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words-writ-in-starlight · 3 years ago

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day 3: "insults"

Zetian came back to their chambers an hour earlier than she was supposed to, and the black-winged line of her lashes couldn’t quite hide the red rims beneath. She was sitting stiff and straight in her wheelchair, the way that Yizhi had learned to read as a kind of pain, like an arm tensed thoughtlessly to protect a bruise. And—he noticed it with some alarm—her golden robes, laid carefully out over her legs with his own hands, were spotted here and there with blood. There was some on her knuckles, spotting her right sleeve, and she held her hand delicately in her lap, as if it hurt her.

“Zetian?” he was already asking, concerned, as the door swung shut behind her. “Are you all right? Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” Zetian said, and buried her face in her hands.

Yizhi crossed the room in a rush, and knelt in front of her, so that he could look up at her face and her hands. One, her right hand, was bruised, two of the knuckles split, as if she had punched something with enough force to break skin. He didn’t think she was crying, but her hands trembled, just faintly, as she lifted them, briefly, and closed her fists against her face.

“Zetian,” Yizhi said again, reaching up toward her hands. He caught her right hand in both of his, avoiding the worst of the bruising, and tried to gently pull it down. She resisted for a moment, then caved, all at once, letting her fist fall open so that Yizhi could rest her palm on his and get a look at the damage. “Zetian. What happened? Did someone do this to you?”

“No,” Zetian said, voice very flat. Her eyes were closed, and her left hand was pressing against the crease between her brows without regard for the formal makeup on her face. She had been due to give a speech this morning, and it had gone off without a hitch, his steel-eyed Empress the perfect combination of untouchable magnificence and cold, mortal ruthlessness. Yizhi had kissed her hands and told her as much, and she had scoffed, pinched his arm, and told him to go do his job instead of doting on her like the protagonist in some saccharine romance. He had chuckled, and she had smiled, and they had parted ways with one more affectionate kiss to her knuckles. She had seemed—not fine, she hadn’t been fine in a while, but she had been clear-eyed and sure. That had been maybe six hours ago.

“Come with me,” Yizhi said, standing slowly and keeping a light hold of her hand, cradled in his palms like a wounded thing. “I’ll wash your hand off, and we can get you into some clean clothes, okay?”

Zetian opened her eyes, staring at their joined hands like she wasn’t seeing them, and reached out with her left hand to touch her split knuckles, investigating. Yizhi closed his hands over her injured right, frowning protectively, and Zetian pulled back, blinking at the half-dried blood on her fingertips.

“I punched a wall,” she said neutrally.

Yizhi blinked himself, twice, and then said, just as neutral, “Okay.”

She was fingering at the blood on her right sleeve, now. There was some paint coming off her hand onto the fabric, the vermillion of her huadian smudged on her forehead and the heel of her thumb. She didn’t seem to notice, absorbed in the act of rubbing the gold, heavily embroidered silk between her fingers.

“Zetian,” Yizhi repeated, softly, and crouched back down so that he could look up into her face again. “Please, tell me what happened.”

Zetian took a breath, a long, shuddering thing, and let it out in a weary gust.

“I—was trying to avoid—people for a little while,” she said, halting. “So I was in—the study. The big window, with the curtain.”

Yizhi nodded. He knew the one she meant—there was a deep window ledge, made up with cushions and a blanket, so that someone might sit there comfortably for a while. If that person was, say, an Empress in need of a moment to herself, the curtain could be closed to mostly conceal the window ledge and the person inside.

“I heard a pair of maids come in. I should have told them I was there, but I didn’t want to deal with the—everything.” Zetian made a communicative gesture to indicate the nervous prostrations and scraping that most of the servants directed toward her. She unapologetically relished the same behavior from the more insufferable upper class, but it made her uneasy to face it from those who had once been her peers. “So I stayed quiet. I left my wheelchair at the desk. I don’t think—I guess they thought it was supposed to be there.”

She paused there, tongue touching her front teeth, breathing. Her gaze was fixed on some nowhere place over Yizhi’s shoulder, and the lines of her face were hard, angry, but also oddly uncertain. Yizhi didn’t move, just waited, holding onto her injured hand.

After a moment, Zetian stirred again, and said, “I heard them—talking. About…”

She didn’t finish, but then, she didn’t need to.

Yizhi had loved Zetian for a long time, now that he let himself think about it. He had thought, somewhat ashamed of himself for his favoritism, that losing anyone else would be easy, as long as she was with him.

It had not been easy.

They didn’t dare to say his name during daylight hours, unsure of how the raw wound would show itself, too afraid to let anyone else see the depth of their loss. They were both as defensive as lost children, unwilling to let an outsider even look at their hurts, let alone try to touch them. Instead, Zetian and Yizhi curled together and talked in whispers, in the dark, and hid their bloody hearts in each other’s hands.

“Oh,” Yizhi said, quietly. “They—what did they say?”

Zetian’s eyes snapped to his, and all the confused distance was gone, leaving a flame that burned white in its place. Her meridians stirred, he could feel them through his touch at her wrist, and the simple spirit metal headpiece she wore in daily business glimmered as if it was under a brilliant light.

“They said,” she said, a deadly hiss, “that the best thing he ever did was die. They said that he had nothing worth living for. They said,” she went on, voice getting louder, “that he was a murderer, and an animal, and a stupid one at that, too stupid to run for his life. They said that he—he probably raped all his concubine pilots, and they must have been grateful to die just to get away from him, and that I abandoned him to die in the Bird, and that I was right. They said that I was a hero for leaving him behind!”

Zetian was shouting now, almost screaming, throat raw and eyes red and running with the force of her anger. She had reversed Yizhi’s grip on her right hand, and now she was clutching him so tightly it hurt, grinding the bones together, while her left hand was clawed in the cloth of her robe, twisted, knuckles standing out pale against her skin.

“They said that I haven’t held a funeral for him because he didn’t deserve to be remembered—that he killed his whole family and he should have just—”

She stopped, choking on her words, as if she was forcing them out through a stranglehold. Then she spat, “They said that he should have just let the army shoot him, and then all his concubine pilots would still be alive, and we’d all be a lot better off.”

Zetian was shaking, her whole body vibrating under Yizhi’s grip, so that she looked almost like he had, shuddering while his system fought to survive withdrawal. She was crying properly now, ragged sobs of rage and grief, and that awful look of lost, helpless confusion was back beneath it all, and Yizhi—

Yizhi didn’t know what to do to make her feel better, because he was feeling a sudden upswell of sympathy for Zetian’s decision to punch a wall.

He wanted to punch a wall, too. Or, even better, he wanted to go down to the security office and demand every surveillance video from the entire building, and go over them with a fine-toothed comb to find everyone who had ever spoken a single one of those thoughts aloud. Then he could deliver them all up to Zetian on a silver platter, and maybe that would make the glaring emptiness, where they had all-too-quickly come to depend on another person, less painful.

“We haven’t held a funeral because we don’t know he’s dead,” Yizhi finally said. His voice was weak, fragile-sounding, and he realized when he spoke that he was crying too. Not Zetian’s wracking sobs, but a steady trickle that dripped from his jaw and clogged his throat.

“I told him that!” Zetian said, the words torn out of her chest. She was curled over in her chair, clinging to Yizhi like he was the last hope of rescue after a shipwreck, and crying almost into her knees, hand pressed over her mouth. “I said that right to his face, I said that he should have just taken a bullet rather than let them force him into piloting! I said—I said he had nothing worth living for, and those girls had everything, and he should have died rather than—and he agreed with me! He agreed with me, and then he—and then—”

Yizhi gave up on grace and pulled Zetian bodily out of her chair, into his lap on the floor. He wasn’t big enough for it to be comfortable, for either of them—his shoulders too narrow, his limbs too delicate—but she didn’t hesitate to follow his lead. She pressed her face into his shoulder and he fisted one hand in her robes, and felt her take a great shuddering gasp of air, every fiber taut and shivering with emotion.

“I told him,” she said into his robes, as if confessing a capital crime, “that if he was going to rape me, he should at least be honest about it. I didn’t say it like that, but he knew—he knew.”

Yizhi closed his eyes, resting his cheek on her hair, and felt his own breathing hitch. Zetian kept talking, like she couldn’t stop the flow of words now that she had started.

“What if he—what if he thought I still thought of him like that? What if he saved me because he thought—he thought that he was worthless, or a monster, or that we’d be better off? What if—”

“Stop,” Yizhi said, barely a whisper. He wasn’t even sure Zetian could hear him, over her own voice, her own guilt. But she stopped, and just sat and shivered in his arms.

Yizhi took a moment to breathe, her headpiece digging into his temple as he tried to find words.

“He saved us,” Yizhi finally said, slow and careful, “because he wanted us to live. Because he loved us. We can’t—it’s not fair to him, to spend all our time trying to decide if he loved us because he hated himself. That won’t—it won’t help us. And it won’t help him.”

“I was so awful to him,” Zetian said.

“Well,” Yizhi said, managing a brittle laugh through his tears, “sometimes you’re awful. Sometimes he was too. And me, every now and then. What matters is that we try to fix it.”

Yizhi shifted his weight, and carefully lowered both of them down onto the carpet, curled up on their sides, face-to-face. Zetian’s makeup was ruined, her blotchy flush showing through, and he was sure he didn’t look much better. He thought, for a moment, about how they had slept curled up like this the night before the attack on Zhou province. But then, they had been framing another body between them, hands lightly linked over his abdomen, his hands touching them hesitantly every once in a while, anxiously, as if he thought they might disappear.

Now, in the Empress’ quarters, they laid there together on the floor. The light outside the window began to darken, and Zetian’s tears dried, leaving her makeup smeared in ghoulish streaks down her face, and Yizhi kept holding her injured right hand to his chest.

Yizhi didn’t know how long they had been laying there when Zetian spoke, quietly, her voice clear and her eyes closed.

“I miss him.”

“Me too,” Yizhi whispered.

“I want to find those maids and kill them.”

“Me too.”

“We probably shouldn’t do that.”

“No. I could have them reprimanded, though.”

“Do that.”

“Okay,” Yizhi said, and bent his head to kiss the tips of her fingers. “If you let me clean your hand.”

“Okay,” Zetian said. “In a little while.”

#whumptober 2021 #no.3 #insults #iron widow #fic #self harm #starlight writes stuff #BIG iron widow spoilers but honestly you've been here you know this #anyway!!!!!!#i wrote this in three hours #i am actually delighted with it #ot3: iron triangle #i just!!!!!!!!#i want them to be SAD together!!!!!!!!#where are they? what's going on? how does zetian being empress actually Work??????#i don't know and frankly i do not care! this is about them being SAD!!!!!!!

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sloppy-butcher · 4 years ago

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Please can you do P, R, L, B, D with Caleb? Forgive that there's so many. Thank you!

thank you for the request bby and so sorry it took so long to get out <3 yeehaw cowboy man :)

;;edit, pls no more fluffy alphabet request thank you :)

Fluffy Alphabet for The Deathslinger (Caleb Quinn)

Beauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Your hands. The ultimate identification markers of what makes a man, a man. Or well, human. The tools with which greatness can be created and love can be expressed. Caleb absolutely loves your hands and often asks to see them. He likes to have your hands in his in which he can appreciate the size difference between you two (his hands are long and gangly and are littered with a multitude of scars and blemishes). You watch as a smile dusts the corners of his mouth, his eyes downcast and solemn. He lifts your knuckles to his lips and he kisses you gently, the grey hairs of his mustache tickling your skin.

Hands are what defines a person. It is what made him smart and respected, he used his hands to create his redeemer and brought about justice to the less fortunate. His hands are rough and leathery, the products of suffering and hardship, but yours - oh, how sweet they were. He loves to hold them, loves to look at them, loves to have them slowly caress his body with passion and generosity.

Dreams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He imagines a small, lonely cabin lost high in the mountains of some faraway country place. The mountains on the horizon stand blue against an endless sky, horses and cows roam the grassy fields around and for miles, the land stretches into the untouched vastness. There is no one near, not a neighbor in sight - just you and him in this sort of ethereal, western dream.

Winter mornings are spent cuddled by a fire, drinking warm coffee with blankets wrapped around your intertwining bodies. And summers see the two of you riding to the local creek where you swim and frolic like love-sick yearlings. All Caleb has ever wanted was to be alone, to be content in his own identity, and to be free to live life as he wants to. Now with you by his side at this lonesome cabin on the doorstep of the great unknown, he feels that content and is comfortable to simply live and let wilderness flow through him and over his land.

Love Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Caleb is a great nihilist; stubborn and bitter to the point of being completely dis-likable. He knows he’s old, he knows he is trapped in a repeating loop where nothing will die and he will never be free and he knows that truly, nothing means anything in this world. He sits alone and drinks, trying to drown the part of him that yearns for meaning, for purpose, for justification of existence.

What Caleb also knows is that he has a liking for you. He knows that your presence doesn't drive him up the wall and that your soft conversations are the highlights of his day. he knows what he wants and he knows there's no point to pussy-foot around the subject. Caleb asks you straight out if you would be interested in becoming closer to him. He explains that he enjoys your private time together and that he would greatly appreciate it if you reciprocated his feelings. Of course, he doesn’t say it in so many words but you get the picture.

You’re surprised by his forward bluntness and Caleb realizes how sharp he sounds. He softens and moves closer to you, taking off his hat and setting it aside on a table nearby. He lowers his face and kisses the top of your head then he pulls you into him, his arms wrapped around your shoulders trying to drag you deeper into his embrace. It was selfish to hold you before you had even given him your answer but he could not help himself. You could feel the tall man shake slightly as he hugs you, the act being such a spontaneous event that it takes you a few seconds to realize its entirety. Eventually, you manage to slip into his arms and give over to his need for affection. ‘Of course’, you say without words, ‘I love you too.’

PDA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He would be very upfront about everything. He talks to any and everyone about you, endlessly bragging about what a lucky man he is to have roped such a pretty little thing such as you for himself. Often this gets him in the bad books of the other killers who couldn’t care less about whatever the crazy old cowboy was doing in his free time, but did their threats or disgruntled glares stop him? God no.

He is also very hands-on, slapping your ass at every chance he got and scolding anyone who dared so much as look at you. Someone walks past and offers you a kind wave, you hear Caleb tense his gun and growl. You elbow him in the ribs but he does not falter in his misdirected aggressive protectiveness, blazing daggers after the person then spitting hatefully onto the ground. Only he was allowed to give you goo-goo eyes and he’ll be damned if he lets anyone else so much as try.

Romance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He’s incredibly, unironically, and insufferably cheesy. Caleb was a hopeless romantic before the term was even created - if you looked it up on the dictionary you would find his name in the description. There was just something so wonderful to him about being in love and in being loved, whenever you would stand closer to him or when you would look at him with those mild, affectionate eyes that never dulled or aged, that made him soft and malleable on the inside. It was easy to give in to your fluff and forget, if only for a moment, that he was scarred by life and made to be a monster.

Caleb likes to get you gifts (preferably something he had handmade) and he loves to give you compliments especially when they borderline being suggestive.

#dbd imagines #dbd x reader #dbd the deathslinger #dbd the deathslinger x reader #dbd caleb quinn #dbd caleb quinn x reader

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plush-rabbit · 4 years ago

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Enemies to Lovers

A/N: I hope you like it!!

Monoma Neito:

A villain and hero romance. The tension, the witty comebacks and the drama of it is the exciting part. It’s an exciting development as the enemy part of it starts to move into an odd friendship and to an eventual relationship.

Neito will never admit he has feelings for you. He’ll deny it and laugh as you tease him during a fight. You both have different views of the world but as you two begin to spend more time with each other- he’ll always state that he runs into you on accident- you two start to realize you have things in common that go past your “job”.

There are moments in the budding relationship where you two will sit next to each other- villain/hero costume on and just sit next to each other listening to the sounds of the street below. You sit and the silence is still, untouched and gentle, even as your hands meet and hold onto each other, never parting until your eyes begin to grow heavy and you have to take your leave.

You keep the friendship silent, never once talking about the nights before, keeping your beating heart quiet and the warm glow that fills your face quiet and unspoken. You bring snacks and he brings drinks, you throw your legs over his and pull him into a kiss, he invites you home and you spend the night watching an old movie, waking up with a stiff neck and his arms wrapped around you, his face buried into your side.

A relationship with Neito is like a river- it flows, steady and in constant motion, often disturbed by reality setting in and making itself known. You dance around each other, give him a quick peck and promise to meet him later and you rush off before you can be spotted. You protect each other- he tells you when he’s patrolling and who else is and you give him hints about the underground that will aid in his career.

It starts off with small, teasing remarks that leave him sputtering for a second to laughing loudly and calling you nothing more than a villain. However, it doesn’t hold the same malice that it once did. Disgust doesn’t linger and taint the words, it’s something softer, something almost sweet, like an affectionate nickname. Your given villain name is used on the occasion where you’re hurt- whispered harshly through gritted teeth with scared cerulean eyes staring into yours.

The teasing turns into banter, the banter to moments where you hold your hand up to rest against the side of the building catching your breath and he waits patiently, breaths tighter and forced as he tries to not show his own exhaustion. He waits for you to get back up, walks calmly towards you and offers you a hand, holding onto yours for a second too long, only to scoff and pull away at your smile, stating that he’s still a hero. He avoids looking you in the eyes and groans the minute you’re gone, holding the hand that touched yours with his other, gripping it tightly until his knuckles turn white.

You talk and you learn about him. He’s insufferable and loud, he has a wicked laugh and a nice smile when he wants to show it. He’s nice to you, respecting your boundaries and walking calmly towards you as to not alarm you when you’re resting. He catches you before you can fall, holds you by the waist and sports a coy grin. He brings you his favorite drink and eagerly waits for your response.

The first kiss is initiated by you and he calls it a dirty trick, hiding his mouth behind his hand, a bright tint dusting at his face, and his version of a payback to press his own lips against yours and let his forehead press against yours until he remembers he’s still in public.

Shigaraki Tomura:

An enemies to lovers relationship with him isn’t good. It’s filled with heartache and there are moments where it’s fun, where when you look at him, you can forget who he is for a moment and just be a person. He doesn’t have to be a villain and you don’t have to be a hero.

Tomura will reach for you with an open palm before admitting his feelings towards you. He doesn’t want to crush on some rising hero who crinkles their nose at his ideals and talks too much, the hero who startled when he tripped and immediately ran to help him.

In the beginning he tries to find reasons to hate you- he needs to find something annoying about you to stop you from invading his thoughts but as he tries, you’re all that lingers in his mind and he ends up crushing harder than before, grumbling and burying his nails into his neck.

A friendship starts when you find him curled up in an alleyway, clutching at his leg that bleeds and a thought passes that this is all over- everything that his master had planned for him is going down the drain because of a stupid knife. You’re quick to spot the pile of ash and bloody knife beside him. He’s ready for you to arrest him- the thought of dusting you doesn’t cross his mind but when you wrap a bandage around his calf, and apologize as he winces, he’s shocked. He watches you with careful eyes and when you help him rise, he keeps a finger in the air and he clutches your side.

A relationship with Tomura isn’t easy. You can’t change his mind and he can’t change yours. He keeps a careful eye on you and makes sure that whatever he does happens when you’re not working. He doesn’t want people to know for both of your sake. As he rises with power, he makes sure that villains know you’re off limits- that he has a personal grudge against you.

He meets you at your place- sneaks quietly through the door, acts as if he belongs there and when he steps inside, he does. The need for bloody knuckles and outstretched hands have been replaced with soft kisses and heads buried into the soft curve of the neck. The harsh glares turned to roll of the eyes with tired smiles, to smiling through kisses and sharing and embracing each other’s warmth.

His hood is pulled down and silvery hair spills out, soft and fluffy, spilling down his shoulders, and he walks over to the couch where you lay on your side, the television on and flashing colors against your sleeping face. He crouches down and a scarred hand reaches over and brushes against your cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind your ears and he shakes you awake.

You smile at him, your eyes no longer wide and scared like they were the first few times; now you lean into him and hold his hand with yours, pressing your lips against his palm in a gentle kiss that flutters and sends sparks across his body. You welcome him home and lead him to the bedroom, gripping tightly onto his hand and he collapses next to you, kicking off his shoes and shushing you when you complain about dirt being tracked in the house. He clicks his tongue and makes a passing comment too low to hear and you too tired to care about what it was. You stick your tongue out in response and turn to face him.

He pulls the blanket over the both of you, opens his arms and digs into the bed when you lay your head against his chest, running your hand over his abdomen in slow circles. He keeps his eyes open long after your movements have stopped. He traces the outline of your face, slides his fingers over your neck and rests them above your heartbeat. He pulls you close and promises protection to you, closes his eyes and presses his lip lightly at the crown of your head and falls into a slumber.

#monoma neito x reader #neito monoma x reader #monoma neito headcanons #neito monoma headcanons #neito monoma imagine #shigaraki tomura x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura headcanons #shigaraki tomura imagine #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #genghis khan is a good song #im getting slow at publising #sorry #i'll try to have something out by tomrorow #and a fic or two by the weekend #love yall

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vinculafidelis · 4 years ago

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ELDRIT is a 363 year old DEMISEXUAL, FEMALE, SHE/HER, here in Firebrand City. People say they look a lot like GAL GADOT. They are TENDER but can be TROUBLED. They are a DRAGON TRAITOR in Firebrand and they work as a DEMON COUNCIL ASSISTANT

Sand dragons are small with serpent-like bodies; incredibly elusive they live their lives in the unforgiving desert in packs of 3 or 4. Excellent diggers they can go deep into the hard ground and find water, making oases of life sprout in even the harshest conditions. Eldrit grew up in a clan made up of her older brother and his mate, her older sister and herself since parents usually took off to start more families once hatchlings were self sufficient.

II.

It was a happy life but it wasn’t easy. Even for dragons, resources were difficult to come by, seasons were merciless and time moved slowly. They were defenders of the flora and fauna of their land and mostly they didn’t want their kind to go extinct. Eldrit and her thunder hid in razor sharp mountain ranges, caves and wherever they could, sometimes for years, months, or days. Their existence was nomadic and home was not a place but a feeling. Eldrit adored her siblings and constantly showed it, she was an affectionate and amicable reptile: she learned very fast, was easily pleased: they said that whoever ended as her mate was going to be lucky. Eldrit had no problem to wait for the one.

III.

The desert lands had always been territories full of magic and sand dragons were highly coveted specimens for those privileged enough to know about them. An energized enough sand dragon had the power to turn anything into diamond with their breath. Eldrit grew up distrustful of everyone and anything that wasn’t a member of her family, a paranoia that had been engraved in her genes for centuries and centuries.

IV.

It was Eldrit’s obsession with honey that set off the beginning of an endless nightmare. Her sister had been long gone to form a family of her own and the rest of the clan had been on the move to locate more sand dragons to maybe find a mate for the youngest. Eldrit wandered off to sample a honeybee hive. Careless, carefree, captured.

She didn’t see them or smell them until it was too late. Their scent wasn’t that of regular humans. Some of them had fire like her. Some of them had water and air. Some of them turned into animals. They said words and made things happen. They put heavy chains and shackles around her legs, pinned down her wings, she couldn’t open her jaws to call for help, to defend herself as they took her far away from any kind of home she had ever known.

VI.

Eldrit was thrown into an ornate golden cage in a fancy marble palace where dozens of faces got to gawk at her every day. She got enough sustenance to exist but not enough to be able to break free from the chains. She had seen mountain lions and camels in local towns suffer similar fates as hers but never a dragon. Never a seemingly untouchable, magical being like her. She did not understand. Why couldn’t she free herself? Apparently the beings around her had magic too.

VII.

The sand dragon spent years and years captive as a glorified zoo animal for greedy Supers to parade and brag about. Every so often she was forced to showcase her powers and turn things into diamond. But inside, Eldrit was losing the battle, weakening, not made for life in captivity.

VIII.

That was when they noticed and started tampering with her heart. Showing her kindness in the form of presents; sweets, fruits, little trinkets, honey. A bigger enclosure. More sunlight. Lighter chains. Sand. A family of mice to break the isolation. Little by little, Eldrit was being tamed, her instincts fading to adapt to a new way to stay alive. However shameful it was, she wasn’t even aware.

IX.

Her first collar was so pretty, covered in diamonds that complimented the peach and gold hues of her scales. She barely felt when they locked it in, dazed by the wine that had been poured in her water. She still had a chain that tethered her to the marble floors of the palace at all times, but it was just the one. Just the one.

She was the palace’s good girl, in their remote oasis with impenetrable walls. Eldrit had no place in politics, she was just a fancy pet, but she heard they stood somewhere between humans and some up and coming Council. And when the time came, it would be expected of her to protect those that had been so kind to her. And she did. Time and time again the sand dragon would be unleashed on the palace’s enemies. Like a good girl, Eldrit did as she was told.

XI.

And because of that, she got her biggest reward: an egg. The actual mating was nothing short of terrifying for Eldrit with a feral dragon that was brought to her enclosure one day and she never saw again once the deed was done. But her egg was beautiful; sparkling like the diamonds she could make with her breath. She was sure it was going to be a boy like her beloved older brother and she started referring to him as her ‘little prince’.

XII.

But her little prince wouldn’t hatch and Eldrit could feel the impatience growing around her. They wanted him to hatch just as much as she did. Like a protective mother, she would get aggressive whenever anyone would get close to her egg. And aggression and Eldrit were two things unknown to each other. So they took him away. For his protection, they said. He was too valuable. And Eldrit had to agree, even if she didn’t. She was his mother. But they started planting a new fear in her heart, that everybody wanted her egg. And the paranoia started chipping away at the sand dragon’s sanity.

XIII.

The once affable creature became highly weaponizable. Eldrit was blinded by terror, by their fear-mongering. They had to add more chains, because every noise meant somebody coming to steal her little prince, not even the people within the palace were safe. In reality, rebels knew their shameless way of life was coming to an end. They had threatened the Council for too long and they had to pay.

XIV.

The day the palace fell was the darkest of them all. Eldrit was released in all her furious glory telling her it was time to defend her egg, that they had finally breached the walls with the sole purpose of taking her little prince. But she was just one small sand dragon, brainwashed by decades of lying, of deceit, of deception. She was not prepared for an actual war, for an actual army, to be called a “rebel dragon” and be sent crashing through a marble tower, the entire structure collapsing under her.

XV.

Hearts are made out of muscle, so when they break they don’t make a sound. However, eggs do. Whichever one Eldrit heard was the loudest noise in the entire universe, it was deafening, it was maddening, it was infuriating, it was insufferable. The diamond looking pieces of eggshell were laying under a large marble column and Eldrit’s little prince was no more. And if he was no more, then nobody else had the right to be.

XVI.

With fury and rage born out of the purest grief, Eldrit broke off her enchanted chains and obliterated everything and everyone around her. It didn’t matter the affiliation, the species, the cause, she just annihilated with the power of a dragon much bigger and powerful than she was. Fire, ashes and smoke rained for hours as she bellowed and fought and destroyed, until she had nothing left.

XVII. 

Waking up in a human body for the first time ever is a curse on its own. Waking up and remembering the destruction you caused, somehow worse. Waking up and looking at a piece of diamond eggshell tightly clenched in your human palm… Eldrit thought she was going to go insane again. Except now she couldn’t turn back into a dragon because she was wearing some different kind of collar, without diamonds. There were no chains. She was freezing. Her new body ached. She was on her way to some place called Firebrand. Still a slave. Now a traitor. Still alone. Without her little prince. To serve a new kind of sentence at a new kind of purgatory. Rightfully so, after everything she’s done.

XVIII.

Nothing about the city makes sense to the dragon now stuck in a human body. The air hurts her lungs, clothes hurt her skin, their food hurts her insides, it’s so cold all the time. She’s been in Firebrand for a month. She has a job that she’s somehow good at, her saving grace is her ability to learn things incredibly fast. She took to reading like hatchlings take to flying and there’s nothing inside a book that Eldrit doesn’t want to know; it’s an escape from the acidic grief that’s always consuming her and the reminder that she doesn’t want to be in a world without her little prince. What’s the point of trying to find a purpose when you don’t even want to have one anymore?

#firebrand.bio #❝ the baggage ❞ - eldrit.#/tw long bio emo bio bad bio

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megalony · 5 years ago

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Fatal attraction- Part 3

Here is the next part in my latest royal! Ben Hardy series, I hope everyone will like it, thank you for the lovely feedback so far.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @rogermeddow @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog

Series taglist: @joseph-mozzerella @pippin248

Series masterlist

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) are in an arranged marriage to form an alliance and they both want to make this marriage work. But when they have to get to know each other and there is a power play in their marriage, things aren’t going to be easy.

Enjoy.

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

Just like home.

That one phrase hadn't stopped swirling around in (Y/n)'s head for roughly two weeks now and it was beginning to be all that she could concern herself with. This new palace, her new husband and this new life were beginning to remind (Y/n) of being back home with her parents and she didn't like it one bit. This wasn't supposed to feel like she was right back where she started, this was (Y/n)'s new life, it was a new chapter in the story that was her life and (Y/n) didn't want any part of this to resemble the life she had growing up.

Back home she was stuck in a repeated cycle of getting up at eight o'clock and having breakfast at the same table in the same room with the same seating plan. She would then have lessons on how to be prim and proper, on languages it was necessary for her to learn and the style of writing she needed to have. They were perfecting her into the Queen she was never going to become because she had married someone with more power than herself.

Home was living in a schedule that revolved around making (Y/n) perfect. But that wasn't the part that reminded her of home, it was how she felt stuck. When (Y/n) married Ben she assumed everything would be different and that was what she wanted, and now, as she sat having breakfast, she started weighing up the similarities and differences of her old home to her new, actual home here.

(Y/n) felt useless here just as she did back home but there were no lessons to occupy her. There was no essential role for her to carry out except tidying her and Ben's shared chambers. She couldn't do any cleaning because that would give her the role of a maid, she hadn't gotten any official duties to do like Ben did. He got to go to Parliament and have a meeting almost every day and he had papers to sign and documents to read and plans that needed his agreement and signature.

It left (Y/n) to roam the gardens or the palace that she now had committed to memory. The few differences she had found in this new home were very good, but they weren't enough. Having Ben as her husband was the biggest difference that (Y/n) could think of.

Ben meant that (Y/n) now got to share her room and her thoughts and opinions with someone who wasn't just her maid or governess. Ben was someone (Y/n)'s own age who understood, he was someone she could talk to in confidence and have arguments with that meant something and discussions that left her feeling uplifted rather than as if she was talking to herself.

Ben meant that (Y/n) shared her bed now rather than trying to go to sleep alone. That led to (Y/n) finding herself unable to sleep unless his arm was wrapped over her waist and his breaths or heartbeat could lull her to sleep. For the past three months she had been married to him, they seemed to have an understanding and a routine they were getting into, but the routines weren't the same. Some routines were just waking up at the same time and talking or talking before bed and sleeping close together or tangled up. Other routines meant Ben had things to do and people to see and (Y/n) had nothing.

Her husband was the one thing that made (Y/n) feel like this home was better and different, but he was also the thing causing the internal debates she was having about how she fitted in here.

When (Y/n) went to bed at night before she was married, she wondered what it would be like. She wondered if her new husband would be older than her or if he was around her age. She wondered if he would be handsome or plain or indifferent or would have some sort of striking feature she couldn't bear to look at. (Y/n) wondered if he would be short or tall, but she also worried about if he would be someone she could get along with.

(Y/n) knew as far as Ben was concerned, she had landed on her feet in terms of getting along. They were similar in age, he was striking to look at in the best sort of way, he was caring even if he liked to gloat at times and he definitely loved to tease her and joke around. He was willing to listen and he tried not to hold his power over her and make her his subject rather than his wife.

Their relationship was different because they felt like they were a new couple rather than newly married, but in Ben's eyes marriage was a piece of paper that wasn't anything to be concerned about and (Y/n) was beginning to feel the same. (Y/n) did hope things would keep going smoothly though, their relationship seemed to go in a jumbled order when (Y/n) liked things neat and precise and to follow the right pattern. Things like marriage, sex, sharing a bed and going to events all came first rather than getting to know each other and becoming comfortable and closer with each other.

Over these past few months, (Y/n) felt less like she was married to Ben and more like she was starting to get into a relationship with him. They had gotten married but that thought disappeared when (Y/n) was around Ben because seemed like they were getting to know one another and progressing towards marriage, rather than starting with it. And that was a good thing, they were coming closer together when (Y/n) had been very, very sure that she wouldn't get along with him and that this life was going to be insufferable.

"Are you going?" (Y/n) closed her eyes for a second longer than necessary as she internally cringed at how paranoid and rather desperate her words sounded.

She had barely started to touch her breakfast but Ben was finished and now seemed to be leaving the table already. At least with Ben sitting here it meant (Y/n) didn't have to try and strike up a conversation with his mother who they had meals with a few days a week. (Y/n) hated these days because she never knew what to say or what to do but Ben always led the conversation and he thought it fine if (Y/n) didn't participate or simply let her mind wander.

"Afraid so, why? Are you going to miss me whilst I'm gone?" Ben's signature smile pulled at his lips which curved up at one side into a lopsided smile that verged on a devilish smirk. His brows rose and his head ticked to the side as he pushed his chair back and stood to his feet, leaning one hand on the table so he could turn so he was facing (Y/n) on his left.

He felt a flutter in his chest when (Y/n)'s eyes were quick to look down at her plate of untouched food he guessed she wasn't going to eat. He could see the smile she was biting back and the blush creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks. Ben knew (Y/n) flushed when he teased or said a dirty joke or when he implied something, but he liked it when she blushed or nervously smiled.

"Sadly not." (Y/n) responded quietly before she leaned her chin on her hand, biting her lower lip as she debated leaving with him but she didn't know whether to go or not. She didn't want to be disrespectful to Ben's mother and she knew she should eat something, but (Y/n) was never a fan of breakfast and she didn't want to sit and have an awkward conversation. Lifting her eyes from her plate she looked up at Ben when she noticed he hadn't made a move to leave. "I thought you were leaving?"

Ben pursed his lips and nodded but when he rounded the side of the table, he moved to stand behind (Y/n)'s chair and leaned down so his hands were resting on her shoulders.

Lifting her head, (Y/n) turned to look up at Ben whist trying to keep her breathing under control. Neither of them had really been affectionate towards each other because they were still getting to know one another and get used to their new relationship. They'd been intimate, but affection was different, kisses were just on the cheek and even then they were rare. Hand holding didn't happen and a hand on the shoulder didn't even happen either.

But the way Ben's fingers were slowly brushing over her skin made (Y/n)'s stomach jump.

"Come with me." His words were so quiet (Y/n) barely managed to understand what he'd said over the blood rushing through her ears. His breath tickled the shell of her ear and she knew he'd felt her shivering from the feeling. But when she looked up at him, he wasn't smirking or teasing or messing around with her. He looked different, his smile was small but gentle, his eyes were inviting and kind and when his eyes darted to the side and back, it showed he was trying to help. He could sense how anxious she was and he wasn't about to walk away and leave her like this.

When (Y/n) stood up, Ben's hands left her shoulders but one moved to rest against her upper back. He nodded at his mother before the couple walked out of the room. (Y/n) didn't know where they were going so she just let Ben lead the way but she knew that when his hand left her back, she could still feel it there and she wanted his touch back again.

"What are you doing today?" Ben turned his head so he was looking at (Y/n) as the pair of them slowly walked down the corridor.

"I'm not sure yet." Clasping her hands in front of her, (Y/n) scratched the palm of her hand with her wedding ring, a habit that was both out of nervousness and something to try and distract herself form her thoughts. The most (Y/n) had done was map out the palace by trailing around it each day and go around all of the gardens which had taken up some of her unlimited free time. But having nothing to do felt worse than back when she was growing up where she had far too much to do.

"Would you like something to do?" Ben's question wasn't a simple inquiry, it was an invitation to give (Y/n) some sort of job or hobby or just a little trinket to fill her time and give her mind something to work on. His eyes were inviting, just like they had been when he asked her to leave the table and it made (Y/n) curious.

Ben took (Y/n)'s curious look as a yes and it made his lips curve and the look in his eyes change. For a split second, (Y/n) thought he was going to reach out and take her hand to quickly steer her away somewhere and a big part of her wished he would. She wished he would take her hand and run down a corridor like they were children trying to avoid detection.

But he didn't, he simply beckoned for her to follow him as if she hadn't been already.

A rush of adrenaline and panic flooded (Y/n)'s chest when she realised he was guiding her back to their room and she knew the first thing she thought of couldn't be true because she remembered Ben had to go to a meeting. He wouldn't be late for that, he hated being late or anyone turning up late. There was no way Ben would bring (Y/n) up here to have sex when he had somewhere to be that was important like this. His question hadn't been one that would suggest sex, it was something innocent and kind and caring.

(Y/n) dug her ring further into her palm to stop herself from looking like she was outwardly panicking when she followed him into the connecting room that led into their bedroom. It was more of an office to them both and something between relief and disappointment coursed through (Y/n)'s veins when Ben walked over to the desk instead of opening the door to go into their bedroom.

"You could do the papers, if you like."

Approaching the desk with some caution, (Y/n) stood next to Ben and let her eyes dart between him and the desk before she looked closer at the extensive stack of papers he pulled out of a drawer. Reaching out, (Y/n) gently took one of the pages and brought it up so she could read what it was before she looked over at Ben in disbelief. Why was he suggesting this? She wasn't the King or the Queen, these were his documents that needed his signature and approval. She had seen him before going over these sort of documents before going to bed and it seemed to both bore and interest him at the same time.

(Y/n) was expecting Ben to find a book for her to read or a list to go through or just something or no importance. She didn't really think he would ask her to do a royal duty that was of importance, unless he was asking her this as some kind of joke.

"I can't do these, I'm not a Queen you know that. They need your approval, not mine." (Y/n) held the paper out to Ben and she couldn't hide the disappointment on her face because she wanted to do something like this. She wanted to be important and help wherever she could, but she couldn't do this. Even though she could understand the documents and what they meant, (Y/n) wasn't the one who had to sign them. Her approval wasn't as high as Ben's, he was the King, he was the top level of importance here.

Ben pursed his lips and took the paper from (Y/n)'s hand but as quick as anything, he set it back down on the stack and held out a pen to (Y/n) like it was a bargaining tool.

"You're not technically a Queen, I know that, but your my wife and that makes you the next highest authority here. You've been brought up to do this just as I have, and I say your approval is enough." Moving his hand, Ben urged (Y/n) to take the pen from him so she would agree to do this. He knew she wasn't the sovereign, but she was still a princess and (Y/n) knew what she was doing. They had both been brought up to be King and Queen, they were taught the same things so (Y/n) knew what to sign and what kind of things deserved or didn't deserve her approval.

Ben trusted (Y/n) to do this and it both gave her something to do and gave him one less job to do later. He said her approval was enough, no one was going to quarrel with (Y/n) if he said that.

Biting down on her lower lip, (Y/n) took a deep breath before she relented and took the pen from his hand, unable to stop her lips from pulling into a small smile. Maybe he would let her do this from now on, it could be her official duty here or he could find her something else she could do to help so he didn't have as much on his plate. Surely if Ben trusted her to do this he would trust her to help with everything else if he needed her to.

She finally had something to do that made her feel like she had a purpose here.

"Thank you." (Y/n) gripped the pen a bit tighter when Ben took a few steps closer until there was almost no air of space between them causing (Y/n) to have to tilt her head up to look at him properly.

"You don't have to thank me, you've been raised to do this as well, you shouldn't have that obligation and work taken from you just because you married me." Ben knew that if it was the other way around and (Y/n) was the Queen, he would hate to move to her country and have nothing to do or no authority. He wouldn't want to sit around feeling useless or feel resentful that he spent his life learning to be King, only to marry a Queen and have that opportunity and title taken away from him.

(Y/n) knew what she was doing, she should be allowed to help him instead of sitting back and watching. She didn't want to marry a King in the first place but she had to so Ben wasn't going to make her life any worse for her.

"Alright, I really should go to that meeting now but when it's finished I'll come find you."

Nodding her head, (Y/n) smiled and reached out for the chair on her right, getting ready to move it so she could sit down when Ben left the room. But her mind suddenly started to short circuit and go blank when he leaned forward. (Y/n)'s eyes widened and her body froze completely when Ben suddenly kissed her.

He'd never done that before, at least not randomly like this.

He never displayed affection for no reason like this, he only kissed her when they were getting married or during sex. He'd never kissed her like this in the three months they'd been married. But here he was, moving his hand to cup her face and kissing her like they'd done this thousands of times before and it was no big deal.

Realising she wasn't moving, (Y/n) broke out of her frozen state so she could hold on to his wrist, giving him a sign that she wasn't in shock or angered at his sudden movement. But as quick as he seemed to deepen the kiss, he suddenly pulled away. His lips curved into the kind of gentle smile (Y/n) hadn't seen him display before but she had no time to stare at the new expression because his hand left her face and he was leaving.

As soon as the door closed behind Ben, (Y/n) moved her hand to lightly press the pad of her fingers against her lips as her other hand gripped the back of the chair so she didn't collapse. He was the first person she had ever kissed, but that was the first loving kiss they'd had and it had been so out of the blue.

Why did he do that?

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

"Why are you awake?"

Opening her eyes amidst the darkness swamping the room, (Y/n) stayed deathly still despite Ben clearly knowing she was still awake rather than being asleep when it must be well past midnight by now. When (Y/n) couldn't sleep she ended up either tossing and turning or mindlessly jittering and tapping her hands against the mattress. But now she was sharing a bed with Ben, whenever she couldn't sleep and she felt like she was moving too much, she would try and stay deadly still to make sure she didn't want up Ben.

He must have realised she wasn't moving at all and guessed she was awake.

(Y/n) could feel her heart beginning to pick up speed as thousands of thoughts started to race around in her mind and crash together. She knew the reason she was awake right now, there was something playing on her mind that she couldn't ignore. But if she told Ben what was on her mind, she doubted he would be able to get back to sleep either.

Should she tell him? She would have to end up telling him sooner or later anyway and it was constant on her mind tonight.

"I... I- I can't sleep." The words were sitting on the very edge of (Y/n)'s tongue, just about to jump to freedom before she bit them back. She didn't want to tell him when he was drowsed with sleep and about to go back into a dreamless state. This wasn't the way to approach the subject.

Burying her head further into the pillow, (Y/n) closed her eyes and willed her mind to shut down so she could fall asleep and Ben could get back to doing the same. Her breath caught in her lungs when she felt Ben slowly pushing himself up on his elbow so he could lean over and look at her in the darkness. Something was telling him that there was something keeping her awake but he decided against pushing the subject. If it was something serious or important (Y/n) would have told him.

Laying back down, Ben moved his arm so it was a bit tighter around (Y/n)'s waist, pulling her back against his chest so he could tuck his head into the crook of her neck. He closed his eyes and tiredly pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her neck, hoping she would fall asleep soon since it was late.

"Close your eyes and let your mind drift, don't focus on anything, it makes it a lot easier." Ben mumbled the words against her skin as (Y/n) took his hand that was resting on her waist and entwined her fingers with his. She could already feel Ben slipping back to sleep and (Y/n) wanted to possess that ability. To be able to just fall right back asleep was something she had never been able to do.

(Y/n) tried. As she felt Ben's breaths evening out and the tension leaving his muscles, she tried to let every thought wash over her head without dwelling on any in particular. But one thought kept coming back to her like it was right in front of her in flashing lights so she couldn't help but think about it and it made her legs curl up and her hand tighten around Ben's. It was the one thought she kept coming back to which hadn't left her mind since she came back from taking a trip out this morning.

She was pregnant.

#ben hardy #ben x reader #ben hardy imagine #imagine #BoRhap #royalty #fatal attraction

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strange-n-unbluusual · 5 years ago

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Pink! Ch. 4: The Late Date

*Beetlejuice/Original Female Character. Adult situations. 18+ only.*

Summary: After six breather years away, Beetlejuice returns to find the house on the hill overrun by coeds. Lydia allows him to stay, but has rules. Things get more interesting when Beck, one of the housemates, reveals she can see him. Following a sordid affair, Beetlejuice finds himself lingering around Beck more and more. But will her affection last? And why does it seem to bother Lydia so much?

Chapter 1: The Setup

Chapter 2: The Buzzkill Date

Chapter 3: The Ex Lover

This one is a doozy! 18+ only!!

DMs are always open for thoughts, feedback and suggestions. Ty. On AO3 as CopperContessa_13

They weren’t kidding around when they named the place Winter River.

By late November, it was uncommon for the town to go more than a day without being graced by at least another inch of snow. Constantly clearing her car was annoying, but Beck enjoyed the white stuff otherwise.

She smiled when she saw a bright light peeking through her curtains one morning. When she opened her curtains, she saw the sun was reflecting off a fresh layer of snow that had fallen during the night. About six inches lay untouched on the roof outside her window, the rays making it shine like glitter. Some fluffy flakes still floated lazily down from the sky.

Just beyond the roof, she could see the people moving around in the town. The snow there wasn’t quite as untouched as her immediate view, but the scene was still so picturesque.

The plow trucks had already come, easily moving the puffy snow off the roadway. Most driveways were cleared, too, but tire tracks tattled on who’d woken up too late to shovel before work. Focusing on one street in particular, she noticed a man started to clear his neighbor’s driveway after finishing his own.

Children, no doubt on break from school, were already preparing barricades for snowball fights and running down the streets with sleds in hand. During Winter River's first snow this year, Beck asked Lydia if any kids ever came to sled at the house’s hill. Lydia said she’d let them if they tried, but that they hardly got visitors these days.

Something about a bad experience with a Girl Scout and a census taker? Whatever.

Inspired by the scene, Beck dragged her art desk in front of the window. Warmness tickled her feet as she walked past an air vent. Settling in her chair, she turned to a fresh page in her sketchbook and grabbed a piece of charcoal.

It had taken a couple of days for tensions to ease, but they did. Beck and Lydia maintained their distance, but it was more out of respect than compulsion. Lydia had noticeably stayed over at her girlfriend’s house more since the big fight. When Mariah was over, though, they were considerate and quiet. That didn’t go unnoticed by Beck who, consequently, decided it was in poor taste to pointedly use Lydia’s towels to clean up after she and Beetlejuice finished screwing around.

Having the house to herself really did help Beck cleanse any petty energy that remained in her brain. Nice mornings like this, especially, made her worries feel small.

Being alone on Thanksgiving break wasn’t sad or stressful for her. With school in Connecticut and home in New Mexico, she realized early on that a trip home for such a short break just wasn’t worth it. Plus, it wasn’t like she felt alone.

Her parents kept tabs on her through text messages. She had lengthy streaks with both of her sisters on Snapchat. The ghosts were still around, too. Adam and Barbara, whose presence around the place was a bit more common now, would sometimes make idle conversation. And, of course, there was also Beetlejuice who was… a lot.

As if his snarky observations weren’t grating enough when she pretended to not hear them…

Beck didn’t know someone could be so endearing and insufferable at the same time. She’d learned to finish her work at the campus library because, geezus, Beetlejuice was an unstoppable force at home. It didn’t matter if it was noon or midnight, he was always at the door when she got home. She always found the act endearing until he opened his mouth. From the moment she came in through the door, he'd follow her around like a very talkative shadow. Beetlejuice had a surprising amount to say about his day, considering he never left the house.

Books she read, movies she watched, websites she browsed. You name it. Beetlejuice had a very staunch opinion on all of it. Don't even get him started on what he thought of her housemates. Kendra will never be “punk,” Ash’s poetry is shit, Cici’s weird nipples make her boobs look like googly eyes and Lillian is a shallow bitch. Beck had heard it all.

He never had anything bad to say about Lydia, of course.

After his conscious stream of thought ruined the emotional climax of a series she’d been binging, Beck decided she’d had enough. She was about to tell him off when a thought finally occurred to her: he only talks so much because it's been so long since he’s been heard.

It was a cathartic moment.

It was also cathartic when she learned he got really quiet after blowing a load or two.

They had yet to bang outright. He told her that they couldn't. Something about Netherworld bureaucracy barring him from having sex with a mortal without being summoned. Wary of unleashing a demon for the sake of a 30 second bone sesh (give or take, she imagined), Beck decided she was fine with just hand and tongue stuff.

Speaking of bedroom calisthenics, it was weird he wasn’t curled up next to her that morning.

Beck looked up from her drawing pad to glimpse at the town again, but was distracted by something new on the roof.

She adjusted her posture just enough to make out the beady eyes of a snowman sitting outside her window. The snow used to make it was dirty looking, brown and grey. Its eyes and mouth were made up of tiny pebbles. A black and white striped scarf hung loosely from its neck. A gust of wind blew the knit fabric against the (several?) flimsy twigs being used for arms.

“Hey, sugar tits! Coffee’s on!” Beetlejuice announced while kicking the door to her room open.

Beck flinched, causing the charcoal she was holding to make a thick line on the paper. She frowned at the mistake, but decided not to make a big deal out of it. She could probably pass it off as a tree branch or something. Oh well.

Turning to face him, she was relieved to see him holding two mugs. Caffeine was just what she needed.

“You don’t have anything to do with that cute snowman on the roof, do you, Lawrence?” she asked while grabbing a cup.

“Cute? He’s not cute,” Beetlejuice scoffed. “Look at him peeping into your room! That dirty pervert.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve let that slide.”

He grinned and pulled her to his side with his free arm. She tried her best to ignore the gesture, opting to clutch her hot mug with both hands instead of embracing him back. Messing around was one thing, but she still wasn’t sure what to do when he made affectionate little gestures like these.

Still, there were worse ways to start a morning.

Beck took a sip of the coffee. Her face twisted into disgust.

“Something wrong, babes?”

“W-what did you use to make this?”

“Dirt and water,” He said taking a gulp of the stuff. “Why do you think the snowman is so dirty? I spent the morning digging through the garden to make this.”

Trying to contain her repulsion, Beck calmly walked over to her dresser and set the mug down.

“What? Is this not how you’re supposed to do it?” he asked. “Lydia said it was made with plants.”

“Yeah! A coffee plant. Which is definitely not topsoil.”

“Well I got it from the garden, didn’t I?!”

Beck took a deep breath.

“You are… something,” she said.

“I don’t get your deal. It tastes the same to me,” he shrugged.

“Stop drinking that!”

Beetlejuice stared her down as he chugged the rest. He patted his tummy and made a satisfied “ah” noise. Beck rolled her eyes but cracked a smile.

Jokes on him, she thought. She wouldn’t touch him again until he used some mouthwash.

You can’t have a weak stomach when you’re with someone like him, Beck had learned. If it wasn’t clear from the moss on his face and the dust that wafted off of him when he moved, they guy had an affinity for filth. What was more frustrating than the dirty clothes and greasy hair, though, was that she knew he could do something about it with a wave of his hand. Fucker didn’t even need to shower! He just liked being that way!

Beck liked her men dirty, though.

“I was just trying to do something nice for you,” he grumbled.

“Hon, I know, but it’s gross” Beck laughed.

She slightly regretted using the pet name when she saw him visibly perk up at its use.

“Let me get changed and I’ll make a real breakfast,” she quickly added.

“Are you gonna make pancakes?!” he gasped, lighting up further.

“If you want, I guess.”

“Fuck yeah!”

⁂

Later in the day, they’d decided to turn on a movie. One of Beetlejuice’s favorites— The Exorcist. He was so enamored with the screen he didn’t even see her slip away. He was re-alerted of her presence at the sound of heels clicking on the kitchen’s wood floor. He whipped his head around, desperate to get a view of her from the living room.

Beck was wearing tall brown boots and very tight jeans. The straps of a lacey bralette peeked out tastefully from under a knit sweater. A bit of jewelry and makeup accentuated her features. Her hair fell in big, loose waves just above her shoulders. Her coat and purse were held under one arm.

Beetlejuice wolf whistled, grabbing her attention.

“You look like a million bucks, Beck!” Beetlejuice said, walking over and slapping her ass.

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly. “I actually wanted to wear this cute bandeau and jacket I picked up the other day, but I’ll save that for when it gets warmer. Hoes don’t get cold, but they do get pneumonia.”

“Why are you worried about getting sick? I thought you were staying in today.”

“No. I actually need to head out soon.”

“Why? Grocery store closing?”

“No, Lawrence,” Beck giggled. “I’m going to the pub downtown. This guy from my sculpting class struck up a conversation with me about craft beer. Apparently he knows the woman who owns the place. We’re gonna try some of their new pours together.”

Beetlejuice was quiet for a moment before he finally responded with a breathy laugh.

“If I didn’t know you any better, Bexley, I’d say it sounds like you’re going on a date.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah I am. My first since Lydia.”

“Well, you can’t go then!” he snapped.

She looked up at him in surprise.

“And why the fuck not?” Beck spat back.

“Because you and I are already together.”

Oh boy.

Beck’s mouth gaped open for a second, not exactly sure what to say.

“No, we’re not,” she said firmly. “I’m sorry I never laid it out, but what we have is strictly casual.”

“It’s not casual, babes,” he insisted.

Beetlejuice’s words were calm, but she didn’t miss the bits of red that were starting to fleck his green hair.

“We can talk about this later,” Beck said dismissively. “I need to go.”

Beetlejuice pinned her against the wall, holding her firmly in place by clutching her forearms above her head. Her shoes felt like they were glued to the ground— likely his powers holding her. She struggled against him, but quickly realized it was useless.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No, baby, never,” Beetlejuice cooed into her ear. “I’m just going to prove a point.”

“What point?”

“That your fucking little breather flings can’t hold a candle to how good I make you feel.”

Beck didn’t get a chance to respond before he hoisted her from the wall and laid her on the nearby countertop. He quickly undid her jeans but looked at her for approval before pulling them down. She hesitated for a moment before shrugging.

“Prove your point, big shot. Make it fast.”

Beck knew she was being greedy and inconsiderate for pulling a stunt like this so close to her date, but she couldn't help herself. She'd become addicted to his constant attention.

She tensed at the coldness of his tongue, but it quickly warmed inside her. It always did. One of Beetlejuice’s hands grasped her thigh while the thumb of the other worked her clit. Her hips spasmed at infrequent intervals at the pleasureful sensation.

She loved the way his tongue pulsed inside her at a steady rhythm. At first she was turned off by how inhuman in looked— wormlike and darker than a human one. The way it could stretch and move her, though, was incomparable to anything else she'd experienced. He was already driving her wild, his movements simple but skilled.

He wasn’t allowed to know that, of course.

Beetlejuice looked up at Beck. She was supported on her elbows, giving her enough height to look back down at him blankly. He knew she was trying her best to be unenthused, but her act wasn’t convincing. Aside from her electrified hips, he could read the lust in her eyes and hear the lilt of an occasional whine leave her mouth.

Not good enough.

Craving a more intense reaction, he slid out to tease her ass for a second. When she opened her mouth to gasp, he quickly rammed the tongue back into its familiar sheath. Beck’s hips bucked into his mouth and she let out long, pleasurable cry.

Beetlejuice smirked, raising an eyebrow at her from his spot below.

“Don’t get cocky,” she groaned.

Repositioning, he placed a hand on either of her thighs and spread her legs further apart. He took a second to appreciate how beautiful and vulnerable she was in this position before diving in headfirst again. She panted, weaving a needy hand in his hair. She'd move him gently, desperate to chase her orgasm with his help. She loved it when he maneuvered so that his appendage could both rub her little pleasure button and fill her insides.

She closed her eyes, imagining it was his cock filling her instead.

After manipulating her with his mouth for a while, Beetlejuice withdrew. Beck, who’d mostly shucked off her pants by that point, wrapped a desperate leg around the back of his head. She tried to push him back into place.

“I’m so fucking close,” she pleaded, “Please don’t stop.”

Everything in him wanted to oblige her.

Beetlejuice was obsessed. He craved to feel her fall apart in his hands. After so many rendezvous like this, it started to felt like his purpose in unlife was to worship her body. It felt like sin to not to give in to her wants.

But he had a point to make…

Beetlejuice kissed her left thigh, the wetness from around his mouth transfering partially onto her with it.

“You can cum when you tell me that no breather will ever satisfy you again.”

“That no wha-? Oh!”

She threw her head back and arched towards him as he slowly slid a thick finger in. The speed was disappointing and teasingly slow. Sitting upright now, Beck tried to stimulate herself further but was unable. Her hips felt like they were being held in place, making it impossible to ramp up the speed by rocking back and forth. Her hands, similarly, felt stuck to the counter. It kept her from playing with her clit.

Beck tried to contain her frustration but failed miserably. Finger still moving painstakingly slow, Beetlejuice watched her thin veneer of calm fall apart. A deep, grounding sigh from her lips slowly became a vexed protest. He laughed openly at her struggle and pressed his forehead against hers. The proximity gave them both a rush.

“Say ‘you’ve spoiled my body too much’ and maybe I’ll let you cum,” he said.

“I’ve had better!” Beck spat back.

He bit her neck in response. Pleased at the scream he elicited from her, he kissed the mark it made.

“Don’t do that! I don’t want Nathan to see it.”

"Fuck Nathan!"

Beetlejuice was about to bite harder when he got distracted by a buzzing noise. They both got quiet. Looking around, he realized it was coming from her jacket on the floor. It, along with her purse, were knocked out of her hands when he pushed her against the wall.

She grumbled when his hand and face left her body. Beetlejuice leaned down and fished the buzzing thing— her cellphone— out of her jacket. He looked at the glowing screen, an evil grin spreading on his face when he saw who was calling her.

“Pick it up. Now,” he demanded as he tossed it to her.

He dismissed the restraint from one of her hands, allowing her to catch. She swallowed nervously before answering.

“H-hi Nathan."

Beetlejuice resumed his position on her neck and teased her entrance with his fingers. As he placed his other hand on the small of her back, Beck realized with horror what he was about to do.

She bit her lip to suppress a moan as two of his thick fingers slammed into her repeatedly. It made her crazy, feeling the hilt of his hand ram against her pelvis. Beck tried to close her thighs to buffer the movement, but his powers still kept her position locked. He nibbled and sucked her neck, careful not to bite too hard this time. She liked it when he paid attention to the spot on her collar bone, too, he'd learned.

Her body trembled at the sensations. A tremor was in her voice, too.

“I’m not standing you up, I promise,” she laughed nervously into the phone. “I, uh, I’m stuck at my house. My car won’t start. Sometimes that happens when it gets too cold.”

Beck let out a yelp as Beetlejuice put a third digit into her.

“No! I’m fine. My back just hurts from hunching over my desk all day. W-what was that? Oh! Uh, yeah that’d be awesome. You're the best. I’ll see you in five.”

She hung up the phone, immediately tossing it aside in order to manipulate her clit. Beetlejuice laughed against her skin.

“Not so cool now are you, Bexley.”

“Shut up and finger fuck me like you mean it.”

That was all the prodding he needed.

Her sweater bunched up as the hand on her back clenched into a fist. Beetlejuice started kissing her on the mouth. Beck kissed back, fiery need consuming them both. When he untethered her other hand, he was surprised to feel her tugging his pants down. He moaned into her mouth at the way she stroked him.

Beck's concentration on him wavered. She broke their kiss and stopped manipulating his cock, too focused on getting herself off before she had to leave.

A long and drawn out scream soon crescendoed from Beck’s mouth. It was so unabashed it almost made Beetlejuice blush. He loved it when she didn't care who heard her cumming. I made him feel powerful. The Maitlands were probably somewhere out of sight and clutching their pearls over it. He certainly didn't give a fuck, though.

“Oh, fuck, baby. That’s right. Ride it out,” he whispered.

Combined with the feeling of her hand on his cock, the sensation of her body clenching around his fingers was almost too much. Beetlejuice was close to climax, too.

Regaining control of herself, Beck's hand started working him again. Beetlejuice grunted and came all over the base of the countertop.

They just stared at each other after coming down from their respective highs. The silence spoke volumes.

In a moment of tenderness, Beetlejuice tried to kiss Beck, but she turned her head.

Wordlessly, she readjusted her clothing. He watched bemused as she maneuvered her hair to fall over the purple and red mark he’d left on her skin. Hearing a car horn honk outside, she picked up her things and headed for the door.

Beck dared to glance back at him one last time.

Beetlejuice smirked back, mouthing the word “spoiled."

She slammed the door behind her.

⁂

The date was a bust. Nathan didn’t even go in for a kiss when he dropped her off.

It's not like she had anyone else to blame but herself, though.

Beck was distant the whole time, her mind more interested in replaying what had just happened rather than listen to her date talk. When she did pay Nathan mind, it wasn't for long. She was self-conscious about hiding the hickey on her neck. She was too distracted to give meaningful answers to the questions he asked. She was too overwhelmed with the worry that he could smell Beetlejuice on her. It wasn't long before he gave up on coaxing conversation out of her.

“Whelp. See you in class Tuesday,” he sighed when he dropped her off.

"Thank you. I'm sorry," was all she could manage to say back.

She really did feel sorry. She really did like him.

Beck was surprised that Beetlejuice wasn’t waiting for her in the foyer. She thought for sure he would been itching to gloat about how he was right. About how that dumb breather didn’t have a chance with her and all that.

He wasn’t waiting in her room when she got up there, either.

This was so unlike him, Beck thought. Where the hell could he be?

The ceiling above her room creaked.

“That bastard,” she muttered.

The message was clear: not only did he demand that she grovel, he demanded she actually go up to the attic to do it.

Resolved that she wouldn’t play his game, Beck started to get ready for bed and kicked off her shoes. Tossing her keys onto her dresser, she noticed the coffee cup that had been left there earlier. The art desk was still by the window, too, along with the drawing she’d been working on.

Picking up the sketch pad, she noticed the thick black line from before was gone. The picture, otherwise, was the same aside from the addition of two crudely drawn figures. A man and a woman peered out at the rest of the town from a window in the top part in one of the houses. The detail was hard to make out, but she could tell they were holding teeny tiny coffee cups.

Beck smiled despite herself.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fandom #drama #writing #fluff #original female character #adult language #beetlejuice nsft #nsft

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lamesorrow · 6 years ago

Text

Dig, dig, dig

After seven hours spent shovelling sand in the searing heat of Uldum Varius was slowly starting to think that the Thalassian reverence of the sun was severely misplaced. Thick beads of sweat tickled mercilessly as they trailed down his stomach and back, pooling in the indents between each tired muscle. His shoulders on the other hand were starting to burn despite sun-protecting ointment he slathered all over his body in the morning, unsubtly implying that he will soon be shedding peeled skin all over the place like an oversized lizard.

Still, duty was duty and as such there was nothing Varius could do but pick the shovel up himself and dig. Unsurprisingly enough, while plenty of scholars were very excited about going to Uldum to uncover priceless Titan-made artifacts, the diggers were much less eager to work in the sweltering heat.

People often had a (very) inaccurate picture of archaeology as a gentle thing, one that was all about revered scholars using tiny brushes to lovingly sweep the dust away from half-unearthed relics. The much less romantic reality was that the main tool of an archaeologist was a shovel. The bulk of the work was done by the diggers.

And what to do in the absence of the diggers? Why, the Blood Knights were the next best thing.

Varius sighed deeply. He was being very unfair now, of course; he didn't have to dig. He was technically the coordinator of this expedition after all. It's just that he's always been the kind of person who preferred to have the work done rather than undone, so seeing the untouched excavation site rubbed him the wrong way. It was more of an internal imperative than an order to follow.

Lost in thought, he almost missed the red wooden pole that the archaeologists used to mark the end of the interesting perimeter.

Varius stabbed the shovel into the sand and placed his hands on his hips. He critically regarded his work. A swatch of land had been sectioned off with red string and dotted with marker flags to identify places that held a realistic promise of precious artifacts from a bygone era.

The knight grunted and reached for a small square of cloth that he had folded and tucked behind his belt to stop the sweat trailing down from his spine. The tissue was a little damp and became considerably damper when he used it to wipe his chest and neck.

He instinctively looked around, eyeing the nearby hills for enemies and friends alike. He saw several dark shapes of sentries posted where he wanted them to be and no sight of anything else, be it the locals or the Alliance. Good. The few diggers that let the gold cloud their judgement for long enough to make them agree to join this expedition were safe to, as Lei—as surveyor Brightcloud put it, “play around in the dirt.”

Brightcloud himself was nowhere to be seen. No doubt the sight of sweaty elves insulted his delicate sensibilities. Since the expedition started Varius hadn't seen him leave the main pavilion during the day even once, and even long after nightfall the best the world could see of Leinan was just a flash of his ornate robe as he quickly made his way to his own aircane-conditioned tent.

That thought made Varius exhale softly in relief. Their relationship was short-lived and happened to fizzle out right before the Reliquary was scheduled to embark on the expedition to Uldum. It was way too late to find a replacement for either of them, so Varius had to go through this awkward post-breakup period with no chances for even a bit of solitude and privacy. The memory of Leinan's words still stung painfully whenever he let his mind wander.

You don't care enough.

You don't spend enough time with me.

You would make time for me if you loved me.

You don't make me feel wanted.

You don't love me any more.

I don't love you any more.

Varius sighed.

He was a soldier and he loved like a soldier; in the free moments, when he could afford to think about his own matters. Warmly but quietly. Without much pomp or fanfare.

That was not enough for men like Leinan Brightcloud. He wanted to be courted, fawned over, constantly showered with gifts and attention. Varius understood that, he really did, and he tried, but whenever he came home after a long night spent escorting a convoy and fending off pirates, mercenaries and thieves, all he wanted to do was take a quick bath, collapse on the bed and sleep for a week... Not go to the opera, check out that cute little bakery that opened on the opposite side of the city, make a detour to visit the botanical garden and finally walk all the way back home just to be roped into making love for approximately three hours. Oh, he forgot about the wine. With Leinan Brightcloud one never forgot about the wine. There would've been wine. Plenty of wine.

And then a repeat of that the next day. And the next. And the next.

It was a little cruel to admit, but—despite the sadness and disappointment—Varius' quality of life went up considerably since that breakup. For starters he was actually getting enough sleep to be at least remotely functional again.

He looked up again and froze when he saw the flap of the pavilion ripple and move away. For a second he fully expected to see Leinan's face—but no. It was just Melathara, armed with her white parasol. Varius felt his shoulders sag in relief and instantly felt bad about it.

Mel waved at him cheerfully and made her way across the dig site. Between a bright orange dress, an equally orange headband and kaldorei-style laced-up sandals she looked like she was on her way to attend a beach party rather than conduct important research. That unpretentious approach to life was easily Varius' favourite thing about her.

He watched her approach with a small smile that only grew wider when he noticed a large glass jug in her hand.

“I see you're being your usual overachieving self again,” Mel called out happily. “How's it going?”

“Hard to say. Difficult to make a proper test pit in these conditions, but... two more levels and I think we're going to know whether or not these are a waste of time,” Varius said, nodding towards the markers that dotted the site.

Mel handed him the jug and he almost dropped it when his tired, puffy fingers closed around icy glass. “Ice,” he whispered reverently. “Mel, I love you.”

She laughed loudly and affectionately slapped his shoulder. Then she groaned and wiped her hand on the expensive fabric of her dress. “Sunwell, you're sticky. I've changed my mind; give me that jug, you're going to drop it.”

Varius obediently let her take the jug back and took a few steps away from the dig site to avoid accidentally damaging any artifacts—there was no realistic way of that happening now, but at this point protecting the excavation was a deeply-ingrained instinct he didn't bother fighting.

He gasped loudly when Mel poured cold water over his hands. Soothing coolness breathed some life into his tense wrists and swollen fingers. Varius sighed gratefully and slowly rubbed his hands, trying to work the moisture into his dry skin.

“Bend over,” Mel said. “I'll cool down your neck.”

He obediently folded himself in half and reached for his ponytail to keep the hair out of the way. The splash of cold water over his sun-warmed skin could only be described as shocking, but in a good way. Cold droplets trailing down his shoulders made him shudder in intense relief.

“Thanks, Mel,” he sighed contentedly and straightened out his back. His friend smiled at him.

“Don't mention it. I was dying to get out of that tent anyway.”

Varius hesitated and cast a cautious look at the pavilion.

“How is...?”

“Leinan?” Mel rolled her eyes. “Drowning his grief in wine, swearing that he's never falling in love again and proclaiming that all Blood Knights are emotionless bastards. He's pretty insufferable, really, but that's his usual state of being. Once he reaps his share of condolences and consolation he's going to forget all about it. Trust me, I know him.”

Varius nodded. On one hand, that was comforting—he didn't want Leinan to suffer. On the other hand... it was a little hurtful to be made aware just how forgettable he apparently was.

Mel instantly picked up on his discomfort. She shook her head and gave him a lopsided smile. “No, Vari, don't you worry about that. I told you: I know Leinan. He's a vapid, shallow bimbo.”

Varius winced, prickled by the instinct to defend his (former) boyfriend's honour. As brutal as it was, Mel's statement was... not entirely wrong, but it was definitely not right either; those several months they had spent together had assured Varius that Leinan Brightcloud was a witty, quirky and inquisitive individual. Yes, he was a little prone to theatrics and drama, but which nobleman wasn't? Varius couldn't even blame him for being spoiled and attention-seeking, not after attending that one memorable family reunion and seeing how the nobleborn children were being treated. All shortcomings of Leinan's character were simply a product of his upbringing and to hold it against him would be cruel.

“You have a terrible taste in men,” Mel added, not at all helpfully. Varius grunted.

“Maybe I should stop trying,” he said dryly and reached for his shovel.

“Or maybe you should let me try to fix your bachelor status.”

Varius gave his friend a disbelieving look. “Aren't you the one who set me up with that Farstrider?” He asked incredulously. “The one who insisted on being called 'Wolf' and glared at everything? And smelled like damp leaves?”

Mel scoffed. “It was a trial run!”

“It was a disaster, Mel.”

The mage snorted. Even she couldn't argue that, from the looks of it.

“Okay, fine,” she agreed reluctantly. “But there are plenty more fish in the sea, you know. For example, I was thinking about introducing you to my cousin Elberan...”

Varius raised his eyebrow. “The one that spends extraordinary amounts of gold on vintage Magic: The Sundering trading card games?” he asked, feeling amusement pull at the corners of his lips.

Mel gave him a sour smile. “For a man whose love life consists of a string of awful relationships, you sure are picky,” she said dryly.

“If you want to send me on a blind date with one of your relatives then maybe don't make me listen to endless lists of things you don't like about them.”

Varius rolled his shoulders. Sunlight was already warming up the damp skin on his neck, but there was still work to be done. Cold water helped, but not nearly as much as Mel's presence did. The knight glanced at his friend and gave her a wide, shameless smirk.

“Besides,” he added, knowing full well that his next statement would be enough to make Elberan run away screaming if he ever heard it, “I've always liked Hearthstone better.”

#wow rp #wow character: varius silverstorm

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