In the little amount of time I got to know you, I know you’re a competitive volleyball player. And you’re interning for a company? I think that you’re more interesting than you let on.”

“That was a longtime ago. I don’t have any more of my reflexes anymore.”

“I think reflexes stay with us forever. The more you practice the more it stays. Muscle memory kind of thing.”

“Right. Right. I totally get that, I mean…it stays…but I’m not sure. I don’t think I am as good as I was before.”

“Really? But aren’t you going to play next week?”

How the hell did she remember that?

“The girls are just saying that. I’m not sure if I’ll even be there. I might be there to watch or coach, but that’s about it.”

“You coach?”

“Sometimes, yeah.”

“I could see that. You seem to be observant. And you were pretty much…observant back there.” She laughs, the sound echoing softly in the air. You almost forget what she said…something about you being observant? wait. Observant? Shit, you’ve been caught– “I was wondering what it would take for you to talk to me. Guess all you needed was the right incentive.”

Woah, woah…what exactly is happening?

“You’re making up too many ideas.” It was so nonsensical but her gaze darkened at your trembling tone, completely indifferent to your words. She hasn’t felt that chase in a while. Or a feeling so strong, so indescribable, that it’s almost hypnotising. She felt your stare on her. She felt your presence. It was so ridiculous but she needed to know you, to have you. Maybe she’ll ask Shuri questions about you. Or just skip the questions entirely.

“I’m never one to make up ideas or lie.” 

“You’re…so impossible.” Your body feels a random wave of warmth. You’re not entirely sure if it’s the alcohol taking its effect if it’s just her.

“Most people like that about me.” She leans against the railing, smiling that same smirk you could’ve sworn you imagined. Just having her like this felt real. A gust of wind flew past her hair and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. And it’s like she knows, because the minute you’re about to speak she steps closer to you.

“There you go with the staring again.”

“I’m sorry. I really am, I didn’t…I’m sorry. It’s just you’re so…”

You really are awful at this.

“So…what?” The redhead mock grins, her laughter making your stomach swirl with need. The air hardly even cools you anymore, your body is now at an all time heat. She held so much energy that you nearly felt intimidated. It felt like all oxygen was sucked in and she held you completely still. It’s a fate you’ll gladly accept. “There are so many things going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“You’re so pretty I can hardly even focus.” Your heart races so fast you’re nearly out of breath as you finish speaking. “And I don’t know what’s wrong with me but you’ve got something about you that’s making me forget everything I know. You’re the only one I ever really want to know about. I know how crazy I sound, I mean I…” You don’t even stop to think before you talk. You realised how fucked you are when she raises a hand to interrupt you.

“Slow down for me, alright?” 

Yeah. You’re so fucked. She’s probably going to tell your friends how much of a fucking weirdo you are–

“Look, for some weird reason I feel…I feel the same way too. And this is going to sound so weird but I think it’s perfectly normal for you to feel that way. You’re going to think I’m insane but I’ve been thinking a lot that something like this’ll happen.”

Silence ensues. A thousand alarm bells ring through your mind. And through hers. She should just apologise and leave it as it is–

“I think it’s…more than just normal. I mean I’ve been feeling this weird energy too and I thought if I spoke about it to Shuri she’s probably going to overextend her stay.” You speak clearly, not out of breath. You hold her stare, feeling brave, and safe. It’s so unexplainable. Maybe one of those theories you’ve heard of, or something more.

“I take it we got each other under our spell.” The redhead sighs with relief, drawing even closer to you and tentatively taking your hand in hers. You allow it. For some reason the touch feels more electric than before. It’s a pleasant shock. One that you don’t want to find letting go anytime soon.

“I think you’re the one who’s got me more under a spell than anything. Totally threw me off.”

“Oh, I did?”

“You did.”

You find yourself stepping closer to her, reaching for her other hand, tracing her pulse. You miss her low murmur, how she’s silently encouraging you to do more. To say more.

“You just have this pull to you, Wanda. If…you want to, I’d like to know more about you. And take you out sometime, maybe. If that’s what you want?” You were deflating again, your voice wavering. Just when everything was going perfect…

“I’d like that.” Her touch is so slow and tender it feels like you’re not even here.

“Huh?”

Her hands move to cup your cheeks, feeling the warmth of your skin. She doesn't say the words, not yet, but silently lets you know that you’ve got her right where she wants to. Just as you have her. Even then…just for you, she would repeat anything you need to hear.

“I said I’d like that. A lot, actually. I don’t know what this feeling is… But I want to find out more about it. With you, in our own time.” She speaks so softly that you can’t help but step closer, impossibly closer than what you already were. She truly has you under a spell.

“Then…good.” You smile, lifting her hands to your lips before gently kissing each knuckle.

“Good?”

“Good.”

“More than anything?” She leans in, her lips barely brushing against yours. Her hands let go of yours, wanting to feel your heartbeat

“I promise.” Your voice wavers as her eyes flit into yours, dropping down to gaze at your lips, before she gazes back at you again, silently asking you for permission to kiss you.

It’s a request you grant.

Her fingers tugs your shirt, your lips playfully brushing together as she smiles against them. She switches positions, tugging on your shirt as she walks backwards, leading you further away from the balcony, until her back hits the wall.

“Wait, Wanda…is this what you want? You know we don’t have to–”

“Kiss me, please.” It’s like your brain is wired to listen to her. You break the distance, your lips colliding. She’s aggressive. Carefully aggressively. Her lips taste of strawberries, making you hum softly. They’re so sweet you can hardly feel them against yours. Until she traps your bottom lip with her teeth, teasingly pulling back, keeping steady eye contact with you.

It’s like you forgot how to breathe entirely.

Her pupils are so blown you can hardly see the colour of her eyes. You try to resist the urge to stare at her heaving chest, wanting nothing more but to slowly take her apart right then and there. A swirling sensation at the pit of her abdomen, her hands itching to pull you impossibly closer to her, to feel you against her. It’s a feeling she’s rediscovering again. And it’s driving her mad with want, desire…and something more. She pulls you in again, her hands digging into your hips, making you groan into the kiss, completely unable to return it probably. You’re almost too drunk on her. It’s uncoordinated, messy, and yet…still so addictively intoxicating. Your hands move wherever you can touch, rapid and sporadic. It’s like you’ve known each other before, seemingly able to map out your sensitive areas.

Eventually, reluctantly, you’re both gasping for air, using each other as anchors. You laugh after a while, feeling your heart rate slow down to a normal rhythm. 

“I’m taking you out on a real date, alright?” You press your forehead against hers, relishing in the way she wraps her arms around you.

“I know you will.” She whispers, kissing the tip of your nose before capturing your lips one last time. You lean against her, dropping your head to her shoulder. As you close your eyes images come wafting through her mind, images of realities that have yet to happen soon. 

[yellinginhell]

The Purple Stone

hey everyone!! it would mean the world to me if you read my jayvik nosferatu/dracula the novel au. it has an element of self-insert, so i hope you enjoy. it is also epistolary bc i really really wanted to play with style! read on ao3 OR you can read it right here word count: 5, 272

Dearly beloved,

I crave your presence by my side, yet there would be nothing for you to see in this uncomely place, undeserving of your beauty. The roads are grey and fickle. My carriage sank in wet dirt three times, but I shall be persistent in reaching the prince’s castle.

It pains me how distraught you were by my leaving. You must understand that every action of mine is solely dictated by my concern for our well-being. This deal I was offered will be beneficial for us in a multitude of ways.

Hating my current damp and cold state, I close my eyes and picture our new home. A big green spot with soil for your gardening so fertile as if blessed by Demeter herself. A spacious study with grand windows where I could even put up a laboratory of my own. Soon as I leave the family business that dreads me daily. The discontent is little, yet persistent. You know how keen I am on gaining independence. Closing this affair will surely help me obtain it.

I imagine more than just mere objects. I can see my dear mother visiting us. I can even see our future children running around, with chins like mine and eyes like yours! Nonetheless, above it all, I picture you, my love. Joyful. Content. Our parting is worth the cost. I know it. I simply do.

Here I am, writing to you at each stop, just as promised. The horses are ready. Time for me to leave came sooner than expected. And so shall I be coming back to you before you know it, my dear.

Loving you with all my heart,

Jayce

My sweet girl,

I am seated on a bench in the middle of Zaun's main square. I can see the castle from here very clearly.

The locals are peculiarly reverent to their prince, albeit quite unfriendly to strangers like me. Perhaps it is their custom. Who am I to judge? Although their talk of him does nothing to make me understand his character. The Zaunites say the prince is a mysterious fellow. He prefers spending his time alone and leaves his castle very rarely. It matters not to me, of course. Our partnership is brief, born out of commodity rather than genuine connection. He signs the papers to acquire a mansion everyone has long forgotten about, moves into our blessed country with every piece of dusty furniture he owns and enjoys his retirement.

I must admit, there is one thing I did find surprising. According to the locals, the prince is a young man, my age, give or take, perhaps only somewhat older than me. Ever since we married, I have never felt more alive. Why would a man both his age and his status need to go somewhere else for retirement? Moreover, if he is a prince, what is it exactly that he needs to retire from? From what I understood, his position is a ceremonial one without any real power over this land. That would explain why I never even truly considered Zaun a royalty before,

I must bore you an awful lot! Me, going on a tangent about a man I have not encountered yet... This is highly unlike me. The air might be getting to my mind. It is rather dense and dirty here. There are times when the horizon looks a dark shade of grey.

I had time to indulge myself in a book of local folklore on the way here. The information was rather scarce, since not many of our scientists were interested in Zaun enough to publish anything in our mother tongue. Yet legends say Zaunite air used to be so bad children used to get sick simply by breathing in the horrid green smog. Babes used to drink vile poison instead of milk right from their mothers' breast. By Heavens, even thinking about it makes my heart sink. I suppose I must be thankful it isn't like this anymore. Nevertheless... It makes me wonder why their air was in such poor quality even before the industrial revolution.

 I remember a certain amount of foul fog on the streets when I was a child. The ventilation system put up by my dear Cait's mother, God rest her soul, did wonders for our city. I wonder if a similar device was applied there. In myths, it is said that Janna, the goddess of air, arrived from the far seas and made the filth disappear. Myths are nothing but reflections of the way people think about their surroundings, you know this as well as I do, my clever girl. I wonder what really happened.

Alas, the small cup of a certain dark concoction that was keeping me warm is over. I need to continue my journey. The hour is late. To be frank, I would have preferred to find a room to stay in for the night and visit the prince on the morrow. Despite my willingness to pay for the room and to almost certainly be ripped off, everyone around me is acting with a certain sense of eagerness, urging me to arrive at the castle today. Not the hospitality I expected, but I did not come here for pleasantries. Perhaps it is for the best. The sooner I visit my client, the sooner I come back to you and swoop you in my arms.

I am sending this letter this instant. There never is a moment when you are not in my thoughts. Tonight, soon as all business is concluded, I hope to spare a moment alone to picture me beside you in our bed.

I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. My beauty who is worth every splash of ink.

Forever yours,

Jayce

My love,

I am writing to you sooner than expected. My last letter to you was given to the postman mere hours ago, yet my current circumstances are so unusual I cannot help but share them with the person who matters to me most of all. None other than you, of course.

Here I am, in the prince`s castle. I finally learned his name, so now I do not have to simply call him «the prince» every time I mention him. It did make me feel rather silly, as if I was a maiden in a nurse`s tale waiting for her Prince Charming.

His name is Viktor.

I followed the pressing advice I was given by Zaunites and headed straight to the castle soon as I had sent you the first letter of the day. What an impressive sight it was up close! I could not get a clear view from a distance, yet soon as I arrived at the gates I noticed the patterns I saw in local architecture blooming in full power. This structure looks like nothing I had ever seen before. It truly is impossible to put into words. Think of a majestic castle with towers so tall and sharp they look as if they could tear the sky with their steeples. Think of a deep shade of violet stone, delicate, bendable like putty, yet still formidable, with an air of grandeur that, blasphemous as it might sound, only cathedrals have. Think of window grilles made of green iron, forming an intricate flower pattern.

 I have already re-read my description more times than I could count, pondering the ways in which I could make it better, yet words truly fade in comparison to the impression this view makes. What a sight! How I wish you were here to share this moment with me, to witness it all.

Despite its magnificence, I soon found myself thinking how desolate the castle looked. Abandoned, even. I began wondering how could it be possible for someone to truly live here. A quaint thought, considering I was just about to meet the host.

I knocked at the door and waited. For a long time, no answer followed. An unpleasant feeling gnawed at my soul. I almost thought myself mad. What if it all had somehow all been a cruel joke, as intricate as the castle`s decorations? Have I fallen for a nasty trick? Have I left you for nothing? I felt sick, yet I kept standing. At last, the door opened before me.

I saw no one. No servants, certainly no mysterious princes. I went in. The door locked behind me with a loud noise. A rapid breath of strong wind was the perpetrator, no doubt. I had no intention to run, so I went down the hallway.

To my surprise, it was not completely dark. The nature of the light, however, was curious. The candles in the hallway gleamed a pale shade of blue. A miracle for most eyes, a chemical reaction for mine. My mind quickly wandered to Goethe and his studies of light. What wonders await me in this iridescent blue?

The letter I am writing now is currently being illuminated by the same blue glow. The prince was courteous enough to provide me with this. There is not much else to see in my room, so I examine the candle. Perhaps the long road made me weary and I should have gone to sleep before attempting to write a second letter to you today. Still, I am almost certain that since the moment I came into this room and lit the candle… It did not melt at all. I see no dripping wax. The candle is exactly the same, solid and intact.

I could not keep my word and was not consistent in my narration yet again. Having walked only for a moment or so, I saw a door open in the distance. The same blue light inside, of course. I reached the dining room. This was where I finally met the prince.

He was sitting at the far end of an old table. I could not see much of his face, so I cannot give a proper description of his appearance just yet. Purple shadows cloaked his entire figure. I saw only glimpses of his shirt, his long neck, his soft curls. The only feature that truly stood out on his angled face were his eyes. Bright yellow, somewhat similar to a cat`s. Also calculating, intelligent, weary. He looked as if he could see me perfectly, despite the dim surroundings.

It was clear that he was expecting me, otherwise he would have told me to leave immediately. However, he did not greet me either. This responsibility fell on me. I introduced myself; I told him about my task. Not once had he interrupted me. The prince simply kept watching, observing me, as if he was the scholar and I was the frog that he was about to cut open. I did my best to remain confident and professional. I ended my speech by showing him the papers.

The contract itself had already been confirmed by him in writing, so all I needed was his signature. Sheepish of me, I know, yet I dared to hope that he would sign now and I could leave this place right away. There would have been nowhere for me to go, of course, since it were the Zaunites who put me in such a precarious position this late at night. I understand the queerness of my desire now, yet at that moment I simply wanted to leave.

This was the moment when he finally spoke. He said his name. He refused signing an important document so late at night, referring to a superstition that it would bring bad luck. I could have sworn that I saw him chuckle. I agreed to wait until morning.

«You must be hungry», - Viktor said afterwards. «Being all the way here… It must have been a long trip».

He offered me food that I accepted eagerly. Later, he brought himself. Viktor was surprisingly fast with that task. I could not help but notice a slight limp in his right leg as soon as he stood up. Impolite as it was, I still wondered what sort of injury could have brought this upon him. Was it a riding accident? Was he born with it?

The food was warm and delicious. It smelled better than everything I had been offered here before, too. Zaunites have a peculiar affection towards extremely unpleasant-looking seafood creations. I suppose this is why their drinks are so strong: they need to wash these horrid chunks of so-called fish down with something. If you were here, you would scold me for being so rigid with someone`s traditional cuisine. Then again, perhaps you would understand. You do know how easily I become unwell.

Viktor brought a whole feast for me only. As soon as I saw the platters of meat and cheese, I heard my stomach growling. I hardly realized how hungry recent events made me! The dinner looked appetizing even in unnatural blue lighting. For a while, we ate in silence. I meant to say «I ate», of course. At this point, clarifying further seems easier than rewriting the sentence itself: I wish to finish my strange tale and I know you will forgive its imperfections. Viktor must have eaten before. He brought me water to drink, which I was thankful for. Wine would have made my tired mind hazy, so I wouldn`t have been able to be writing this instant.

Viktor spoke to me again soon as he saw me fit to talk, not just munch. He spoke with a strong Zaunite accent, the strongest I have heard in these parts. I find their accent somewhat endearing. It sounds as if the tongue caresses every vowel before pronouncing it. I respect his willingness to address me in my language. Zaunite seems so different from ours. Their writing is nothing but a curious code of lines and circles for my unprepared mind.

He asked a little more about me. It was a nice change, I admit. People usually never care about who I really am. All they see is my position. High and respectable, yet not at all who I would like to become.

Our society makes our professions more important than our characters. As much as I love our city, this is a criticism that is inherent, a problem rooted in its premise, perhaps. If progress is the goal, why does it matter so little who the people behind it are? It might be different in Zaun. Everyone still does something, no doubt. Such is the nature of a human commune. Living together, creating together. Moreover… People seem united. Collaborative. They look out for each other, they have strong personal connections. It is very admirable.

I told him of my interest in science. I even confessed that he would be my last deal that would aid me in finally following my heart. Somehow, we ended up laughing about it. He has a pleasant laugh. Brief, yet sincere. As if he laughs rarely, so hearing it is a special occasion. I enjoyed listening to it. When I smiled myself, I realized the last time I did that was when I was saying goodbye to you.

«I am somewhat of an inventor myself», - Viktor said.

This was the moment when I could finally see him more closely. Viktor is a man in his early thirties with wrinkles around his eyes. High cheekbones, dark chestnut hair with traces of grey, full lips, aquiline nose. I even caught a glimpse of a mole above his mouth. It made me think of your moles. There was something both masculine and feminine in his delicate features. Due to his blue blood, I suppose.

We talked more about recent scientific studies. If I start boring you with details, I will certainly run out of parchment, so you must excuse my brevity. Viktor was surprisingly well-apprised on very recent discoveries. How, I wonder? I do not recall seeing a mailbox near the castle. I doubt he receives magazines. Does he stay in touch with the brightest minds of our generation? If this is the case, how come no one had ever mentioned a brilliant foreign prince? I am acquainted with several illustrious men of science myself. They have never mentioned anyone like Viktor.

The most wonderful part was that we stumbled across a topic that interested us both equally. We talked about magic and science. We came to the conclusion that true science always ends up having a little bit of magic in it. Both of these wonderful things are a part of nature. Both could be used for the good of the humanity.

There was one moment when I felt us in strong disagreement, yet no further discussion took place. I remember saying:

«Science is the pinnacle of man. God was the first creator of all. Adam, who did not yet create before leaving Heaven, was given power above all things by naming them. Now we are able to do more than just name. We search. We discover. And then, like Adam, we name our findings».

I went on, shaking my head:

«Forgive me if it sounds blasphemous. I never understood the hatred our church has towards magic».

«So you are in favour of maidens dancing naked by the fire?» Viktor replied in a playful manner. «Witches stealing babes for their sweet, sweet blood?»

«I don`t mean… Indecency. Or hexes».

I wish I could say I did not blush.

«I was continuing talking about creatures and creation. Nature is an enormous system that works perfectly all by itself. Of that, we are fully aware, thanks to newest discoveries. As of now, «how?» is a question answered. But what about «why?». God gives us the answer. God and his divine power. What is divinity, if not light magic?»

Viktor scoffed. He did not say another word in this regard. He did not enjoy my talk of divinity, as it seems. I am his guest, so I did not feel it fit to go on with the argument. He switched the topic swiftly and masterfully. We moved on to new power sources, and our little quarrel was quickly forgotten.

Our discussion, delightful as it was, could not have gone for long. There were no clocks in the dining room. My chatelaine watch was left at home. I could not risk losing something my father held so dear to his heart. Therefore, I have no way of telling the time on my own here. My feelings in this regard are mixed. I never considered relying on outer sources would become an issue. Before the castle, I saw clocks everywhere.

After what I could only assume was an hour or so Viktor paused. All of the sudden, he said:

«I dislike it when my words are met with yawns».

For a mere second, I could have sworn that my heart stopped beating. Blood rushed to my face, turning me a horrid shade of crimson, no doubt, while I was apologising as profusely as I could in my drowsy state. My mind was clouded by sleep, so his words sounded much louder to me than the way he really said them must have been.

To my relief, he smiled again. He rose his palm, signalling me to quit babbling.

«It is I who must say sorry, Jayce. I enjoyed your company so much that I wanted to keep you there. Come. Let us get you to bed».

On our way to the room where I currently am, I noticed a curiosity on his neck. Golden lines, somewhat similar to the ornament on the stones that I saw outside. I know of tribal ritual tattoos, but this was not a trace of ink on the skin. I believe that, had I touched it, it would have had the texture of a golden rim on a cup. A quaint comparison, I know, but they did seem… Solid. There was also the matter of his neck being too dark for his pale complexion. In this case, I did not manage to figure out the colour.

We stopped at the door. He wished me good night and went away. For some reason, he still took the contract with him. I did not protest. These are his papers, strictly speaking.

As I mentioned before, the room itself has nothing of interest. A simple bed, rather hard for my taste, a chair, a table. Not even a wardrobe to hang my cloak. Odd, but I suppose he does not receive many guests. I wonder what happened to the rest of his family.

In any case, I am not here for a history lesson. Viktor is a charming man, but I am still here on business. My main goal is finishing my task and returning to you. I hope tomorrow brings me more luck than it did to a certain Shakespearian character.

Ready to blow out the never-ending candle. I have no idea when will there be a chance for me to send this letter, so I shall speak to you in my prayers. I am trying to reach you. I am begging you to visit me in my dreams.

Holding you in my thoughts forever,

Jayce

My love,

How right you were all along. I should never have come here. I should never have left you. I should not have brushed off your fears and doubts as mere worries for my long journey. Your high spirit has always been more attuned to the Heavens than mine. You must have felt it, surely. You must have known. God has given you a sign and you did your best to keep me from visiting this place. Wretched. Cursed. Vile. Wicked. An insult to nature. An insult to the skies.

My quill is shaking as I write these words. I need to put my testament into phrases as soon as I can. This very moment, while I still remember every haunting detail. However, I doubt I could ever forget this horrible sight. Not in a thousand years.

The door is locked. I made my bed a barricade. He cannot reach me now.

I hope.

I am consumed by fear. Still, an effort must be made.

Here, my horrid tale begins.

I woke up early. The sun was still rising behind my window`s dark curtains. I had a night of disturbed sleep. Firstly, I did not realise how cold it was in the room. I was still shivering when I got under my heavy covers. In a desperate attempt to get warm, I lit the candle again. Leaving a real candle for the night is a direct violation of safety. Yet the blue candle stood unmelted even in the morning. Secondly, I had worrisome dreams. I cannot recall any of them, only that they were nightmares. Empty and blank, with no real plot.

Needless to say, I did not wake up well-rested. I stood in my room, but, as I said, there was absolutely nothing to do. I had nothing else to write at that moment. I tried sketching some ideas. None were decent. Viktor would not come. I heard no footsteps in the hallways.

The real nightmare began as soon as I decided to leave my bedroom and look for him myself. I got dressed and went out. I saw the same blue flames dancing on old stones.

The dining room where we conversed the day before was empty. Confused, I sat down and stayed there for a while. Nothing happened. No one came. I stood up with a sigh. What was I supposed to do? What was Viktor`s plan for me? Did I truly strike him as a person who would wake up at noon?

«Perhaps that`s what princes do», - I remember thinking, most irritated. «But my family made hammers».

Then, I came to a conclusion. Until Viktor wakes up, I can walk around the castle myself. It makes an impression of a mostly empty place, but at least I can pass the time by exploring its huge territory.

At first, my journey was fruitless. Whenever I went, I saw nothing but empty halls and locked doors. I was just about to give up on my quest when I noticed something strange. I stumbled across an old portrait in one of the halls. Judging by its style, it must have been painted about a hundred and fifty, maybe even two hundred years ago. Oh, my love. You would have known right away. How I miss you. How I wish to see you again. How I wish that it is possible still.

Forgive the tear stain. I must stay focused. I promised.

Despite the major differences in this painter`s ways and modern tendencies, it was clearly an image of one of Viktor`s ancestors. The resemblance was uncanny. Must be the eyes. His are truly out of this world. It was as if I was looking at Viktor`s own portrait. Which is not possible, of course.

There was something else with the painting. The right part of the man`s face was torn in half, as if someone was dissatisfied with it. I can understand that, but why settle for a portrait you dislike, if you are royalty? Why keep a ruined portrait at all? This queer encounter left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.

Having walked some more, I reached a structure I did not notice before. Before my eyes stood a big glasshouse. From the outside, I saw nothing but plants. At first, I was even somewhat relieved. It was something that proved Viktor`s humanity. Here it is, a place where he grows fruit, vegetables, perhaps tea roses for his table.

How foolish I was.

The inside of the glasshouse was warm and humid. As soon as I entered a strong smell of flowers hit my nostrils. I even sneezed, although I do it quite rarely. Still, it was nice to stop feeling cold for a change.

There were many plants I had never seen in real life before. Some were known to me by botanical textbooks. My mother has a lot of them at home. I remember how she used to sit down and sketch them to relax when I was a child. To this day, this is what relaxes her the most. However, some plants I saw for the first time ever. Curious flowers in colourful, poisonous shades of green, yellow, pink and blue. Huge fruit, sickly sweet by its smell.

Oh, my sweet mommy. How it breaks my heart to think of her in this dark time. Give her a kiss from me.

My name is always in her prayers. No prayers could have possibly saved me from what happened next.

The greenhouse was so big it took several minutes of walking to notice… That thing. God, give me strength. Picture a purple egg the size of a carriage. It pulsates with a bright source of energy, glowing like a lamp. Now, imagine… How it would breathe. Because it looked like it was breathing. It looked like it was somehow alive. I have never seen a biggest insult to life itself. It was inhuman. God was not its maker.

This was way more than I bargained for. I felt sick in my stomach. My knees were shaking. Cold sweat was forming on my back. I needed to leave. Heaven knows I wanted to get out. But then I saw it… A figure inside the wretched egg.

Viktor`s figure.

This is the moment when I ran. I don`t remember reaching my bedroom. Somehow, I managed to find my way back. However, when I closed the door behind me, I realised something truly disturbing.

It was getting dark again.

I had an idea, as insane as everything that has been happening to me. What if Viktor, whatever kind of beast he might be, needs the egg to hibernate during the day? We only spoke at night, so it was as good of a theory as any other. Besides, there are many tales of devious creatures who are active during the dark but fear the cock`s screams. To think that he spoke with me about witches and spells! Knowing what he is now, I understand why he could not talk to me about God. Perhaps even saying His name is painful for a creature of Hell.

God`s name is what will protect me now. I begin my dire watch. God help me. May Michael, your strongest son, watch over me. One night is all I need. One night – and the next morning I run away from here, never to prioritise mortal possessions again.

I shall come back to you.

Jayce

Love,

I write this out of habit. It is clear that my last letters will never be sent to you. I shall see you much sooner.

We both will.

We are on our way to Piltover as I write.

My last encounter with Viktor did not go exactly as I planned.

The bed at the door could not keep him. He was too strong for that. I should have thought about it sooner.

Then… He showed me. He showed me what he really was. A true merging of magic and science. He was the final step of our evolution. I must admit that at that moment… I found out that he was everything I have ever dreamed of.

This was when I could finally see him whole. He came to me undressed. His body is smooth and solid, the same shade of purple that I saw all around the castle. Instead of muscles and veins there is nothing but thin golden lines. I did not err when I noticed them on his neck before. He was magnificent. Spectacular. His own creator.

«Centuries ago», Viktor explained. «I was no one. A dying boy by the village downstream. I spent all my life looking for a cure. And then I found one. The magic of this world heard my plea. I wanted to live and I would stop at nothing to go on. So I let it in».

He took a deep breath.

«Feeling the arcane inside… It made me powerful. Mighty, even. I gave myself to it. I gave it to our land, and my magic healed it. I gave it to my people, and they rejoiced».

I am not proud of my reply. All I could muster was:

«This is how you became their prince».

He laughed. It was the same laughter that I heard from him yesterday.

«Oh, Jayce. This is, eh… How would you say it… Lost in translation. I am not their prince. I am their Herald. For I am the bringer of a new era».

He took another step. He touched my chest and looked me in the eye. I saw his golden eyes gleaming with joy.

«And you are destined to help me save the world with magic».

What happened next… Oh, my dear. It is shameful on paper. Lewd, even.

He knew me, and I knew him. He was inside of me. He thrusted in me and I sensed the coldness of his thighs against my own. You will see it soon enough, for he has marked me for life. There are traces on my legs from the way his poisoned seed pumped my insides. It can never be removed.

 Sweet, sweet girl… Please know that, despite it all, I have never betrayed our love. I became his. But so shall you. So shall everyone else.

The arcane is ever so hungry, and we are coming.

[wutheringskies]

everyone is like: if wei wuxian told everyone he gave his core to Jiang Cheng, all of this wouldn't have happened!

me: if he told jiang cheng, it would be WORSE.

consider these points:

Jiang Cheng was a newly appointed sect leader, hell-bent on revenge, finally surpassing others. He would emotionally break if he finds out it's all because of Wei Wuxian's core. He wouldn't want to lose it; but Wei Wuxian holding that over his head will make it terrible for him; rage, tantrums; in that war-time would have literally robbed him of his senses.

This is a war. If some people find out Wei Wuxian doesn't have a core, what's stopping the enemy from finding out? Even so, there would be people who wish to kill the ever-powerful son of a servant. The hundreds-hole curse could only succeed because Jin Zixun had low cultivation. Think of how many enemies (Wens, and the others) Wei Wuxian had. They don't dare curse him because 1) they believe he has superior cultivation and 2) if he comes for revenge with his stygian tiger seal and chenqing, it simply wouldn't be worth it. So, high risk and low reward. but in actuality, if someone did curse him, without a core to cleanse him, it would be fatal!

As the "son of a servant" and "wielder of immense power," his place in the cultivation world was already unstable. If they find out he doesn't even have a core, he cannot stay in the cultivation world! If he leaves, then there's no protection guaranteed for him from those who wish to claim his power anyway!

Literally, the only ones who would genuinely care would be Lan Wangji and Jiang Yanli. And what could they do? Lan Xichen would be sympathetic, but when has sympathy saved lives when there's no follow-up action? Nie Mingjue would commend his sacrifice, but will he save the Wens? Nope. Nobody would magically go like, "oh, let us help wei wuxian who doesn't have a core tragically."

Among the general public, would anyone look at it as anything other than a grand sacrifice for his superior? "Wei Wuxian is really loyal," and when he saves the Wens, it would go down the path of, "Can't believe he betrayed the Jiang Clan."

The only one who wished to know the why's and the how's and the reasoning behind it all was Lan Wangji. Lan Wangji, who would try his utter best; but Wei Wuxian himself was so powerful. Xiao Xingchen and Song Lan were powerful. Wen Qing and Wen Ning were also powerful. All the righteous people had tragic ends - if Lan Wangji was allowed to know, he would push harder at Wei Ying. But will Wei Ying accept it? Will he feel a certain disregard of respect? A lack of trust from Lan Wangji because they dont have the fundamentals down?How can it magically make things alright, when their issues go deeper than Wei Wuxian being on an "unorthodox path"? So, who's to say, even if Lan Wangji realized it all, somehow forced himself into Wei Wuxian's space when Wei Wuxian did not want it with some OOC syndrome, but even then what can he do? In the end, rather than just one, both would die. The odds are bad when it's 1 vs 3000, but is it much better if it's 2 vs 3000?

Wei Wuxian's arrogance protected the secret that would've signed him out of the war, out of the cultivation world. The fear people had for him protected him. Even after his death, they only noticed the annihilation of minor clans because "oh no yllz is here to take revenge!" If he acted weak and approachable and sad, just how few would hold true empathy compared to all the many that would see an opportunity to strike? Whoever wields power, speaks out, and is from an unproveleged background yet sitting among the gentry is already an outcast.

The only way he wouldn't have died were if he were someone who bowed to servitude, if he kept quiet, if he counted his losses and gains like Jin Guangyao. Will this harm me? Yes. So I cannot do it.

That's not Wei Wuxian.

"Let gains and losses remain uncommented upon." If the whole world wishes to kill innocents to satiate their own hatred then the whole world is wrong, and he won't stand up for it - whether or not, he has a romantic relationship with Lan Wangji early, or if he's actual siblings with the Jiangs (like actually adopted.)

Whether he wields a sword or his flute or nothing at all; whether he's loved or hated, he is bound to be resented by those who are hypocrites. The loss of his golden core won't shake them with empathy, but mockery not just towards him, but towards Jiang Wanyin as well.

"Congratulations, Jiang Cheng, for killing the man who killed your entire family (false, but you know) and was unrighteous!"

"But isn't the Jiang Clan only alive because of Wei Wuxian's core?"

"Jiang Wanyin is such a loser; he took his servant's core."

That would be a fucking literal nightmare. That is why, Wei Wuxian doesn't say a word or whine or cry. He probably thought he could wait until Jiang clan is in a better spot and tell only Jiang Cheng, but by then, he'd already been caught up in the Wen's situation.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Early thoughts about that ending scene. That picture of texas beside the door ? And then it kinda looming between buck and eddie on the couch? Kinda crazy

Hey Nonnie I have so many thoughts but

My brain is just playing Eddie dancing on a loop and I haven’t been able to get anything done all day - I am not complaining though he can dance on a loop in my brain all he wants 😎😂

But yes the Texas looming between them in the background was pretty interesting - it was of course there all of last season - foreshadowing Chris leaving with Helena and Ramon and also Eddie’s own ‘lone star stat-us’ (sorry couldn’t resist the pun 🤣).

The fact they’ve kept it there is very likely as a reminder of where Chris is, but it can also be foreshadowing a uncomming trip to Texas for Eddie (and maybe Buck we’ll have to see on that front) either to bring Chris home or to confront his parents and to get Chris to talk to him properly to begin to resolve their issues.

I’m interested in the two pictures on the table below the Texas picture though - one - the rectangular one is of Chris and Eddie - and it’s from season 2 - I can make out Eddie’s s2 hair! The round blue one though I can’t make out enough to be sure but I’m currently flip flopping between it being Shannon or a baby picture of Chris.

My personal preference would be that it’s Shannon because putting her between buck and Eddie and with a bright blue background and in a round picture is really interesting. That blue is a buck blue. Circles are a symbol of unity and the cycle of life - birth life and death - and also rebirth. They are also symbolic of inner peace.

So if it is a picture of Shannon there are several layers to draw on - firstly the idea that Eddie will find inner peace when it comes to shannon - and by extension she too will be a peace. The cycle of life and the rebirth aspect is especially interesting - the idea that Eddie can be reborn after Shannon - find himself and make himself whole. And finally there is the more subtle play on the paralleling of buck and Shannon and the idea that unity is achieved through that buck Shannon parallel.

Of course if it’s Chris then we get much of the same symbolism only with a slant towards Eddie and Chris finding resolution inner peace and unity - and that buck will play a part in that in some form.

I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts as my brain returns to normal operations - but hopefully those thoughts are a good starter for 10!

[frostgears]

unused doll

"Hey, I got the file trace from the 100% playthru. Every asset the game ever loaded."

"Fuck yes. I'm so bad, Sierra, I can't get past the second to last chapter, you're a lifesaver. So we just run this against the archive manifests and…"

"Not too much, huh."

"Guess not. That's all the leftovers. A a bunch of sounds, voice codec compressed, a few textures, just one mesh."

"Bones with it?"

"Yep. Usual format, I think, looking at the headers; not the one from the beta. Must have been cut pretty late. Lemme search for the mesh name, maybe there's a… yep, there's character data too. All commented out."

"That whole character data file gets loaded every scene, either from cache or disk, so that's probably why we missed it. So I think we just need to uncomment it and add it back to the model viewer on the extras menu? Yeah."

"Repacking and restarting. One sec."

"Oh, there she is! Aww, she's kinda cute. I wonder why they cut her. Play her voice lines."

"This one is pleased to serve."

"You think she was one of the companion characters?"

"Or a summon."

"Start a screen recording, let's get this up before someone else does."

"Started."

"I'm your doll. Use me as you see fit."

"Companion, definitely."

"We do not bleed as you do, but we still serve the same cause."

"Her VA's really good. Hard to sell a line like that."

"Spin her around, let's get the full model."

"This one is… afraid, Guardian. It doesn't know what it did to deserve this."

"Wonder what that scene that's from."

"No idea. Is that the last voice line?"

"Dunno. Click it again."

"Please, Guardian. Please don't put me back in the box."

"Please, Guardian. Please don't put me back in the box."

"Please, Guardian. Please don't put me back in the box."

"Guess that's all of them… Dani?"

"Sorry. Having a moment. Look. This is going to sound weird."

"What is?"

"Leave the model viewer open a little longer."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Sierra." □