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megwritesriddles · 3 months ago

Text

Heavenly Torture ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 11 - Teasing & Degradation. After Hogwarts, Reader and Neville end up working together at Noltie's Botanical Novelties. Reader soon discovers she holds an unexpected power over Neville, one she'll have fun exerting over him at her whim.

Tags: Teasing, Degradation, Oral sex (m receiving), Neediness, Begging, Virgin!Neville, Sub!Neville, Dom!Reader, Slytherin!Reader, Set post Battle of Hogwarts, Coworkers to lovers (??).

Word count: 4.8k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: I know I'm running a day behind right now, I'll try my best to catch up when I can (hopefully monday)!! Another day, another submissive pathetic man... lol!! Also why did this end up so long... all this backstory for what?? Why do I keep doing this?? Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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Getting the job at Noltie’s Botanical Novelties, the garden shop on Diagon Alley, had been one of the most relieving moments of your life. Not only did you have an income secured, but they’d hired you despite you having been in Slytherin. It seems silly for you to have been worried about this, given that people are starting to heavily advocate against stereotyping based on houses, but that didn’t mean it had actually stopped happening. At the moment, Slytherins were quite radioactive. Less than a year out from the war, all Slytherins near your age were assumed to be Death Eaters who just escaped consequence based on their age. This, of course, was not true for most of you, and certainly not for you. You’d been on the right side from… well, perhaps not the start, it takes time to shake your upbringing, but probably from some time in the fifth year. However, most people only remembered you as a Slytherin, and that was a decidedly bad thing to be currently. You knew you should have made more appearances at Dumbledore’s Army meetings, but back then you were facing the same issue, avoiding the meetings because when you did go, people would be distrusting of you because of the colour of your tie. Now people barely remembered that you’d been a member at all. It was frustrating beyond belief, but you just had to keep going.

The job at Noltie’s was an undoubted blessing, just a few years ago it would have been a no-brainer for you to get the job, given your expertise, but this year it had truly felt like it wouldn’t happen for you. When you’d gone in to pick up your uniform about a week before starting, Edward Noltie himself had confessed to having been a Slytherin himself in his school days. You wouldn’t have guessed it, the kookie old man certainly reminded you more of the types that come out of Hufflepuff, but you told yourself to stop stereotyping, you had learned its inaccuracies over and over by now. It amused you slightly how much he tried to separate himself from the Slytherin label, only claiming the identity in the past tense, while most Gryffindors were likely to wear their Gryffindor scarves until at least their 200s. You thanked him anyway for his understanding, emphasising once again that you’d had no ties to the Death Eaters. As you were leaving with the bag containing your uniform, he stopped you.

“We actually have another employee with us from your year group at Hogwarts, a very talented young man, instrumental in winning the war, we’re lucky to have him, really. Joined a few months ago,” Noltie chuckled. You smiled and nodded awkwardly over your shoulder. You knew exactly who he was referring to.

There’d never really been any doubt in your mind that Noltie had been talking about Neville Longbottom, but the suspicion is confirmed immediately on your first day. You walked in, hair neatly up as was required (less for aesthetic reasons and more for safety against the various plants stocked that had a tendency to thrash), your uniform tailored to fit you perfectly, and saw him behind the counter. You had been dreading this moment since you realised you’d be working with him. You knew what he’d say to you, how he would call you brave for going against your house, how much he appreciated your efforts during the war, things like that, and you couldn’t be bothered to listen to it. You just wanted to stop thinking about the war, and all the things you’d had to do to survive, but it seemed too much to ask. You took a deep breath and approached him and he did just that. With a serious and sympathetic expression, he began to thank you and commend you. He stared quite intensely at you as he spoke, which made you admittedly uncomfortable, your eyes flickered around the store as he spoke.

“We barely had any Slytherins in the D.A. and I know some people gave you a hard time about it, so I think it’s–” he continued in his solemn voice. You squirmed in discomfort and decided to cut him off.

“Look, Longbottom, all the same to you, yeah? You’re a war hero and all that, so… that’s great, congratulations! Can you show me how the till works now?” you huffed. He blinked in surprise at your little outburst, before flushing slightly, clearly having realised he’d made you uncomfortable in some way, even if he’d only been trying to compliment you.

“Sorry, err… yeah…” he cleared his throat, showing you over to the till on the counter at the back of the store. You walked in front of him toward it and when you turned back to face him, you saw his eyes flick up and his flush deepen a little. You realise with a start that he’d been looking at your ass as you walked. These uniform trousers really were tailored perfectly, so you were sure he’d gotten a good view. You just smiled to yourself and filed the information away for later as he started to explain the machine to you.

The next few weeks go surprisingly well. Sure, you’re only working the till and shop floor rather than actually doing any research or fieldwork, but at least you’re in your desired field, and the work is quite easy. The shop is never terribly busy, and the people who do come in like to spend a while browsing and contemplating, meaning you get to tell them all you know about the plants they’re deciding between, which you find quite fun. Neville works mainly in the backroom, counting stock, moving boxes, and maintaining the plants that can’t be kept on the shop floor because they’re too dangerous or require certain temperature conditions. You help with inventory, letting him know what’s running low on the shelves and making notes of what needs to be ordered for Mr Noltie. Mostly, you’re out of each other’s ways, but that doesn’t mean you’re not highly aware of each other.

You knew Neville had changed over the years, every girl who’d been at Hogwarts was aware of it. You remembered quiet nights while the D.A. had been hiding out in the Room of Requirement, when a bunch of the girls would get together for some girl talk, trying hard to feel a sense of normalcy. Lavender Brown’s idea, which initially seemed silly, actually raised spirits quite a lot. You joined in, even though people were still rather wary of you, being one of only two Slytherins in the room, you mainly listened because of this. The girls huddled together in one corner of the room, while the boys chatted about who knows what in the other, and gossiped about the boys. There was hardly time for romance in the conditions you were in, which is perhaps why so much of it was happening, forced to stay together in one big room and fearing for your lives, you had overheard a lot you wish you never had. Neville ended up being the subject of a few of these conversations. He had changed a lot, becoming taller, broader and more handsome. He had also taken the role of the leader of the D.A., and many of the girls admitted that they quite liked the authoritative voice he used, which made everyone tease and giggle. He was nothing like the timid little boy he’d been for the first few years at Hogwarts, he was a man now, a strong, handsome man. However, no one ever reported any sort of action with him like they did with the other boys. At the time, he became sort of untouchable, which was odd considering he was Neville Longbottom.

These days, he was looking even better. His face was no longer so marred by the constant scrunch of stress as it had been during the war. He’d grown out his hair a little, rather than keeping it quite as short as he had during the war. He overall looked healthier, and even more muscular now that he was able to eat properly, his skin looking less pale and dull. Days of moving and stacking boxes in the backroom gave you plenty of time to subtly watch his muscles. He really was handsome now, though he didn’t seem to even realise this himself. Occasionally, when he’d be bringing stock out front for you to shelve, there’d be a woman in the store who would begin to flirt with him. He always seemed baffled and out of his depth, never flirting back and just trying to escape.

“What was that all about?” he asks you once, poking his head out of the backroom when she leaves. This woman had come onto him particularly strong, trying to touch his arm and invite him to the Leaky Cauldron.

“She was flirting with you,” you chuckle, sorting the coins into the till. He scoffs.

“No, she wasn’t,”

“Yes, she was,” you laugh in disbelief. He chews his lip.

“Only because of what I did during the war,” he dismisses, fiddling with his wand in his apron pocket. It amuses you how insecure he is. But he is partially right, he’s become a bit of a celebrity in the wizarding world, thanks to Harry Potter’s insistence on mentioning Neville’s contributions every time he’s interviewed about the war. Sometimes you think it’s selfishly motivated, wanting the world to focus on someone other than him so he can be left alone, and dumping it on poor shy Neville.

“That could be true I suppose, but I bet she’d still let you shag her,” you grin at him. Neville splutters.

“I… I don’t…” he runs his finger through the collar of his shirt. You chuckle at his reaction, enjoying teasing him like this. “That’s not… I wouldn’t do that…” he swallows thickly.

You’d discovered quickly that you had a certain power over Neville. At first, it was catching him occasionally staring. You’d be leaning on the counter, your ass jutting out slightly as you scribble down inventory notes and you’d glance at the door to the backroom, spotting him peering through the glass door. He’d immediately blush beet red and look away, clearly ashamed to have been caught staring at you. It was sweet, in a way, because most guys didn’t seem to have any shame in ogling at you, at least Neville seemed to know he shouldn’t be doing it, even if he couldn’t stop himself. Slowly, you start leaving more and more of your shirt buttons undone, revealing glimpses of your cleavage. You revel in the way his eyes constantly stray to you as he brings you boxes, taking shaky breaths as you bend over to pick up the little plant pots from the box and organise them onto the shelves. Whenever you talk, you take to standing just a little too close. His height gives you a perfect view down your top, and although he tries his best not to, he takes advantage of this fact often, his eyes flicking down and then his face going red. You like to innocently ask him if he’s feeling warm, which makes him stammer. It’s a bit of fun to fill your days, and quite an ego boost too. Every quiet moment in the shop you take to showing yourself off somehow, or even just chatting to him, which seems to fluster him too.

“You wouldn’t shag her? I thought she was cute…” you tease. He goes a deeper shade of red.

“She’s… it’s not… uh…” he stumbles. You smile, leaning yourself onto the counter in a way you know shows off your ass. His eyes flick immediately down your body and he goes redder, success. “I don’t… shag…” he coughs, looking mortified.

“What? Never? But you’re the saviour of the wizarding world!” you taunt, pretending to be shocked, when really it had become abundantly clear not long into working with him that despite how much his looks had changed, and his confidence in every other area, women still made him unbearably anxious, especially you.

“I- I mean I…” he stutters and then straightens up. “This is none of your business,” he asserts shakily. You shrug.

“Just curious about you,” you smile flirtatiously, watching as he blushes once more and avoids your eyes. “Do you never want to shag? Some people are like that and it’s perfectly fine–”

“No! I… uh… I do want… oh Merlin!” he groans, burying his face in his hands. You press on, pretending not to realise how uneasy he is, delighting in his discomfort.

“Well, then what was wrong with that girl? She was cute… more than willing…” you taunt, taking a few slow steps toward him now.

“She just… it’s not… I can’t just…” he stammers, eyes following you until you’re right in front of him. You catch his eyes flicking down to your cleavage. You smile.

“Are you a virgin, Neville?” you ask bluntly. He twitches anxiously.

“I’m not answering that,” he squeaks, but you both know that it’s answer enough. He sighs, seeing the smug way you’re smiling at him. “It’s just… the only girl I’ve ever liked enough to do that with didn’t feel the same, she… never wanted to do that sort of thing with anyone… like you were just talking about,” he mumbles, avoiding your eye.

“Luna?” you hum. He just nods. You’d heard about that through friends, his wartime confession and her confession that she did not experience romantic or sexual feelings for anyone. To many people, it had seemed a completely foreign concept. You imagined that, even though he’d been understanding, it had probably felt like another blow to his confidence.

“It’s… that’s over now… she’s my friend and I respect her… I don’t feel that way about her anymore…” he rambles. His eyes flicker over your face. You believe him, you touch his arm, making him tense.

“You poor thing,” you coo gently, rubbing your thumb over the bare skin of his arm, feeling the muscle underneath. “You must feel pathetic, saviour of the wizarding world, women lining up, and yet you’re still a virgin,” he jolts slightly, not expecting your words. He feels confused, your tone is sweet and soothing, but your words are insulting.

“I- I don’t, I’m fine,” he stammers, his cheeks red as he looks at you cautiously. What are you playing at? You pout and tilt your head.

“Poor baby,” you coo again, making him nervous.

“Why are you–?” he cut off when the bell above the door jingles, signalling a customer entering. You pull your hand away with a teasing smile, he just stares a little dumbly at you as you return to the till and greet the customer. He can’t help his eyes from straying to your ass, perfectly hugged by your uniform trousers. He’s never felt this crazy before, this overtaken by lust. He wants you and something about your faux-pity has made it worse. He hadn’t felt this way about Luna, he’d liked her first and foremost, he never ogled her like this, never felt this maddened by her simple presence. He forces himself to return to his work in the backroom.

You torture him the rest of the day. He knows you’re playing at something, but he’s not quite sure what. You keep flashing him mockingly sympathetic glances, showing off your body more than usual, touching him. You’re making excuses to come into the backroom, you’ve never been in here so many times in one shift before, perhaps even ever. Leaning over his shoulders, touching his back, stretching up to the top shelves in front of him. He’s oblivious, but he’s not completely blind and while he’s suspected before that you might have taken to teasing him, now he’s sure. After trying fruitlessly to avoid you most of the day, he gives in toward the end, letting himself admire your body and enjoy your closeness. He’s had a few relentless flirts at his neck since graduating from Hogwarts, but you feel different. Most girls flirt with him because they think he’s something special, something big that will help them earn fame and get them in the Daily Prophet. You flirt like you think he’s a pathetic little puppy dog, and perhaps he should take offence from it, but instead, it makes him need you even more. Because it’s what he is, he’s not big and strong when it comes to this, he feels small and he needs someone who understands that, which you seem to, in your own roundabout way.

He helps you close up the shop, at your request, which is something he only usually does on particularly busy days, yet he knows the question is coming. You pout at him sweetly and ask for help and he comes running. As a thank you, you lean over as you count up the day's purchases, emphasising your chest and not commenting when he stares and blushes. He wouldn’t mind being compensated like this more often. He sweeps up the soil that’s accumulated on the floor from the various pots being moved around. Technically it’s your job, but how can he say no when you look at him like that and push your tits together just so?

You’re still double-checking the accounts when he goes into the back room again. He checks on all the special plants, making sure nothing is wrong, before moving toward the little cupboards in the corner of the room. He washes his hands and unties his apron slowly. Rubbing a hand through his hair, he sighs. You’ve been driving him crazy today. The subtle way you mocked him made him so needy for you even though he should hate you for it, he didn’t want to psychoanalyse that. He hears you enter but does his best to ignore you, you never usually talk at the end of your shifts, usually too tired and eager to get home to bother small talking. You wash your hands and remove your apron too, hanging it up by the door, your name tag facing forward. You feel his eyes on your ass again, which makes you smile to yourself.

“Is that why you stare at me so much?” you taunt, being purposefully vague. You glance over your shoulder at him. He’s bright red and chewing his lip.

“What?” he croaks.

“Because you’re a virgin? Is that why you stare so much? My ass in these trousers is the best view you’ve been allowed?” you mock, cooing as if you’re being sympathetic. He hates that you know, but he knows he hasn’t at all been subtle enough for it to be a shock. He just takes a shaky breath.

“I’m so-sorry, really… I don’t—“ he pulls nervously at his shirt. Godric it’s hot in here. You stalk closer.

“Poor thing, can’t control yourself around me, can you, hm?” you ridicule him, stalking closer with those dark seductive eyes. He realises you’re backing him into a wall as he takes a clumsy step back, moments away from hitting the hard surface. He swallows hard and you come closer, pressing your chest to his, emphasising the curve of your breasts. He can’t help but look, even if only for a split second. “Can you?” you prompt again, your voice lower.

“No,” he chokes. You laugh, low and mocking.

“No… you can’t control yourself around me… you pathetic little thing,” you finally backed him against the wall. He looks nervous, but you can feel his hardening arousal against your stomach. You shift yourself slightly, making him gasp and harden even more. You look up at him, smirking, the irony of belittling him in this way doesn't even matter, because you feel powerful and he feels small in this moment. You reach up and trace his cheek, making him shiver and his eyes flutter. “Poor little loser,” he whines loudly at that, and you watch carefully to see if you’ve actually hurt his feelings or not. When his eyes flicker open again, his pupils are wildly dilated and he looks desperate. You smile and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I am,” he whimpers. You’re surprised to hear him talk, but you let him, caressing his cheek in a mocking gesture. “I don’t want to be pathetic but I am, I can’t— do this sort of stuff,” he laments. “What kind of freak am I? Getting off to you calling me a loser?” you giggle at him and he laughs slightly too, looking down at the ground, not before glancing once more at your tits.

“You just want someone to see you for who you are and want you anyway, not put you on some pedestal,” you hum. He blinks at you. That actually… made sense. He glances up at you. “Isn’t that pathetic of you?” you tease with a smile and you both laugh a little.

“Yeah, Godric… I really am pathetic,” he chuckles quietly, watching you.

“A complete loser,” you chuckle, leaning up to kiss him. He squeaks, taken completely off guard by your lips on his. You fist your hands into the material of his shirt, forcing him to lean down to your level to kiss you. He kisses back, desperate and shaky. He pants into the kiss, already feeling a little dizzy. Your hand is reaching down and brushing feather-light against the bulge in his trousers before he can register what’s going on. His hips stutter and he whines against your lips. “So pitiful, barely even touching you and you’re whining,” you mock, brushing your fingers up and down the bulge, slow and teasing. His hands come to grip at your waist, exhaling shakily against you. “So needy,” you chuckle, pulling back and pouting at him.

“Y-yeah,” his eyes flit all over your face. You smirk up at him, trailing your hands down his body as you move to kneel in front of him. He gasps, his hands falling to his sides, chest heaving. He stares down at you, wide-eyed. He mumbles your name in question, wondering if this is really happening. You reach up, still smirking and pop to the button of his trousers. “Ah… oh Merlin…” he exhales, his eyes closing. You gently tug his trousers down and then lean forward, nuzzling your nose against the bulge in his boxers. You watch as his face twists in pleasure, a strangled gasp on his lips. He leans his head back against the wall as you press barely there kisses along his twitching length through the fabric. “This can’t be happening right now,” he pants, pushing his hips towards your face.

“Don’t you want it to?” you tease, gently licking the wet spot on the fabric, making him gasp.

“I— yes I want it but—this doesn’t happen… to me…” he groans as you slip down his boxers, springing him free. He stares down nervously now, no one has seen him like this before. You just smirk up at him, gently massaging his thighs.

“You want it?” you taunt, gently blowing on his length, making him twitch and buck.

“Nngh— yes,”

“Then beg me,” you grin. “Show me how pathetic you are for me,” he stares down at you, chest heaving, heart pounding so hard you can watch his pulse. He should feel humiliated, but the pre-cum dripping from his tip tells the both of you the reality. You lean up, placing soft open-mouthed kisses against his length, making him inhale sharply. “Beg me,” you sing-song between kisses.

“P-please,” he gasps. “Please, I’m pathetic, I need this so bad… I’ve never– ah–!” you cut him off by licking a stripe up his length. He dissolves into a string of shaky moans as you wrap your lips around his tip, softly suckling. He’s never felt this amazing before. He fights to open his eyes and look down at you, needing the visual of you doing this committed to his memory desperately, even though he knows it will likely haunt his every waking thought from today onwards. You look smug, even on your knees in front of him, and he knows you have him wrapped around your finger. He tries uselessly to dig his nails into the wall for purchase, watching as you slowly envelop more and more of him into the heavenly heat of your mouth. Your head bobs slowly, torturously slow, up and down the length of him. What you can’t fit in your mouth, you take a gentle hold of with your hand. Your tongue swirls and laves against him within your mouth, making his hips buck toward you. You immediately withdraw, making him sob.

“You just can’t control yourself, can you?” you chastise harshly. “Needy and brainless,” he nods along because he really can’t help but think you’re right.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll control myself, I will, please… I need you,” he wails. You look unimpressed, slowly teasing your hand up and down his shaft. He whines, melting against the wall. “Please…” he whispers. His voice is entirely wrecked and he already looks thoroughly debauched by you, you find the image exciting. When he glances down at you with those pleading wide eyes, you can’t deny him any longer. As a final teasing act, you lean in and gently kitten lick at his slit for a moment, tasting the salty sweetness accumulating there. You feel him trying to twitch in your hand, his head falling back again and desperate groans leaving his throat. You take him as deep down into your throat as he will go, gagging just a little, and start to bob your head again. His fingers curl, and you can tell he wants to grab your hair, but he’s being good, you keep in mind to tell him he was good later. Your lips slide up and down his length, using your tongue to swirl and add an extra layer of stimulation. He’s very vocal, whining, whimpering, groaning, completely ruined. You stare up at him as you gently swallow around him. His eyes squeeze further shut and his hips cant forward, making you gag a little, but you do it again. He gasps loudly and his hands start to flail, smacking against the wall. You only realise he was trying to warn you between strangled moans when you feel the warm spurt of his release in your mouth. You swallow it down as he frantically withdraws himself from you, crying as he rides out the feeling of his orgasm, his legs shaking. He feels like he’s left his body and ascended to heaven, this was why all his friends were so crazy about sex. He got it now. Once he’s returned to himself a little, he falls to his knees in front of you. “I’m so sorry, I tried to warn you but I felt so good, I-” he fusses. “I’m so sorry, th-thank you,” he whimpers, wiping a tiny bit of cum from the corner of your mouth. “Thank you,”

“It’s fine,” you dismiss him as he holds your face and thanks you over and over. It amuses you how wrecked he is. “It’s alright, Neville,” you chuckle in disbelief, leaning forward and pecking his lips. He can vaguely taste himself on your lips, even without you opening your mouth, and it makes him groan. He chases your lips as you pull away, opening his eyes to give you a puppy-dog look.

“Merlin … I really am pathetic,” he swallows and then laughs nervously, leaning back against the wall, smiling sheepishly as you tuck him back into his boxers. You sit on your knees in front of him and he stares at you, half in awe, half in apprehension. “Are you going to tell people about this?” he questions, slightly anxious, wiping some sweat from his brow.

“No, I can’t lose my job, we’ve just broken a bunch of rules, you realise?” you tease and he smiles slightly.

“Are we going to do this again? Or you know… something else?” he glances at your body, feeling a little bad he couldn’t do anything to make you feel like he just did.

“Maybe, maybe not, you’ll just have to wait and see,” you taunt, pecking his cheek and rising to your feet. He cranes his neck to watch as you fetch your bag and coat. You glance at him over your shoulder, seeing him sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him, looking dazed and ruined. You can’t help but giggle, the sound stirring his stomach again. “See you soon, Longbottom,” you blow a mocking kiss and leave. He stares after you, both glad you’re gone so he can process what just happened, and also wishing you were never away from him again.

Tomorrow at work was either going to be heaven or hell on earth, and he found himself eager to find out.

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xoxoxo

605 notes · View notes

strwberri-milk · 9 days ago

Note

Hi! I know mc forgot all their memories from other lives and all, but how would they react if the reader got into an accident and had amnesia ? Thank you

*intense flashbacks to rick grayson* anyway i did this w the assumption that zayne is the only one unaware that this isnt the first time you lost your memories bc i think. he also lost his memories so yall are in the same boat lmaoo

He is absolutely devastated. He blames himself for your injury, feeling that he should have been there to protect you. He should have taken your injury, done something besides just happen to be there when you finally woke up in the hospital bed. He hates how tired you look, the way you glance at him as though he were nothing more than a stranger. That look haunts him, and he finds himself stuck in place as the doctor gently pulls him aside and tells him it seems you're suffering from amnesia. The doctor reassures him that it's most likely temporary but they're going to keep you in the hospital for monitoring.

The others all need a moment to process the news. He's upset, sure, but he also hates that sense of familiarity that settles in his chest at the news. It's not to say he isn't surprised, just that unfortunately, a part of him knows how to receive this piece of information.

He's going to be at your side no matter what, this dull ache in his chest only slightly abated at the doctor's promise that this is temporary. Sylus and Xavier take the news better than Rafayel, keeping conversation light and easy with you. You can see the pain in their eyes at not remembering him but he won't say anything to you about it. You wish that you could remember him now but you also know that rushing things won't do any good. Instead, you decide to ask him questions about your life together, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you realise even if your brain doesn't remember him, your body seems to feel comfort in his presence.

Zayne wishes for a moment he didn't spend so much time focusing on cardiology. Maybe, if he swapped to neuroscience he would have an answer right now, or if he focused more on becoming a general physician he'd know more. He hates the not knowing, understanding on a technical level what the doctor is telling him but none of it fully processes, not until he's at home without you because they thought it might stress you out too much to come home to a strange place.

He comes to visit you every day, not insisting on your time but comforting enough that you don't really mind. You're also glad to know he's also a doctor, feeling safe that if something were to happen to you he'd be able to help until your primary doctor appears. You find it hard to believe that this incredibly handsome and talented surgeon is your lover but he shows you some photos that prove the fact.

He's very patient, only able to be so because the doctors have agreed to show him the scans of your brain to calm his nerves. He's sure that even if your symptoms continue to persist he'd be able to keep you in his life, whether that be as his lover or just as a friend. Simply being able to be with you is all he ever wants, whatever that means.

Rafayel is pissed beyond belief. You don't recognise the man standing in front of you but you can tell by the quirk of his brow and the way his fingers tap against his thigh that he is not happy. Despite his turmoil, it only takes him about a second before he sighs tiredly, kneeling at the side of your bed and asking if you seriously don't remember him. The slight shake of your head is enough for him to understand the gravity of your injury, making his heart break.

This time he feels like he has more control over it, thankfully. He decides that despite your amnesia he'll do his best to make a stronger impression on you this time. He's not overbearing but he is consistent, keeping you company in a friendly manner. He doesn't want to scare you off by being too attention hungry but he also misses your touch, trying his best to keep his hands to himself as he tells you about what the two of you did last week.

#love and deepspace x reader #l&ds x reader #lads x reader #zayne x reader #l&ds zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #sylus x reader #l&ds sylus x reader #lads sylus x reader #xavier x reader #l&ds xavier x reader #lads xavier x reader #lads rafayel x reader #rafayel x reader #l&ds rafayel x reader

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enihk-writes · 11 months ago

Text

[someone older]

pairing: older!multi-fandom men x gn!they/them!reader

reader is written to be in their early twenties, under twenty-five and fresh out of uni with their first degree and no corporate work experience.

summary: shorts about old men and a younger beau to-be

content warning: big age-gap relationships // superior-subordinate power imbalance // possible infantilization // some form of saviour-complex // (some unintentional) manipulation

characters: zhongli (genshin impact) // neuvilette (genshin impact) // jing yuan (honkai star rail) // tang gunak (return of the blossoming blade) // dokgo (return of the mad demon) // chongyue (arknights) // shamane (RE:1999) // hiromi higuruma (jujutsu kaisen) // ryū (gokurakugai)

author's note: my lovely oomfs i need yall to look away and pretend im doing okay,,, the demons and the little voices in my head have won and taken over..... i have to make that middle-aged man pregnant so so so so bad it's terminal... (head in hands)... OUGHHHHKKKGSHHH (coughs blood and straight up dies)..... looking at the list here i really have a type huh....

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

ZHONGLI who had lived for long enough to have seen and experienced almost everything one could see, was still taken aback when he felt a familiar throb in his heart as he conversed with the new face of the artisan's alley. a fledgling who had just left their nest and was beginning to make their way into the world — your naivety much unlike your more seasoned neighbours who knew how to set the prices of their goods to gain the maximum profit. you were often tricked and scammed out of selling your wares at their proper price, too scared to stand your ground and disrespect your older customers. the former archon couldn't bear to see a budding talent, such as yourself, sell themselves short out of expected social courtesy. he often found himself buying your highest-priced works even if he had to empty his entire wallet. you were beyond grateful for his patronage, even offering a commission, free of charge. that's just how bad business was before he stepped in. oh you poor thing, now that he knows how easy it was to get you dancing in his palm, how could he let you meet better opportunities? he was your lifeline, the only way you were going to make it in this career you chose. and you better not forget that.

NEUVILETTE knew that he shouldn't be so enamoured with the new hire. really. a being who had been alive for as long as he falling in love with someone thousands of years their junior? he wanted to rip his hair out. the chief justice approached this predicament as he would with almost anything he deemed annoying — avoidance. sending you out on errands that kept you out of the office for the whole day, giving days off to everyone if there was nothing on the agenda, having you go sort out documents in the filing room, and a whole host of other things that made sure you and him wouldn't cross paths. once he had a clearer mind to sit down and think, he is immediately riddled with guilt. weren't his actions akin to that of a black company employer? you on the other hand, could not be happier to hit the jackpot. good pay, regular days off, responsibilities that didn't require you to rack your brain too much. this was everything an energy-saving adult like you could ever want. it must be nice to frolic around and stay blissfully unaware while your boss was in the middle of a mental breakdown alone in his office.

JING YUAN was a calculating man, despite the commonly held belief that he never really took things too seriously. he kept a rather consistent air of nonchalance so impenetrable that it annoyed you whenever you couldn't discern what was on his mind at that moment. your after-hours hobby these days was to drop by the community starchess club and play a few rounds with the people there. and who else was waiting there at your seat every day? your damned boss. the elders who were there swooned over the handsome general, remarking about how you and him made a great pair — much to your chagrin. the man would always send a blinding smile in your way as you got closer, even going so far as to help you settle down. the routine was always the same each night. you would play against him for at least five rounds consecutively, lose against him in almost every single match, play against the other club members, gather your things and go home for the day. the general would also coincidentally be done with his activities. he offered to walk you to your front door, you've learnt from the one time you refused that the general was unusually talented in pulling an extremely sad, pathetic, wet and kicked puppy face. unfortunately, you were too nice to reject him further. ah, but now that he knew of that weakness of yours, you'd better expect that he would be pulling the same trick again soon.

TANG GUNAK felt that he was far too geriatric to be feeling this way. especially when he had adult children of his own. the youngest of whom was only a few years older than you were. a talented person, emerging at the top of your class in the academy meant that the world was your oyster. so why had you decided to come down to sichuan and work as an aide in this family? the patriarch had no clue, and he certainly didn't know how to even bring up the question. at first, he had hoped that perhaps you and one of his children would be wed but as time passed, it became increasingly obvious you were not interested in them at all, rather you had set your sights on the patriarch himself. him? the widower? the poor man who had only felt the touch of his dead wife? he was very scandalised that the young aide of his house was so open about their attraction to him. however, it seemed nobody in the household was on his side. not even his own flesh and blood. though for all that forwardness, he never expected that you would be so hesitant and shy when you were alone with him. it was endearing how you became more diligent whenever that happened, how you would engross yourself in your work just to pretend he wasn't there with you. the next time he looked up from what he was doing, you were passed out on your desk. he moved over to carry you back to your quarters — it was deep into the night right now anyways, so nobody would see him with you in his arms. he tucked you into bed, leaving as quickly as he came. the glimpse of his own flushed face in the reflection of the window never left his mind the rest of that week.

DOKGO had agreed to follow his disciple to town only because said disciple was going to throw a tantrum in his courtyard and the older man was not in the mood to deal with the adult child. the master pretended to not be acquainted with his own disciple when the man began to flirt with the women passing by. he walked on and sat down at a vacant bench in front of a teahouse. his troublesome disciple eventually shook off the girls clinging onto him and joined his master at the table, a string of apologies falling out his mouth when he caught sight of the older man's disapproving glare. only when the younger man offered to pay did the old master's hardened expression fall softer — fine, he said with a grunt. the second headache of the day came in the shape of you, a wandering merchant, or so you said. you slipped in to sit next to the master after the disciple had graciously allowed you to. not like the older man could oppose when there weren't any empty seats in the vicinity. while the conversation was lively as you talked with the disciple about your travels, he could only focus solely on the callouses of your palms, something a merchant who says they are not a martial artist shouldn't have. you had noticed his scrutinising gaze, throwing him a quick grin as you continued the chat with his disciple. oh? he could only wonder what that was about. shame that his dull, blockheaded disciple had let that slip past him. the master wonders if he should up the training regime when they get back.

CHONGYUE was up and early, as he usually does, leading the daily morning exercise with the other operators. the doctor not being there was somewhat expected, but you going missing? that was a first. when the morning exercise was over, he headed up to your room to check on you, finding the door slightly ajar. cautiously, he walked into the dark room, you had a bag of junk near the entry, from the looks of it you were living off cup noodles and soda, again. no wonder you were now curled up in bed all sick. he might have to give you an earful later, but for now, he puts aside your laundry and took out the trash. he goes down to the canteen, ordering some warm chicken porridge and even stopping by the nurse's office to pick up whatever he thinks you might need. this time, you were now somewhat awake. grumbling and muttering complaints under your breath from the disturbance, he helped you sit up. you insisted on feeding yourself, but he would have none of it. you could only comply and open your mouth wide every time he brought the spoon to your lips. you finished the food and even took the medicine obediently, earning praise from the man himself. before he left, he rubbed some medicinal balm on your stomach, layering warm blankets and patted you back to sleep, reciting an abbot's chants as he did so. the nostalgic feeling was comforting. you should thank him when you got better — maybe he might be interested in a popular classic novel from your home country, or should you try your luck with the lacquer pots instead?

SHAMANE spotted a figure hunched over the running stream near his hut as he was out collecting the fresh water he would need for the day. when they didn't answer his calls, he walked over, not too worried about whether the figure was a dangerous critter or not. the snap of a twig had them spin their head in his direction — that's when he met your eyes. you both stared at the other, sizing each other up. when he decided that you were not a threat, he introduced himself with his signature smile. you did the same, albeit quieter, still a little peeved from seeing a large bearded man in the middle of nowhere. friendly as ever, he kept the conversation going. he talked about himself, he asked about you, and so on and so forth until you finally admitted to him that you had gotten lost in the mountains, also you had twisted your ankles. he pointed to his hut and asked if you wanted to rest in there until you got better, how could you say no? the month when you lived under the same roof as him passed by quickly, and soon enough it was time for you to go back down the mountain. when you both parted ways at the entrance of the village, there was an air of reluctance in saying goodbye. you promised to write to him, maybe even visit him. he only laughed you off, not expecting much to come out of that. though when he received his sister's letter not long after, he thought about taking you with him to his hometown. but ah, isn't visiting each other hometowns a thing expectant newlyweds do? well, he could always pretend he didn't know about these things, couldn't he?

HIGURUMA was pretty friendly with the tenants renting out the office space next door. all of whom were fresh design school graduates trying to start a business together. you were the one he's grown the most familiar with, the unofficial boss of the company and the one who was single-handedly juggling your own practice along with other administrative duties. he helped you where he could, the doors to his own law office always open to you — even in the wee hours of the night. you would sit cross-legged on the big swivel chair as both of you engrossed yourselves in your respective work with the boxes of takeout splayed all over his table. when it was late enough that you missed the last train, he drove you back to your apartment. and everytime you sat in the passenger seat, he would reach over to pull the seatbelt on for you. you could have done it yourself but how were you supposed to pass up the chance to have him come this close? enough to even catch a whiff of his cologne? the lawyer himself knew that you were capable enough to do something this simple, but he couldn't help but enjoy the way you tried not to look at him as he did this each time. the ride back was quiet and serene, your tired body sank into the plush of his car seats and soon you were knocked out cold. even when you were both already parked outside your residence, you still wouldn't rouse. he clicks the seatbelt off you, even going so far as to push the seat back so you were lying more comfortably. you've done this enough times where he has a blanket to cover you with as he waited for you to wake up. which you would, and feel so ashamed. he thinks about how cute you were babbling out your apologies and thanks, all while scrambling to pull yourself together and out his car. only to repeat this whole song and dance the very next night.

RYŪ was a bit of a recluse. never really leaving his room unless it was for a really good reason. which was rare, and by rare it was almost never. but a human had to eat, shit and get clean — which was where you came in. as the designated errand runner for the organisation, you were the one that ended up having to take care of that guy's day-to-day needs. you might have hated him at first, with how picky he was with his food, even the brand of his necessities had to be the exact right one. doesn't matter if the stock ran out, you had to go out there and haunt for a place that still has it or else he wouldn't even entertain your presence. the one good thing you had going about you was that you were adaptable, learned things quick and was light on your feet. if things went south, you always had a backup, and a backup for the backup, you get the idea. the man, mayhaps out of the other's insistence, but you liked to think that he had warmed up to you, started to initiate conversations. at some point whenever you brought him his meals, he would make you sit and watch him eat. at first, you didn't know what to talk about, but then you also started bringing your own lunchboxes to eat alongside him, and you talked his ear off about what you made that day. over time, you both fell into a routine and on days when he's kept you a little too long with him, you'd stay over and crash on his couch. and after more time had passed, he's already got some of your clothes together with his in the wardrobe. hell, he even bought a bigger sofa just so you could sleep better whenever you stayed over. give it more time and who knows, you might end up moving in completely, not that this old hack would mind too much.

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nostalgicmiscellaneous · 7 months ago

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This is long, but i need to get this out of my chest:

I have made so many post defending Penelope when people talked about her issues, her traumas but right now i feel like defending Colin.

As a woman, sometimes i naturally tend to feel defensive and shield the girl but i need to be fair here. Colin's feelings and trust were deeply hurt, Colin is insecure, soft, thoughtful, introspective, sensitive and suffers with a inferiority complex, and he struggles to know his place in society and among the people he loves, on what he should do and the expectations of society from a 22 years old man.

What many don't seem to realize is that Colin, even before knowing Penelope is LW, was very insecure about what she loves in him ( and even if she did in fact love him, because she was about to marry someone else), about being worth of her, he says he wants to do something, to publish his diaries because he wants her to be proud of him…he already didn't think he was good enough for and to her. Colin is insecure about not being good enough in every aspect of his life, tbh. His lack of purpose, faith in himself and on others loving him from whom he is runs deep. His moment of vulnerability telling how much Penelope not answering to his letters affected him, his family too was very revealing. Him screaming at Pen with tears in his eyes that he felt foolish that she read his diaries and praised him as something special. This is something i've noticed even in other seasons too. The family not caring much about his need to connect and his somewhat strained relationship with Anthony, who wasn't really a good male figure to him. It's about male ego? A bit, but it's deeper than that in the series.

Another issue is, he put Pen in a pedestal too ( much like Pen did until 2x8), to be honest, and that is never a good thing, because people are not perfect. And he needed to learn all that. There is disappointment there. But, again, it goes further. It’s him not knowing her as he thinks he should. It’s him perceiving her humanity but reflecting on his own. We have to remember he's so happy because Pen chose him, because he thinks now he's someone's priority and he's someone's focus. He has the immature idea that you should be everything in every way to the person you love, and if you can't be their protector and the hero in their eyes, why should anyone love you?

Then he finds out…and his worldview crumbles. Not only Penelope broke his trust and hurt him deeply - and she never told him and never would have - and it wasn't just himself but his family too, but she shattered his belief he knew and connected with her better than almost anyone else, she shattered his barely there newly found confidence and sense of purpose, what he thought was his sense of self now. All modern sensibilities tend to be ruffled about this, but i think it's a fitting conflict that he would have issues with her being so self-sufficient, so successful while he believes himself to be less, way less than her, so to Colin she doesn't need him, and if she doesn't need him, why would she love him? Why should she love him?

Again, there is the side of him conflicted about knowing her. The pedestal was broken, because she lied to him. She is this powerful, talented, successful woman on her own, not just the pretty shy girl with sweetness and great witty personality that he loves, the one that thinks the world of him. She talked about him, she criticized him and while it rings true deep down, it rings devastation, because she could see beyond his farce and it makes him look and feel pathetic.

So he's struggling with two things: on how to love her, all of her, and how to feel good enough for her, love himself. He's trying to accept her new wonderful aspects and her hurtful flaws because he never stopped loving her, in no moment we see anything but love when that man looks at her, when that man is crying because of her and his deep sadness and longing, his anger is laced with so much love for her. He's angry at her but mostly at himself and he needs to figure it out a way to feel like he deserves to be loved by her. It fuels his issues and he also over compensates.

His hang ups with LW becomes his tangible target. Not only he sees as a dangerous thing to her, it puts her at risk, and with that in mind he can put himself in a role of her protector again, but he fixates on the idea that without Whistledown she's the Pen that he can believe is able to love him even if he's not good enough. Without Whistledown she's not so much above him and not so far from him, because Whistledown is her critical eye, it's Penelope appraising people very analytically and if she looks closely, he doesn't think she will see much in him, as she proved before with he S3 ep1 comment. He wants to get rid of it.

Sure, he's jealous too, he envies her success but exactly because he resents how much that makes him less worthy. It's also another thing that he thinks she's putting above him. He couldn't see clearly that it wasn't something outside herself (and he gets it after), but part of who she is, and all of those parts loves him. It's foolish and it's nonsensical because he doesn't understand that she has seen his flaws but she loves him anyway. He needed reassurance just as much as Pen needed. He needed her to keep on telling she loved him and why, because it heals him.

Some people were upset he didn't make love to her that day he went to get a blanket, but i get it. He wants it, he wants her so badly, you can see it. Colin has problems communicating and doing what he wants because he feels pathetic, jealous and that makes him feel worse, makes him feel shame. It’s him, not her that was the issue at that point. His connection with her runs deeper, it's respecting her and himself, with all the conflicted feelings why he didn’t.

It’s a slow process and i’m bloody glad it took its time to be resolved. But he starts understanding that his way wont help them, it wont bring them closer. He wont solve things by controlling and being the hero. He can’t change the past, he can’t change who they are. He wont solve anything by repressing his love.

Pen words help him figuring out a lot, her spoken words directed to him and her written words that he reads again. She needs him. She tells him she needs him and his love, not grand actions. He can show love and be worthy by supporting her. He starts to understand and ACCEPT that Whistledown is Pen, and loving Pen will include that part of her personality. He grasps that it was always there and it never made a difference in how much she loved being around him and him her, how much attention she dedicated to him, how much her words, in her letters, were full of admiration for him, to her love to him, how much she is his special person. She needs him just as much he needs her, she needs his love, his charm, his intelligence, his humor, his integrity, she needs him because without him she doesn’t feel complete, she doesn’t feel happy. He’s a good man, a fine man that makes her happy, always have. And he realizes she inspires him, she always had, and that isn't a problem, that having her helping him is not a problem, because he helps her too in many ways. It’s only when he can accept himself as equal and entitled to her love as she is to his that they could truly be together and happy.

Colin had the right to feel hurt, had the right to have his insecurities, had the right to need time and had the right to need space, had the right to lash out, had the right to come to term with the changes and surprises life threw at him, specially as a sensitive person that he very much is, and i'm glad the show didn't rush that.

#bridgerton #polin #colin bridgerton #luke newton #nicola coughlan #colin x penelope #penelope bridgerton #penelope featherington

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lazycats-stuff · 1 year ago

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Hello, I hope you are doing alright! So I can have a kinda cross over idea for a teen male reader. a mix of Batfam and star wars. The reader is a Jedi padawan that had to flee towards the Earth after the Jedi were forced into hiding and the rest is up to you.

Oh... It's been years since I watched Star Wars, but wiki is here to help. If there is something inaccurate, my apologies. Also, I had to put this iconic line in here.

Summary: (Y/N) is a Jedi who ran.

Warnings:

Earth wasn't a bad experience for (Y/N). After all, he has seen many different species and has seen a lot of things that would make everyone's skin crawl. It took a while for him to adjust to life here on Earth. It was... Interesting more than anything, but he did miss his fellow Jedis.

The Sith have taken over and every single Jedi was forced into hiding and they were forced to run. (Y/N) was a padawan, well, still is, but he doesn't really have any formal training, but he managed to pick up a few materials to study.

Padawans ran the farthest and hid extremely well. They had to, they would be the first targets for the Sith to kill them. (Y/N) for some reason actually loved Earth. Here, humans were a little bit weird, but he found success here as a writer.

He has always loved writing and then humans here liked it? He had no problem writing. He wrote under a pseudonym and he really enjoyed. Soon, he found a part time job in a really big tech company called Wayne Enterprises.

He worked hard there, despite it being a part time job. He enjoyed and he offered some insight to technology. Lucius Fox noticed him quickly and took his under his wing almost automatically. Such talent as Lucius would say, can't go to waste. He would be feeling guilty beyond belief.

There he met his now boyfriend Bruce Wayne.

Bruce and (Y/N) met when Bruce walked in the laboratory, wanting to see Lucius about something, but he found (Y/N) instead. (Y/N) and Bruce talked until Lucius came. He smirked as he saw something between the two.

He waited for a few moments before coming in, introducing (Y/N) once more to Bruce. Then, Lucius took Bruce and left (Y/N) to work alone in the lab. (Y/N) didn't think much of those conversations. He didn't look for anything exciting. It was just in his code as a padawan.

But Bruce wanted something more. (Y/N) was slightly conflicted about it with his training and everything he has been taught. But there was something about Bruce that made him... Well, (Y/N) had a few hot nights with himself after a meeting with Bruce that day.

That has been going on for a few months until Bruce has decided to man up and bite the bullet to ask (Y/N) out on a date. He really wanted this, so he had to be very careful and not scare him away. It took Bruce a few months to realize that he was bisexual so he said screw it.

He will ask him out. Even if (Y/N) says no, then that's life.

You could only imagine Bruce's surprise when (Y/N) said yes to the date. Bruce was shocked, but happy that (Y/N) has accepted it. Bruce told (Y/N) he would pick him up at his place and to be ready by 7 pm. Bruce was never so nervous in his life.

His kids noticed, how could they not? But Alfred told them that there will be hell to pay if they try to do something to (Y/N) and Bruce and if they try something to jeopardize the date.

Of course, they won't disobey their actual authority figure in the house so they waited with Alfred. Everyone was wondering whether or not he was in love and they have been wondering about (Y/N). What was he like? Is he cute? How come Bruce asked a guy? Is (Y/N) a gold digger?

All of those important questions, you know. They have to look out for their dad you know? Sure, Bruce is no fool, but still. And maybe, just maybe, they were bored with their lives.

Bruce and (Y/N)? Oh, they had a wonderful time. Bruce and (Y/N) talked about a lot of stuff. Bruce just wanted to know (Y/N) even more. He really did. Something was just... Bruce may have fallen in love.

And (Y/N)? Oh dear God, he fell hard. But still, he was scared to break the code. But he already got bonded to Gotham. It was a very peculiar city to him and he loved it. He didn't have it in his heart to ever leave this city. More so to leave Bruce. There was something about Bruce that (Y/N) found interesting.

Bruce drove (Y/N) back home that night and (Y/N) meditated before going to bed. Bruce, on the other hand, had patrol to go on. And let me tell you, the kids weren't letting up. The entire patrol was chaotic and Bruce under a line of fire from his sons.

It was just tiring and... Bruce was happy that he was patient with his sons. He really was.

Bruce introduced (Y/N) to his sons after a year of dating. He wanted to take it slowly and to see how he would react. Not everyone wants to date a man, a father of four more precisely. He told (Y/N) that he had kids on the first date. It was to make sure that there were no misunderstandings.

The introduction went very well. Everyone loved how (Y/N) was calm and relaxed, an oasis so to speak. A complete opposite of Bruce. Damian loved the way he meditated. Damian already called dibs on (Y/N). Tim said that he would borrow him for tech stuff. Jason simply gravitated due to the fact that he was calm and so... Balanced. Dick simply loved the fact that (Y/N) was a calm person.

But nothing is ever perfect and nothing lasts forever.

(Y/N) had to come clean to Bruce. He had to tell him about his Jedi side. He couldn't lie to him about it and he didn't like that something so heavy on his shoulders.

Bruce was worried when (Y/N) told him that they need to talk to him. Bruce could see that it was something serious and he thought that they were going to break up.

He didn't understand the word Jedi. What? Bruce thought that (Y/N) was crazy. Then (Y/N) used the Force and showed him his lightsaber. Bruce had to sit down for a second. Okay... What the hell is going on?

(Y/N) told him everything about Jedi Order and the Sith. He told him about the Sith taking over and forcing Jedi's into hiding. Bruce processed it all and asked him about leaving Earth. It was a valid question.

(Y/N) told him he couldn't leave because he got attached. He loved Bruce and his sons and that he couldn't leave. Even as if gets safe. Bruce hugged his boyfriend tightly, giving him a kiss. After calming himself down he also told (Y/N) that he has something to confess.

(Y/N) didn't expect to hear that Bruce Wayne is Batman. And that his kids are the birds, but hey... At lease they were honest with one another. Bruce and (Y/N) shared a hug that day, happy that they got honest.

And that's what led to this moment between the two of them, in the middle of the night. It was a difficult patrol for those involved and Bruce just wanted some comfort. (Y/N) had to step in with his Force and everyone was just exhausted.

(Y/N) also had to come clean to the kids and they all wanted to see more of his Force, but he was too tired to even think, let alone use the Force. Bruce ushered everyone to go to the showers and just go to sleep.

(Y/N) and Bruce shared the shower, making sure that they are okay and unharmed. (Y/N) allowed himself to be lead to the bed to be changed by Bruce, who understood that this was not something that (Y/N) is used to. (Y/N) isn't used to operating every night.

(Y/N) reached out for Bruce who happily took his hand into his and squeezed, letting him now he is here. (Y/N) sighed as he relaxed, Bruce getting behind him and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend.

" Sleep honey, you deserve it. " Bruce murmured into the back of (Y/N)'s neck. (Y/N) nodded and just relaxed... The night wasn't really over yet.

All four sons came in at same time, seemingly having a bad dream at the same time. (Y/N) and Bruce welcomed them in. (Y/N) just got squished between them all and thankfully, Bruce had a big bed

For some reason, he wouldn't have it any other way.

#dc comics #dc x male reader #x male reader #batfamily #bruce wayne x male reader #jason todd x male reader #batman x male reader #red hood x male reader #tim drake x male reader #red robin x male reader #damian wayne x male reader #robin x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #nightwing x male reader

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 4 months ago

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I love love love your writing! You are so talented.

Keeping up with the dark kidnapping theme, can you please write a bit where the lead is a really dedicated student, maybe for med school, and is heartbroken beyond belief because they think Steven/Marc won’t allow them to continue studying now that they’re basically captive (of course they allow her so it’s can be comforting and maybe turn smutty 😈) thank you! ❤️❤️❤️

ANONY PLEASE- I...I AM MELTING RN!❤️ Please let me give you hugs and kisses🥹

Lovestruck

Yandere Marc Spector & Steven Grant x student!fem!reader

Warnings/Triggers: Description of kidnapping, dark themes, yandere themes, some horror themes, comfort, mature themes, mentions of DID.

Sorry for no smut. I couldn't find any right moment. :(

It was already late, you and a few others stayed after class to study at the library in your school. It was already getting dark, you increased your speed because you had to use the toilet, but luckily on your way home, you always walked past the Museum. You saw the security guard at the entrance and made your way over.

"Excuse me? Is the Museum still open? I'm in need of a toilet." you asked in a friendly tone with a smile.

The guard returned the friendly gesture. "Yes, Ma'am. But you have to ask the receptionist, since the toilets were getting cleaned and he can tell you if the janitor's done."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good night." You smiled, stepping inside the Museum, spotting the guy behind the glass.

As you approached, he looked like he was watching something on his phone, it looked like Otter videos. He didn't seem to notice you, so you cleared your throat to get his attention. The guy snapped back to reality, turning to look at you with a surprised smile.

"Oh! May I help you?"

You smiled. "Yes are the toilets free?"

The guy turned to look at the security cameras showing the toilets. "Yep, they're free. They're freshly cleaned." he flashed a grin.

You smiled, gave him a thumbs up and rushed to the toilets. After being done with your business, you pulled out your phone to get a look on the time. Almost midnight. You cursed under your breath, speeding up a bit. When you turned a corner, not paying attention, someone bumped into you with a force, causing you to fall on the ground.

"Oh shit! Oh bollocks, I'm so sorry."

Looking up, you saw a man standing there, his hair was a bit messy and he looked concerned. "It's okay, I'm not dead."

"Here let me help you up." He extended his hand out for you.

You accepted it, letting him pull you up with relative ease. "Thanks."

"You alright?" He asked.

"Yes, no big deal." you gave a small smile.

"I'm Steven. Sorry again." He smiled curtly, dusting off your shoulders and back, his hand lingering there for a second longer.

"It's alright, Steven." You smiled, waving it off.

"Good, for a second there I thought you broke a bone." Steven said nervously.

You smiled reassuringly, "I'm fine. But I gotta go now, it's getting late."

Steven nodded undestandingly. "Alright, take care."

You gave him a last smile before walking off, not noticing Steven looking after you like he had gotten lovestruck.

After leaving the Museum to continue your walk home, you pulled your earphones out, shoved them into your ears and listened to a medical podcast while walking.

Meanwhile Steven just finished his shift, his thoughts drifting back to you. His tired mind driving him nuts sometimes, he wished he could see you again. Marc noticed, they couldn't read eachothers mind but seeing how Steven was acting after he bumped into you, he figured it out quickly.

*Wanna see her again, Steven?*

Steven stopped infront of a store, looking at the glass to catch Marc's reflection. "Yeah. I dunno why I'm like that."

*Luckily I have an idea.*

"What is it?"

*A bad one.*

You, almost back home, fished your keys out as you neared your house. With your earphones still in your ears, you didn't hear the steps behind you. Just as you pulled them out and put them back in their case, a hand with a cloth came down on your mouth, followed by an arm wrapping around your body to hold you in place. You tried kicking the person into their shin, but they swiftly slung their foot around yours to stop it. A sweet smell entered your nostrils, letting you know you were about to get knocked out with Chloroform as you used to work with it in medical school. You tried to hold your breath as long as possible, while flipping your keys between two fingers and tried to stab the hand covering your mouth, you tried to take as less breaths as possible. As the keys hit the hand, a grunt could be heard and the person let go of your waist to grab your hand, giving a harsh squeeze to make you drop the keys. You felt yourself getting weak, you were about to pass out but in a last attempt, you tried catching the keys, the keyring got wrapped around your middle finger and you weakly tried hitting the person's head, but your hits were so weak, it didn't even had an effect.

You slowly slumped down, too tired to do anything else. Your body surrendered and you began blacking out.

Slowly, you came back to your senses, your eyes fluttering open. You felt as if gotten hit by a truck. You were laying on a bed, you took a second to look around, it looked like some sort of an apartment. In your numb state, you rolled over to the edge of the bed. Just as you moved your body weight and were about to sling your legs out, something tugged on your ankle, causing you to loose balance and land on the wooden floor. Supporting yourself on your hands and pulling back up on the bed, you looked back, seeing an ankle restraint around your foot.

"Shit..." you groaned, sitting up to try and remove it. Either you couldn't figure out on how to unlock restraints or you were simply too lightheaded, you just couldn't get that damn thing off.

"Stupid little-"

Suddenly you heard a sound coming from the door, you snapped your head towards it, seeing it open. You froze, eyes wide as you saw the person entering.

It was Steven. He caught you trying to get the restraint off. "Don't know how to get it off, yeah?"

"You?! The museum guy?!"

"I'm afraid so."

"Did I vandalize the toilet or why did you kidnap me?"

"No- no.. it's uh, it's a bit more complicated.."

"You're going to kill me...?"

Steven frowned. "What? Why are you saying that, no one is going to murder you."

"Well, I thought I would die when you were knocking me out!"

"You were putting up a bit of a fight.."

"Yeah because people don't run around kidnapping people like they're some fucking serial killer!"

"You're in shock, try calming down, I'll get you some cold water." Steven made his way to the kitchen, returning to you with iced water.

"Here, drink this, it will help you calm down."

Hesistantly, you reached out taking the glass, getting some sips.

"You should try getting some sleep." Steven said gently, taking your glass and putting it on the nightstand.

"Can you atleast remove the restraint please?"

Steven nodded. "Fine, but don't try anything." he warned softly before releasing your ankle from the restraint.

"Thanks." You smiled before laying back down on the bed. Steven pulled the covers over your shoulders, tucking you in gently.

As soon as he goes to sleep you'll make your move.

"Get some sleep, we will talk more in the morning. If y' need somethin', just call out for me." Steven smiled, patting your head.

With that, Steven retreated into his room, leaving you to catch some sleep.

While you laid there, your hands went to your pockets for your phone but it has been snatched from you. Out of pure curiosity, you opened the nightstand drawer in hopes of finding your phone. Nothing.

To make sure Steven would go to sleep, you waited couple of minutes. Slowly, you sat up on the bed, looking around one last time before getting up, you spotted your shoes beside the bed, slipped them on and carefully tiptoed to the door. Your instincts were screaming at you to just make a run for it. But instead, you chose the safe way, making your way slowly to the door. You noticed Steven didn't lock the door, only used the small chain. You shoved it open and carefully pulled the door handle down, praying it won't be locked.

Luckily, the door was unlocked. Pushing the door open you realized how easy it was for you to get out, almost too easy. Taking a look out, you saw some other apartments. You must be in an apartment building. You tiptoed out, pushing your luck and knocking on the last door at the floor. Knocking softly three times, the door didn't open.

You sighed, and made your way to the elevator but still trying to keep your guard up.

Inside the elevator you pressed the button to the first floor, waiting for it to descent.

Finally arrived, the doors opened. You stepped out and quickly rushed out of the building. Looking around you couldn't made out where you are, and the darkness made it worse. Without your phone you had trouble to find your way home, but you started walking down the sideway, hoping to find some help.

After walking for what felt like an eternity, you finally spotted someone, a man walking opposite from your side. Without thinking you ran over to him.

"Hey! I need help!"

The man turned to you, confused. "Miss? You okay?"

"I've been kidnapped! He took my phone, can you call the police?" You were a bit panicing.

"Absolutely, stay close to me." The man assured, leading you into a nearby alleyway for cover. As the man pulled his phone out, you looked around frantically.

In the corner of your eyes, you noticed a shadow, followed by two white glowing dots in the distance. That got your attention, you saw someone in a white bandage-like suit, two white glowing dots were covering the eyes and the person had a bandage mask. You could see him raising his arm as if ready to throw something.

"Hey! Watch out!" You warned the man as something very fast whipped past you, slicing your savior's shoulder, making him drop his phone.

Looking back, you flinched as you saw the bandage man came running towards you. You jumped out of his way, but he wasn't going for you, he was aiming for the poor man who just wanted to save you.

The guy in the costume grabbed the man by his throat with one hand, lifting him up and slowly pulling him close.

You took some steps back but you didn't want someone innocent get hurt just because you got kidnapped. So you tried acting up.

"Hey! Let him go! You're after me huh? Then come and get me!"

The guy in the costume looked at you with his white glowing eyes before turning back to your savior, speaking to him in a deep growl.

"She. Belongs. To us."

With that he swiftly threw the poor man on some trash bags next to him and turning to face you.

You wasted no time, picking up a pipe on the ground and ran as fast as you could. The steps behind you were getting louder and louder with each step. Stopping quickly and turning around, you got into an defence stance with the pipe, ready to beat the shit out of him if you had too.

But the guy simply reached for his chest, pulling another dart out. You squeezed your eyes shut as he threw the dart at you, but it didn't hit you, it just sliced the pipe you had in two.

He made his way to you, causing you to drop the remains in your hand.

"Whoa, wait." You stepped back, raising your hands in surrender but as he reached you he simply ducked down, slung an arm around your legs and picked you up as if you weighed nothing, throwing you over his shoulder.

"Let me go!" You hit the back of his head with your palm but that guy didn't even react to it, he ignored your protests.

"Stop struggling if you want the easy way. Try me and it's gonna be the worse way." He threatened.

You just gave up, letting him carry you back to the apartment you tried to escape. Back inside, he bent and dropped you off on the bed. "Now you better behave or all four limbs will get restrained."

"Who are you? The bodyguard of Steven?"

"Something like that."

He went to the room you saw Steven going in earlier and soon after, Steven came out.

"Why did you do that?" He asked, half disappointed, half concerned.

"I have a life if you haven't noticed."

Steven sighed. "We will take care of you now, no need for anything else."

"I am attending medical school."

He gave a nod. "You don't need to go there anymore. We just sign you off."

"Are you fucking serious? No, I love it there, I love studying medicine."

"I can understand that, I have something similar, but for now, you won't go there."

You let out a sigh, which almost sounded like a whine.

Steven's expression softened. "Look, you go to sleep now, you had a rough day, and we talk more in the morning."

"Fine."

"And please don't try to escape again or else he will hunt you down again and you won't like it." Steven gave a soft warning glance before he went back to his room.

You sighed, getting under the covers. Your mind was racing with thoughts but eventually, you fell into a deep sleep.

A good few hours later you felt more relaxed, wondering if you just had the most fucked up fever dream, and when your eyes opened, confirming this was not a dream, you rubbed your face, letting out an defeated groan.

Looking for a clock, you spotted one hanging on the wall, it was the time where you should already be at the medical school. You grumbled, sitting up, your eyes landing on a fish tank where a single goldfish was swimming around. Padding over to him, making sure to stay silent as if to not trigger the white mummy man to appear out of nowhere again.

"Hi fishy, you hungry?" Reaching for the fish food, you poured some into it, watching as he munched them down.

A sound came from within Steven's room, causing you to tense up. The door opened, he stepped out, yawning softly and rubbing his eyes when he spotted you.

"You awake already?" You noticed his voice was deeper.

"Is that your sleepy voice?" You asked curious.

"What?" He asked, sounding like genuinely confused on why you asked that but he didn't want to stick on it, resuming his way towards the bathroom.

Hearing the water running, you sat back on the bed, waiting until he returned.

"Hey uh, can I have my phone back? Please?"

He came back, scratching the back of his hand. "Oh you want it back, hm? Sorry but we won't risk you calling the cops."

"What if I promise to not call them?"

"Why don't you tell me what you wanna do?"

"Listening to podcasts. You know, for my medical study?"

His eyebrows arched up, not buying it. "If you're going to listen to podcasts then I'm the Liberty statue."

"Come on! I'll listen with earphones!" You pouted.

"Even better." He joked, making his way to the kitchen.

To be honest, you were pissed. Really pissed. He came back a while later with a bowl of cereals, setting it down on the nightstand.

"You should eat. You say you attend medical school, so I guess they'd taught you something about the value of breakfast."

"I'll eat. But can I atleast read a book?"

"Of course, they're in that corner over there." He pointed towards the corner with a desk and shelf filled with books.

"Thanks." You nodded in satisfaction, reaching for the bowl to start eating.

"Listen, I'll be gone later for a while. You stay put, and I will consider giving you back your phone tonight, understood?"

"Deal." You agreed.

"Very good." He smiled.

You spent the rest of the morning eating breakfast and doing some quick naps in between. Shortly before afternoon came, Steven got ready to head out. His soft voice was back.

"Heyia, need something before I go?" He asked, putting his bag over his shoulder.

You sat up on the bed. "I think I'm fine, but can I leave for a quick stop at a store?" you tried pushing your luck.

"Definitely not." He scolded lightly.

"Okay. Can you get me a book? I was learning how different medicines affect the body and I wasn't finished."

Steven thought for a second, giving a warm smile. "Sure, I'll try finding one."

"Thanks." You gave a weak smile in return before he left, leaving you alone in his apartment.

A small part of you thought about trying to escape again, but you didn't wanted to get literally chased down by that mummy man. You spent the rest of the day looking through the book corner. Looks like some passion for Egypt.

Before you knew it, the day was almost over and the door opened.

"I got the book you wanted." Somehow, Steven managed to get the deep voice back.

You walked over to him. "Are you able to change your voice?" you couldn't help but ask.

He gave a puzzled expression. "Excuse me?"

"You had the same deep tone when you woke up today, then before you left your tone was light and now it's deep again."

"Oh... that's a long story."

He handed you the book, you thought that maybe this Steven had a condition.

Either way, you snatched it out of his hand, flopped down on the couch and began reading.

At one point, he sat down on the couch next to you with a mug of coffee in his hand.

"Will you tell me the story?"

"You really want to hear it?"

"Yes. Really." You nodded curiously.

He took a deep breath. "Alright. I'm not Steven."

"Ah, you must be a twin then?"

He laughed softly. "Nope. I am Marc. And I have DID."

"Oh.. the condition?"

Marc nodded.

"And Steven is your other personality?"

"Yeah."

"Is he the only one?" You asked gently.

"As far as I know, yes."

"I'm sorry." You said with sincere concern.

"Nah, it's okay. Steven and I get along smoothly."

As curious as you were, your brain itched to know how Marc got the condition.

"May I ask how you got..." You paused, watching his reaction.

"Of course." He had a gentle smile.

Marc told you about his past, his childhood, how he developed DID and shared how he was the one in those white bandages and it was actually called Moon Knight.

By the end of the day, you started liking them, telling them about yourself in return. Later, as you went to bed, Steven came back to check on you.

"Hello. Marc said you're getting comfortable around us, yeah?"

"Yes." You smiled warmly.

Steven was beaming with joy. "And how's your studying?"

"Thanks for the book, I will take my time with it."

"That's good to hear, and as a reward, you'll have your phone back." He reached into his pocket and got your phone out, handing it to you.

"Thank you!" You beamed.

Steven was about to go back into his room when you stopped him. "Hey Steven? Wanna listen to podcasts with me? I can even tell you some things." you scooted back in the bed, sitting against the headboard and patted the spot next to you.

"Sounds lovely!" Steven agreed, sitting down next to you.

That night, you explained some things said in the podcasts, Steven was the most patient listener while Marc occasionally fronted to make a bit fun here and there. Halfway through, you ended up drifting off on Steven's shoulder, knowing Marc and Steven will take care of you while you could continue with studying.

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #steven grant smut #oscar isaac #yandere marc spector #yandere steven grant

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vintagetvstars · 4 months ago

Text

Alan Alda Vs. Walter Koenig

Propaganda

Alan Alda - (M*A*S*H) - He is both the saddest wettest little meow meow and your kindly grandfather and your favourite eccentric uncle (mom's side). Somehow it works. Passionate Democrat, feminist, great writer, he and his books are hilarious. Did a cartwheel when he won an Emmy! How he met his wife is the best meet cute of the last two centuries, and they've now been married over 60 years!!!

Walter Koenig - (Star Trek, Babylon 5) - If you haven't watched him in Babylon 5 as recurring villain Alfred Bester then you are missing out! It is one of his best performances! He's such a talented actor and Babylon 5 uses him so well!

- No Negative Propaganda Please -

Master Poll List | How to submit propaganda | What is vintage? (FAQ)

Additional propaganda below the cut

Alan Alda:

he’s just so good in MASH

youtube

he put so much bisexuality into hawkeye i think it fundamentally changed me when i was little and watching mash for the first time. anyway do we all know the story about how he met his wife when they were at a party together and they were the only two people eating the cake that fell on the floor and he fell in love with her over her laugh. i just think hes neat :) i love when theres a strange looking man. also feel it necessary to say that the guy that wrote the book mash was based on wrote himself as hawkeye and HATED alda's hawkeye bc he displayed his morals too much (alda had it in his contract for the show that every episode had to have an operating room scene bc otherwise you arent backdropping the fact that war is Not fun. actually. he almost didnt take the role bc he thought a war comedy would make too much light of the horrors)

please please please use this picture of him, he's so hot in it

His comedic delivery in MASH...

youtube

The story of how he met his wife is charming and sweet, and they've now been married 65 years

Just look at him. He's the most beautiful man I've ever seen but also he's completely average. He's got a weak jawlines and a round face and these big soft eyes and he's just so beautiful. He's capable of playing a silly charismatic sitcom protagonist in one scene, and a jaded army surgeon haunted by the deaths he's witnessed in the next. He's so hot that my dad once told me he decided to apply to medical school because of how much he was attracted to Hawkeye Pierce. That's literally how I learned that my father was bisexual.

He's also just a really great dude? He's been outspoken about his political beliefs for a long time, and has always been strongly and vocally anti-war, pro-feminist, and pro lgbt. He served a tour in the Korean war, and his experiences there informed his performance in the show. He (and honestly the entire cast, but especially him) really just soared above and beyond the standard for comedies of the day.

youtube

He's so funny and his eyes are pretty

He loves and is a champion of science (Source).

Walter Koenig:

youtube

CW: Torture, blood, death

youtube

#vintage tv stars poll #tv men 2 #alan alda #walter koenig #Youtube

56 notes · View notes

verniferae · 2 years ago

Text

⸻ slow, drowsy mornings. [ 𝐈 ] ✦ hsr.

In both your and his lines of work, mornings where you can take your time getting out of bed and prepare for the day ahead at your own leisure are few and far between. So, when presented with the rare opportunity of a respite, a momentous lull gracing your frenetic everyday comings and goings, how do you start your well-deserved time off?

includes: gepard landau, jing yuan. wordcount: 3806 ( gepard ); 3758 ( jing yuan ). notes: writing practice, character study, lore study & spoilers ( mostly in jing yuan’s part ). etc.: trying to shake off the rust after a three year break from writing... and to ease back into my usual writing style, lol. also it took me more than a month to finish writing these. snail-paced writing should be a talent.

✧ 𝐆𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐔.

Gepard is a creature of habit.

That, in itself, is a matter of habit, a testament to his upbringing – from his earliest days as a timid child hiding behind his sister as he’s chastised by their austere father, to an adolescence spent in the desolate frozen plains to uphold his Oath to Qlipoth and, thus, his duty as a Landau, unto an adulthood filled with empty accolades and ever-waning hope in a dying world. In those dismal days, it was all he could do to hold steadfast onto his beliefs—not as a child of Landau, nor as the famed Captain of the Silvermane Guards, but simply as ‘Gepard’.

Gepard, the child who had to mature a little too fast, who had to take up arms at the age most other children are still learning to read and write. Gepard, the boy who had to fill shoes far too big for one as young as himself, who had known this and still wanted to, if only to relieve some of the burden from his sister’s shoulders. Gepard, the man who had yearned, and still yearns, for normalcy, for a life where duty and obligation and tradition didn’t break his family apart, a life where he doesn’t have to fear a tomorrow that might never come.

A tomorrow that he now knows will never come, for it has been averted through the selfless sacrifice of the late Supreme Guardian.

And yet, what sterile rationality unfailingly acknowledges, the wounded mind often struggles to understand.

So it is that Gepard is a creature of habit. He has spent decades of his life following a predetermined script of his own making, modified and perfected to allow for any sudden and unpredictable variables encroaching upon it. From his mealtimes to his personal training regimen, down to his patrol routes and waking and resting hours, as well as his alternating visits to his elder sister’s workshop and to the Landau Manor on his days off, or when time permits—he has spared no effort anticipating the worst, preparing for the day of Belobog’s inevitable fall.

So much so that, with the threat of extinction now vanquished, Gepard feels—off-balanced. Like the beaten earth he’s walked for twenty-odd years had suddenly given away to brittleness, and he’s just now learning how to find his footing again in order not to be swallowed by the gaping abyss, the opaque future ahead. The life he’d yearned for, all those years ago in his youth, as a mere Silvermane private, is finally within his reach and yet further than it has ever been before. Because, for all that annihilation has been averted, what he truly sought was something beyond the confines of honour and duty, an idyllic future that will ever be beyond his means.

But that is neither here nor there.

As always, Gepard wakes with the sun, just as the day’s first threads of light gently spill into your shared room and illuminate the surroundings in a cold morning hue. You’re huddled by his side, as you always seem to do in your sleep, a sight for sore eyes—your hair in disarray, one too many crease marks on your cheek, curled under the heaviest quilt you could manage to have commissioned to combat what, in your opinion, is the coldest time of the year, despite the Eternal Freeze having long since erased any concept of seasonal cycles that might have existed in times long gone. As always, Gepard rises from bed first to prepare for the day ahead, even though it is a rest day for him as much as it is for you. And, as always, Gepard carefully disentangles himself from you, albeit begrudgingly, and tucks you back in into what you’ve once ( good-humouredly, you had hastily assured him ) called a blanket wrap of doom—because, while incredibly comfortable, it is immensely difficult to get out of without aid.

He manages a wry smile at the memory, a fond recollection from the days when you’d first moved in together and were still trying to learn how to manoeuvre around one another in a context far less chaotic than a battlefield, and far less formal than the tall and imposing staterooms of Qlipoth Fort. Now, however, it comes like second nature, as though there had never once been a time where it was anything but. A hand reaches out, delicately, his knuckles gently brushing aside tufts of unruly hair from the space above your brow; in their wake, he leaves the softest of kisses, a daily reminder of his profound affection for you. As always, you stir, but do not wake – and as always, the ghost of a smile faintly curves the corners of your lips, as though, even in deep slumber, you could recognise his touch and his devotion to you at once, even blind.

With a final, lingering, longing glance at your peaceful sleeping expression, he rises from bed at last and begins his preparations.

When he steps out of the sanctuary of your home, dressed in civilian clothes he seldom has the luxury of seeing on himself, it is to the familiar bite of morning frost upon his skin, and to the strange feeling of hoar saturating through the thick layers of clothes and settling deep within his bones. It reminds him of childhood, of a time before uniforms made of heavy cloth and bulky Geomarrow armour began substituting silk and velvet and wool—of a time before he came to find the frigid winds buffeting the Restricted Zone more comforting than the warmth of his childhood home, the silence blanketing the desolate snow plains a better companion than the lingering unease seeping through every corner of the manor in the days immediately following his sister’s estrangement.

Gepard lets out a breath, watches as it condenses white in the cold air and then dissipates under the dusty light of old street lamps. The heavy door behind him closes shut with a final creak, and Gepard ventures forth into the grey morning, feeble sunlight barely beginning to cut through the shroud of vapour with its pillars of light. With a thick stack of papers held securely in his arms, his first destination is, as usual, Qlipoth Fort. The newly appointed Supreme Guardian will surely chastise him for coming in on one of his rare days off, but that is a bridge he will cross once the time comes—for now, he is simply content to amble along the well-worn path from his home towards the city centre with different, less guarded eyes surveying his surroundings.

As the Captain, all he could focus on as he marched down the streets in his uniform, stark blue and white against the muted beiges of the buildings, was how to best preserve the safety of Belobog’s citizens and the fragile peace within. Scarcely did he ever stop to observe the world around him for anything more than a moment, mind and body alike perpetually focused on the next imminent battle and the countless losses that will inevitably follow to pay his surroundings any more heed than necessary—like a man touched by grief and death and tragedy from a much too young age to properly feel any sense of belonging within the confines of the city, an outsider amongst the very people he’d sworn to protect all those years ago.

But as Gepard – as the young child whose father forbade from ever interacting with the common people again, and as the same child who had yearned to hear stories about Belobog’s past even his tutors were ignorant of – he is not constrained by a Captain’s duties, or a Landau’s oath.

As Gepard, there is no invisible boundary he has to take care not to cross, no etiquette he has the obligation to observe. And during the years he’s spent as your Gepard ( flawed, kind, tormented Gepard ), he’s slowly learned there is actually very little he needs to hold back from doing. Whether it be sitting on one of the many benches scattered throughout the city to watch as its inhabitants pass him by, or joining the small group of children crowding around Pela in front of the Everwinter Monument, sharing their eagerness to hear stories about their world, or even simply exchanging a few words with the people he’s always just considered mere civilians before then—little by little, the shadows of his father’s influence that always seemed to claw at his heart had begun to wane, replaced by something softer and warmer, something more understanding, perhaps even forgiving.

Still, old habits are hard to break.

Yet, for your sake, he will try.

By the time he reaches the heart of the Administrative District, the morning brume has already begun to lift, dispersed by the combined effort of sunlight and of the burning heaters coming to life at dawn. He nods in greeting at a handful of Silvermane Guards on morning patrol duty who’ve stopped to salute their captain, and lingers to exchange some pleasantries with more high-ranked ones regarding the focus of future military campaigns, now that the source of the Eternal Freeze has been eradicated. Some of those more familiar with him take the chance to poke fun at him—“Only Captain Gepard would find it in himself to wake up as early as usual on a day off, just to deliver some paperwork!” they jest, and the statement is met by said captain with a helpless smile and a fond shake of his head, which in turn rouses a short bout of hearty laughter from his soldiers. They bid their goodbyes, and Gepard marches on.

As expected, he is met with much of the same sentiment when he steps into Qlipoth Fort, within the confines of the Supreme Guardian’s office. Bronya tears her gaze away from the countless papers littering her desk only for it to fall on more of them in his arms, and when she meets his eyes it’s with a grimace so faint and so swiftly replaced by her usual controlled expression that, if he were any less familiar with her, he would have thought the work of his imagination. Gepard has weathered worse, so he doesn’t let that obvious show of disapproval deter him from approaching her and her workspace.

Bronya sighs, a hand kneading her brow as if preemptively soothing an impending headache. “Captain Gepard…” She begins, taking the stack of paperwork from his hands to quickly glance at it and confirm her suspicions—it is, indeed, the documentation she’s entrusted to you some days prior, which she had made abundantly clear was not urgent and that, at the very least, could have waited until after your day off. “Between the three of us, I have a hard time deciding who is more of a workaholic.”

“We are both merely striving to alleviate your worries, Lady Bronya,” he says, and he retreats a few steps to put some space between them—a respectable distance more fitting for their roles as ruler and subject rather than friends, though it only comes off as incredibly silly with him out of his uniform and her not as domineering and solemn as she is in public. “Some of us more so than others.”

Gepard offers her a wry smile then, recalling your figure from yesternight as you stubbornly toiled through the documents, hunched over the escritoire with only the suffused orange lamplight keeping you company, until way past any reasonable bedtime. The young Supreme Guardian heaves another sigh, but even she cannot hide the slightest upwards turn of her lips at the implications in Gepard’s words.

Bronya arranges the new additions to her workload in a neat pile far away from the chaos that has overtaken her main working space, then wordlessly dismisses Gepard with a pointed stare—one that he knows is a veiled warning not to step into Qlipoth Fort again until tomorrow. Just as wordlessly, he bows slightly and takes his leave, just as he’s done countless times before for a different Guardian, though in far less amicable circumstances, and for his austere father, when he was far younger and far less sure of himself than he is now.

When he steps outside again, it is to a much more bustling city, the streets of the Administrative District gradually growing busier as its inhabitants awaken and breathe life into their surroundings simply by existing. Gepard glances at the sky, makes a note of the sun's position in it—he should still have plenty more time before you awaken from your slumber. It’s still early enough that the bakery across the Goethe Hotel has yet to run out of your favourite pastries, so that will be his first stop on his way home. Then, he recalls you musing to yourself, some days ago, about having to replace the flowers in some of the vases at the entrance, together with some other household necessities you’d both forgotten to replace in light of recent events…

His mental checklist complete, Gepard ventures forth on another mission—only, this time, his final destination is home, back by your side.

You’ve just barely begun stirring from your languor when he shuffles back into your shared space, a steaming mug of your favourite hot beverage in one hand and a fresh change of clothes ( that you’ve forgotten in the drier the night prior, it seems ) in the other. The mattress dips as he settles at its very edge, setting the mug on the nightstand and chuckling quietly at the deep furrow of your brows as you try, in vain, to turn away from the ever-so-offending rays of sunlight shining insistently on your visage, prying you from the cradle of sleep. You groan when that proves unsuccessful, eyes still stubbornly squeezed shut.

“Not feeling like getting up yet?” Comes his question at last, voice laced with fondness and a hint of exasperated amusement. In response, you burrow deeper into the quilt, until nothing discernible is left of you other than messy strands of hair splayed across the pillow and over the comforter.

Gepard indulges you for a handful of heartbeats, but ultimately has to stand his ground. After all, there’s the rapidly cooling mug of your morning kickstarter on one side, and the promise of a rare breakfast together on the other.

“I don’t mind letting you sleep in a little more, but I don’t believe Pela will quite appreciate tardiness,” a pause, soon followed by thoughtful humming. “Besides, you don’t really have the heart to make Serval and Lynx wait out in the cold for us, do you?”

The violent speed at which you attempt to spring up into a sitting position at the mere mention of his sisters’ names would probably greatly concern the average person, but not Gepard. He’s wise enough ( accustomed enough ) to lean out of your trajectory, lest you be rudely forced awake by a headbutt first thing in the morning, and his hands reach out to halt your momentum before the impending wave of dizziness can take over. You fall into his arms, another muffled, miserable groan crawling its way out of your throat.

“Ugh… My head feels like it’s getting split open…”

Gepard’s eyes soften ever so imperceptibly, holding you closer to his chest and rearranging your position so that he can begin unravelling the so-called ‘blanket wrap of doom’ and extricate you from its evil clutches. “Then perhaps you should’ve heeded my words and gone to sleep earlier, instead of powering through the paperwork until late.”

Unfortunately freed from the protection of your beloved quilt, you first squint at the bright light assaulting your poor, defenceless eyes, then, in a fit of bad decision making, straight at the wide windows from whence said light comes, and then you linger at the ornate patterns adorning the ceiling of your bedroom—finally, after you’ve had your fill of your pretence at daydreaming, your gaze falls onto your lover, and it takes all the energy you can muster while being barely awake to keep your offended mien from crumbling away into a teasing smile.

“Excuse me?” You begin, trying to keep your voice as unwavering as you hope your expression is. Gepard simply shakes his head, used to and terribly fond of your antics in equal measure, and he simply, wordlessly hands you your mug. You take it with a thankful smile, a content sigh leaving your lips as just one sip warms you right up, but it soon falls back to the same faux frown as before. You cough in an attempt to recompose yourself, decidedly ignoring Gepard’s ill-contained snort, and intrepidly continue on your improvised spiel under the amused eyes of one Silvermane Captain.

“I don’t think Mr. Captain of the Silvermane Guards, Gepard Landau, who wakes up at dawn even on a day off simply because of habit, is qualified enough to harangue me over work ethics.”

You pin him with a pointed stare, an index finger poking his cheek, but Gepard simply answers by grasping your offending hand and bringing it to his lips for one of his usual fleeting baisemains. He leans into your touch, then, your palm gently cradling the side of his visage you were poking insistently just mere heartbeats earlier, his own hand over yours.

“Alright, you got me,” he sighs in mock defeat, unable to hide the widening smile shattering any pretence of his poor attempt at an apology. You hide your own grin with the aid of your mug, occasionally sipping on the now lukewarm drink, and a giggle escapes you when Gepard presses his lips to your temple. A little guiltily, he doesn’t mention his little morning escapade to hand those very papers to the Supreme Guardian. A little because you’d eventually figure it out either way, and a little because, while he finds your pout unfairly endearing, he adores your smile much more – and he’d much rather deal with the consequences of his omission later in the day than now.

A comfortable silence settles between the two of you then, neither in any particular hurry in spite of what Gepard may have tried ( and failed, bless his soul ) to instil in you—after all, while true that you’ve made plans to spend time with the Landau sisters and Pela, it is not until early afternoon that you’ve arranged for everyone to meet. Even in your simultaneously sleep-addled and sleep-deprived state first thing in the morning, you are not so easily deceived, just as Gepard is not so easily swayed once his mind settles on something. Some would call him inflexible, which rings undoubtedly true at times, but you know better. Somehow, someway, you’ve always known him better than he seems to know himself.

You’ve seen him doubt himself and his purpose, seen as his inner conflict made him question all that he knew, all that he stood for. You’ve seen how hard he’s tried to reconcile his father and his older sister in the months immediately following their fallout, despite knowing it would be futile without the people themselves’ willingness to compromise and understand the other. And you’ve seen how, in the face of so much death and desolation and despair in a world besieged by eternal frost, he became, together with the Silvermane Guards he leads, a beacon of hope for the people of Belobog. An impenetrable bulwark, the aegis of salvation.

Presented with a difficult decision, Gepard will always choose to uphold his Oath over all else—to protect, to preserve, even at the cost of his own life. Such is the duty of a Landau. Of an Architect.

But you have never resented him for that, never turned your back to him, instead offering quiet comfort and understanding, a steadfast and reassuring presence on those nights he felt his most vulnerable; your warmth and embrace a most effective remedy to the doubts and thoughts that plague him, even now. And for that, for the solace and peace that you unfailingly instil in him, Gepard could not be more grateful. He never fails to prove it to you, either—throughout your many years together, both as a way to show his love and devotion and as a way to make up for the long weeks he has to spend away from you, deployed on the frontlines, he’s always made sure to repay your thoughtfulness twofold, with attentive gestures to lighten your daily worries and small gifts to lift your spirits. This morning is no different.

“I’ve made a quick trip to your favourite bakery while you were sleeping,” he says, breaking the peaceful silence, and he doesn’t bother suppressing the soft chuckle that escapes him when your eyes flicker back to him with a renewed twinkle in them. “How about we get started on breakfast?”

Your answer comes wordlessly; in a series of fluid motions, you swiftly disentangle your limbs from his and grab hold of your well-loved quilt. Gepard follows suit, familiar with your modus operandi, and steps aside to let you work your magic as you remake the bed in hardly any time at all, making it look effortless. Then, with that done, you turn to him again, offering your empty mug in exchange for the set of clothes still carefully held in his hands. Gepard shakes his head at your antics, but ultimately makes no argument against it.

The barter is done, and you waltz into the washroom to change and freshen up with a spring in your step. And as Gepard’s eyes linger a little bit longer on the spot you were just occupying even after you’ve disappeared behind the heavy mahogany door, a sudden, passing thought gains clarity at the forefront of his mind.

With the threat of the Stellaron gone, there will be many more mornings like this one. Mornings where he doesn’t have to leave you behind, nestled in the safety of the city, with no guarantee that he’ll return alive to see your smile again. Mornings where he rises at dawn not to patrol the city’s outer perimeters for dangers, nor to confirm the statuses of his troops, but to buy your favourite kind of pastries at the bakery near the Goethe Hotel before they sell out, and to replace the flowers in your home with fresh ones he’s bought from the Eversummer Florist on his way back.

Most of all, mornings where he can be there when you wake up, and where he and you can get ready for the day together.

Gepard exhales, a muted sound that seems to reverberate in the now empty bed chambers. With a final glance at his surroundings, running a mental checklist to confirm everything is in order, he begins making his way towards the kitchen at last—mug in hand, and a tender smile brightening his usually stoic façade.

Perhaps, he can finally allow himself to breathe a little easier.

✧ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘��𝐀𝐍.

Immortality breeds indolence.

Indolence breeds stagnation.

And to a long life species, stagnation is no different to oblivion, for it is then that the curse of the mara begins to grow and attach its roots to its victims—an insidious, invisible enemy that even the most technologically advanced weapon devised by the Artisanship Commission is unable to eradicate, and one that even the strongest and wisest of warriors will eventually, inevitably fall prey to.

This, Jing Yuan acknowledges solemnly, was forced to, all those centuries past, as he had to watch, powerless, as his master gradually and wretchedly lost herself to the selfsame madness that took hold of innumerable others before her, transforming them into senseless abominations beyond recognition for whom only verdict, final judgement, and ultimate mercy was ( still is ) and could only be extermination.

A disease that steadily blurs one’s recollections until nothing but anguish remains in their stead, a blood parasite that feeds onto its host’s torment at their lost ego, waning sense of self, and vanishing memories and harnesses it to its whim, until what once was human has been reshaped into a grotesque stumbling simulacrum of life and made vessel of mutiny and delirium and bloodshed. Such is the nature of the mara, and of the gift of immortality that was bestowed upon their forebears by the Plagues Author more than eight millennia past.

Only when confronted with the consequences of their greed do humans finally begin to reflect and repent for their ill-fated shortcomings. And it is only when their selfishness brings about disaster that they at last realise the utter foolishness of their pursuits, and begin to beg for forgiveness to any higher entity that might listen to their wretched pleas. Jing Yuan has lived enough centuries to know this to be true, without any shadow of uncertainty — he has seen it in the eyes of criminals, begging and imploring not out of any genuine apology, but simply regretful they got caught; he’s seen it reflected in the faces of species that have newly attained immortality, their expressions twisted by abject terror as their life is rendered naught with an effortless swing of his blade; and he’s read it, seen it in his own people, in the ancestors that led to the Xianzhou Alliance becoming an entity that exists solely to extirpate the turpitude wrought unto existence by the Abundance.

Jing Yuan is acutely aware of what he must do, of the duty he must fulfil. As a Cloud Knight, as a General, and as the holder of the seat of the Divine Foresight. His is a burden that he alone must shoulder, just as the ones before him did, and as countless others after him will.

Days, months and years blur together in the life of a long-lived species. Mortal existence is like a limpid river flowing incessantly towards its promised estuary, spurred on by the assurance of the eventual end to its long journey – it matters not what manner of debris its currents pick up over the course of its travels, for its waters will ever stay unstained, untempered by the filth of sin. The Xianzhou natives, blinded by the golden fruits of temptation, willingly precluded themselves such peaceful fate and chose, instead, to shatter the absolute laws of the Heavens in their myopic arrogance.

Their descendants are thus paying the price of their forefathers’ error. Through the Three Sufferings, across hostile stellar systems, enduring ruthless civil wars and horrific alien entities alike in an endless pilgrimage of repentance under the salvation wrought to them by the gaze of the Reignbow Arbiter, they have withstood millennia of tribulations to reach a tenuous peace at last. Peace that, in no small part, has been won through the Divine Foresight’s efforts.

Since the day he has taken office, Jing Yuan has spent every waking moment protecting, overseeing, guiding, never resting. Toiling alone in a place unseen by most, he found quiet companionship in books and sound counsel in his starchess board and pieces, playing against fictitious and nebulous opponents far above his calibre—all in order to temper his mind, turn it into a blade with an impossibly sharp edge, just so that he might rout his real opponents long before they can have any chance to become perilous enough to threaten the Alliance. Throughout all that – or rather, despite all that – he’s somehow gained the title of the Dozing General.

Though, he supposes some of the fault does lie in himself, and in his tendency to nod off in public most infamously. As a rebellious child who defied his parents’ wishes for a life as far removed from warfare as sun and moon are, simply out of a juvenile wish to carve out his future with his own hands and through his own means, Jing Yuan has long since gotten used to subverting any and all expectations others may happen to thrust upon him. They may mock him behind closed quarters, but such matters are scarcely ever worth in-depth scrutiny: for the ones lacking are them, and the one tirelessly travailing is him.

Regardless, Jing Yuan has always been of the opinion that if one’s already been affixed with a descriptive epithet, even if not of the particularly flattering sort, then they should at the very least act the part. It only stands to reason, then, that he should live up to the high regard those snide remarks reserve for him. That, and it does him no harm—albeit this harmless mischief of his does earn him your pointed, reproachful, all-withering stare every now and then.

This morning being one such occasion. Uncommon as they are, days where there are no time constraints fettering him to his countless duties and neverending papers set the perfect stage for his silly ploys of make-believe.

Jing Yuan stirs, a soundless yawn slipping past his lips as his eyes blink open with an ease unbefitting someone who’s supposedly only just woken up. His head lolls to the side, towards the world beyond the confines of his home, and his mouth quirks up in a lazy show of self-satisfaction when he’s greeted with blinding sunlight. Outside the wide traditional-style circular window, the artificial sun employed by the Luofu has just reached its zenith, hanging high in the impossibly, and equally as artificial, blue sky. It is but a means of approximate timekeeping, but even the basest of creatures would be unable to mistake the exceedingly late hour.

Unhurried and utterly unbothered, Jing Yuan languidly rearranges his slumber-laden limbs into a more believable sleeping position in anticipation of your arrival, fighting back the amused smile threatening to betray his carefully crafted act at the mere thought of the exasperated furrow of your brows and the unsurprised, but still chagrined, grimace he will surely find on your visage as you slowly come to the realisation that he has yet to rise from bed—at midday, no less. Him, one of the Arbiter-Generals of the Xianzhou Hexafleet, current holder of the Seat of Divine Foresight, someone looked up to by all in the Alliance, sleeping in despite being aware of the hearsay being spread among the Luofu populace. The scandal of it all.

And he knows he doesn’t have to wait too long. He’s gotten quite familiar with your schedule over the decades you’ve been together, after all, and it would be a blemish on his otherwise spotless repute as the Divine Foresight should he be found remiss in his knowledge of his beloved’s day-to-day engagements. He will not allow himself to be judged lacking in anything that may have even the slightest connection to you, even should he regrettably happen to employ that selfsame knowledge for his less than noble, incredibly, facetiously whimsical ends.

Besides, he muses to himself as his face burrows deeper into the pillows, his blanket haphazardly strewn over his legs and half dangling off the bed, you don’t seem to mind it all too much – whether out of a deep-rooted familiarity with his antics or, though much less likely, a genuine enjoyment of them, you never seem to be able to hold onto your annoyance for any longer than the split second it takes for your usually serene expression to morph into one of exasperated scepticism at the sight of a lark successfully executed. Jing Yuan lets out a soft sigh, faint vestiges of your scent still lingering on the fabric of the pillows and enveloping him in your comforting, if a little faded, fragrance, and for a moment he contemplates falling asleep again, just like that; warmed by sunlight, spread out over the traditional-style bed, half of his visage sunk into an assortment of feather-soft pillows and the other obscured by an unruly mane of hair. But the muted sound of approaching footsteps sobers him of his would-have-been somnolence as swiftly as the crackling of thunder would, and he considers whether he should pull the blanket over himself again or just leave it hanging off the bed.

The wooden folding doors open with a resounding slam right there and then, and the decision, though inconsequential, is made for him. Jing Yuan has to suppress the chuckles threatening to spill from his lips at the beat of silence that follows your grand entrance back into your shared chambers; and though he cannot see, he’s sure the emotions flickering through your visage right now are as plentiful as the flowers blooming in the courtyard. Dismay, surely, closely followed by clarity and realisation, and perhaps a bit of irritation at the sight of the disarray he’s single-handedly plunged the bed into since you’ve left earlier in the morning. Then, a heavy sigh, and the padding of clothed feet on the wooden boards as you draw nearer to the bed.

“How quaint,” you say, wry and suspicious and every bit as exasperated as he’d imagined you’d be. “It seems my eyes are playing tricks on me.”

Another pause, this time mercifully filled by the chirping of birds outside the window, and by the distant sounds of starskiffs soaring through the air beyond the confines of his home — of your home. But this lull, too, is short-lived. A hand promptly furls around each of his ankles, firm enough to have a secure grasp over them but not enough to bruise, a thoughtfully casual nature to the touch, and Jing Yuan has enough self-possession to repress a noise that’s equal parts surprised and amused from escaping him as his centre of gravity slowly inches ever forward, towards the far edge of the bed and the gaping void beyond it.

If an outsider were to witness the spectacle currently unfolding in your bedroom – one of its occupants faking sleep, the other forcibly dragging said rascal off the bed – unaware of the close relationship and centuries-long history between the two of you, it might appear as though you were committing a grave slight towards the General, and neither you nor Jing Yuan would be able to hold it against them for thinking so. It is not often ( if ever at all, were it not for a select few people who hardly hesitate to make their highly critical evaluations of his character known ) that he’s treated with such insolence, albeit playful, most of his interactions with others usually punctuated by either admiration, apprehension, or by the ostentatious favour-currying of the heads of the merchant guilds and other Outworlders alike.

An Arbiter-General’s duties and responsibilities are hardly as glamorous as they may first appear to be to the untrained eye, after all. Years blur together in an endless succession of tedium and repetition and acedia; what might have seemed or felt novel at first will slowly but surely morph into normalcy, and what once might have been cause of joy and celebration becomes just another frayed thread in the amaranthine tapestry of an immortal’s life. Likewise, as the Divine Foresight, as a General, and as a soldier—there is not much Jing Yuan has not experienced in his long life. It was the thrill of disobeying his parents at first, when he was still a starry-eyed Cloud Knight-hopeful with nothing but ideals and ambitions and dreams to his name, spurning the beaten path they’d prepared for him as their own parents in turn did theirs, instead seeking honour and glory on battlefields in the most wretched and forgotten reaches of the cosmos, striving to protect the Xianzhou and, in doing so, uphold the will of the Reignbow Arbiter.

Then came the High-Cloud Quintet, and the countless accolades that inevitably follow in the wake of a group of rising heroes—accompanied by the unavoidable terror and hatred and distrust as those very heroes cruelly, eventually, perhaps even prematurely, meet the end of their time at the hands of fate, torn apart at the seams by selfishness and by selflessness, by love and by hate, by life and by death.

Jing Yuan had felt honoured, at the time. To have his strength and accomplishments recognised by the master he’d so admired and from whom he’d learned all he then knew of swordplay and warfare, and to have been granted the chance to fight alongside warriors whose names would be recorded and celebrated in the annals of history for millennia to come—for a fleeting moment in time, he had felt as though his juvenile dreams had taken life, mere fantasy superimposing itself unto reality; like a transient blossom blooming and bedazzling all who’d come near it, so that it may be remembered for its beauty and not for the desolation that followed its withering. An insect leaving its cocoon to live but a minute.

That also had to come to an end, as most things in a long-lived species’ life often do. Such is the price of eternal life—to see with one’s own eyes as Fate spins its neverending loom, to bear witness to the ever-changing fortunes of heroes-turned-sinners, to feel and judge for oneself the evanescent nature of all things, the innate impermanence permeating human existence. And of five people, he alone has remained untouched by strife, observer of vicissitudes and outsider to the depth of the love and anguish that caused them each to turn their blades against the other.

And then, there is you——

“Love, may I suggest some more considerate ways to wake someone up?” He catches himself just mere heartbeats before the back of his head can make direct contact with the lacquered floorboards, one honey-tinted eye blinking open and affixing you with faux stupor and something akin to divertissement, a fond smile finding its way upon his lips. “Surely, even I do not deserve a concussion first thing in the morning.”

You slacken your hold over Jing Yuan’s ankles with a noncommittal shrug and promptly take a step back to allow him some space to gather his bearings, your half-hearted attempt at a rudimentary wake-up tactic foiled just as it was getting to the good part ( not that you’ve ever believed you’d be able to catch the Divine Foresight off-guard, but still – surely, there is nothing wrong with daydreaming of impossible outcomes? ). Your arms crossed over your chest and an unimpressed mien drawing your brows together and pulling your lips into a thin line, you watch as Jing Yuan pulls himself into a sitting position under your pinched gaze, steady and unwavering even as he meets your eyes, with all the casualness in the universe, from underneath silver lashes. He leans forward then, elbow propped up on a knee and cheek resting against his knuckles, his smile widening into an unabashed and adoring grin.

——You, whose mere sight sets his heart alight, even centuries after your fateful meeting.

“I am afraid any other method would have proven unsuccessful, General,” you huff out, half-impassive and not quite convincingly disdainful, with a hint of ill-concealed fondness beneath the bite of your words. “After all, had I tried gently nudging you ‘awake’, as I’ve already attempted several times in the past, you would’ve simply grabbed hold of me, caged me against the bed, and held me in your arms until you finally felt like getting up.”

Jing Yuan’s visible eye closes into a crescent, his brows raised in mock surprise and clearly amused at your impromptu tirade. “And you didn’t like it?”

“It is not a matter of like or dislike, my dear,” you retort, the endearment falling from the tip of your tongue so effortlessly making his heart soar. “It is the timing I have an issue with.”

“So, all I am hearing is that you don’t mind it. Which means I will persist in my endeavour to keep you by my side, preferably sunbathing in bed.”

You squint at him, mouth forming around words of protest before thinking better of it, sparing yourself from the onset of a much worse headache. After all, you’ve come to know quite well that, no matter the rebuttal, Jing Yuan will, without fail, find some way to twist your words into teasing remarks in his favour—and if your time together has taught you anything ( other than confirming your downright awful taste in men ), it’s that silence is the best response when faced with any of his coy utterances.

So, you don’t bother giving him an answer, instead opting to carefully manoeuvre around him and the bed to reach the antique dressing table at the far end of the room. Jing Yuan follows your movements from the corner of his eye, mirthful smile still on his lips, as you busy yourself with the dresser and its many gold-embossed drawers, no doubt looking for his hairbrush and perusing for one of the many silk ribbons you’ve begun collecting for his exclusive use since the day you’d first moved in together. Your back obscures the busy motions of your hands, and he has half the thought of rising from his seat on the floor to aid in your frantic search but, before said musing can fully register in his mind, you whirl around with an endearingly triumphant expression having overwritten your earlier frown.

Jing Yuan blinks at the unfamiliar sight of the delicate piece of fabric. “Is that a new addition?”

“Why, yes,” comes your blithe answer, your feet padding back towards the bed with the hairbrush and the chosen ribbon cradled in your hands, “Yanqing personally helped me pick it the other day as we were running errands.”

Your words are acknowledged with a pensive hum, no further objections made over the ribbon’s cutesy design of stylised, flourishing swords over a plain pastel blue background. It does indeed feel like something Yanqing would pick out over anything and all else. Jing Yuan wonders how his protegé would react if he ever saw his guardian wearing such a silly hair tie—perhaps he should alternate between it and his usual red one, just to see Yanqing’s candid reaction to it. He tucks the thought in the recesses of his mind for further deliberation, already envisioning all the possible ways the scenario could evolve into.

A contented sigh escapes him as soon as your hands find their way into his mane of unruly silver hair, smoothing out any stubborn knots ahead of time so that the brush can glide through it easier after, and tame it enough so that he may look more presentable and dignified like the Divine Foresight, Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu, should, and less like his Wave-Treading Snow Lion Mimi. Because, for as much as Mimi is cute and regal and intimidating, you’re rather sceptical its owner would be received with much of the same sentiment were he to appear in front of his retainers as dishevelled as he looks right out of bed.

Not that you can know for sure, of course – the sample of said retainers you’re drawing your conclusions from is rather limited, after all, and there is a wild variety of personalities and differing interpersonal relations to take into consideration. For all you know, they all would simply turn the other way and pretend they saw nothing.

Still, for your own peace of mind, you cannot help but fuss over him.

“You know,” you begin, voice thoughtful and playful and far away in a senseless musing all at once, your hands going through motions you’ve repeated countless times over the centuries you’ve spent in Jing Yuan’s presence, and him in yours. “Sometimes, I feel more like your caretaker than your lover.”

“Is that so?” Jing Yuan tilts his head back, allowing you an easier angle to gather his hair in his usual half-up, half-down tail, a pensive hum cascading from his lips. “But you don’t hate it, do you? After all, it’s not like I’m forcing you to take care of me.”

And when you reply by gently tugging at his hair in faux indignation, he laughs—a breathless, boyish sound betraying his age, echoing through the room and drowning out birdsong and wind alike, as though there was no one else in the universe but you and him and this quiet, tender moment frozen in time, untainted by the cruelty and sin that ever await him beyond the confines of the sanctuary of your home.

But here, and now, nothing about that matters.

Jing Yuan waits, quiet and obedient, until you’ve secured the ribbon around his hair in a knot that feels neither too tight nor too loose. He knows it’s perfect even without a mirror—he’s trusted you in more treacherous circumstances with far less margins of error to gamble that trust on, after all. And even should this blind faith of his be proven wrong over a clumsily tied tail, he certainly wouldn’t stop trusting you now just because you’ve retired from the limelight of war.

When he turns around, it is to the sight of you. You, your visage limned in golden sunlight, the warmth of your hand as your knuckles ghost over his cheek, the look of fond exasperation you reserve for him, and him only, as he leans in for a chaste kiss, smiling against his lips—you set his heart alight.

As you always have. As you always will.

And no matter how many more years, decades, centuries pass, how many more mornings will begin just like this, how many more times you’ll come to physically drag him out of bed or tie his hair up for him, grumbling about his aggravating habits all the while – simply because it is you, Jing Yuan thinks he’ll never truly get used to it, to your presence, and to your love.

He knows he never will.

#scriptorium.#hsr x reader #gepard landau x reader #jing yuan x reader #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #gepard x reader #jingyuan x reader

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clonerightsagenda · 2 months ago

Text

For now I think I'm going to use #crude monsters as my catchall tag because I respect a clever title. I'll try to backtag stuff but given tumblr's search function I'm going to pile all my current thoughts in one place so this one at least will be tagged.

Thesis

I've observed a theme in SFF works from the last decade connecting the undead/death magic with fossil fuels/climate change in a way that makes even more literal our contemporary society being powered by dead things (fossil fuels) and positions climate change/pollution as a 'haunting' we've brought upon ourselves. The specter of communism may have been haunting Europe, but the specter of petrochemicals now stalks the globe, and it's getting hot (or cold) in here.

Examples I have collected so far:

The Locked Tomb by Tamsyn Muir

This is the most blatant. House society runs on death even more visibly than our own. It was created by a man working to save the planet, but even his original project betrays a belief that humans can't possibly escape their extractive relationship with Earth - it relied on freezing the entire population until the Earth could recover, instead of changing anyone's behavior. John wipes out our society, but he ends up recreating a lot of its harmful structures, including a reliance on extraction and death. The Houses rely on labor performed by skeletal servitors (more akin to the original zombie-as-enslaved-labor than the modern ravenous swarm). They use material goods primarily made of plastic or human bone/tissue. The Empire expands by killing entire planetary ecosystems and harvesting the death energy, spawning vengeful hauntings that target necromancers (people born from and benefiting from this extractive process) and Lyctors (necromancers who have gone even further to make continual death and extraction core to their identity). John, the leader of the empire, is powered by the death of Earth, and that's what's literally keeping the lights on - when he's briefly killed, the sun starts to go out. Society's view of human life as fuel trickles down to the interpersonal level as well, with many characters blurring devotion and consumption, taking it as a personal rejection when someone refuses to eat them, or deciding that the kindest alternative to the societal status quo is mutual self-immolation (nuclear fusion?).

Beyond the resurrection beasts serving as the vengeance of slaughtered ecosystems, we also see the aftereffects of this regime in the River, which is filthy and polluted. The Cuyahoga River catching fire became a key symbol and tipping point in the environmental movement in the late 60s/70s, and here we have a river that's been befouled by however John broke the world.

Lockwood & Co by Jonathan Stroud

In this series, Britain is plagued by something no one wants to name. It's not haunting, it's a Problem. They're not ghosts, they're Visitors. The dead don't have names, they get nicknames like natural disasters. But at the root is a group of wealthy industrialists who are exacerbating a crisis and profiting off of it at the same time. Business leaders are invading the afterlife to extract a product literally made out of dead people, which stirs up the dead and heightens the Problem. Then they turn around and make money off it by selling key supplies and services (silver, iron, agents, etc.) The reliance on children's Talents is reminiscent of climate change rhetoric around young people. Polls suggest young people are the most aware and concerned about climate change (after all, like with Visitors, they can see and feel it most clearly). Many adults in Turbohaunted Britain are willfully ignorant of the situation, brush off their own responsibility, and talk about how "the children will save us", cheerfully dropping the problem into the laps of a generation that did not cause it but will inherit its worst effects. Of course it's not just children who suffer - the process of invading the Other Side is actively killing the people doing it as well, and yet they still won't stop, driven by extractive greed.

This extraction is also displacing a large population. The dead entering living Britain are victims, but they're dehumanized by the real wrongdoers who need an easy scapegoat and the money they can make off one. The later books in this series were published around the height of the European refugee "crisis", when Europe saw high numbers of migrants from Middle Eastern and North African nations experiencing instability that Western oil interests contributed to. Rather than recognizing their responsibility and welcoming these people, Europe as a whole mostly rejected and vilified them, and nations across the globe continue to latch onto cases where migrants do hurt someone as evidence that they're all dangerous monsters, using them as a smokescreen to deflect attention from the rich corporate architects of our collective misery.

The Scholomance by Naomi Novik

This is my third example, and I might be stretching the undead thing a bit, but not too much imo. In the Scholomance series, privileged magic users, primarily in Western and wealthy nations, live in extravagant protected enclaves, leaving everyone else at the mercy of dangerous monsters. It's eventually revealed that enclaves are literally built on the backs of human sacrifices, which spawn a tar pit-like monster (mawmouth) that roams around devouring people - mostly those unlucky individuals who don't get through the enclave gates, meaning the people who benefit are also the least impacted, just as we've seen with warming and climate disasters. Their comfort comes at a direct cost to everyone else. Mawmouths are made out of that original sacrifice but accumulate their screaming, perpetually dying victims, and El is eventually able to defeat them by reminding them that they're "already dead", so I'd say they're at least undead-adjacent.

When a Chinese wizard learns the secret of enclave construction, he confronts the Western enclaves, who refuse to stop. So, his faction feels they have no choice but to build their own enclaves, even if that makes the problem worse. It's reminiscent of how the West scolds "developing" nations for increasing their population and emissions despite having enjoyed the fruits of living large, carbon consumption-wise, for decades. ("We had our fun, now we're going to wag our fingers at anyone who doesn't want to sign emissions treaties. We're not following them though.") The New York enclave makes a more ~ethical~ mawmouth (Orion = greenwashing??) but mostly so they can weaponize it against anyone who argues with them. Orion being created as part of this arms race and El being born to 'balance' him out again hearkens to the idea that the children will somehow save us, and also revisits that children are the most impacted by our warming future, stuck cleaning up earlier generations' messes.

Hi Nay by Motzie Dapul

This connection was made during a Discord conversation and not by me, so I really need to relisten to the podcast with this framing in mind. A group of mostly wealthy Elders gain magical power through sowing the Toronto landscapes with Foci that harvest energy from death. The ones that bother with justifications say it's for the greater good and the deaths at least are random chance, but in reality the Elders are safe and their Foci impact the unprotected, just as we pretend natural disasters and pandemics are great equalizers when really they and other climate-induced destruction hit frontline populations hardest. Just like the wealthy in our world, they're profiting off of people's deaths and looking the other way as man-made disasters caused by their actions destroy people.

Additionally, the use of death magic at scale destabilizes the barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead, and locations where a Focus has activated in the past are more likely to experience problems again. Essentially it's a feedback loop, the way we see exponential warming and increased disasters as different 'symptoms' of climate change feed off each other. Foci creating corrupt, repulsive "miasmas" that distort the world around them is also reminiscent of ecological damage and pollution.

The showrunner has indicated future episodes might tackle this theme more directly, so I'm excited about that!

Limitations

Of these four works, three were written by white authors living in what I would categorize as an extracting area of the world rather than an extraction zone. All four works are at least primarily in English for an English-speaking audience. This does not reflect the frontline communities most vulnerable to the current ravages of climate change, and I would not be surprised if this theme has arisen in works I have not found, either because they did not make it through mainstream publishing's gatekeeping or because I do not speak the language.

That being said, hauntings often have their logic. There's unfinished business, someone (something?) wants revenge, people crossed lines they shouldn't have. So perhaps this theme popping up in extractive countries is an acknowledgement of that culpability, admitting that we dug up these angry dead, and now we don't know how to put them back to rest. Shame the rest of the world is paying for our trespass.

I'll continue to keep an eye out for more examples of this theme; feel free to let me know if you spot one!

#crude monsters #the locked tomb #lockwood and co #the scholomance #hi nay #I put off making dinner bc I got so into writing this post after work

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shiftintochange · 8 months ago

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The Impact of Women in Motorsports: Breaking Barriers and Inspiring Generations

Women have always been around in the world of motorsports. From Maria Teresa de Filippis, the first woman to race in Formula 1, to Sara Christian, the first woman to race in NASCAR, these women have undoubtedly left a mark on the world of motorsports. As a female who is deeply enticed by motorsports, seeing these powerful women of the past has inspired me beyond belief to follow my dreams in this world.

Although filled with powerful women, I fear the impact of women in motorsports is bigger than any man will ever admit. Maria Teresa de Filippis would have been the first woman to score points in a Formula 1 race if she didn't have reliability issues with her car for her last two races. Maria Teresa was unable to race in that season's French Grand Prix. When confronted about this in an interview, she stated she was told that “The only helmet a woman should wear is one at the hairdressers” by the race director.

And though we might think, ‘Okay, well that was years ago, people thought differently,’ right? WRONG! Unfortunately, we have men in the Formula 1 industry right now who still believe women should not be in motorsports and wouldn’t like the sport if not for the good-looking drivers. This is a quote from Christian Horner, the current team principal for Red Bull: “It's bringing in a lot of young girls because all these great looking drivers.”

Why can we not like F1 and still admire the drivers? It is obviously not a secret that the drivers are good-looking; male fans say it all the time. Yet when a woman declares her love for a driver, the assumption that she only enjoys the sport because the driver is good-looking and not because of its thrilling nature is automatic. There is absolutely no excuse for not wanting women in motorsports other than internalized misogyny and a huge double standard. When men watch women's football, it is just because they enjoy the sport, not because they enjoy seeing attractive women run around in shorts. But when a woman watches men's football, it is solely because they find all the players attractive.

Young women have proved themselves so worthy of being in Formula 1, with Susie Wolff as the director of F1 Academy pushing for more female representation in Formula 1. Women like Maria Teresa de Filippis and Sara Christian paved the way for future generations, demonstrating that talent and passion know no gender. It's time for the motorsports community to fully acknowledge and celebrate the vital role women play, both on and off the track.

(writing one about the men that do support women in f1 soon!! WOO also ignore tags again hahaha)

#formula 1 #f1 academy #women in motorsport #women in f1 #susie wolff #toto wolff #lewis hamilton #f1 imagines #f1 grid x reader #f1 instagram au #ferrari #scuderia ferrari

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hp-confessions · 27 days ago

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I think that Walburga and Tom Riddle were romantically and sexually involved during their Years at Hogwarts. Which is why Tom named his First Version of the Death Eaters the Knights of Walpurgis. Her Knights because she was supposed to be his Queen. But Walburga in the end broke up with him because she didn’t want to be married with a Half-Blood and cuz her Relationship with Tom was known she was already sorta defamed among Purebloods and thus could only marry her Cousin Orion.

She would probably also have hated Delphini if she had met her because she would be the living Proof of what she could have had and that ultimately she failed at everything in Life.

She chose her Family and the Pureblood Dogma over the Love of her Life and in turn she only got trapped in a Loveless Marriage with her own Cousin, whom she never loved as much as Tom, a Son who despite being talented spitted on everything she believed in and another who despite sharing her views simply couldn’t live up to her expectations.

All the while she would have to watch her own Niece living the Life that could have been hers because she loved Voldemort/Tom more than anything even her own Family and literally turned her back on her Pureblood Husband to be with him. Now Walburga would have had to watch as her Niece has a perfect little dark princess and is truly happy with the Man who Walburga actually loves and has an extremely talented daughter who is a perfect mix between Tom’s Beauty and Bellatrix’s and an Heiress of Slytherin and Grindelwald.

(I read somewhere that Druella could be Gellert and Vinda’s Daughter and since she was born in the 30s it’s not too far off given how close Vinda and Gellert seem.)

And Bellatrix gained that by truly loving and accepting Tom/Voldemort for who he is instead of what he could be and being brave enough to throw her Family aside for him. That would definitely have broken Walburga down completely and filled her with Jealousy beyond belief.

#confession #harry potter #tom marvolo riddle #walburga black #hp headcanon #delphini #bellatrix lestrange

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hopefulidiocy · 1 month ago

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Survival

Prince!Aemond x Fem!OC

Authors’ note: guys this is such a beautiful piece. I’m really happy with it.

Content warning: death

🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽🪽

My life had been magical by all accounts and purposes. I had lived a long, happy life that many Smallfolk didn’t have that luxury so I considered myself lucky beyond belief. I was born into a low class household, the eighth child and youngest daughter, I was the one they forgot about… that was until Queen Alicent saw something in me that was different to my siblings and so I was granted to live in the Red Keep, making dresses and dressing the Princess Helaena. A lot had happened since the day I entered the Red Keep. I made lifelong friends, most ended up dying and I was lucky to survive, I made enemies, I became best friends with the Princess and we spent day after day catching insects and making flower crowns; those were the days I was at my happiest. And the most substantial thing that happened to me… I fell in love. Aemond Targaryen was scary at first, he had an angry aura like he was constantly looking for betrayal. We were the same age and I was the first one on call to tend to his butchered eye, and I was the first one to see him cry. I cared for him long after that, always having a soft spot for the man that was sweet on the inside but never showed that to anyone but me. He kissed me at midnight, when we were both 18 years old, he caressed my cheek tucking my hair behind my ear, it was always flying away from me and softly planted his lips on mine; taking us to a new realm. Love. It was magical, beautiful and scary. How could someone mean so much? It made little sense to me at the time. But I didn’t think much of it because when Aemond held me, everything melted away. When he attacked a Lord who was coming onto me, he was the one to calm me down in his bed, cradling me skin to skin and it was the most loved I had ever felt.

When he died, I lost an important part of myself. I lingered in the Red Keep for too long, wandering the halls and reliving my memories with him. Every hall, every corner was a piece of me and him. We were one. And when he died, I became half. My heart went along with him and it was a time where I simply drifted through life, hoping for something to come my way. Alicent died not long after, Helaena too. But before they died, Alicent had made a match for me. A steward of the name Jason Gravesend, he was handsome enough and tall but he was nothing compared to Aemond. He was tanned, dark brown eyes and slight stubble that scattered cover his jawline. We married just short of two years after Aemond died, and I was still a shell of my former self. It hurt, making love to a man I didn’t love. It was duty, that was all and I prayed that if Aemond was around, he was looking away and knew that I made love with another man with the duty I had. Everything I knew had gone, out of my control, but at least I could control my married life. Jason never loved me, he was in love with another woman and I would be a bad person if I didn’t let him have the right to love. We were friends, though and we brought up our three wonderful sons with the best environment we could possibly give them.

Anson was my first born, an impossibly gorgeous boy with a talent for instruments and when I first held him, all wrinkled and pink and perfect, my void was filled. I was determined to become myself again to give that beautiful boy an opportunity for a good life. And I did my best. He married when he was twenty to his sweetheart and they had four beautiful children, giving me grandchildren. My twin boys, Lot and Branley, came prematurely and it was the most harrowing experience. But I swore I heard Aemond, willing me on in my minds eye and I pushed and pushed until they arrived in perfection. Me and Jason couldn’t tell them apart for the first year of their life and it became a running joke. Lot married at seventeen to a local girl in the village, a sweet lady called Rose who gave him the tiniest daughter I ever did see. Branley married twice by the time I came to my deathbed, first to his sweetheart Lina who died in childbirth and then to Tammie, who gave him four beautiful sons.

I experienced another heartbreak not long after my last grandchild, Grady, was born. This heartbreak was different to when I lost Aemond, I lost a friend, a lifelong friend… my husband, Jason. It was a quick death, painless and bitter, his sons surrounded his bed whereas I stayed by the window; watching him take his last breath. Aemond’s death still left a hole after this long, he was still in my mind, there at the back, he was willing me on to just survive. Survive. Survive. Survive.

I managed it until I couldn’t anymore. Until my body gave up on me and left me confined to my bed.

As I was uttering my last rites, in the comfort of my own bed, I saw my tearful children, Anson crying over my hand which was grabbing the bed sheet. It was scary. Dying. I was unsure what would happen to me. To my soul. I wished to be reunited with the love of my life. If that didn’t happen, I would survive. Like I survived my whole life.

“May her soul rest in peace.” The Septor said lowly as my breath became raspy, hard to fill but comforted with the soft glow in the door entrance. My eyes were only just open when I saw the tall, dark silhouette appear from the shining white glow behind him. My heart pattered like I was 18 again when that long blonde hair, the black eye patch and the pout came into crystal clear view. He smiled at me, at my elderly body, my wrinkled face and simply held his hand out.

“Come with me, my love.” His voice was still that slightly low growl that gave me butterflies when we were under that oak tree and he was placing small flowers in my hair, just 19 years old. And with that, I took my final breath.

My eyes opened, where I died and I rose high, high, high until my feet planted on the floor as if I was alive. Aemond stood before me and I felt young again, I was breathing deeply, alive and well. I reached out, scared and shaking, not ready to see if I could touch him, as my arms came into view I realised my liver spots were gone and the wrinkles that made me who I was were gone.

“You can touch me.” He said softly and I reached out, my hands landing gently on his elbows and my breathing stopped. It completely stopped as if I died again. I could feel him. I could touch him. And before he left me again, I rushed into his arms and like he was aching for it, his arms wrapped tightly around my body. He squeezed me to his chest, he didn’t want to let me go, he kept me close. He stroked my waist with his thumb, breathing steadily for the both of us, kissing the top of my head that sent shivers down my spine. That love never left me, and it never left him. He prised me off his body, looking over me with the most affection he had ever had in his face, he roamed me.

“I have waited a long time for this.” He whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear, I pressed my cheek into his hand and his thumb grazed just under my eye before he kissed the mole that painted the corner of my eye, like he always did.

“My beautiful girl, look at what you made.” He placed his hands on my shoulders, before turning me around, keeping me to his chest as I watched my sons sob over my elderly body, a resting face that had lived many lives but ultimately loved just being a mother and mothering those perfect boys to their lives now. A single tear rolled down my face as I watched them pray and pray over my body, holding me as if they were willing for me to take another breath. I stood forward, placing a ghostly hand on Anson’s shoulder, willing him to survive and carry on like he always had. He stopped crying for a moment and looked up, as if he saw me, his cheeks stained and it broke my heart.

“They will be okay.” Aemond placed a hand on his heart, patting it gently. “They’re strong boys, just like you have always been.” He strolled forward, taking my arm and pulled me gently away. I watched for longer at my children, seeing their beautiful faces before I turned to Aemond, reaching up and cupping his face, setting a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I’m ready, Aemond.” Taking both of his hands, his marvellous hands, he squeezed mine back giving me a smile.

“Come with me, my love.” He tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow and both of us walked into the white abyss where we would spend eternity together.

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asa-do-your-thing · 3 months ago

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beware the woods at night

18+ MINORS DNI Robb Stark x Margaery Tyrell 4.6 k Warnings: Monsterfucking, shapeshifting / werewolf / skinchanging, p in v sex, doggystyle (heheheh), cunnilingus, as always no beta no nothing written for @fandomeventcenter 's fan frankentober <3

Margaery sighed and turned aroud once more, grumbling and sticking a leg out of the furs that covered her. Sleep seemed to elude her tonight; Renly’s death still laid heavily in her mind and the slow travel up to the Riverlands in disguise had been gruelling as well. Sleeping on the ground like some peasant had been humbling, if not humiliating.

She could not complain though, for whatever she has heard of King Robb was far better than what she had heard about Prince Joffrey… she only hoped that her Grandmother’s gamble would pay off. Staring up onto the dark wooden ceiling, she tried to find a comfortable position to lie in.

Atranta was where the King and his closest, most loyal men would collect her - well, that was the plan, at least.

Lord Norbert - an old, frail man with close to no eyesight - had merely shrugged and pointed out into the wilderness. “My sons are in Riverrun and are accompanying him, but there is still a war going on. You’re important, yes, but the gods only know what is going on around here in these times,” he muttered and held out a plate with salt and bread out for her to chew on.

Her retainers (as many as she could take with her without giving away her true identity until they reached Atranta) had immediately tried to correct him - she was THE Margaery Tyrell, who would marry their King and supply their army with thousands of men - but Margaery made them stand down. What use was it to antagonize and old man who had no love for their sort, strange ‘southerners’ from the Reach?

Grumbling, she stood up and slipped into her silk robe, trying to find a passage to a place where she could catch some fresh air. Thankfully, she thought, the Riverlands were still relatively warm compared to whatever would await her in the North once this blasted war was over.

Margaery stepped out into the cool night air, the gentle breeze caressing her face and rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. The moon cast a soft glow over the land, illuminating the rolling hills and distant forests that stretched out before her. She breathed deeply, savoring the sweet scent of wildflowers and the earthy aroma of the damp soil beneath her feet.

Despite the beauty of the night, Margaery couldn't shake the unease that had settled in the pit of her stomach. The uncertainty of her future weighed heavily on her mind. Would King Robb accept her as his bride? Would the North welcome her, or would they view her as an outsider, a southerner unfit to be their queen?

She thought of her grandmother, the formidable Olenna, and the calculated risk she had taken in arranging this marriage. Margaery knew that her family's fortunes rested on the success of this union. If she could win the heart of the Young Wolf and secure an alliance between the Reach and the North, it could turn the tide of the war in their favor.

But first, she had to meet her betrothed.

The journey to Atranta had been long and arduous, and now that she was so close to her destination, Margaery found herself growing increasingly anxious. What if King Robb was not the man she had heard him to be? What if he was cruel or indifferent, like so many other men in positions such as his? Picking at her nails, she sighed.

Acting, surviving - those were her great talents, though they drained her beyond belief. Marrying Renly had been a good idea, yet… it made her tired. Tired that even though she played her part magnificently, Renly barely even tried.

Margaery's heart raced as she hurried back inside the keep, her silk robe fluttering behind her in the cool night breeze. The ancient stones of the castle walls seemed to close in around her, their rough surfaces casting eerie shadows in the flickering torchlight. She quickened her pace, her slippered feet padding softly against the worn flagstones.

As she reached her chamber, Margaery hastily closed the heavy wooden door behind her, the iron latch clanging loudly in the stillness of the night. She leaned against the door, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The room was dimly lit by a single candle, its wavering flame casting a ghostly glow across the sparse furnishings.

Margaery made her way to the bed, the old frame creaking under her weight as she lay down upon the musty furs. She pulled the covers up to her chin, her eyes wide and staring into the darkness. Despite her exhaustion, sleep continued to elude her, her mind racing with thoughts of the uncertain future that lay ahead.

As the night wore on, Margaery's eyelids grew heavy, and she finally drifted off into a fitful slumber.

In her dreams, she found herself wandering through a dense, misty forest, the trees towering above her like ancient sentinels. The air was thick and heavy, filled with the musty scent of decaying leaves and damp earth.

Suddenly, the snap of a twig behind her made Margaery whirl around, her heart pounding in her chest. Through the swirling mists, a figure emerged - tall, almost as big as a horse, with fur that was as grey as stormclouds and eyes as golden as her grandmother’s clothes. As he drew closer, Margaery could make out the sharp planes of its face, the sharpness of its fangs. This dream wolf looked so familiar, and yet… she couldn’t quite place it.

"Lady Margaery," he said, his voice deep and resonant and unbelievably captivating. "You should not wander around such forests."

Margaery curtsied low, her eyes downcast. "My Lord Wolf," she murmured, unsure about how to respond. This was a dream, was it not? Talking, threatening wolves were never a regular occurence in her sleep. "I… I do not know how I came to be here."

The wolf stepped closer, his gaze intense as he studied her face, slowly but surely pushing her against a tree with its massive body. "I must admit, I had my doubts about you and still do. There have been rumours that you’ve killed your husband and have laid with half of King’s Landing. Is that true?"

Nervously looking around the dark forest, she tried to get herself to wake up and tripped over her robe, tearing it, as she tried her hardest to get away from the beast. “I- what do you want of me? Are you the same demon that killed Renly?”

The wolf's golden eyes narrowed, a low growl rumbling deep in his throat. "I am no demon, Lady Margaery. I am the one who seeks the truth. Answer me plainly - did you have a hand in your husband's death?"

Margaery's heart raced as she pressed her back against the rough bark of the tree, the torn fabric of her robe fluttering in the chilly breeze. "No, my Lord Wolf," she said, her voice trembling. "I swear it. I loved Renly, and his death has brought me nothing but grief."

The wolf studied her intently, his hot breath ghosting over her face.

After a long moment, he seemed to relax, his massive form shifting slightly as he stepped back. "I believe you," he said, his deep voice softening. "But the rumors of your... indiscretions in King's Landing. Are they true?"

Margaery felt a flush of shame rise to her cheeks. "They are not, my Lord," she said firmly, meeting the wolf's gaze. "I have always been faithful, in both body and spirit. Those who spread such lies seek only to tarnish my reputation and undermine my family's position."

It felt like somethign was pressing the air out of her longs, yet it was not the wolf - it seemed like the mist punished her for her lie. “Alright, I might have laid with one or two people, but what could I have done when Renly was busy ramming Loras?”

The wolf nodded slowly, a glimmer of interest in his golden eyes. "And he did not attend to your needs, did he not fulfill his duties?”

Huffing, Margaery tried to straighten herself, but the wolf would not budge an inch. It even had the gall to sniff her - although, was that not what most dogs and wolves did?

“I even offered him to take my brother into our bed if that would have helped, but he declined. I swear upon my Grandmother’s soul, Lord Wolf, I tried all I could, I even offered him my other hole even though I knew it would not have been conducive to conception, but even that did not change his mind,” she muttered, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

What filth was she spewing, to a figment of her imagination, no less?

The wolf's eyes widened slightly at Margaery's frank admission, a hint of amusement playing across his lupine features. "It seems your husband was a fool, Lady Margaery, to neglect a woman of your charms and willingness to please."

Margaery felt a strange flutter in her stomach at the wolf's words, a mixture of indignation and something else, something darker and more primal. She lifted her chin defiantly. "And what would you know of pleasing a woman, my Lord Wolf? You who stalk these misty forests, far from the warmth of hearth and home?"

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped the wolf's throat. "Do not presume to know the desires of beasts, my Lady. We too have our needs, our hungers." His golden eyes seemed to glow in the gloom, fixed intently upon her face.

Margaery swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. The wolf's presence was overwhelming, his powerful form radiating a heat that she could feel even through the thin silk of her torn robe. "And what hunger is it that drives you, my Lord?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The wolf leaned in closer, his muzzle mere inches from her face. "The hunger for truth, for loyalty, for a mate who will let herself be pleased by me and that will yearn to be round with my pups." His words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Was she… was she seriously dreaming of an improper encounter with a wolf?

What on earth was in Lord Vance’s dinner? Or was this just beccause her maid chattered about meeting the ‘Young Wolf’ so many times that Margaery’s mind had conjured this nonsense up? But she knew it was not fully nonsense. Somehow, the dampness of the moss and leaves under her feet felt too real to be classified as ‘nonsense’. “Pleased by you and round with pups…? You’re a wolf and I’m, what, I cannot-”

The wolf gently licked across her face, effectively shutting her up. “Of course you can.”

Margaery's breath caught in her throat as the wolf's rough tongue rasped across her cheek. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine, a strange mixture of fear and fascination. She knew this was madness, that she should push the beast away and flee, but some primal part of her yearned to see where this dream would lead.

"And how would you please me, my Lord Wolf?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "With tooth and claw, like the wild creature you are?"

The wolf's eyes glinted with a hint of mischief. "Oh, I have far gentler ways, my Lady. Ways that will leave you trembling and aching for more." He pressed his muzzle against her neck, inhaling deeply. "I can smell your desire, your need. Let me satisfy it. Take off your clothes - let me see you."

Margaery's heart raced as the wolf's words washed over her. She knew she should resist, that this was nothing more than a fevered dream brought on by the stresses of her journey and the uncertainty of her future.

And yet, the promise of pleasure, of fulfillment, was too tempting to ignore.

Slowly, hesitantly, she slipped out of her robe and her shift, before tangling her fingers in the wolf's thick fur. It was softer than she expected, like silk spun from moonbeams. The wolf rumbled approvingly, pressing closer until she could feel the heat of his body seeping into her skin. "Lie down, my Lady - you are beautiful, so beautiful,” it whispered, nudging her with its wet nose.

Slowly lowering herself onto the ground, she shivered and almost yelped as she felt the beast pushing her legs apart, its tongue lolling out as if it would devour her in the next moment.

The wolf's rough tongue dragged slowly along the inside of Margaery's thigh, its hot breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. She gasped at the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensation, her fingers tangling deeper into the beast's thick fur. The damp earth and moss pressed into her bare back as the wolf settled between her parted legs.

"My Lord Wolf," Margaery panted, barely able to form coherent words as the creature's muzzle brushed against her most intimate places. "This is madness, utter madness..."

A low rumble emanated from the wolf's chest, almost like a dark chuckle. "Madness, you say? Nay, sweet Margaery. This is nature, pure and untamed. Let yourself feel it. Embrace it."

With that, the wolf's long tongue delved into her slick folds, lapping at the nectar that flowed freely from her body. Margaery cried out, arching off the forest floor as jolts of pleasure raced through her veins. She had never known such sensations, not even in her most wanton imaginings. The wolf's ministrations were relentless, driving her higher and higher until she thought she might shatter from the sheer intensity of it all.

"Please," she whimpered, though she knew not what she was begging for. "I cannot...it is too much!"

The wolf paused, lifting its great head and licked its teeth, before nudging her to turn around onto her knees. “You don’t know what too much is, my Lady,” it growled.

Gasping, Margaery turned around and closed her eyes, slowly counting down numbers in hopes that she would wake up and forget this foolish, lusty memory. “I can’t, this is madness, this is… I am too wanton for my own good,” she mumbled, shivering as she felt the beast looming over her.

Suddenly, Margaery felt the wolf's weight pressing down upon her, its powerful form covering her like a warm, living blanket. She trembled as she felt its hardness nudging insistently between her thighs, seeking entrance to her most secret place.

"My Lord Wolf," she gasped, half in fear, half in desperate anticipation. "Be gentle, I beg you..."

The wolf nuzzled her neck, its hot breath stirring the fine hairs at her nape. "Fear not, my Lady," it rumbled. "I shall be as gentle as the spring rain, as tender as a newborn pup."

With a slow, deliberate motion, the wolf began to press forward, its thick length parting her slick folds and delving deep within her body. Margaery let out a long, low moan, her fingers scrabbling at the damp earth as she was stretched and filled beyond anything she had ever known. The sensation was overwhelming, bordering on pain, yet shot through with such exquisite pleasure that she found herself pushing back against the wolf's steady thrusts, craving more.

"Yes," she panted, all thoughts of propriety and decorum fled from her mind. "Oh, yes, my Lord..."

The wolf's pace increased, its powerful haunches flexing as it drove into her again and again. Margaery could feel a great pressure building within her, a coiling tension that threatened to snap at any moment. She ground her hips against him and slowed as she felt her buttocks grinding against… skin. Skin, not fur.

Her head flew up as the wolf, or whatever her mind had conjured up, pulled her up by her dark locks. It was then she realized, moaning wantonly, that it was not a wolf that was above (or behind? Margaery was too far gone into her own realm of pleasure to know anymore) her, but a man, a man with beautiful, broad shoulders and auburn hair.

The revelation sent a fresh wave of shock and desire coursing through Margaery's body. She twisted her head, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had taken the wolf's place, but he held her firmly in place, his strong hands gripping her hips as he continued to thrust into her with a steady, relentless rhythm.

"Who are you?" she gasped, her voice ragged with need and confusion. "What sorcery is this?"

The man leaned forward, his muscular chest pressing against her back as he nipped at her earlobe. "No sorcery, my Lady," he murmured, his voice deep and rich, with a hint of a Northern burr. "Only the magic of the wild, the primal force that flows through all living things."

Margaery's mind reeled as she tried to process this strange turn of events. Had the wolf been a man all along, some shapeshifter or skin-changer out of the old tales? Or was this all just a fevered dream, a product of her overwrought imagination? She found she no longer cared, lost as she was in the exquisite sensations that were building to a crescendo within her.

The man's thrusts grew harder, faster, his breath coming in hot, ragged pants against her neck. Margaery pushed back against him, meeting him stroke for stroke, her body singing with a pleasure she had never known.

Margaery felt the man's thrusts become more urgent, more primal, as he drove into her with a force that made her toes curl. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he pulled her back against him, impaling her deeply on his thick, hard length.

"Yes, my Lady," he growled, his voice rough with lust. "Take all of me, let me fill you utterly..."

With a final, powerful surge, the man hilted himself fully inside her, his release pulsing hot and deep within her body. Margaery cried out, her inner walls clenching around him as she teetered on the brink of her own climax. But even as the man's movements slowed, he did not withdraw from her. Instead, he reached around, his calloused fingers seeking out the sensitive pearl at the apex of her thighs.

"You have pleased me greatly, sweet Margaery," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "But I would have you find your own pleasure as well."

He began to stroke her, his touch deft and sure, circling and teasing the swollen bud until Margaery was writhing beneath him, her body wound tight as a bowstring. She could feel him still hard inside her, filling her so completely that she thought she might break apart from the sheer intensity of it.

"Please," she whimpered, barely recognizing her own voice, so wanton and needy. "I need... I need..."

"I know what you need, my sweet girl," the man murmured, his fingers moving faster, pressing harder. "And I shall give it to you. Come for me now, let me feel your pleasure."

With a final, deft flick of his fingers, the man sent Margaery hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. Her body convulsed around him, her inner walls fluttering and clenching as wave after wave of pure, unadulterated bliss crashed over her. She cried out, a wordless, primal sound that echoed through the misty forest, mingling with the man's own grunts of satisfaction as he thrust into her, prolonging her climax until she thought she might faint from the sheer intensity of it.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the tremors subsided, leaving Margaery limp and panting in the man's embrace. He held her close, his strong arms encircling her as he pressed tender kisses along the column of her neck.

"You are a wonder, Lady Margaery," he said softly, his voice suffused with warmth and admiration. "So responsive, so eager to please and be pleased in turn. You will make a fine wife, a perfect companion to share my bed and my life."

Margaery's heart leapt at his words and as she tried to fully turn around she woke up with a start in her chamber in Atranta, her maid shaking her.

“M’Lady, wake! The King will arrive in less than an hour, Lord Vance has instructed me to wake you!”

Gulping, Margaery nodded and tried standing up, yet her legs buckled beneath her, almost as if she’d really just lain with a lover.

Margaery's heart raced as she hurried to compose herself, her mind still reeling from the vivid, almost tangible dream that had consumed her. The sensations had been so real, the pleasure so intense, that she could scarcely believe it had been nothing more than a figment of her slumbering imagination.

With trembling hands, she smoothed her rumpled clothing and ran her fingers through her tousled hair, trying to erase any evidence of her nocturnal fantasies. Her maid bustled about the chamber, chattering excitedly about the King's arrival and the preparations that needed to be made.

"They say he's a handsome one, the Young Wolf," the girl babbled, laying out a fresh gown for Margaery to wear. "Tall and strong, with eyes like the summer sky and hair kissed by fire. And so gallant, so brave! They say he rides into battle on a great grey direwolf, fearless and fierce..."

Margaery's breath caught in her throat at the maid's words. A great grey direwolf... just like the one that had haunted her dreams, the one that had transformed into a man and brought her to such dizzying heights of ecstasy. Could it be mere coincidence, or was there some deeper meaning to the visions that had plagued her sleep?

She had little time to ponder the question, however, as her maid was already urging her to dress and prepare herself for the King's arrival.

Margaery took a deep breath to calm her nerves as she made her way down to the great hall of Atranta. Her emerald green gown swished around her ankles and the delicate golden rose necklace rested cool against her throat. She had taken extra care with her appearance, wanting to make the best possible impression on King Robb when they finally came face to face.

The ancient stone walls seemed to pulse with energy and anticipation. Servants scurried to and fro, making last minute preparations. The air was thick with the aroma of roasting meats and fresh baked bread. Minstrels tuned their instruments in the corner, getting ready to play fanfares heralding the king's entrance.

Margaery's stomach fluttered with nerves and something else, something that made her skin flush as she recalled flashes of her incredibly vivid dream - the powerful grey wolf with golden eyes, morphing into a wild, passionate man with auburn hair who had ravished her so thoroughly in the misty forest.

It had seemed so real, his rough hands on her body, his hard length inside her, bringing her to shuddering ecstasy...

She shook her head, trying to banish the wanton images. It was folly, letting a mere nighttime fantasy affect her so. She needed to focus on reality, on charming and winning over the King in the waking world, not pining for an imaginary dream lover.

Lord Vance and the other nobles were already gathered in the hall, talking in hushed, excited tones. Margaery took her place among them, head held high, a serene smile gracing her lips. She would not let her inner turmoil show. She was a Tyrell, a rose of Highgarden, poised and confident and ready to do her duty.

A sudden fanfare of trumpets silenced the murmurs. The great oaken doors swung open. "His Grace, Robb of House Stark, First of His Name, King in the North and of the Trident!" the herald announced.

Margaery's breath caught as the king strode in, surrounded by his bannermen. He was every inch as impressive as her maid had described - tall and powerfully built, with a mane of thick auburn curls and piercing blue eyes that seemed to see straight into her soul. He wore simple leathers and furs rather than rich silks and velvets, a snarling direwolf embroidered across his broad chest.

As he drew nearer to the assembled nobles, those striking eyes met hers. Margaery's heart stuttered. Though his face was new to her... those eyes... she knew those eyes. Those were the eyes of the man from her dream, the eyes of the passionate man he had become, boring into her with the same primal intensity as he moved inside her, bringing her to the peaks of pleasure.

It couldn't be. It just couldn’t. Margaery curtsied and kept her head trained on the floor, not wishing to look up at him and blush.

King Robb approached the assembled nobles, his steps sure and purposeful on the stone floor. Margaery held her curtsy, not daring to look up, her heart pounding wildly in her chest. She could feel the weight of his gaze upon her, intense and penetrating, just as it had been in her dream.

He stopped before her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her bowed head. "Lady Margaery," he said, his deep, rich voice sending a shiver down her spine. "Rise, please. Let me look upon the face of my future queen."

Slowly, Margaery straightened, lifting her eyes to meet his. Up close, he was even more striking - chiseled features, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, those remarkable blue eyes that seemed to see straight into her very soul. He regarded her intently, a small, almost knowing smile playing about his lips.

He extended his hand to her, and she placed her trembling fingers in his warm, calloused palm. He bowed over her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles in a gesture that was both courtly and strangely intimate. "Welcome to the Riverlands, my lady," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

As he straightened, he leaned in close, his mouth barely an inch from her ear. "I hope I did not wear you out too much last night," he whispered, evidently trying to suppress a grin. "In the forest.”

Margaery's eyes widened in shock at Robb's whispered words. Her heart raced and her breath caught in her throat. How could he possibly know about her dream? Unless... unless it wasn't just a dream after all. Had some strange magic truly connected them in the night, allowing them to share that wild, passionate encounter in the misty forest?

She searched his face, trying to read the truth in his expression. That small, knowing smile still played about his lips, and his blue eyes danced with a mix of mischief and heat that made her knees feel weak. There was no denying the intense connection that crackled between them, the same primal energy she had felt with the wolf who became a man in her dream.

Robb straightened, still holding her hand in his. He turned to address the assembled nobles, his voice ringing out clear and strong. "My lords and ladies, I present to you Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, a true rose of the south. She will be my queen and the Lady of Winterfell, a shining light in the North."

The hall erupted in cheers and applause. Margaery smiled graciously, curtseying to acknowledge the accolades, but her mind was reeling. What happened was now undeniable and made her want to rub her thighs together once more.

She was marrying the right man, she thought with a small smile, even if he was a bit… furry sometimes.

#asas fics #fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf #robb stark #margaery tyrell #robb x margaery #robb stark smut #werewolf smut #skinchanger smut #a song of ice and fire

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