#ignoring the bullshit by posting more writing

[faorism]

im feeling real the call is coming from within the house vibes rn, so im going to be kinda nasty for a hot minute because you actually were the reason i came across this post in the first place. my friend and i were so aghast at your racializations of hardison in a fic, that they had to see who the fuck you are. and your own ignorance highlights why this response is kinda bullshit.

incorporating race is absolutely something that fandom needs to be better about doing. absolutely. but up your attempts at doing so show how stomach churning poor follow through can be, where i would have preferred you not give an attempt at all. because in the fic in question, you use the wildly outdated term "ebonics" to refer to hardisons exaggerated speech that he codeswitches into occasionally. my friend and i spent fifteen minutes trying to decipher your implications in the line: "He’s young, or maybe (hopefully) just black, is the first thing."

i did not read your evil!hardison fic, because i didnt trust your ability to write an entire fic focused on him. that said, i felt like a got enough out of this hc post:

so! i think there's some good points here (perhaps!) about what hardison would look like with a possessive god complex, as opposed to him being a thoughtful provider building homes for the people he loves. and yes, "ownership" is a very contentous topic in the Black community, given how white supremacy has subjugated Black capital. but whatever analysis i would give you credit for—and any brownie points you could get from naming the racialized aspect—is immediately wiped when you fucking compare hardison to a goddamn overseer. you know, like an enslaver overseeing enslaved people? you imply here hardison, a Black man, would be a kind master to his employees. which is just so vile to be casual about.

attempts were made, i can say about your posting and writing. but i don't at all respect it, because you still have so much to really pull together to not be offensive about things.

which gets back to this post. you say your saw weirdness. why the fuck didn't you name it? no, really. did you actually see it or are you trying to save face now? you're not welcome for the labor i (nonblack latinx) and my friend (Black) had to go through to process this post. don't rely on others to do the work of naming racism and antiblackness; do the work yourself, or just don't reblog if you can't give commentary.

and, because i have been nasty and might as well be petty: honestly, there's just so much more work you need to do if you want me to trust you with handling race in fandom when you out here posting shit like this:

you're the fucking issue here too.

Well, a realization just hit me. Don't know if this is true of not, I don't remember the timing.

Eliot said he didn't hit cops in the OG show. Well now that makes sense. His dad is Black. What do Black parents teach their kids when it comes to dealing with the cops? Part of The Talk. Just do as they say, not that that always work.

He would have at least heard that talk with other foster kids, or teammates, if not given it himself.

And why would he stick to that? Because his dad was upset with him and he was still trying to be a Good Boy in one way.

[separatist-apologist]

The Fire Won't Burn Me

All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life

for @elucienweekofficial

Summary: Princess Elain Archeron wants nothing more than to be reunited with her missing youngest sister and to see her father finally emerge from the fog of grief he's been living under since her mother died. When her step mother arranges for her older sister to fetch her youngest to celebrate Elain's impending engagement to a neighboring prince, it seems like she'll get her wish. That is, until her father's fearsome huntsman steps in and wrecks it all. Now she's on the run, hiding in the forest to keep herself- and her heart- intact.

In her quest to understand why someone would want her heart carved from her chest, Elain will have to reconcile what it means to truly be the fairest of them all

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

“Jurian, what do you know about sleeping curses?” Elain asked, carefully braiding her pie crust. Jurian glanced over at Elain, seated on the floor as he worked on her overturned chair. 

“Does that seem like something I would know a lot about?” he replied dryly, though Elain could see the spark of interest in his brown eyes. 

“Well…no,” she admitted, turning back to her pie. “But you do know a lot of things. I thought maybe you’d heard something.”

“What makes you ask?” Jurian returned to his screw driver, though she knew his whole focus was on the conversation unfolding around them. Elain, too, didn’t really want to work on her pie, though it was at least something to do with her hands. Lucien had vanished before she woke. She had the vague memory of his lips on her cheek murmuring he’d be back which might have been a dream. Elain couldn’t be sure. 

“I heard the princess was placed under an enchanted sleep,” she told Jurian carefully, noting the way his eyes cut toward her for a moment. “I was just curious how they were broken.”

He grunted in response. There was nothing but silence between them, and the scraping of wood and Elain’s timer for her oven quietly chiming. And then—

“Magic requires balance,” he murmured gruffly, not looking at her at all. “Spells, curses…those sorts of things always have some sort of exploitable loophole. If the princess is trapped, there has to be a way to free her. Otherwise, the caster incurs the cost.”

Elain blinked. Lucien hadn’t said anything about Amarantha being damaged, though she still asked, “Incurs what kind of cost?”

Jurian shrugged. “It depends, I s’pose, on the power. For a sleeping curse…and suspended death? A heavy cost, I would imagine. So most casters, if they’re skilled, build a backdoor into their curses. If they’re very skilled, they’ll create specific conditions under which the curse can be lifted, which appeases nature because there is no permanence to it.”

“You know an awful lot,” Elain said, wondering who Jurian actually was. Hardly the grumpy tradesman working the mines and keeping her alive. This was the sort of knowledge that only someone close to magic, someone with an education, would have.

He did look at her, then. “You have your secrets and I have mine.”

“Do you know what the loophole is?” Elain asked instead, thinking whatever it was could be broken, so long as she knew the exact conditions. 

Jurian shook his head. “There’ll be something that tells people, though. If you went to see the princes…a placard, a talking squirrel…something that announced it. Curses are specific like that.”

“That seems too easy,” Elain said, abandoning the pretense of work entirely. “Surely there’s some catch.”

“Well, just because you know how to break the curse doesn’t mean the means to do so will be readily available. Perhaps the thing you need has yet to be invented. Or is so rare you have to make a perilous journey that no one has ever managed to survive. Your savior might be a baby, or some rare seed that only blooms in one place at one time in the year.”

That dampened her spirits a bit. So there was a way to free Nesta, but it was likely to be impossible. Jurian turned back to his chair and Elain left her pie in the oven, scooping bird feed in a bucket to get some fresh air and clear her thoughts. The worst of winter was coming—the longest night of the year would be upon them that night. Feyre’s birthday, she remembered with a pang. Where was she? Had Nesta even found her? Somehow, Elain doubted it. In Amarantha’s bid to remove the three of them, Feyre had been the first to go. Still, Elain was certain Feyre must be alive, just as she was sure Nesta was, too. It was a strange hunch, a feeling she’d always had—some sort of sense that let her know what was happening even when she had no business knowing it.

Just as Elain knew she could trust Lucien, despite being tasked with carving out her heart. He’d take her to Nesta, and together, they’d figure out how to uncurse her—and then, somehow, they’d find Feyre, too. Overthrow Amrantha, though Elain didn’t quite know how they’d do that, too. Only that she knew they would, just as she knew the sun would set and her name was Elain Archeron.

“Don’t open this door for strangers,” Jurian warned her, just as he always did when he left. He checked the hinges, satisfied they weren’t squeaky, and left her just like he always did.

Elain had begun to suspect he didn’t want to see Lucien stroll in, which he did an hour later. Elain smiled, the table already set as Lucien kicked snow off his boots and hung up his cape.

“It’s warm in here,” he said with an easy, handsome smile. “Smells good.”

“I missed you, too,” she replied, delighted when he came into the kitchen. Hands skimming her shoulders, Lucien lowered himself to press a kiss to her cheek. “It's the solstice tonight.”

Something sparked in his gaze. “Yes. I have a gift for you, actually.”

Elain’s heart stumbled. “A gift? For me?”

“Don’t look so surprised, princess,” he teased, beckoning for her to leave the kitchen and join him on the little rundown sofa. She sat beside him, waiting as Lucien procured a little box from his pocket. 

“It’s not much,” he began, letting her take that velvet thing from him. Elain opened it, surprised to find a little pearl set atop a simple, silver band. Looking up at him, she found him not sitting on the couch, but on one knee before her.

“You don’t need to marry a foreign prince,” he whispered, holding her gaze with steady, sure eyes. “I’ll protect you. I love you. And I know I’m not much, but–”

“Yes,” she breathed, dropping the box beside her, ring and all, to reach for his face. “Of course, Lucien—yes, I will.”

His smile was like the first spring sun. Blinking away what she suspected were tears, he kissed her softly—at first. Elain forgot all about dinner and everything else when his lips were slanted over her own. Lucien reached for her hair, inadvertently pulling her into his lap on the floor. Elain could taste the apology on his lips, sharp and metallic, which would lead Lucien to setting her back to the sofa and treating her like a princess.

But Elain wasn’t stupid. She knew what men and women did together, and that she was only shielded from it because high born ladies belonged to their husbands long before they ever belonged to themselves. Lucien likely had been with women of his station without treating them like spun glass.

Why not her, too? She’d been trying, and he’d thwarted her at every turn. Not since that first time on that very sofa, but even then he hadn’t taken things all the way. Not how she wanted, at any rate. So when Lucien opened his mouth to tell her he was sorry for being so rough, Elain merely sank her teeth against his bottom lips.

Lucien’s groan reverberated through them both. That’s more like it, she thought with private delight. The proof of his desire was carefully wedged along the curve of her ass, though she suspected Lucien wasn’t aware of that fact. He was too busy kissing like he needed her to breathe. Elain was drunk on the feeling of being in love for the first time in her life and with a man like Lucien, no less. Not the prince she’d once imagined, but better. This was special, and he was special. 

Reaching behind her, Elain grasped the ring. “Put it on me” she gasped, watching as Lucien fumbled the little box for a moment before finally—finally—getting that pretty, pearl ring out. He slid it against her third finger, admiring it for just a moment.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “We should eat—”

“No,” Elain replied, holding his stubbled cheeks beneath her fingers. “Take me upstairs, Lucien. I’m tired of waiting.”

“Elain—”

She didn’t want to hear it. Not tonight, not now. Not ever. Elain captured his mouth before he could truly tell her no and tuck her into bed, scurrying away like a scared little mouse. She wanted him, and judging by the way he was trying to angle his hips away from her, Elain guessed he wanted her, too. It was easy enough to scoot closer until her breasts were flush against his chest and her hands were on his neck.

In another life, he would have been a stranger to her. No one special—the caretaker of the forest and little more. Here, though, in this place, Lucien would be her husband. Elain swore the very world itself offered its approval, though maybe that was just a result of her own rapidly beating heart.

“Elain,” Lucien groaned against her lips. She could have cried, half crushed when he lifted her with such ease, pulling her into his arms like she was the most precious thing he’d ever touched. It was talent that kept her against him as he walked her up to the loft, especially when her own fingers were undoing his buttons so when he dropped her to the bed, he shrugged it off with a casual elegance that robbed her of breath. She’d hoped to see bare skin, but beneath the jacket was a white shirt, tucked into his laced up pants, the ties undone around his chest.

“Elain—”

“Take it off,” she breathed, propping herself up on her elbows. “I want to see you.”

“I’m not much to look at,” he replied, though he pulled that shirt up over his head all the same. She almost laughed—not at his chiseled, broad body, but his declaration he wasn’t much to look at. Every inch of his golden brown skin was a marvel, so lovely and smooth—even where it was scarred. Elain kept her eyes on him, surprised by how his hands seemed to tremble when he reached for his laces. She’d seen this part of him before. It was nice to see the whole of him, though—muscular and broad, with those strong thighs and the rigid length of him bobbing just between. 

Lucien ran a hand over his lower stomach, fingers brushing a trail of auburn hair. “Now you,” he whispered. Elain had half hoped he’d rip her clothes off her body, if only to spare her the embarrassment of disrobing in front of him. What if he didn’t like what he saw? Elain had to trust that no matter what he found lying beneath her clothes, he’d like it.

She had that pearl ring on her finger, afterall. Elain rose, reaching for the ties on her bodice while Lucien gripped the base of his cock, his face ravenous. That helped, she thought. He wanted her just as badly as she did. An ache had begun building between her legs, throbbing impatiently with nothing to alleviate it. 

Swallowing, Elain pushed the dress from her shoulders, delighted at the soft whimper that escaped Lucien’s throat. It took only another moment to remove her under things so she was utterly naked before him. They weren’t so close they could touch, though Lucien dared a hesitant step.

And then another.

And another.

Until his fingers brushed the valley between her breasts, skimming over her collarbone, up her neck and beneath her jaw. He tilted her face so she was looking up at him. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. “My wife.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that exploded out of her. It was nerves, and his closeness, combined with his very hot erection pushed against her belly. They were doing this. She wanted to do this. “Not yet.”

Lucien brushed an errant curl from her face. “In my head, you already are. Everything else is merely formality.” 

She smiled, surging up on her tiptoes to press her mouth to his. “My husband is sentimental, then?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied, his own grin warm and sweet against her lips. Lucien effectively silenced her with a bruising kiss, one hand sliding down her spine while the other remained firmly grasping his cock. Elain couldn’t help her soft moan of pleasure. He was molten, so warm he might have been made of flame, of pure sunlight.

Elain knew no matter how close she got, he wouldn’t burn her. He was safe—he was hers. Elain reached for his shoulders, grazing her nails over his skin gently just because she could. Lucien shuddered, pushing her back to the bed. This time, though, he came with her until his weight was settled over her pleasantly. Elain wiggled, legs parting until he was resting just between the cradle of her thighs. She could feel his cock wedged against her hip, pushing against her stomach when he rolled his hips.

That ache she’d been feeling bloomed, spreading like flower petals in the sun. It was going to consume her if she wasn’t careful. And maybe, just this once, Elain didn’t want to be careful. Everyone else was always urging her to consider the danger of things, to protect herself over everything—at the expense of her own life. Elain wanted to take a risk, to take something for herself, even if it meant getting hurt in return. 

He’d let go of his cock in favor of skimming his hands over her body. Elain whimpered when she felt his fingers dragging up the sensitive skin of her thigh, forgetting where his mouth was—currently trailing down her neck.

“Been thinking about this for weeks,” he whispered, teeth nipping against her collarbone. “Need to taste you or I’ll go out of my mind.”

Elain raked her fingers through his hair, digging at his scalp. “You may do whatever you like to me.”

The groan of need that ripped out of him echoed off the walls. “Too much power will surely go to my head.”

“Take it,” was all she could think to say. Her words were little more than a gasp when that clever mouth of his found the pebbled peak of her nipple and drew it into his mouth. The heat and the slickness of his tongue seemed to draw reactions from her seemingly without her input. Elain’s body bucked against his, delighted when his erection ground against her. He groaned, bracing his body weight on one arm just beside her.

Elain dragged her nails along his bicep. Lucien’s hair fell around her face, smokey and soft just like his mouth, his skin, his hands. She wasn’t the only one unraveling—even as Lucien licked along her skin, fingers pinching the now wet nipple so he could lavish praise and attention on the other, he was all but writhing against her. 

“Lucien,” she breathed, lifting her hips in invitation. He didn’t take it, though he looked between their bodies with unmistakable hunger gracing his beautiful face. His need made her blood run hot—this was what she’d dreamt of. Not the sex, but the desire coursing through him, making the careful, clever man she’d fallen in love with a desperate, needy creature. He only moaned his agreement before continuing his slide down her body.

She knew what he intended to do. She understood from the way he kept his tongue on her, eyes locked on her face. Silently informing her that what he’d done with his hands all those nights ago, he now planned to do with his mouth. Elain squirmed under his warm breath and his fingers spreading her wider for his hungry gaze.

She wanted this. All of it. Everything he’d ever imagined, all the things he might have done with other women—she wanted that, too. She wanted to overtake every memory in his mind until she was all he thought about, all he dreamt about. Elain wanted to experience these things, too. If he was going to be her husband and they were going to subvert every expectation she’d grown up with, then Elain wanted to be his equal. Not a doll too precious to mar, or glass that might break, but the person worthy of his devotion.

Carding her fingers through his hair, Elain relaxed for the brief moment before he took that first taste. The moment she felt the softness of his tongue against her cunt, Elain jerked upward, gasping so loud it was almost a scream. Lucien merely pushed her back down, one hand flat against her stomach as the other curled around her hips to draw her closer.

“Just like that,” he whispered, pressing a rather filthy kiss between her legs. Elain thought she’d beg if he stopped, which was lucky given Lucien didn’t seem capable. In fact, the way his mouth had begun moving against her suggested this was a deeply selfish act masquerading as something selfish. Elain had begun to build beneath his skilled tongue—she was going to break apart around him, which was clearly what he wanted. And yet from the way he held her and how his own body was rubbing against the bed, she suspected this was also deeply gratifying for him.

She liked knowing that. Elain let go of all her proprietary and gave in to that same desperate need. It was exciting, her legs wrapped around his face, to grind herself against him in bid to chase that delicious friction. Bossy, too, to try and demand he move to please her rather than remaining still and quiet so he might be pleased instead. Lucien groaned, doing as she wanted with no complaint. Elain had a million questions for him—what did he like so much about this act? It had been suggested men cared only for chasing their own pleasure.

Perhaps he was, then, and she’d just misunderstood what people meant when they said that. It didn’t matter, in the end, because whatever notions she’d had were gone now. Lucien had replaced every fanciful daydream, every hope, every dream. And that was fine because none of it compared to this man—Elain was willing to trade it all to keep him. 

“Lucien, please,” she panted, tugging at his hair. Her body was half lifted from the soft mattress, his strong arm wrapped around her. Elain was so close, was practically on fire, burning from the inside out. “Lucien, I—”

He gave her no reprieve, no rest. His tongue worked her frantically, though it was that one, clever finger that slid into her body and curled just inside her body that sent her fracturing over the edge. Elain couldn’t breathe, could barely be contained by her own skin. He didn’t stop, riding her through wave after wave of brightly burning pleasure. Elain babbled, begging and repeating his name until she had to kick at his shoulder to pry him off her.

With shining lips and tangled hair, Lucien looked down at her with the sort of reverence reserved only for worshiping the gods. And when he spoke her name, Elain thought it sounded like a prayer.

A song.

“My Elain.”

“Come here,” she whispered, glad to kiss him again, even if all she could taste was her own wet arousal on his tongue. Lucien adjusted himself, slotting the rigid, thick length of his cock just at her opening. He wasn’t going to hurt her—Elain knew that like she knew her own name. And still she braced herself for it, tensing her body as he slid that first inch into her.

Lucien exhaled a shaking breath. “Elain,” he whispered, like it was the only word he knew. It was a tight fit, and not painful. Even when he moved again, and again, again.

Over and over, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her. Lucien looked wild, breathing hard through his mouth. His muscled shoulders rose and fell with each new breath, though he remained utterly still while Elain squeezed around him, adjusting to the new fullness that had invaded her body.

It wasn’t pain, and after a moment of breathing through her nose, it had begun to shift distinctly into pleasure. Experimentally, she lifted her hips just to see. Lucien moaned, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Is this what you want?” she asked, squeezing tight around his shaft as she repeated the motion.

Lucien lowered himself, chest to chest, so he could kiss her. “You’re what I want,” he said, the foolish romantic. It was his turn to move, withdrawing only to push back in. Elain arched without meaning to, earning a sucking kiss against her neck. 

Digging her nails against his chest, Elain rose to meet Lucien with each new thrust, until the pair had fallen into an instinctual rhythm. Gone were her worries she would be bad at this—she could hear his soft moans, his breathless whimpers, given his mouth was pressed right against her ear. 

“Lucien,” she whispered, trying so hard to stave off the release rebuilding low in her stomach. She wanted him to slow down, but Lucien understood that pleading note in her voice.

Pushing himself up on his hands, Lucien’s speed increased until Elain was breathless. It was all she could do to grip his arms, holding him for what felt like dear life. 

“Come for me, princess,” he grunted, a sheen of sweat misting his forehead. “Let me feel you.”

Elain was so close, practically hanging off the edge. Lucien lowered his mouth, nipping at her sensitive ear. “Let me feel my wife.” It might have been embarrassing, the half scream, half whimpering moan that ripped out of her. Elain’s body was not her own anymore, governed by desperation rather than careful control. She didn’t care, legs wrapped tight around his waist to hold him inside her. Elain barely noticed Lucien’s own loss, his body jerking as he, too, came. For a moment, the only sound was their combined breathing and pounding hearts. 

He smiled. Big and unrestrained, and so bright she nearly had to shield her eyes. The huntsman, once sent to carve out her heart, held it in his hands all the same. Did he even realize it? The absurdity of their situation—two people who ought to hate each other, now sharing a body.

Sharing a soul. 

Elain kissed his cheek. “I love you,” she said. Lucien’s smile softened. 

“I’d do anything for you, Elain. Do you know that?”

Tucking a piece of hair behind his ear, Elain nodded. “I do.”

LUCIEN: 

He should have left at sunup. He needed to be at the palace with the deer carcasses he’d caught the day before. He’d hunted extra, drying meat for the journey he and Elain were about to undertake, and he also needed to keep up appearances right up until the very last moment. That might have been possible had he held off on sleeping with his soon-to-be wife. 

She’d wanted him, and Lucien had no ability to resist giving her whatever she asked for. Especially if what she wanted happened to be connected to his body, and doubly so when it was the thing he spent all his time fantasizing about, anyway. Case and point—Lucien had Elain on her knees, her face buried in a pillow. Thick, golden curls spilled over her bare shoulders, practically begging him to wrap it around his fist. Lucien would, one day, when she was better adjusted.

Given she’d only just started having sex with him, Lucien was trying to temper the worst of his urges. He’d offered to bring in some freshly fallen snow, wrap it in a cloth, and hold it between her legs which was how they’d ended up here, anyway. Elain’s eyes had welled up with tears as she’d kissed him, breathlessly insisting he was far too kind, and the next thing Lucien knew he was putting her on her hands and knees while he gripped her hips and slid himself back inside her.

He didn’t want to leave. Lucien was certain he belonged firmly at her side, and leaving during the day and hoping nothing happened to her was starting to kill him a little. Elain didn’t realize he was dragging this out, both because the heat of her body clamped around him made him both stupid and crazy, but because the moment he was done, he’d have to put his clothes back on and leave her. 

But Lucien was already too close, and Elain had come twice already. He could see the sweat sliding down her spine, could feel the pulsating rhythm of her cunt tight around him. Her release pooled along his balls, dripping to the sheets just below. The sight was too much, coupled with Elain panting his name.

Lucien groaned, spilling into her without a thought other than he needed to immediately have her again.

And again.

And again.

She was going to be his wife just as soon as he could drag the local priestess from the village to the cottage. And then….and then. And then what, exactly? He’d tell her the truth about him? That she thought she was defying fate by marrying a lowly huntsman when, in fact, she’d traded one prince for another? A prince without a crown, a kingdom, or a home? What good was he to her if he couldn’t call upon his father for aid to even give Elain back her own crown?

It didn’t help that his letter to Eris had so far gone unanswered. He knew his brother must have received it by then—likely tossed it in the fire with a roll of his eyes. All Lucien had were the friends he’d made as a huntsman, and the skills readily available to him. And while he would have liked to tell Elain he was actually a prince and his kingdom was coming to aid her so she might sit on the throne until Nesta returned, Lucien knew that wasn’t going to happen.

And he needed to get her out of this place before Amarantha truly learned the heart she kept on her desk belonged to an animal. It was that thought that convinced Lucien to pull himself regretfully out of her body. The sight of his come spilling down her thighs nearly undid him—and the urge to use his thumb to push it back into her still fluttering cunt was impossible to resist. 

“Careful,” Elain murmured, flipping to her back with a satisfied smile. She was so absurdly beautiful, so lovely it made his chest ache. “That’s how you end up with a child.”

“I could only dream,” Lucien replied, leaning over her to kiss her forehead. “Maybe prop your legs up, just to be safe.”

“Are you trying to trap me?” she laughed, watching as he slid off the bed for his pants.

“That’s what the engagement ring was for.”

Elain’s smile dimmed as Lucien began lacing his trousers. “How long will you be gone?”

“Just long enough to visit the palace,” he promised, hating the hope that flooded her gaze. He knew she wanted to go back—that she wanted him to return and tell her it was safe for her to return. As long Amarantha lived, Elain would never be safe.

Lucien wasn’t convinced Amarantha was someone they could kill. Not between the two of them, at any rate. Maybe, if he could track down Nesta, she could rally the neighboring kingdoms into helping. He didn’t know much about the princess other than what he’d seen, but something told him Eris would find Nesta a lot more compelling. 

“Will you check on my father? And…and see if there is any news of Nesta?”

Lucien bowed, snatching up his shirt as he did so. “Anything for you, my lady.”

Elain’s teeth worried at her bottom lip while she watched, dressing herself and trailing after him to the kitchen where she fussed until he finally shoved some stale bread into his mouth. He’d forgotten she’d made dinner the previous night, only for them to abandon it in favor of each other. Lucien’s stomach rebelled, his heart urging him to stay and help her clean up…and maybe eat something else before he went. He’d never leave, and tomorrow when he showed up, someone would want to know why he was late.

Better not to give them any reason to look his way at all. Lucien forced himself to give Elain only the chastest of kisses before stepping into the cold. 

“Come back to me,” Elain murmured, her breath curling around her face like shadows. Lucien waved, not daring to turn and look again. He was already struggling to leave her—hearing those soft words, like she didn’t expect him to come back, was enough to break him. He’d be back, he reminded himself. There was nothing that could keep her from him.

Not even death.

Lucien gathered his animals and began the cold, miserable trudge back to the castle. As he walked, he replayed his evening with Elain in the back of his mind. It helped with the cold, and the still falling snow making a mockery of his hair and cloak. By the time Lucien made his way out of the forest, his tracks had been concealed and no one knew where he’d come from.

Though it was forbidden for most to cut through the woods the way he was allowed. Half his job—one he’d been doing badly ever since Elain came crashing into his life—was keeping would be trespassers out. 

Black guards stood on either side of the entrance, a new feature to the servants doors. The once bustling halls were sparse and shockingly silent. The scent of blood permeated the air which was never a good sign. Lucien dropped his animals off, too curious not to investigate. Every day was some new horror, he bet. It wouldn’t have surprised Lucien to learn the servants had fled, looking for safer work.

“Lucien,” Vassa hissed, her cerulean eyes wide with surprise. “Prince, what are you—”

Lucien blinked, trying to make sense of Vassa’s sudden slack expression of the ashen look of horror against her usually lively face. He also couldn’t make sense of his own inability to speak, or the blackness dotting his vision. Lucien lurched forward a step, trying to keep the world steady.

But it toppled, and so did he.

Right into darkness.

Lucien woke to a throbbing headache and a dry mouth. His first, terrible thought, was of Elain—she’d asked him to come back, but he was…where was he? Head spinning, Lucien sat up to find Vassa sitting against a cool stone wall. Her once beautiful amethyst dress was filthy, her bouncy curls lifeless around her pretty face.

“You’re alive,” she said dryly, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. “I was starting to think you’d die.”

“Where are we?”

Vassa gestured around them, opening and closing her mouth as though it was too painful to speak. Lucien should have known, judging from the bars on the window just overhead and the dark stone that surrounded them, though it was the bolted, iron door that betrayed the dungeons for what they were. He understood why he was here. Amarantha had figured him out, which meant she knew Elain was alive. But Vassa… “Why are you down here?”

“I’m sure her soldiers are sweeping into my kingdom as we speak. I’ve been accused of treason against the crown. Some trumped up, made up charges. This was never about diplomacy.”

The bitter note to Vassa’s voice settled in his chest. When he didn’t speak, she said, “What about you, prince?”

“I did commit treason,” he said without an ounce of regret. Elain was well-hidden. Amarantha wouldn’t find her, and even if she did, Lucien trusted Jurian would intervene before any harm could come to Elain.

“I don’t suppose one of your brothers might intercede on your behalf?” Vassa asked, drawing her knees up to her chin. Lucien scoffed.

“One less contender for the throne.”

“Then we’re on our own,” Vassa whispered, her jaw set with determination. Lucien might have asked what she was planning had the sound of heels clicking against stone not echoed around them. Amarantha was coming, likely to gloat.

Or to kill them. That was a very real possibility, too. Lucien forced himself to his feet, grateful the queen wouldn’t see how he slumped against the wall, head swimming from the blow he’d sustained. It was a problem for another time, because by the time the key slid into the lock, Lucien was fully righted and well aware of the large hunting knife still hidden in his boot. Let that stay a secret as long as he could keep it—he had a feeling he’d need it soon. Vassa remained on the floor, glassy eyed and unwilling to engage in the same posturing Lucien was. Not that it mattered. Amarantha swanned into the dingy, filthy cell like she owned it, too.

Draped in all black, what else was new. Lucien was only barely paying attention because there, hanging from the crook of her arm, was an all-too familiar basket piled with the reddest apples he’d ever seen. Lucien’s stomach lurched. He knew that red and white checkered blanket.

“Oh, good,” Amarantha said with a too sharp smile. “We don’t have to play games. I was worried you’d keep up the pretenses and thats so boring, huntsman. Do you remember the job I gave you?”

“You’ve given me a lot of jobs,” Lucien replied flatly, though his heart was pounding in his throat. He’d seen that basket on Elain’s kitchen counter more often than he could count. And though the only apple orchard he’d ever seen belonged to the king, he’d never once questioned how Elain always had fresh fruit.

He’d just assumed it was Jurian. Gods, but he’d never once questioned anything, so caught up in falling in love that he’d forgotten to be careful. 

“This job was special. All you had to do was cut out the heart of one inconsequential girl. A girl who, to my understanding, is so pathetically inept she couldn’t have hurt you even if she’d wanted to. You told me she did. Do you want to know how I knew you’re a liar?”

Lucien kept his mouth resolutely shut. Amarantha didn’t seem to care, one hand wrapped around the pale skin of her elegant throat. She seemed different, somehow. Younger…and yet, not beautiful. Not the way she craved, anyway. 

“When I ate it, it made me sick,” she spat, eyes glittering like coal. “How pathetic you are, oh handsome prince of Avalon. You could have had safety from your family. You could have had a long life, and you threw it away for what? A quick lay with a woman who never could have loved you? You should have seen the way she cried when she learned what a liar you are. How she cursed your name…right until the bitter, bloody end. How's that for love, prince? You get to languish in this cell until your father comes to claim you knowing your pretty princess cursed your name with her last, dying breath.”

Vassa cleared her throat, eyes wide. Whatever spell Amarantha had woven around him—the sort that forced him to see her words so clearly—shattered. Elain wouldn’t. Elain wouldn’t. 

“You didn’t kill her,” Vassa whispered, her skirts rustling softly. “Just like you haven’t killed us.”

“You have use to me,” Amarantha snapped, blood red lips curling over her teeth. “She is nothing. Worthless. A pretty trinket—”

“Her fathers favorite child,” Vassa interrupted, still quiet. “And the only thing keeping him under that spell. If you kill her, his grief will shatter it.”

“He’ll never know!” Amarantha’s voice was rising with hatred, her panic betraying her. Lucien’s knees, once in danger of giving way, held firm. Elain wasn’t dead. Alive, somehow—though Lucien knew whatever Amarantha had done to her was likely to hurt her. But alive, and if Elain was alive, he could get to her. 

“He will, and you know he will,” Vassa murmured, holding Amarantha’s gaze with the same spell-like quality Amarantha had woven over Lucien. “Just like he knows Elain isn’t married to a stable hand, and just like he knows something is wrong with Nesta and Feyre. You can’t kill them…so why are you here? To gloat? When you haven’t even won?”

“We’ll see,” Amarantha snapped, staggering back a step. Lucien had never seen her so shaken. She reached for the handle behind her, dropping an apple on the ground. The fruit bounced, settling around Vassa’s legs. “The truth remains that Elain Archeron is no more and you will return to Avalon, disgraced and in chains. And you will rot here until I no longer have use of you. There is no saving any of you. The Archeron family is over.”

And with that, she slammed the door behind her. Lucien waited for the sound of the key in the lock that never came, holding his breath while he waited for Amarantha to realize her mistake. Vassa, too, waited wide-eyed with fear, neither of them breathing.

They weren’t given long to wait. Lucien had just about convinced himself to surge for the door, unsure what he’d do once he got into the hall. Kill the black guards before they could kill him and…and find Elain. Get on his knees and apologize and hope Amarantha had been lying about that, too. 

New, heavier steps began to echo down the halls. Boots, Lucien thought, and the heavy footfalls of someone who was armed. Vassa’s hope quickly shuttered into fear, causing Lucien to step in front of her, one arm thrown out. 

“Lucien,” Vassa whispered as the steps came closer.

He took a breath, waiting for the door to push open.

Firelight gilded off a familiar sight. Auburn hair, pushed off a cruel, classically handsome face. A calloused hand rested on the hilt of a sword hanging from the hip of Lucien’s eldest brother. Eris Vanserra stood in that dungeon, chin raised, amber eyes burning with what could only be described as cool amusement.

“What trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, little brother?”

[imavikingo]

[jewishcissiekj]

Why did all my Star Wars girlies (Aayla, Aurra & Asajj) have some degree of history of slavery in either their Legends or Canon origin story...

[starcrossedmusings]

Pretty Hands

Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)

Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.

A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡

Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.

"Yun? I'm here!"

His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"

You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.

"Whats up?"

"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."

Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"

"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."

Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"

You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."

"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."

"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."

Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"

"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.

"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."

"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."

Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."

"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."

You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."

You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."

You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"

Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.

"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.

"You set me up!"

"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"

"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."

"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.

"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.

You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.

"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."

"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."

"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."

He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.

An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"

"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.

"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"

"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"

"I won't I swear!"

"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."

He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.

You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."

Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."

"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."

"Liar."

You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.

"Yun stop it--"

"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.

"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--

Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.

He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.

Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"

A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."

Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Like...like right now he does?"

You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."

Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.

In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.

"Is this okay?"

You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.

"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"

You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."

Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"

The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."

He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."

You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.

"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."

Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."

Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.

Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.

"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"

You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.

"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"

You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.

"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.

"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."

He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.

"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.

"I look forward to that."

"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."

Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.

[vauxxy]

SECOND THAT

luke castellan x reader

★ “i’m restless, i’m wrestling with the song that you love, it’s been stuck in my head”

ABOUT - luke castellan is the only one at camp who sees right through your perfect and poised persona; and all he wants is the satisfaction of ruining it.

WARNINGS - smut, mentions of choking, both the reader and luke are TERRIBLE but luke is much worse lol, swearing, written from the perspective of a deranged luke, penetration, only loosely proofread.

A/N- i have NEVER written and posted smut before EVER. like i get close but i never go all out. so… no hate guys 😘 also i feel like this is a bit ooc for luke so just pretend he’s actually insane and terrible guys!!! if you ignore his incoherent ramblings, it’s PWOP sooo… anyways this might be the first and last time i ever write smut who knows

luke castellan is no amateur when it comes to pretending to be something else. growing up, the only thing that mattered to luke was receiving praise or recognition for being ‘great’ or ‘honourable’ or whatever.

when you live your whole life pretending to be a perfect person, you kinda start to believe you really are a perfect person.

and if everyone you meet also believes you are indeed a perfect person, what’s the harm in continuing to pretend?

at the end of the day, both parties gain something. you get the validation and acclaim that you truly deserve, and they get a role model they aspire to at least halfway resemble.

luke is the sweetest guy at camp- everyone loves him. and he deserves it, doesn’t he? he deserves their praise and love and respect. gods, he should be rewarded for pretending to be so admirable for so long. he’s entitled to it.

you, on the other hand? you don’t. you don’t deserve an ounce of the praise luke has worked so hard to receive.

to luke, you’re vermin. behind your polite smiles and sweet words, there’s darkness. there’s an evil lurking within you- he’s sure of it.

he sees it during early morning sparring sessions, watching from the wings while you tactfully dodge every attack that comes your way. and when you eventually falter, he sees how your eyes turn cold and your smile fades.

he sees how you take a shaky breath, brushing yourself off with your bony hands before flashing a toothy grin. he feels nauseous when you extend your arm out to shake the hand of your opponent- because how the fuck can they believe your little act?

your gentle kindness and bashful charisma is so obviously fake. of course, he’s not pissed that you’re acting; everyone at camp is acting to an extent. but you’re going all out, and he can still see through it. what pisses him off, is that nobody else seems to recognise how truly malicious you can be.

maybe it’s because you’re pretty. luke is no stranger to getting special treatment based on his appearance, and neither should you be. maybe that’s the whole basis of your appeal. it seems to be the only thing holding your pathetic little facade together, considering your sloppy acting skills.

if you were ugly everyone would be able to call out your bullshit straight away, and then he wouldn’t have to worry about sharing the spotlight. honestly, the only reason why everyone loves you so much is because half of them want to fuck you, and the other half want your attention or approval- not that it’d be worth anything.

it was the last week of spring, meaning only the year-rounders and a few of the older kids were at camp. you just graduated high school, and arrived at camp early.

of course, you just had to return to camp prettier, taller, more confident, and with a fancy college acceptance letter. maybe you were much smarter than you let on- but it became very apparent that your intelligence wasn’t the reason you got accepted into NYU once he learned what you were studying.

“oh, i’m getting a degree in art history,”

seriously? art history? that’s gotta be the funniest thing luke has ever heard in his entire life.

“really? why art history?” he asks politely, watching your every move as he awaits your dumbass explanation.

you shrug cheerfully, looking around at the few other campers scattered around in a tight-knit circle as they wait for you to tell them about your ‘lovely’ 18th birthday and ‘eventful’ senior year.

“i don’t know, my mum works with a lot of artists, so she said it’d be a good conversation starter,” you say cheerfully, as if it wasn’t the stupidest thing to ever exit your mouth.

luke can’t help but let out a little giggle, before instantly lowering his head to offer some non-verbal apology. but to his surprise, you laugh along. “yeah, i really wanna score a job at the MET or something. i don’t mind either way,”

luke nods politely, letting the conversation continue without interrupting with a snide comment or unsolicited laughter.

he plays along as the conversation continues, pretending he doesn’t want to grab you by the throat and push you against the wall, demanding you to confess. demanding you to tell the fucking truth; that you’re a manipulative sycophant who’s bound to end up in rehab for getting addicted to designer drugs.

why is he the only one that sees you for who you truly are? gods, if he knew any better he might be charmed. you were naturally picturesque- or at least you seemed to be. the way that you were sitting on the grass with your hair draping over your body; you looked gorgeous. but you always look gorgeous, that’s your best quality after all.

of course all of camp half-blood was fooled- you were to pretty and kind to be lying. maybe it was better to let them keep on believing that you were this perfect image of a girl.

but he’d still appreciate the satisfaction of seeing you for who you are- seeing you in your rawest form.

and then suddenly, he saw it. some athena girl asked you if you wanted to go on a run with her later, to which you politely declined. of course, you kept your composure, told her that you had to take a nap, offered her a sympathetic smile and a ‘maybe next time’. but she didn’t see the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head as soon as she looked away.

luke was astonished. you really were getting sloppy, huh?

and yet, nobody else saw it. nobody else saw the look of disgust on your face as soon as she finished talking. he was seething- how on earth could everyone be so blind?

luke looks around at the group of people surrounding him, his eyes darting back to you ever 5 or 10 seconds. they all look at you with awe- as if you’re the most precious thing on earth.

fuck that. he was going to put you in your place.

a few hours pass, and it was finally time for everyone to walk back to their cabins.

luke spots you walking alone to your cabin, your face dimly lit by the moon as it shines over the camp. he’s so overwhelmed with anger, he couldn’t fathom caring about the consequences of whatever situation he was about to put himself in.

he quickly catches up to you, meeting your walking pace as he shoots you a friendly smile.

“hey, y/n. you got a minute?” luke asks, still adorning that charming smile. you smile back at him, nodding your head ever so gently, as if it would fall off if you moved it too fast. like a rusty elvis bobble head bought 1976 that resides on the dash of your grandmother’s busted car.

“yeah, why?” you hold your hands behind your back as you walk beside him, slowly approaching your empty cabin. luke shrugs his shoulders. “oh, i just had a little question. mind if we talk in your cabin?” he asks.

you nod, opening the door for luke and letting him walk through. you close the door behind him, before leaning your back against the wall. luke stands in front of you, his cheery demeanour vanishing as he crosses his arms.

“why the fuck are you such a little bitch all the time?”

you furrow your brows, mirroring his posture as you cross your arms defensively. “excuse me?”

luke rolls his eyes, letting out dry laughter as he looks you up and down. “you heard me,” he adds, watching you anxiously begin to pick at your lips with your freshly manicured fingernails.

“do you have a problem with me or something?” your whole body feels tense as you continue picking at your lips, your eyes locked onto his.

“yeah, i do have a problem. i’m tired of your little ‘nice girl’ act. it’s getting fucking annoying,” luke scoffed, taking a step closer towards you. your eyes darken, before shaking away your hostile expression.

“are you sure you wanna do this right now, castellan?”

“is that a threat?”

you pull your fingertips away from your lips, shifting your weight to the other side of your body as you cross your arms once more. you let silence fill the room before finally speaking up.

“listen, luke. everyone pretends to be someone they’re not. you and i just tend to do it more than others-“

luke cuts your off, taking another step forwards. “fuck off, we are not the same.”

you roll your eyes, banging your head against the wall as you groan irritably. “so what? are you gonna go around spreading cheap lies about me now?” you ask tiredly. luke shakes his head, slightly shrugging his shoulders.

“nah.” he replies curtly, his voice blunt and expression vague. “mkay, then what the fuck is your problem?”

luke takes another quick step forward, tightly holding your chin in his hand as he lifts your head to face him. “you’re my fucking problem.”

you let out a dry laugh, staring into his eyes as you attempt to intimidate him. “you’re such a loser.” you whisper, refusing to fight back against the way he’s gripping your face.

he stays silent, biting his lip as he looks over your form. “and you’re a brat.” he retorts.

“are we just going to keep throwing insults back and forth all night, or are you gonna explain why you’re so obsessed with me?” you ask playfully, cupping his face in your hand as an attempt to patronise him.

luke is stumped. to be fair, he is entirely obsessed with you. and he has been for years now. and now he has you cornered, watching your weak attempts at asserting dominance over him.

luke was over it.

suddenly, luke leans in, harshly pressing his lips against yours. you retract your hand from his face, pressing it against the wall as you feel his body moving towards you.

he wraps his other hand around your neck, only gently gripping it as to not alarm you.

luke is surprised by how you sink into his grip, pulling away to see your closed eyes and swollen lips. when you wipe your mouth and look at him with those hauntingly innocent eyes, he’s almost fooled.

you scoff, smirking as you tear away from his grip and take a few steps back. “is that all you wanted?” you say confidently, watching him turn around to watch you carefully pace around the room.

he shakes his head, groaning quietly as he walks over to you once more.

luke purses his lips, trying to suppress any sense of genuine attraction to you. but when his eyes gaze over to your red lips and flushed cheeks, he can’t help but let his mind wander.

“if you’re done, you can leave, castellan.” you say irritably, leaning against your bed frame.

it goes straight to his dick when you call him that, especially when your voice sounds so hoarse and cocky. he feels as though he’s finally accomplished what he’s been yearning to do for years now. he’s seeing the real you.

he couldn’t dare squander this opportunity now.

he pushes you down onto your bed, watching how your hair flows over your newly made bedsheets as your head hits the pillow.

“but you don’t want me to leave, do you?” luke says lowly, hovering over your body as his hand hold your wrists together above your head.

“i don’t care what you do, castellan.”

luke groans, pressing another rough kiss against your lips. you kiss back for whatever reason, and your firsts relax within his grip. it was almost as if you got off on the idea of someone calling out your bullshit. or maybe you got off on the idea of somewhat hating your guts. either way, luke knew you were more than eager to continue.

he let go of your wrists, before biting your bottom lip. your mouth opens slightly, offering entry to his tongue, deepening the kiss.

you hand cups his face, while the other grips his shoulder. after a few moments, he pulls away and begins sucking at the skin of your neck, leaving purple marks on your delicate skin while you let out hoarse whimpers.

his hands begin to fiddle with the fabric of your shirt, causing you to push his body forwards as you position yourself to sit on his lap. you take off your shirt, throwing it away as you run your hands down his back.

luke looks down at your chest, growing more aroused at the sight of your lacy little bra. it’s as if you knew someone was going to see it.

you feel a hardness growing from under his jeans, poking against your upper thigh as you slowly grind against his lap. luke let’s put a low moan, continuing to bury his face in your neck.

“i fucking hate you,” he growls, gripping the sides of your waist with his hands as you move against him.

“don’t care, take off your shirt,” you demand hurriedly, running your fingers through his hair as you tilt his head up to look at you.

luke rolls his eyes, before taking off his shirt. he quickly presses another series of harsh kissses against your neck, fiddling with the clasp of your bra as you push your chest up against his. you giggle softly at his incompetence, before he finally unhooks it and ravenously pulls it from your chest.

luke pushes your body backwards onto the bed, trailing kisses down from your neck and onto your tits. you let out a quiet moan, before biting down onto your hand in order to stifle the sound. his large hands knead your left breast, while the other grips the area just under your right breast, resting on top of your ribcage.

luke’s hands slowly move downwards, hip thumb tracing circles against the side of your hip as you gently grasp onto his hair. his fingertips gently pull down your shorts, leaving you in only your underwear.

he rubs his thumb over the wet fabric, before tilting his head to look up at you. “pathetic,” he mutters, smirking at your flushed faced. you groan, burying the back of your head further into the pillow as your back arches involuntarily.

luke’s thumb massages your clit from over the soaking fabric, watching you squirm in response. he lets out a dry laugh, before pulling down your panties and tossing them onto the floor.

“luke…” you moan quietly, closing your eyes as your hips jerk into the mattress. his fingers trace your wet folds, before letting his thumb rub circles against your clit and forcing two fingers inside of you.

you whimper before pursing your lips, rolling your head around as he slowly pumps his fingers in and out. he quickens his pace, pressing down harshly against your clit while beginning to suck on the skin of your upper thigh.

luke holds down your hip with his free hand as you begin to squirm.

suddenly, he stops.

you look at him with a confused expression, your face red as he pulls his fingers out. he chuckles at your disappointed face, before taking off his pants and boxers. you stare at his length unashamedly, biting down on your bottom lip.

“so fucking needy.” he says lowly, his voice horse as he softly begins to continue massaging your clit. you moan, feeling your back arch as he positions himself in front of your legs. he forcefully spreads them open as he teases your folds with the tip of his erect member.

you let out a little whine, your voice trembling as you try to move your hips against his length.

luke rolls his eyes at your poor attempts at penetration, before slowly pushing his cock into your entrance. you let out a breathy, high pitched moan, your hands eagerly gripping your bedsheets.

he gradually pushes in the entirety his length, continuing to rub circles into your clit. luke tightly grips your waist as he begins to slowly pull out, before jamming himself back in. you let out a breathy yelp as you body moves with his thrusts.

like continues relentlessly pushing in and out of you, massaging your waist as his thumb gradually increases the speed of its attack on your clit.

you try to steady you breathing, your face flushed as lukewarm continues to deliberately overwhelm your body.

“mm… luke, i’m gonna…” you mutter, your hips jerking upwards. he smiles at you, amused by how blissed out you look taking his cock. “so soon?” he teases, rapidly moving against your body.

you let out a stammering series of whimpers as your back arches upwards, feeing yourself suddenly release. luke grins, continuing to rub circles into your clit as he rides out your orgasm.

luke slowly retracts his thumb, repositioning the hand to gently grip your hip. he begins to slow down his movements, before quickly thrusting into you repetitively. you squirm, the movements of your hips constrained by his grip.

suddenly, he pulls out, releasing onto your stomach. see? he was a gentleman.

luke gazes over at the girl he just reduced to a panting mess as he stands up and puts his clothes back on. he smiles at you as he zips up his jeans, before kneeling besides you as you turn your head to look at him.

“i wont tell anyone how fucking pathetic you are, don’t worry, princess.”

you nod, staring at him as he continues to look at your defenceless body. “such a pretty girl,” he hums, cupping your face in his hand before kissing your forehead.

he reaches over to your discarded underwear and gently pulls them up your legs, the gesture acting somewhat as a peace offering. he takes a step back, simply taking in how endearingly stupid you look.

you slowly sit yourself up, grabbing your camp t shirt and putting it on. “goodnight, luke,” you choke out, your voice hoarse and breathing shallow. he nods, smiling softly as he turns to walk away. “night, princess.”

[feyascorner]

until I come back alive

summary. in which you come back injured from a particularly unlucky battle, and Astarion realizes his feigned affections for you are not feigned at all.

warnings. angst, fluff, Astarion being bad at feelings

pairing. Astarion x GN!reader

a/n. this is super long omg ALSO TYSM for the love on my previous fic! It was my first post so I didn’t realize more than like two ppl would see it!! Kind of scary but also I can write more astarion so oh well 🙏

“The way they look at you is different from the way they look at us.”

Astarion raises a brow at this, glancing at Karlach who adjusts a log in the campfire paying no heed to the flickering flames brushing against her skin. She smiles to herself, genuinely, and he questions if she’s finally gone mad.

“So have you said the big ‘L’ word yet?” she asks excitedly, turning to him with a big grin. He shifts away from her, the increasing heat radiating off her body but she doesn’t seem to care, too busy staring at him expectantly.

“The what?”

“You know! The ‘L’ word,” she says the last part in a hushed whisper, as if it’d be a sin for anyone else to hear. Occasionally it baffles him how childish she can be, though he’d never voice these concerns out loud considering she could snap his poor body in half if she really wanted.

He also knows that she’s more emotionally capable in how she approaches these relationships (though one could argue it’s just innocence)—in ways he’s lost over the past 200 years. Though, he makes an effort to shove these thoughts to the deepest corners of his brain for the sake of his own sanity.

“If you’re speaking of ‘love,’” He emphasizes it with a strange accent. “No. I have not. Nor have they.”

She appears puzzled. “Why not?”

He sighs irritably, bringing a hand to adjust the cuffs on his hand. “Must everything be put bluntly? So glaringly obvious?”

“You love each other, don’t you?”

At this, he falters, just the slightest before plastering his usual grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Love is a wide spectrum, dear. Tav and I are whatever they want us to be.”

A late night partner would be the most positive thing he could refer you to. A fling, an amusement, or whatever words people described the arrangement between the two of you as, he didn’t care for it. He’d given himself to you, and you to him—-physically, at least, and you’d seem more than content with it. In return, he received protection, which was a sufficient payment in return for his hushed words of affection and kisses. A fair trade, he deemed.

Sure, he could’ve chosen anyone else in the camp. But he’d seen the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him, surely dazed at his flirtatious tendencies. You’d been an easy target. A survival tool.

And yes, maybe he’d played with your innocent feelings, but could you really blame him? He’d given you the nights of your life, for something so simple in return. It was a transaction.

Karlach waves a dismissive hand which brings him back to the present, propping herself on her arm behind her. “Life’s too short for that bullshit. Either you love someone or you don’t.”

“Fortunately for me, I have all of eternity,” he snorts. “Unless I were to suddenly lose the unwanted visitor inside my head and step into the sunlight, I’ll be here to watch the world fall and rise a dozen times over I’m afraid.”

“But they don’t,” Karlach frowns. “Tav doesn’t have eternity.”

He ignores the way his jaw clenches. He’s afraid, he thinks, of losing the freedom he’s just gained.

“Did you call me?”

Both the vampire and tiefling turn to your voice, where you stand blankly with an armful of logs clutched to your waist. Karlach opens her mouth to respond, but Astarion is faster.

“Nothing, darling. Just answering a few curious questions from Karlach here.”

“Oh,” you blink at him, shrugging before setting the logs beside the fireplace. “Well, Gale, Shadowheart, and I are going to the village across the forest tomorrow morning to check on the goblins appearing there recently. Won’t be back till noon so don’t wait up.”

“Don’t worry,” Karlach laughs. “I’ll keep the camp in order while you’re gone. If Astarion tries to bite Lae’zel, though, his fate’s inevitable.”

He rolls his eyes, opting to stand from his spot and take your hand. “Come along, darling. Any longer near this damned fireplace and my skin may melt.”

You nod with a smile, waving at Karlach before you follow him into his tent without a word of protest.

Easy, he thinks. Too easy.

He soon finds himself staring up at you from his place, laying his head on your lap as you read through a few scrolls you found throughout the day. He clicks his tongue and you look down, offering that sickeningly sweet smile again. “What’s wrong?”

“You have the most handsome person in this camp on your bloody lap and you want to read?”

You snicker at this, setting the scroll down beside you. “What do you suggest I do? Worship the very eyelashes on your face?”

“My body deserves much more praise than just the eyelashes.”

“Hm…” you pretend to be in thought. “That mole on your face is very obvious too.”

He gasps, immediately shooting upward as he grabs at his own face. “Tell me you’re lying.”

Your laughter rings throughout the tent, airy as you pull his hand away from his face. “I’m kidding, mostly.”

He stares at you as you recollect yourself, finding himself gazing at you far longer than he’d like to admit. Quickly, he adjusts, fiddling with the hand mirror he always keeps under his pillow as he watches you through it. “Karlach spoke of something ridiculous today. She said you were in love with me.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he rolls his eyes. “That woman lives in a fairy tale I tell you. How she went through 10 years in Avernus is beyond me.”

There’s slight hesitance in your voice, and if he’d not learned your body language early on in your arrangement, he wouldn’t have even noticed it. “Astarion, have you ever been in love?”

He pauses at this, meeting your eyes head on now. There’s a heavier thickness in the air between the short distance between the two of you, and he immediately gauges what you want him to say. A lie readies itself at the tip of his tongue, his gaze searching yours for whatever fantasy that lives behind them.

Instead, your expression is blank. He finds nothing.

“No.” He’s not sure why he responded honestly, but it’s too late to take it back. “Have you?”

You look to the side. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“Anymore?” He shifts his head when you turn your chin further away, avoiding confrontation. “Has someone captured your impenetrable heart as of late? How intriguing—do tell.”

His teasing tone drops when you don’t smile at his usual antics. He’s not stupid—far from it. He knows you’ve begun to fall for him. It’s an obvious result from the 200 years of instinctive flirting he has tucked away in what remains of his soul, and it’s what he intended. What he needed.

The more enraptured you are, the longer he has protection.

He gently tilts your chin toward him, his fang visible through the grin that stretches across his face. “Tell me, pet, do you love me?”

Your eyes drop to his lips. “Do you want me to?”

A bunny caught in the fangs of a fox. It would be so easy to indulge—to go as far as to make you nothing but a puppet he toys with for his own personal gains. He can sense the way your finger twitches, itching to lace them with his own, and the crueler side of him forces his hand to stay put.

He wordlessly leans toward you, his lips grazing against the side of your neck. You shiver at the touch and he smiles wickedly to himself, drinking in the gasp that escapes you when he tilts your neck to the other side, where he usually drinks.

He doesn’t even have to ask. “Just—be gentle. Please.”

“Of course.” He unhinges his jaw, ready to plunge the knives of his teeth into where the sweet liquid gold rushes to your face, his shoulders finally relaxing when—

“I love you,” you whisper under your breath.

He stops.

Though unsure why, he freezes. Completely and utterly freezes.

“Astarion?”

He pulls away slowly, staring at you for a long moment before offering another smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You look exhausted, my dear. I think that’s enough for tonight.”

“But you didn’t even feed?”

“I can handle myself, darling, as much as I appreciate your worries,” he stands and holds the flap of the tent open, practically a silent demand for you to leave.

He should be ecstatic. Gleaming with joy from being offered a drop of your blood, but instead, he feels knots forming in his stomach. And the longer he watches you, the worst they seem the get.

Hurt flashes across your face and he ignores the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Okay, well,” you say, stepping out hesitantly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

And as he lies wide awake in the middle of the night with nothing to accompany him but his own thoughts, he finds that all of them are overruled by his endless need for warmth. Not just anyone’s but the one he’s become accustomed to the past few months. No matter how much he curls up in his bedroll, all he can feel is the chill of his own body.

And he hates it more than he expected.

——

By the time he awakens, you’re long gone.

He’s rather productive. Taking walks, gathering supplies, catching up on his reading, he refuses to sit and lie around as the others await for you and your companions to return from the goblin village.

He even entertains sitting through one of Karlach’s dances, which somehow ends up being more entertaining than he’d imagined. While she didn’t fall flat on her face (which he admittedly looked forward to), it burnt through time regardless.

The peace is broken when he hears footsteps rushing toward the camp. He’s memorized everyone’s intervals when sprinting or pacing, so he’s quick to identify Gale and Shadowheart. He listens keenly for your own footsteps.

There are no third pair of footsteps at all.

Shadowheart stumbles into the camp, in a panic compared to her usual self, as she points toward a spot on the ground and snaps at Gale to put something down.

He only sees when she moves out of the way that this something, is rather someone.

You’re writhing in pain, eyes shut in an unconsciousness that’s surely preferable to what you’re feeling. You’re sweating, groaning in your sleep and everyone is immediately rushing to you.

His face would’ve gone pale, if it weren’t for the fact that he was already as ghostly as a sheet.

“What happened,” Lae’zel demands in place of him, and he opts to mindlessly push Gale to the side, who doesn’t say a word from the expression on Astarion’s face. He doesn’t know what he looks like, but from Gale’s reaction, it’s better he never know.

“Damned poison arrows,” Shadowheart hisses. “I’m completely out of magic for today. I need to make an antidote by hand before their condition gets any worse than it already is.”

Astarion brushes the back of his knuckles against your cheek. The creases between your brows soften for the slightest moment before they’re back again.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart are arguing again—something about how one thing would’ve happened if another thing hadn’t. He’s not even sure what they’re arguing about, but in an instant, rage flickers in his chest.

“Do something!” He snaps, suddenly making the camp go quiet. “Or are you just going to stand there and watch them die?”

He suddenly feels a hand grab his, and his eyes shoot down to see your own. Even in your sleep, you reach out to him. Even in the deepest part of slumber, you search for him. It makes him feel like the shittiest and luckiest person alive, especially as the your hurt expression from last night flashes in his mind.

“Help them,” the words spill out against his will, his tone breaking down into something more desperate. “Do something. For God’s sake, anything.”

In the moment, he doesn’t care about protection. He doesn’t give a shit about any of that because the second he’d seen you in genuine pain, it was all he needed to completely forget about the stupid reasons why he approached you in the first place.

All he cared about was your life.

Everyone glances at one another knowingly, but even Lae’zel doesn’t break the silence. Shadowheart spares him a furrowed glare before rushing to gather the antidote.

You only awake hours later. Certainly during the middle of the night, to the ceiling of a tent that’s certainly not your own. You slowly urge yourself to sit up, a pounding headache ringing in your skull, but your worries about it vanish when you hear his voice.

“Quite the nap, darling.”

You snap around to see him on the other side of the tent, albeit only a few feet away from how crunched it is. Fascinating, he thinks, that even with your disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes, he finds you more beautiful than before. “What happened?”

“You nearly died.”

“…how?”

“Poison,” he’s fiddling with his dagger, refusing to look at you. He can’t. In fear of what he might say. “Caused a reasonable panic too. Seems like our companions have grown more attached to you than anyone’s expected.”

You purse your lips, and he quickly mortifies at the exceeding need to part them with his own. You don’t seem to notice. “You too?”

“I was certainly worried our esteemed leader may kick the bucket earlier than anticipated, yes.”

“No, I mean,” you scrunch your eyes sheepishly, and he thinks it’s adorable. Gods he must be going insane. “Have you…grown attached?”

He raises a brow. “You just woke up from a life threatening experience and that’s what piques your interest?”

Your cheeks turn a shade darker. He wants to touch them. “I just…I was worried all day. About us. I got too distracted and of course, that’s on me, but one of the goblins took advantage and—“

He wants to climb into a coffin, guilt eating away at what remains of his organs. But when you fidget with the ends of his bedroll blanket, he can’t tell if his stomach is churning from shame or something else.

You stop, close your mouth, then open it again. “When I passed out, I was just thinking about how I would hate for us to part like that. I didn’t want last night to be our last moment.”

“No,” he says firmly. “While you’d been asleep, I’ve had quite some time to think, darling. And more time to wallow in my self pity for being stuck with an actual weirdo. I mean, do you hear yourself? Worrying about such a stupid encounter while on your deathbed? You should’ve been cursing me with all the strength you had left if you were going to think about me of all people!”

You smile a bit, and he grits his teeth at the way his throat goes dry. “I’m just glad.”

“For getting poisoned?”

“No,” you roll your eyes. “I’m glad I didn’t scare you off by telling you I loved you. I was afraid we wouldn’t talk like this anymore.”

His body wills him to freeze up again. To push you away, and to force the fantasy that his feelings towards you were nothing but manipulative. That you were nothing but a way to survive to him. But no, he couldn’t stand such cowardice any longer. Not after nearly losing you.

You offer him a pathetic laugh. “I don’t expect you to say it back, nor for you to feel the same way. I just—felt like you needed to know. It doesn’t change anything between us I hope. It just felt wrong to keep it to myself any longer and the way you reacted just made me regret it so much-“

He wraps his palm in front of your mouth, his other hand pulling you closer to his side in an instant. With your faces inches apart, he sighs irritably. “As much as I’d like to keep hearing your voice, I can’t stand its contents any longer I’m afraid.”

He lowers his hand, staring straight at your wide eyes as he narrows his own. “I do. Like you, I mean. A lot more than I’d like to admit, quite frankly.”

You blink as if you’re staring at a miracle.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he mumbles with a scoff. “I’ve had these feelings for a while now, I just didn’t wish to face them. When you said that to me yesterday, I just didn’t know how to respond, and for that, I am sorry. But losing you—I’m not sure what I would have done, but it’s certainly not a pretty sight.”

Your eyes soften and he’s certain he can lose himself within them for years. “I’ve never heard you sound so—sincere.”

He raises your knuckles to his lips, keeping them close even as he speaks. “I approached you out of necessity, I’ll admit. But it seems you’ve grown on me in a way I haven’t experienced since I’ve turned into a spawn. What you are to me—it’s difficult to describe.” He pauses. “Sometimes, I can still feel my heart beating with you.”

As your fingers brush against the side of his face, he swears he can feel it again. He almost feels warm, maybe even safe. And he’s sick and tired of denying himself of your embrace when death is around every corner.

You’re soon curled up into his chest, with his chin atop of your head. He’s not sure how much time passes—maybe hours, or even days as he continues to observe your face, committing each and every detail to his memory. And when your breathing steadies, falling into deep slumber, he finally has the courage to whisper the words against your hair.

“I love you.”

[almostempty]

Self Esteem

Pairing: fuckboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel blows you off for your date. You end up blowing him when he shows up looking to score. Inspired by the song Self Esteem by The Offspring. 

Warnings: kinda mean/fuckboy joel, mild dub con, smut, PWP, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected piv sex, joel comes on your tits, dirty talk, one (1) slap, choose your own joel era, readers on some dumb bitch juice for this man (i would be too), hit and run, smash and dash,

Notes: PLEASE send any feedback, this is the first thing i’ve ever written and posted, i’m tryn’ to practice and gain confidence bc my dream fic doesn’t exist so i gotta write it, it’s scary to post, y’all are so brave wtf 

WC: 2.9K

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57513220 

Part 2: Want You Bad

Part 3: Kick and Scream

Part 4: The more you suffer

Masterlist: Here

It’s a moderately painful type of suffering. Like purgatory. You’d made plans to go out tonight with Joel. It’s useless to expect him to show up, but you got ready and anxiously paced around your living room anyway. Checking your phone, at thirty minutes past the time he had said he’d pick you up. You sent him a text. His read receipts were on; he saw your message. Another thirty minutes pass agonizingly slowly. He hasn’t responded. You can feel a mild headache forming behind your eyes. 

You grab a drink from your fridge and collapse on the couch with a sigh. A mixture of anger, regret, and rejection churns in your gut. You shouldn’t have set yourself up for disappointment. 

No, he shouldn’t be such an asshole. You’ve got to stick up for yourself. Tell him off for his bullshit. The manipulation, standing you up, the lies. You know he’s using you. 

Unfortunately, you find the toxic rush addictive. The way he charms and seduces you after disappearing or acting like an idiot. You enable his behavior every time. 

And it’s sick that you like it. You like knowing it’s your door he knocks on in the middle of the night. He won’t take you on a date, but he still can’t stay away. 

No. Not this time. You’re done letting him waste your time with plans that never materialize. You’re going to practice all the things you should say. Tell him to fuck off. 

You grab another drink and return to the couch. The rejection is sinking in, and you’re feeling pretty low. You silence notifications from him in an attempt to take control of your thoughts. To stop waiting for it to light up with his name. You aren’t going to keep waiting for him. 

You shower and change into a big T-shirt and underwear. Returning to the couch, you turn on some trash TV to shut your brain off. It helps. Keeps you distracted. When it hits 2 AM, you crawl off the couch and turn out the lights. You hope you’re tired enough to sleep without Joel haunting your thoughts. 

You’re getting a glass of water to take to bed when you hear the knock at your door. Your stomach swoops and your body tenses with excitement. 

You’re fucked. 

You can’t stop the smile that breaks out on your face. 

He’s like a stray cat. Or, more like a tomcat. You know he’s gonna sweet talk his way in. You should ignore him. You should leave him outside on your doorstep, horny and alone. Let him feel rejected this time. 

You crack open the door and face Joel. He glows in the moonlight, stupid eyes sparkling when he looks at you. He leans an arm on the door frame and purrs at you. 

“Baby.”  

You roll your eyes. His breath smells like whiskey. 

“What the fuck, Joel? Where were you?”

He frowns. Big brown eyes try to weaken your defenses. 

“Work thing.” 

“Til 2 AM?” 

“One of the guys on the crew. Was his birthday, so we had to take him out.” 

You don’t believe him. You feel the urge to slap him across his scruffy cheek. You feel the urge to pull him in and kiss him. 

No. You can’t listen to that voice. The voice that still gets butterflies over him showing up at the door. He’s only here because all the bars closed, and now he’s looking to score. 

He preys on your moment of weakness. You’re in a debate with your inner demons, and he barges his way into your space. He moves like a blur. You blink and his rough hand is tracing the line of your jaw. 

He’s caging you in against the back of your door. He leans in closer. Hot breath fanning over your face. Your breath is still caught in your throat. You have half a mind to shove him off of you and begin your lecture, but he gives you no chance. 

He presses urgent kisses and bites along your jawline and down the column of your throat. A vampire at your door. You didn’t invite him in, but he’s got his teeth sinking into your flesh anyway. 

He smells like sweat, sawdust, and some over-scented men’s deodorant. Smells like a man, your lizard brain thinks. 

Trapped between him and the door, the closeness is intoxicating. His body is large and powerful and radiates a frenetic energy. Like he’s buzzing with need for you. You can’t help it; you like feeling wanted like this. Desired. The way he crashes into you like a feral beast—

“Wait.” Some sense flashes into your conscience. 

“Hmm?” he growls in your ear. His face is still buried against your neck while his hands grope at your body. You can feel the heat radiating off of him. His hands move to knead at your breasts through your soft, faded shirt. You fight to ignore the pleasure. 

“Joel.”

“Hmm.”

“You can’t just show up in the middle of the night after bailing on me and expect to get laid.” 

His hands slide under your shirt. The skin-to-skin contact makes you dizzy. He pinches and pulls at your nipples, and you fight back a moan, trying to refocus. 

“Joel!” you snap at him. 

“C’mon, I’m sorry, baby,” he coos into your skin. 

He rocks his hips against you, and the sensation of his hard bulge in his jeans against your soft skin sends a jolt of need through your nervous system. The words you practiced earlier slip further and further from your mind. 

“You can’t keep treating me like this.” You lob at him. The rest of your speech is hazy. You're grasping at sentence fragments, trying to remember the points you wanted to make. 

“Not gonna keep working.”

“Quit,” he replies sharply. 

“What?” 

One of his large hands slides up, still under your shirt, bunching it up, and wraps around your throat. He bites at your chin. Sharp teeth. He kisses your cheek. Soft lips. He nips your earlobe. You gasp. He sucks it into his hot mouth. Your eyes slam shut. 

You feel like you’re at his mercy, and the cavewoman inside of you just wants him to drag you to bed. 

“Quit arguing,” he grumbles. His deep voice in your ear sends a rush of arousal down your spine. 

“It’s not fair,” you protest. 

He shifts. His hands travel downward to squeeze at the plush skin of your ass. He tugs you forward and shoves his knee between your legs. You lose any train of thought. Cruel man. You don’t care anymore. You’ll let him keep tearing pieces out of your heart. As long as you can keep using each other's bodies. 

The pressure and friction of his thigh against your tingling pussy is the ultimate betrayal. You can’t stop the whiny gasps that come out of your mouth at the contact. 

He lets out a satisfied chuckle at that. Cocky bastard. 

“Not fair,” he repeats after you. “Hmm. Tell that to your wet cunt dripping on my leg, baby.” 

Your core flutters at his words. You feel your face flush, but it’s hard to argue with him. 

“I think you want me,” he continues. 

You try to glare at him. Your hips don’t care, though, as they roll against him. 

“S’alright, baby.”

You wish it were. 

“I only want you.” 

You desperately want to believe him. You shove that thought out of your mind. 

He pulls your shirt off and rakes his eyes down your body. He’s menacing. His broad shoulders and tense muscles loom over you. He’s fully clothed while you’re bare except for your wet panties clinging to your folds. 

Your chest heaves as you watch him. He has a carnivorous gaze. You’re prey with your soft body exposed; he’s a hungry predator waiting to make a lethal move. 

But he doesn’t strike. 

He moves painfully slowly. Tracing a finger down over your lips, down your chest, and belly, to the hem of your underwear. He slips the tip of his finger underneath and skates it across your skin from left to right. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, tense and twitching at the sensations. It’s too delicate. His expression looks like he wants to eat you whole, but his movement is restrained. 

“Know you do.” his voice washes over you, and a slight hum echoes in your throat. 

“You want me.” he husks. 

He pushes you back off his thigh. His hand dives further into your panties, and he drags his fingers through the pool of your arousal and spreads it through your folds. A smile breaks out on his face. 

“Yes,” you exhale as your body shudders. 

A look flashes across his features, and his eyes darken with lust. You peer down to watch his hand disappear in your underwear. 

“Say it.” He demands. 

“What?” Your eyes flick up to his. 

“Say it.” He repeats firmly. 

You writhe a little as he continues to toy with you. He’s wicked. Tracing circles around your clit, but not long enough to build a satisfying rhythm before he dips down and fills you with two fingers. He moves them lazily for his own enjoyment. 

You groan in frustration. It’s a tempting sound to his ears, but he doesn’t look amused. He’s waiting to hear it. 

“I want you?” you guess what he’s waiting for you to say. 

There's no use lying about it if that’s what he wants to hear. You want him. Even if you’ve been ruminating over his shitty behavior all night. 

“You askin’ or tellin’?” 

“Want you,” you repeat as a statement. 

He pulls his hand away completely. Your body jerks, chasing his touch. 

“Please,” you try. 

“Again.” he’s gruff. Ferocious as he demands you confess your desire. 

You sigh. Maybe for giving up so quickly or maybe because you always knew you would. 

“I want you.” 

He doesn’t relax. Or move. 

“Again.” He repeats like he’s a malfunctioning robot. 

“I want you, Joel.” 

“Again.”

“Please, Joel, I want you.” 

The hint of a smirk appears on his face. 

He taps your chin, encouraging you to part your lips. He slides his wet fingers in your mouth, along your tongue, and then removes them. He holds your open mouth, fingers around your jaw, and looks as if he’s assessing the quality of your tongue. 

“Prove it.” He commands. 

His tone does something to your brain.

Tomorrow, you might be confused at how he blew you off, but you ended up on your knees blowing him. But right now, you’re chasing a desperate need.

He steps back to give you space. You drop to your knees as he undoes his belt. Your eager hands work his jeans and boxers down far enough to expose his leaking cock. 

If you looked, you might’ve caught his condescending smirk, now fully exposed. 

You don’t look. You don’t wait for further instructions. You lap at his tip and tease with your tongue. You start working him into your mouth. 

The weight of his cock on your tongue causes you to moan. The vibrations cause him to moan right back. 

His arm shoots out to the door behind you for support. His head hangs, watching you move. 

“Fuck,” he groans at the sight of your lips wrapped around him. His clipped grunts and the way his core flexes encourage you. Your soft hand works in tandem with your mouth, and you’re drooling openly. You coat him in saliva. Messy. Your lips are swollen. 

When he breaches your throat, you slow down to focus on your breathing and swallowing. Little gags contract around the head of his cock as you focus on relaxing. 

“Fuck. Yeah, baby, show me you want it,” he rambles above you. 

You keep going and take him deep until your jaw aches and your pussy throbs. Hearing him react and spew filth at you stokes the fire in your core. 

“Knew your cock hungry mouth was waiting for me,” he slurs. 

A flash of embarrassment courses through you at that statement. 

You did wait for him. You should’ve said no. But it’s so hard when he shows up ready to go. You may be dumb for tolerating his actions, but you’re not going to turn down a man that looks like him and fucks like he does.  

“Eyes up,” he orders. 

You whine around him, looking up through your lashes. Obedient. With your eyes locked on each other, something passes briefly between you. Easy to miss, hard to describe. Like you could look at each other like that forever. Then it’s gone. 

He slides out of your mouth. Ogling the pornographic way spit trails between his tip and your tongue. The way your lashes are wet from trying to blink away the tears of exertion. 

“I did wait, Joel. Waited for you all night,” your voice comes out a little hoarse. You can’t be bothered if it sounds desperate. 

“‘Course you did,” he smiles and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Get up.” 

You don’t argue. He helps to pull you up, spins you around, and walks you the few steps over to your couch. He bends you over the armrest. You’re burning with need. 

He takes his time pulling your panties off. The way he has you presented for him makes you impatient. 

“Joel,” you whine his name in protest. 

“Quit.” He slaps your ass to make his point. 

You huff, but when both of his large palms spread your cheeks wider for his own enjoyment, another needy whine slips out of your throat. 

He chuckles darkly at you. 

“I’ll give you what you need,” he assures you before he sinks into your desperately empty hole. 

You groan in unison as he fills you. 

“So deep,” you murmur. He fits like he was made for you. Fills you up, so you can’t think of anything else. Can’t think of what you wanted to say or how you felt watching the time pass while you waited for him to show up earlier. 

“Always,” he agrees. 

He picks up a bruising pace. On edge for so long, you might go blind with the force of your building climax. 

He grasps your hair at the base of your skull and pulls, further arching your back and ripping another moan from deep in your chest. The sensations are overwhelming, and your mind feels blank. The sounds of his hips slapping into you and your combined panting, grunting, and babbling turn to white noise. The consistent drive of his cock against the perfect spot inside of you has you hurtling to the edge. 

“Yeah, baby, I know what you want,” he croons. Your breasts bounce with every thrust, and his other hand wraps around you to squeeze at them tightly. He remains steady and brutal with his movements. He does know what you want. And he keeps giving it to you. 

“Please, yes, don’t stop,” you beg. 

You wriggle one hand down to touch yourself. The pressure from your fingers around your clit brings you over the edge. You clench around him and gasp as you come.

“Yeah, that’s it. You come on this cock,” he rasps behind you as he works you through it. 

You feel the release melt your muscles, causing you to slump forward. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, and you know he’s trying to hold on as he pulls out and pants heavily. 

“Turn around for me,” he demands, stepping back. “On your knees.” 

You obey and turn to kneel in front of him. He looks wrecked, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth hanging open. His fist wrapped around his cock, still glistening from your release. 

It’s a debauched scene. He’s still fully dressed, only as exposed as necessary. He charges towards his climax with frantic force. You pose for him eagerly despite your boneless, damp form. 

He looks so primal it makes you lightheaded. You bite your lip to stop yourself from letting a giggle out. Your face shines with a sated glow.

You tilt your head up and squeeze your tits together for him. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he rasps out like it’s the only word he knows at this point. Your glossy, swollen lips pout up at him. Like, you need him to finish for you. That sends him. He comes across your chest as you release your hands, dropping your breasts with a little bounce.. 

He stares at you as his breathing slows. His warm spend is rapidly cooling against your skin. You still have a glowy, dreamy look on your face. Content.

“You look so good like that,” he praises you. A flush creeps up your chest and neck. 

You stand up and grab your forgotten water from the coffee table. He tucks himself back into his jeans and fastens his belt. 

“You gonna buy me breakfast to make up for bailing?” you float the idea with a joking tone, but there’s hope behind it. 

“Sorry, baby, got a job early in the morning.” 

“Right,” you snarl at him as he leans in to kiss you. 

“How about dinner after?” he suggests and fishes for his keys in his pocket. 

“Okay, yeah, what time?” You ask. 

“Not sure when I’ll be done.” He’s not looking at you. “I’ll text you.” 

He turns, slips out the door, and then he’s gone. 

You’re still standing there, naked and dumbfounded, with his drying come across your tits as he drives away. 

You groan and curse at yourself. He’s not going to text you tomorrow. 

You should stick up for yourself. But he did say he wants only you. And the more you suffer, the more it shows you really care, right? 

[amnestria-the-elf]

So we're all just supposed to be fucking grateful that Larian gave us "new Wyll content" (evil ending for a man who is canonically incorruptible, what the fuck) and simultaneously broke him again (giving low approval greetings to a romanced PC, what the fuck).

I... I just... the simultaneous feelings of rage and utter hopelessness are overwhelming.

Listen, if you've read any of my posts you know I have a pretty clear "Don't yuck anyone's yum" policy. If you think an evil Wyll ending is interesting, fine. But here's why it falls flat for me.

First, like I said above, Wyll is canonically incorruptible. It's literally the entire basis of his character. He is a man who was coerced into making an infernal contract to save a city and had to pay a horrible price for doing so, then spent seven fucking years alone in the wilderness doing his damned best to protect the people of the Sword Coast, while all along telling his horrible, abusive patron to just fuck off already.

Now, could you argue that during the events of the game, Wyll develops a taste for evil? Sure. There are plenty of opportunities for his villain origin story to unfold. But they never do. His moral compass never wavers. Turned into a devil? He feels shame, because it's an outward sign that he was doing things for Mizora that were morally wrong, and he didn't see it before. His approval rating for the PC shoots through the roof if you save Karlach, a sure indicator of his true moral compass. His father kidnapped? Fuck that noise, we're gonna save him. Rescue Zariel's "asset"? Ugh, fine, but don't get distracted from the real reason we're here. His father gets tadpoled? Oh hells no, we're gonna take down these assholes and save the godsdamned world. His father accuses him of being an agent of a devil and is super pissy about it? "Everything I did, I did for the people of the Sword Coast."

For fuck's sake, he will leave the party if the PC gets too evil, even knowing it means he'll probably turn into a mindflayer immediately. Even if he's romancing the PC. Unwavering moral compass. So giving him an evil ending without also going back and changing everything about his character just feels like lazy writing to me.

Which brings me to the second reason all of this rubs the wrong way. Wyll deserves so much more content. More romanced greetings, more reactions to other characters' choices, a final boss battle that is actually about him, a default ending that actually makes fucking sense (I have another post cooking about the Avernus ending, so I will leave it for now.)

And please, spare me your "But Wyll was rewritten after early access" bullshit. That's Larian's problem. They chose to listen to feedback and do a late-stage rewrite. They then chose to implement it poorly and never fucking fix it. Other characters, who already have far more content than Wyll, have had even more added over the course of the seven released patches. Wyll, on the other hand, has been sitting around completely ignored until now when we get this evil ending.

Many have rightfully pointed out the inherent racism steeped in all of this. I want Larian to be better. But as Maya Angelou said, "When someone shows you who they are, believe them." I already didn't have much hope about Patch 7 for Wyll, but this... honestly, this is worse than him just being ignored again.

The thing that kills me the most is that this is just going to be more fodder for the fandom to completely mischaracterize Wyll, for those who already haven't bothered to think critically about his character at all to just be like, oh, cool, Wyll is evil now. Nope. You've completely missed the point.

I'm just... so tired. I've worked very hard to put this little bubble of Wyll enthusiasts around me (hi friends I love you all!) so that I can hold on to some shred of sanity in this fandom. The world needs heroes of color. Just let Wyll be the hero in peace.

[infimace-blog]

Thinking about rap as a technical artform and rap as a cultural artform, with respect to Tumblr's incompetence at dealing with either. Tumblr can just barely grasp the former because, like all forms of Black music, it's been repackaged in various ways that are more palatable to to white audiences. I talked last month about how what Tumblr was calling rap while trying to defend its taste in music is more akin to filk songs, but I should admit, sometimes Tumblr cites people who actually rap. It doesn't fix the problem or absolve them of their bullshit, but it is true.

The failure then becomes an inability to recognize or care about how rap functions culturally.

People on Tumblr will take Dungeon Meshi and intricately pick apart how a single chapter connects back to real-world neurodivergence issues and the cultural differences between the West and the East when it comes to handling them, and then look at any given rap song and assume it's skin-deep. Unless it's Hamilton back in the late 2010s, before we all decided it was cringe, in which case they'll gladly dig into the history of the early USA and, like the play itself, sidestep the racism whenever possible.

Take Weird Al, one of the many names that's been thrown around in Kendrick and Drake's wake. Weird Al is technically a rapper. He has done rap. We cannot ignore that as a factual statement. He's not even that bad as a rapper. But he has no engagement with rap as a cultural object; he engages with the artform as a parodist. "Amish Paradise", probably Weird Al's most popular rap parody, doesn't say anything; it's here to riff on a religious minority. But you dig into it just a little and you can see the kind of complexity that Tumblr usually loves to talk about. The song is, after all, a parody of Coolio's Grammy-winning "Gangster's Paradise", which is literally about being a black man in an environment dominated by organized crime and fearing the constant threat of death in that life, but was also created specifically for the movie Dangerous Minds, a middling white savior movie about Michelle Pfeiffer teaching a bunch of bad stereotypes of what people think inner city non-white students are. A movie that was, in turn, based on a white woman's memoirs about teaching in a bad school near San Francisco. You've got this interplay between a white woman's real-life efforts to teach her black and Latino students (I can't speak to how effective she was, mind you), a fictionalized version of that same woman being shown as the sole guiding light for her underdeveloped gangbanging students - and a white actress's crappy Kipling-ass 5/10 film getting Coolio his Grammy. It was tailor-made to be Coolio's big hit with white audiences, getting the push of Michelle Pfeiffer, having slow and deliberate rapping, and lacking the swearing in most of Coolio's oeuvre (Stevie Wonder mandated no swearing in return for letting Coolio sample his music). And, though I suspect this was unintentional, the song plays into the same narrative that the movie does, how this rapper is doomed to his life because "nobody's there to teach [him]", with dramatic choir and strings underscoring the dire fate that awaits this rapper if some charitable white person doesn't help him - the same dramatic choir and strings that Weird Al uses for comedic effect by comparing it to Amish farmwork.

I put that last paragraph together with two or three hours of Wikipedia, and you can do the same kind of analysis with a lot of hit rap songs (and Genius is right there if you need a helping hand - I wouldn't have understood much of Kendrick's Euphoria without it), and I think this drives a lot of my frustration? Tumblr loves to see something cool and then take a few days to write an in-depth post about how cool it is under the surface. So the lack of this when it comes to rap does show a deep disinterest in thinking about it when it isn't fun. And there's so much cool shit to learn about rap. Did you know that Baby Got Back was inspired by the anti-black fatphobia Sir Mixalot's model girlfriend was dealing with in her industry, and was pushing back against the media's general preference for skinny white women? Did you know that there's a Turkish hip-hop scene specifically in Germany because, as a minority that was brought to the country for cheap labor and then forced to exist as second-class citizens, they ended up relating a lot to the music? Just. Dig a bit. There's so much.

[sm-baby]

gummi gang when meet Cain: please teach us to steal syrup for our village.

I misunderstood or not?

Nah its more like

Caine: I noticed you were stressed play this game i coded in with ur friends team building is good i think

Pomni: wh... Ok ... Thank you

_________

*in game*

Ragatha: YOURE SO ANNOYING

Jax: THIS IS BULLSHIT come on gangle and zooble

Ragatha: FINE! pomni and kinger ur with me!

________

*cut to castle*

Princess Lu: *animal crossing noises*

Ragatha: awe

Pomni: awe

Kinger: awe

_________

*cut to gummigang*

Gummigoo: we're off to steal syrup here let me teach you how to shoot

Jax: SICK!!

Chad: Let me teach you how to drive

Gangle: hehe HAHAHEHHAHE NEW CHARACTERS THE FANFICTION IM GOING TO WRITE im so normal right now

Max: what

Zooble: ignore her

__________

*Gang make their way to the castle*

The fudge: you shall not pass

Zooble: food

The fudge: OOOOO

__________

*Gummigang sneak in*

Lu: Zzzz

Ragatha: shit time to defend the princess

Pomni: fuck

Kinger: YIPPEEE

Gummigoo: GET FUCKED *clips through floor with Pomni*

Chad: Damn... Show must go on ig

_________

*cut to under the map*

Pomni: damn

Gummigoo: damn

__________

*cut back to castle*

Lu: *wakes up* wh whabwhut huh * sees fight downstairs* oh mybgod MR. FUDGE GET DOWN HERE NEYOWWWW

Fudge: oh right i have a job to do

___________

*their fight ends in a tie, fudge and gummigang are defeated*

Ragatha: that was so fun

Jax: sorry for what I said back there

Ragatha: sorry for being a bitch

THE END YIPPEE🎊

_____

Post credit scene

Pomni: Caine! This is gummigoo! He gained sentience, and since its literally the most traumatizing thing ever i figured-

Caine: oop! *Snap*

Pomni: WHAT THE FUCK

*Credits roll*

[hotchfiles]

hotch "representing the bau" hotchner x activist!reader who won't stand for bullshit

not like actual conflict cause we know hotch is a very principled guy

more like

"shit i can't shitpost about overthrowing the government anymore cause my boyfriend is the government" vibes

you have no idea how deeply i feel about this i've actually posted about this because i'm very much against all cops and he's a literal fed ! but

You met in the most conventional of ways, which makes the whole thing even funnier to the outside person. A bar. You noticed him the moment he walked in, too downright gorgeous to be ignored, you stare at him completely shamelessly and get a few shy awkward smiles in return while he sips on his first drink and talks to his companion, who you later learned was Rossi.

He will find it later on that you're not really up for games, but it takes him by surprise when you approach him, card in hand with your phone number and the red stain of your red lips on the other side. He's immediately smitten, being flirted with so openly at his age does wonders for his ego and he makes sure to text you as soon as he gets back to his apartment.

The texting back and forth goes for hours, a lot of flirting, you're much more outspoken than he is, but still you find him hilarious, you will be telling your friends he's the funny one between you two (none of them will believe you, but you like having this only to yourself as well).

You talk movies, plays, music, favorite drinks and by 2AM he asks you on a date. It’s perfect from the get go. He's flattering, compliments your choice of clothes, says he likes the lipstick (the same you used on the card he is keeping safe on his wallet), takes you to a nice restaurant.

You tell him since you made the very first move, he would have to be the one to kiss you, he argues he sent you the first text so you should be the one to do it, in the end none of you know who took the first move, you're just sure you were the one to unlock your apartment door, stumbling along with him as you two passionately kissed.

It's not common for this to happen for him, he's too much of a gentleman, sleeping with someone on the first date isn't the gentlemanly thing to do, you're not attached to those norms so even if he tried to argue, your lips glued to his neck as you worked on his belt took his mind off of it.

It's not until the next morning that he really notices your place: The types of books you had, some revolutionary art pieces and it's then he realizes he has no idea what you do for a living. Neither did he tell you he was a FBI agent. You two talked long hours and career wasn't even a topic (that may be why you caught his heart so fast).

You were a journalist, a writer, quite proficient and known for your progressive ideals and less than civil protests, so when you both realize the differences and the conflict it might bring, the first instinct was to pull away. Forget the whole thing. It was only one date after all.

It's a matter of days for the realization that being apart won't happen, your thoughts are filled with him and his voice and the way he touched you and Aaron can possibly detail every curve of your body and the way you smelled as if he was still in bed with you.

There's a mutual agreement of public discretion, you can't have your readers knowing you're falling for a fed, nor does the media needs any more reasons to write about the FBI.

His team knows though, and so does Strauss, she had to be warned of the possibility of your name popping up in some lists. She reads half of your writings after that, highlighting stuff you should not be writing about (you won't listen to her on it) and the compromise you make is to keep all of your opposition material completely professional, no tweets, no tiktoks, nothing of the sort with jokes about overthrowing the government.

"Did you... Did you just cite and use one of Stalin's books as a resource here?" He asks, he's in your bed, blue boxer shorts and white t-shirt on, completely comfortable with you already, his reading glasses sit on top of his nose like an old man and he furrows his brows, looking up at you. Aaron's interested in what you write, he truly reads whatever you hand him just to learn more about you, he's not the one to try to censure any of it.

"Well yeah... His writings are the easiest to comprehend on the topic." You shrug, not understanding the tone of his question at first.

"Honey... You can't just... Do you know how many... Forget it. Your editor will love it." His poor attempts to talk you down failing each time he looked over and saw your expectant eyes as his opinion is important to you. You smile at his defeat, taking the papers from his hand and throwing somewhere else in the room, his glasses go to the bedside table and soon you're kissing any of his worries away.

[bunbotbuggiman]

au where the peak lords reincarnate as Bingge's quarter demon spawn

saw a post (https://www.tumblr.com/cursed-angelic-art/686056254886559744/do-you-think-mobei-jun-is-the-one-playing-father) talking abt if mbj "played dad" for og lbh's army of kids and-

au where the peak lords reincarnate as Bingge's quarter demon spawn

they all have different mothers but are all the same age- were born the same year-

even sqq, who's nyy's favorite kid (because he reminds her of her shizun, during the good days before lbh became a disciple) despite not being her kid (she herself never had any kids, which doesn't bother her as much because neither did lmy or shl and they're the head wives still so) (in the same vein, Liu Mingyans favorite kid is the one who behaves most like her late brother)

This world's version of Shen Yuan, however, was born as the son of one of mbj's advisors, before said advisor and his family died in a tragic accident. so he was adopted by mobei-jun and shang qinghua at the ripe old age of barely a few weeks old.

His name: Mo Yuan, named after an old friend of Shang Qinghua's from his secret pre-transmigration life (In this world, SY is not a transmigrator.... maybe he is a reincarnation.... but there's no real way to tell, he sure doesn't remember anything)

So he's an ice demon. looks like Shen Yuan but everything about him is like 30 shades more MBJ. he adores his parents, and his parents adore him, and because of this mutual adoration he has successfully grown up completely secure in his status as their child in spite of fully knowing of his adopted status.

This being said, there are very few individuals who also know this fact, because since the transition was so fast (and because Shang Qinghua knows stuff, and Mobei-Jun knows he knows stuff) they just bullshit it and say that Mo Yuan is a magical plant baby who was born as a full demon in spite of technically being a half demon because of magic plant bullshit.

He looks enough like shang qinghua to make it believable anyways, so it's fine.

Mo Yuan and Shang Qinghua also have a really weird relationship where MY at some point got into Shang Qinghua's writings (only the age appropriate stuff.... he found out about the porn at a later age) and violently hated it, but Shang Qinghua found it:

A. funny that his son was so violently opinionated and

B. thought it was important that his son be able to have an outlet for these emotions so he honestly encouraged it.

So now they have a really close parental relationship but also are kind of friendly-close because when Mo Yuan found some of SQH's writings, he immediately was like "oh my god Baba you suck???? at writing????? How?????? You are a scribe???? This is so awful???? Baba, you could do this better, and this better, and- what the hell, take this out, oh my god..."

Also, his name in the au is 漠垣 Mo Yuán meaning North[ern] Wall, but his courtesy name is 漠 雪峰 Mo Xuefēng, meaning North[ern] Snow[y] Peak.

However, he is beloved by much of the palace staffers, who have watched him grow up much closer than any of Luo Bingge's children, who mostly grow up in the relative isolation of their courtyards and palaces and palace wings, so he is referred to by many of them by his nickname, 雪花 Xuehua, meaning snowflake.

So anyways, he meets + kinda grows up alongside many of the peak lords because he grows up spending a lot of time in the palace by virtue of his dads being, well, Mobei Jun and Shang Qinghua.

Shang Qinghua and Liu Mingyan, shippers prime and book club buddies into this universe (though Mo Yuan staunchly ignores all of LMY's writings because his face is wayyy too thin for that) immediately sees the way that the various children of Luo Bingge climb over each other in desperate attempts to charm and woo the chilly Mo Xuefeng...

and maybe eventually, how one son of Luo Bingge looks at him and how Mo Yuan looks back.

(I haven't decided what I want the pairing to be here.... oopsies y'all, come to y'alls own conclusions ig lmaooo)

[thrumbolt]

So, I cancelled Nyxlin Week and deleted the event blog. Edit to clarify: I DELETED THE BLOG MYSELF! IT WAS NOT TAKEN DOWN BY TUMBLR BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY THERE WAS NOTHING ON THERE THAT WENT AGAINST TOS.

I originally wanted to do this event mainly because me and Copy have a bunch of Nyxlin art planned anyway and that way we could also encourage some more content out of a few other peers.

I expected SOME people to get miffed, maybe some angry anons, some hate posts, because we all know this fandom has lost all its hinges somewhere long ago (if it ever had them) and people are absolutely incapable to just ignore something they don't like. At first we thought a super silly banner might help against that, but clearly that was a big lapse of judgment on my part lol Either way, I wasn't too worried because there's nothing people can really do that bothers me and once the event would roll around everyone would realize there's nothing actually sinister about it, so I figured it would be fine.

What I did not expect, however, was the absolute insane behavior that ended up taking place, where people got targeted and their posts mass reported to take advantage of tumblrs shitty report system over absolutely fucking nothing. People who were not even involved in the event, just happened to write for the same pairing. So let me ask this very plainly: What the fuck is wrong with you? Because something definitely is and I hope you all are getting it checked out.

So I decided to call it quits because people getting hurt over it is obviously not worth it. And again, no wonder this fandom lacks a nice variety of artists who participate in events. What's the point? You canon obsessed pea-brained pearl-clutchers don't understand fan spaces or creativity. All you seem to be here for is virtual signalling, hate, bullying and demonstrating a severe lack of reading comprehension. I've had months of this high school bullshit now and I've really had enough.

I'm still gonna post my art (oh and all that Nyxlin stuff is not going anywhere, don't worry), but I am taking a step back from participating in fandom weeks and fandom discourse and whatnot. You guys can rip each other apart on your own.

[eucalyptus-lvs]

Good Luck Charm - Carmen Berzatto x Reader

This is the first story I've posted, but I have other ideas if you guys want more. Writing has become a new outlet for me so I appreciate any constructive criticism or any thoughts you may have. Carmy is such a fun character to write for and my own personal brain rot atm. I hope to do more in the future. I also like to listen to music while I write and I feel like Again by Still Woozy goes well with this one.<3

TW: Idk honestly. Mentions of dead brothers, debt, and a heated makeout?

"You think if you scrub any harder you'll put a hole in the floor?" 

He stood quickly. Startled by your presence in the kitchen. "What are you still doing here? Thought you left like an hour ago." 

"Well, I was gonna, but then I feared if I left without you you'd still be here when I come in for my shift tomorrow.” You took a few small steps forward. As if you were worried you'd scare him off. There always seemed to be this air around you two. One that was hard to ignore in the times you had spent alone together. “Then I thought you could use some time to wind down before I attempt to push you out the door so I tried to see if I could make any progress on Mikey's paperwork." 

"Did you?" Tossing the rag into the container and moving his hands to his hips. 

"I think that would depend on your definition of progress"

"Yeah, well I haven't exactly been able to figure that shit out either." 

"We'll figure it out, Carm."

He sighed and looked around the kitchen. "I've just got a couple more-" 

"Nope." You take strides across the kitchen to get to him. "Those couple things will turn into another couple things until you've managed to work yourself into an early grave from exhaustion. I mean you're a head chef and you frequently forget to eat. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." You laugh, trying to reach for the keys to the restaurant. Only for him to snatch them off the counter and out of arms reach. "Carmy-" 

"Nice try" He moved them out of reach again. 

"Will you just-" You attempt to reach for them again as he manages to move them further from you.

“Oooh, you were so close that time.” Leaning against the counter, he barks out a laugh. Probably a product of the years he had spent smoking. 

“Cut it out. C’mon.” You said shyly ducking your head a bit. 

“Sorry, just enjoyin’ this way too much.'' He covered his mouth with his hand to hide his growing grin. There was something about you that he found so comfortable. He wonders if that's the reason he finds himself being so bold in this moment. 

Leaning to the side, you prop yourself against the counter next to him. Settling in and resigning to the fact that he is not going to make getting him out the door easy for you. “You were one of those guys in high school, weren't you?” Narrowing your eyes a bit. 

“An’ what kinda guy would that be?” He challenged.

“Y'know- The guy. Mr. Fuckin’ Popular. Had the girls lining up for you. Always good for a laugh.” Your teasing tone let him know that you weren't all that upset at him poking fun at you. 

“Think the only laugh I'd be good for is if you knew how wrong you were.” 

“Bullshit.” You shot back, shaking your head. 

“No, really. I uh- pretty much stuck to myself. Just hung around Mikey and Richie. The family mostly. Was too fuckin’ awkward to make my own friends. Had this stutter too. Didn't really bother talkin’ to anyone if I didn't have to.” This time he ducked his head. Scratching the back of it like he was embarrassed to admit it.

“Well, you don't seem to have a problem talking to me.” 

He shrugged. “It's different. Different time too.”

Your eyes met for a moment as you both took a pause. “I think we would have been good friends.” 

“Bullshit. You wouldn't have even noticed me.”

“I would have noticed you.” You affirmed with such conviction he almost believed it.

Looking at you now he imagines that if you had met then his life would look very different. He wouldn't have been a couple hundred grand in the hole with a sandwich shop he only had because his brother killed himself. You would have been there for all of it.

Chicago, Paris, Copenhagen, New York. Every destination and every major moment.

You would have been together. 

If he really indulges himself, he thinks maybe even with a kid on the way. Of all the what-ifs that came to mind, there was only one thing he knew for sure.

You were the real deal.

He allows himself to stay in this bubble with you and before he can think about any consequences he responds. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. Nodding your head as you both start to lean closer.

Timedly you take your time to meet in the middle. Each gives the other an opportunity to back out, but neither of you takes it. Once your lips touched it felt like a shock to his system. You'd usually been so soft, almost cautious in your dealings with him. 

But this was not that.

You pressed yourself against him. Kissing him fiercely and with so much need he was worried that if he tried to open his eyes it would have all been a dream. Another cruel joke his mind had played on him only to wake up alone. Reminding him of all the things he never felt he could have.

Your hands card up into his hair, tugging at the stands. He lets out a deep groan as he switches positions to place you between himself and the counter.

He realizes now how much of a habit it is for you to look out for him. While everyone took the first chance they got to go home, you stayed behind to make sure he would get rest. Then, you took that extra time to try and figure out the clusterfuck of paperwork sitting on his desk.

You show no signs of discomfort as his hands begin to trail your body. Pushing you further against the counter to get as close to you as physically possible. He almost thought he could feel your heart pounding as your chest pressed against his, but knew it was more likely that it was his own. So caught up in you that every detail of this moment felt fuzzy and distorted.

So caught up he didn't realize you started grinding against each other.

One hand cupped around the back of your neck to keep you in place. The other moved down to your ass to aid your movement as you hooked a leg over his hip. His chest burned and heaved. Breath heavy from being cut off from oxygen for so long, but not wanting to break the moment. He wanted to give you something to remember. Not screaming during lunch rush or getting into a fistfight with a guy in a fuckin’ carrot costume.

Something good.

There weren't many times in his life he felt particularly lucky, but when he moved his head down to mouth at your neck. He'd never felt so lucky in his life.

Your head tipped back, letting out a chocked sigh. Followed by the ‘uh, uh, uh’ perfectly timed with the movement of your hips against his growing length. Gripping a hand on the back of his shirt to keep him in place. He imagines that this is the closest he will get to redemption, to happiness, after having spent years in the hellscape that was the New York kitchen. 

When he tried to lift you on the counter the large metal mixing bowl sitting to the side of you came crashing to the ground. The loud reverberation causes you to break away from each other. Effectively bursting the blissfully passionate bubble. 

Your hand moved to your neck where his mouth had been. Almost certain there would be marks left behind to remind you of this moment for days to come. As you both tried to regulate your breathing Carmy couldn't help staring. Opening his mouth like he had something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite articulate what that thing was. You slide off the counter and attempt to straighten your clothes while keeping your eyes on the floor. You always had a hard time meeting his gaze when he looked at you like that. Like if he looked hard enough he might find something that wasn't there before. 

“It's probably a good thing we got interrupted. Things were getting kinda heated.” You forced a chuckle. 

Shit.

This was it.

You're about to tell him this was all a mistake. A heat of the moment thing that you got caught up in and you now regret. As quickly as he had you, he was gonna lose you. Another goddamn shoe was gonna drop. “No, y-yeah. I don’ want you to think-”

Your gaze returned to him. “I think if we took this any further we'd be violating about a dozen health codes after you were just on your hands and knees scrubbing the floor.”  

“I could get on my hands and knees again.” He let out, slightly dazed. Running a hand through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. 

“Jesus- Carmy.” you laugh, not knowing how else to respond. Sliding your hands down your face as it heats up in a heavy blush. 

“I-I didn't mean it like that.” But now he’s definitely thinking it.

He also thinks, rather darkly, that he's never been happier not to have an HR department. 

Truthfully, he didn't know what he meant by the comment. He just knew he wanted you and you didn't seem opposed to the idea. You haven't run away yet and that alone is enough to quiet the spiral he normally defaults to in moments of uncertainty. He had doubted himself a lot in his life, but he was sure with the way you kissed him that you wanted him the way he wanted you. “We've had a long night. Walk ya’ home?” 

“Maybe you could come up? I know for a fact you haven't eaten. I may not be award-winning, but I'm sure I could manage something edible.” The smile on your face grows slightly at the prospect.

“Yeah, that's uh- that sounds good. Let's grab our stuff and we’ll head out.” Hand grazing your lower back as he moved to guide you to the lockers.

He wonders if, for the first time in a long time, his luck has turned around.

[cokou]

—PAPERS?! A sequel

༄ ғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ➢ One Piece ༄ ғᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ ➢ Law x Fem!Reader ༄ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ➢ NSFW // Smut // MDNI! ༄ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪsᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀ ➢ Doggy style, Teasing, Porn w/ Plot, Body worship, Argument (slight), name calling (good girl), Shit Writing, & Law doesn't know which one to do, you or his papers. ༄ ᴀ/ɴ ➢ Do not transfer my works to any other platforms // this is my only account, will not be cross posted to any other sites or apps! Also MDNI, NSFW Content ahead <3

—It had been a while since you've joined the heart pirates, upon you joining, you noticed that their captain was eyeing you. It almost felt like he was fucking you with his eyes.

It hadn't been long as well since you, and your captain, Law, had started dating.

Since then, not only have you received tons of gifts, but was also showered in love. He shows his love by giving you flowers, picking one from the bouquet he will give you, and keeping it in his office to know when to buy you another one.

That isn't all, but the way he shows his love for you on his bedroom, slowly teasing you and then doing God's work all over your body.

It felt like heaven. That was the only word to express it. Once or twice a week, he takes his loving time with your body, ensuring that no parts of you were left out. It happens in all places where he usually indulges in.

Just like his office, or maybe the Polar Tang's library, or if he just wants to ravage you do bad, it happens inside your shared bedroom.

You couldn't forget it all. The way his tongue laps all over your wet cunt and devouring you as long as he can, or maybe, the way his hips thrusts slow, yet so deep inside you, leaving you wanting for more.

He never fails to make you cum, no. He always makes sure that you've been pleasured before him.

But—, it felt different today, this week was almost ending, yet, Law hadn't payed much attention to you. He goes home much later, and lays down and drifts off on the couch instead of your shared bed.

You didn't pay attention as you thought that, this habit would leave. But God were you wrong. It has been a month, yet you still payed attention on how he slops down on the couch right after entering the door.

You had tried reaching out to him on the library, but he just gave you empty words such as, 'sorry' or 'i was busy'. It's not like you could ask Bepo or Penguin for help, it would feel like you're desperate.

It had been 3 weeks since then, yet he showed no change with his behavior. You were starting to think that he didn't love you anymore.

So the next day, you decided to try and end all of this bullshit he's doing, you waited for him to open the door and talk to him about his stupid behavior. You had faith that maybe you two would get to talk with each other and sort it out.

But now, you've been sitting at the couch for nearly 3 hours. You checked the clock, almost 3 am.

Suddenly, you heard the knob twist, followed by the door opening.

"I thought you decided to not go home, Law." You said in an annoyed tone.

He ignored you as he started to remove his coat and hanged it on the coat rack, you were thinking that maybe he didn't hear you, but your voice was well enough to be heard by the whole room.

"ehem, I'm talking to you."

"Sorry not right now I'm tired, Y/N." His excuses were lame.

"You're always tired. You don't even have time for me anymore!" You blurted in front of him as he placed everything on the ground, some of his papers spilling onto the floor.

"Let's not start this Y/N, I told you I'm tired." He faced you with a straight face then sat on the other side of the couch.

Although you didn't want to start a fight, his lack of attention to you is making you feel like a total shithead.

"Tired this, tired that, Make better excuses other than being actually 'tired'. It's not like you actually have to do everything in a day!" Now, you're actually starting to get annoyed.

He looked at you, now with a confused look.

"Sigh. Just because I don't need to do it all in a day doesn't mean that I'll let it sit on the desk everytime." "And, i don't wanna start this, let me have a brea—"

"A break for what? You want a break from me? So you're making it clear that you don't love me anymore?" You cut him off with a fast response.

His eyes shot awake and he turned to look at you right after you finished your sentence.

"Do you even know what you're saying right now?" He makes it clear just from his voice that he's starting to get annoyed.

"You know—, if you actually think that your works are more important than me, then maybe we should-"

He cut you off with a sudden kiss. You were shocked with his sudden reaction and you just leaned on the couches arm support to help yourself.

His kisses were always deep and passionate, it usually leaves you two a drooling mess. This one was no different than the others.

His hands grabbed on your waist, then onto your head.

"Have i not been giving you attention? Is that why you're all fucking needy?" He pulled away from you, his voice now sharp and it definitely showed no signs of tiredness.

You couldn't answer him as his words ringed inside your head. Once you finally found your self again, you gave him a simple nod.

"Use your words, Y/N-ya."

..."Yes."

"So i should give you want you wanted, right?"

Needless to say you two found yourselves on your shared bedroom, naked and fucking.

"This is what you wanted, am i right?"

Your ass was positioned up whilst your head was pushed onto a pillow cushion as he fucks his cock inside your pussy.

Finally, you thought. You had missed the feeling of him being inside your greedy cunt. Now, you're under him completely while he eearranges your guts.

"S'good.." you were mumbling incoherent words and moaning into the pillow. He stopped for a second and you felt him pull out of your cunt.

"Y/N-ya, I'll just get some papers i forgot to sign." He turned into the exit of the bedroom ass naked as you watched him pick up a pile of papers.

"You're seriously gonna stop just because of those? You could've done them after!" You shouted at him grom the bedroom to the living room.

Just a second later you saw him walking back into the bedroom eith a whole pile of papers on his hands.

And he, positions you back..?

"Be a good girl and hold yourself on position for me." He positions you with your ass up on the air and your head onto the pillow, your hands are gripping hard into the sheets you swore you could tear them.

You felt a cold pile resting on your back as he inserts his cock inside you once again. You didn't question him anything at all and waited for him to tell you what to do.

"And, don't you dare move. Okay?"

You gave him a thumbs up as he slowly thrusts inside you again with the cold pile on your back. He held your waists and you felt something writing on your back.

That was it! He was fucking using you as a table to sign his papers while fucking you! What a shithead! You felt him go harder and faster as you felt yourself near on edge.

"m'close.." you warned him as you felt yourself tipping over the edge.

"Come all over me." You did as he said and he followed not too long ahead. You rested yourself on the bed and turned to look at him.

He placed his papers on your stomach and gave you a kiss.

"Contented?" He asked you.

..."Yeah."

"You know i love you Y/N, never get that wrong again."

"Only if you're willing to show me!" You giggled as you felt a pen writing over your stomach.

"I'll make sure to never forget."

—In the end you fell asleep as he continued using your stomach as a table, it tickles.

©Cokou 2024, all works belong to me.