#rejoice for the planes

[szklany-kot]

Trepan your friends/ crude skull

[0mg-bird]

Come on Home - J Seresin x Wife!Reader

Summary: After a mission that he barely gets through, Jake reevaluates his decision of staying longer on his deployment and how much longer he can continue when he has his whole world at home.

Warnings: language- violence- mentions of war- Jake scared for his life basically- slight smut- mature- mentions of ovulation.

His head spun, his heart in his throat and when he landed - by some miracle not crashing - on the tarmac, he sat in his seat, eyes wide. He pulled his mask off, shaky hands as he tugs his helmet off too and opens his canopy. The other daggers land perfectly, on some sort of rush that this mission has gone well.

What do they consider well? The fact that they were far behind enemy lines, with advanced jets hot on them? Or was it the fact that they weren’t in the dogfight, that it was their Hangman who they tirelessly defended. They saved him, they have a reason to rejoice.

Right?

He’d been sent out with a crew of faces he didn’t really know, all except for one.

Rooster is out of the plane, watchful eyes scanning over the crew to make sure everyone landed fine. But he sees Jake hesitating on his exit, his head in his hands before he rips a small photo off his control dash. As he hops out, he blows past the guys who go to shake his shoulder in victory.

He tosses his helmet to a crew member, he’s quick to shed the equipment he wears, leaving him in just his flight suit. His steps are heavy and full of anger, everyone moves out of the way as he guides himself straight to his empty bunk room.

Something of anxiety scratches at him as he curses out loud. He sits on his perfectly made bed, fingers gripping his hair.

The moments replayed in his head. He’s never been one to scare easily, but this was no spook. It was fear, it was a nightmare, he was stuck with no visible solution. In that moment when his flares were gone and those enemy jets had him pinned, he was faced with the fact that this was the end, there was no escape. He looked at that photo stuck on his control dash, the one of you holding that beautiful baby girl, standing in the yard, wearing a yellow sundress. He shut his eyes prayed his girl would remember him in the end.

Then, by some miracle, he was out of that hot water. Now, here he was and he just wasn’t sure if he could go any longer.

He’s never been described as a soft man, his tough heart had only shed its callouses around you. But here he was, preventing himself from crying.

He reached for that satellite phone in his drawer and turned it on. Being in the middle of nowhere was a rather disadvantaged when trying to get ahold of you, all the way in Texas. So, he sat with a beat up phone, dialing your number.

It was just you and your mother in law, Jake’s mother, who were awake still. You and your daughter, Lainey, usually moved in with the in laws whenever Jake deployed. They helped you with her and it was an ease to your mind, knowing you didn’t have to sleep in an empty home.

Sat on the couch, watching late night television, your eyes started drifting closed before your phone rang. Leaning forward to grab it, Jake’s satellite phone number was on your screen. You instantly smiled.

“It’s Jake.” You tell DeAnn, and instantly the woman grins.

You answer, a cheery voice. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting a call.”

Instantly, just by his breathing, you knew something was wrong.

“Yeah I- well I just needed to hear that pretty voice of yours, darlin’.” He flirts despite his current state.

Immediately, you’re on your feet. “Jake, baby, what’s wrong?”

DeAnn grows a concerned look, but there’s nothing she can do about it.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to choke his emotions down. “I can’t do it anymore, honey, I just, I gotta come home.” His breath is heavy, making you walk away from his mother’s eye and dash into your bedroom, Jake’s old room. “Listen to me, just breathe. Are you hurt- are you in danger or-or- Jake, tell me what’s wrong.” You stress, making him lean forward, elbows on his knees, head hung.

“I’m not hurt, I’m not bleeding out. Something happened…I just finished a mission and I-I don’t know how I’m still alive. Baby I should’ve been a goner, I almost was.”

At his words, it’s your turn to panic. Tears brim in your eyes, the thought of losing him was something you always avoided, but it’s forcing itself into your mind and you’re staring it in the face. He continues to talk as your wobbly lip gets caught between your teeth.

“How many more tours am I supposed to do? How many more times do I have to leave you and my baby? These kids out here, they ain’t got no one, they don’t have a wife waiting at their Mama’s house for them. I do and I can’t live like a young kid anymore. Damn it, I need to come home to you.” He says, voice breaking.

Tears slip down your face, your wedding ring hand wipes them away. Your love was miles and miles away, suffering and you could not get to him.

“Your time’s almost up, Jake. Just a month left, baby.” You say softly.

“Fuck that.” He breathes. “I’m getting on a flight at the next port.”

You spin your diamond around your finger. “I thought you extended your deployment for a reason? To assist with trainings?”

“I don’t care, as soon as I hang up this phone, I’m going to talk to my commanding officer and he’ll change my orders. Baby I…I have to come home.”

Who were you to say anything different? You wanted your husband beside you, you wanted his warm hands on you, you wanted to wash his dirty jeans and watch him rock that two year old to sleep. You wanted him in the mornings and you wanted him driving that pick up truck in the driveway.

“Come on home.” You say, tone broken as it comes out.

You two talk for a minute longer, then when the call is silenced, you sit for a moment, calming yourself.

“What’s wrong?” DeAnn asks as you come back out to the living room.

Your eyes linger on the framed photo, sitting next the many others on the fireplace mantel, the one from Jake and yours wedding. You stand with your hand on his chest, looking up at him in a smile while a jet flies over the top of you two.

The Navy was something that was always in your relationship, you knew the consequences going into it. All the way in the beginning, four years ago, you knew what it would entail. And you hurt, you pined, you cried and wished things were different, when you went through months of pregnancy alone, when you were sick, when the world kicked you down and all you wanted was your husband who was off being Mr. America, but you never complained. Jake loved flying, this was his job for a reason and if it truly was his wish to take a break, you weren’t going to start complaining now.

Clearing your throat, you look at the woman. “Jake’s coming home.”

~~~~~

His duffle bag slung over his shoulder, Jake crosses the airport at a determined speed. His skin buzzes, he knows you’re going to be waiting for him. His flight was long, his body ached. He didn’t care, he’d crawl home to you if he had to.

As crowds of people disperse and he continues forward, he can see your shape and instantly is soothed. He moves a little quicker, and you look up from the ground and instantly meet his eye. Your hair curled, a long sun dress over the tops of your boots, you start to beam at the sight of him.

Ten months is too long.

His bag drops to the floor, and in an instant you close the space between the two of you. His arms are constricting around you as you bury your face in his neck. He feels the same, smells the same, the heat of him is still the same. Jake is wafted with the scent of your lavender honey shampoo and the perfume you’ve worn everyday since he’s known you.

He pulls back, before you get a word out, he’s gripping your cheeks with his hands and kissing you so heavy. You could cry, feeling the utter emotion of his longing for you. Your hands hold his arms, chasing his lips as he’s done swallowing your air. Foreheads pressed together, you breathe out.

“Welcome home.”

Jake kisses you once more, adoring those words from you.

As you step back, DeAnn is coming forward, your toddler in her arms.

“Lainey.” He calls for his girl, immediately she twists in her grandmother’s hold, recognizing his voice. “Daddy!” She cheers, practically flinging herself into his arms. Her little hands latch onto his uniform, he adjusts her little romper and smooths her dirty blonde curls before kissing her cheek. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi, honey.”

Her head rests on his shoulder as he picks up his bag and kisses his mom on the cheek.

~~~~

Finally settled back in your own home after dinner with Jake’s parents, Lainey falls asleep after five minutes of Jake rubbing her back. Her night light casts stars on the ceiling and he pulls the blanket over her. When he gets up, he’s careful not to make her stir. Leaning against the door frame, you stand in a robe, stretching your hand for him to follow you. The door to her bedroom is softly shut.

You lead him to the warm bath, and the two of you settle into the large tub.

Jake’s relaxed, watching you clean off the razor in hand before leaning forward again. Half his face covered in shaving cream, he listens when you talk about things he’s missed. Carefully, you run the razor up his neck, slowly to not nick him. The stubble of his jaw is no match for your determination.

“You leave a clean cut man and come back to me looking like you got lost in the woods for a while.” You scoff, tilting his face to the side.

Jake hums. “What? You don’t like the rugged look?”

You pull away. “Baby, I have never liked the rugged look.”

Despite your fake annoyance, there was a sort of peace Jake felt when you were near. It could make him forget about his troubles, well, not entirely.

As you wipe any remaining shaving cream away, his eyes shut at the feeling of your hands smoothing down his cheeks. You kiss his stubble-free skin. “Much better.” You comment.

“I never want to leave you again.” He confesses.

You retreat back to your side of the tub, a sly smile on your face. He observes you, taking in all the features he missed. He liked it when your hair was clipped up but some pieces still escaped and framed your face beautifully, he thought it was sweet how you wore a necklace with his and Lainey’s birth stones on it.

“I’m glad that you still adore being ‘round me.” You say, but his serious tone hints to what’s on his mind. You shimmy further under the water, your knees popping up to the surface. A shiver runs through you as his hands grip them gently. “Your contract is up in less than a year…and something tells me that you’re not going to extend it.” You put forward.

Jake sighs, moving to rest his arms on either side of the tub. You know this is a serious moment, but you can’t help but feel the way your skin buzzes as you look over his toned muscles.

“I’ve been doing this for ten years, and if I was still twenty two I’d be all for it…but I’m not twenty two and a lot is different now.” He sighs, leaning his head back to stretch his sore muscles. “I’m starting to think I’m too old for this now.”

You laugh. “You are not old.”

Jake sits back up, looking straight at you. “These are kids I’m flying with, twenty something year olds who don’t even have girlfriends, let alone wives. I’ll admit, sometimes it’s nice to pretend I’m twenty five again but…how much longer am I gonna be doing this?” He says.

You nod, listening to his ramble, watching him dissect his thoughts.

“Darlin’ I can’t fly like I’m not afraid of death anymore, not like the rest of them can.” He looks down for a second, eyes turning from green to blue. “And I’ve been in plenty of tough situations, that’s just the name of this war game, but the day I called you, baby, I’ve never been so scared.”

You can practically see right through him, his face is so somber and serious.

“Those rogue bandits were on me, they were going down and I was going with them. And these guys don’t know what to do because if they shoot and take ‘em out, I’m gone too.” He swallows hard, running his hands down his face, then back through his hair that’s growing out slightly. “And Rooster- how he did it I don’t know- he got me out, made sure you didn’t have to give me a closed casket funeral.”

You blink back tears, not letting them fall. You knew the risk going into this, but hearing him say how things could have been different, it makes your lungs constrict.

Suddenly, you’re being tugged towards him, his hands cradling your neck. He looks down at you. “I’ve got so much to lose, I can’t keep leaving home like this.”

You nod, hands clasping behind his head. “This has to be a decision you’re sure on, Jake.”

You feel his breath on your face. “I could have my orders changed, I could make sure that when my contract ends, it ends for good without any risk of extension. I could wake up beside you every mornin’ and fall asleep with you every night. Every damn birthday and Christmas and anniversary, I’d be here for all of it.”

Your fingers comb through his hair. “Don’t go talking about heaven to me if you can’t promise it’s exactly what you want.”

“It’s what I want, I promise.” He’s so quick to say it, it makes your heart beat fuller.

You lean to kiss him, and he feels the way you smile against his lips. He doesn’t need any further words from you, his hands are pulling you onto his lap by your hips.

Did it always feel this good? Having his mouth on your skin, having his hands slide up and down your back? The gold wedding band on his finger is cool against your warm skin.

He picked a good week to come home, there’s a fire burning inside you. As he deepens his kiss and moves his lips across your jaw, a shaky breath comes from you.

“Jake, hey- baby, hang on.” You mumble, hands slipping across his shoulders. Pulling away, he looks almost hurt at the loss of contact. Despite your need for some kind of friction between your legs, you want to make him aware that there might need to be another way to go about this.

“What? What’s wrong?” He questions, moving to press your chest up against his.

“Let’s not throw caution to the wind, I’m ovulating.” You say, thinking it’ll make him nod and pull back, that he’ll suggest you take it to the bedroom instead, where there’s forms of protection.

It’s a silly thought.

“Seresin baby number two, whoo! Okay, let’s do it.” He cheers, making you fall into a fit of laughter, head falling on his shoulder. “Jake.”

He shakes his head. “I think Lainey is due for a brother or sister, we need to get started on that whole four more kids thing.”

“Four more! You’re insane, I think that high altitude thing finally got to you. Let’s just start with one more.” You say, moving to nudge your nose along his neck.

“I can do one more.” He says in excitement, shifting his shoulders back and lightly cocking his head left to right. “Okay, I’m ready, my head’s in the game, we can do it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

[sst0rmm]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ in the mornings ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

ft: isagi.

notes: more morning fluff to feed your soul (and the smallest bit of angst, too) ₊˚⊹⋆

warnings: slight sexual content, slight swearing too (no explicit mentions)

part/series: 1.0 2.0 3.0

wc: 2643

guys morning isagi has a chokehold on me

ok maybe all of isagi has a chokehold on me.

like you can't tell me the man is NOT a warm cuddle sleep love perfection isofjsdf

mans so genuine and sweet god im laufey lovesick

listening to rach 2 [start at 20:40, it's gorgeous] while writing makes me feel even more (yes i linked it it's amazing)

sunlight is just a daily morning occurrence when isagi yoichi's around.

"you sleep well, baby?" his arms come around the small of your back and across your body, centering you firmly on the warm, hard planes of his chest. it was a very long night, after all, you grin to yourself.

isagi smiles down at you, blue eyes bright and all. way too bright for eight in the morning. and still, you're filled with fondness, because this man, talent and cuteness personified, is yours.

you murmur up at him. "who's got you smiling like that?"

he swoops down tantalizingly close until your lips are just a hairsbreadth away from touching. you can feel a warm ghost of air flutter across your face. leaning in closer, you-

isagi pulls away with a smirk and you groan. "definitely not you," he hums and leaves the bed. sighing to yourself in half exasperation and half amusement at your boyfriend's antics, you spare a glance over at his retreating form.

"don't tell me your ears are blushing again," you call out, but he ignores you, despite the fact that the tips of his ears, are, in fact, slightly red.

cute.

and just seeing this action fills you with joy because isagi yoichi loves you, and damn everything else, because when it's just the two of you, you're light as air and rejoicing in a summer sun. the two of you, on the beach in italy, relaxing on warm, silky sand.

you're still a little sore from last night (isagi normally is a little different from isagi in bed) so you fall down into cozy, white sheets, and dream of nothing but happiness.

is this man even real

well he's in an anime so he's not but like that's not my point

where can we get these blue lock guys irl

breakfast is a... marathon.... you'll see...

a burning scent invades your senses as you walk drowsily into the kitchen. briefly, you're distracted by the pull of isagi's back muscles, and you can see the marks of where your hands were wrapped around those muscles last night.

you blush to yourself, before you hear isagi's sheepish voice. pan in one hand, apron stained with grease, and an adorably perplexed expression on his face, he looks at you more than a little embarrassedly.

"i'm telling you, i followed the recipe! i cooked the eggs just like epicurious said but-"

huffing at him in exasperation, you snatch the pan from his hands and scowl down at the offending iPad housing the recipe that caused this mini-disaster.

isagi's by your side in a flash, looking everywhere but your eyes and very much like a kicked puppy.

"you're not mad, y/n, are you?" you're not, of course, just amused and a little sorry for isagi (because this lowkey happens every other weekend), but you decide to try a little... experiment.

letting the sun warm your face gives you ammunition for what you're about to do next. you raise your eyebrows at him, give him an unimpressed stare, and sigh.

you start off a little slow. "it's fine, isagi, just-" you push him away mock-tiredly and plop yourself down on the coach.

it's around two and three quarters mississippis before he comes right by your side. blue eyes startingly clear and misty with emotion, looking at you like that's enough to make tides move, end the world, and stop your heart.

like you're the one glimmering light in a world of darkness. like you're the only thing that matters.

that look sends a pleasant burst of heat through your veins, and you almost want to give up the ruse. not yet, you chide yourself. just a little bit longer.

his voice's soft, low, and melting your insides. "i'm so sorry, y/n, you have to forgive me. baby- i was only trying to make breakfast for you, and it just-"

you sigh despite yourself. in spite of being one of the world's best strikers, isagi yoichi's pretty lacking on some other basic human survival skills. common sense is a little uncommon these days.

"i mean, how did you manage to burn an egg and ruin my pan? and spill milk on the floor without even cleaning it up?"

"i spilled milk-?"

you're starting to get a little frustrated, even though this all started off as a harmless act. "it's right there, dripping on the floor, isagi."

and he looks so distraught that you just want to wrap him up in your arms, mold yourself to his warm frame, hold him tight and never let him go. you know what isagi's about to do (it's what he does best, although you'll never admit it).

he goes in for a hug. a special hug, á la yoichi. it's one more comforting than warm coffee on a hot day, one more loving than words can even describe. it takes your breath away every time, even more than the gorgeous view of the city of stars mapped onto a blanket of inky, purple sky you see every month.

hikes on mount jiju are worth it.

and in that hug, isagi says all he needs to say and volumes more. a delightful rush of heat courses through your veins, magnetizing and all-consuming. like that, your lips press his like a moth to a flame, splendidly, effervescently, totally consuming you whole.

you feel all of him. toned arms clinging to you like it's the last time he'll ever hug you, lips gently coaxing yours apart with a soft sigh on your end as you melt into the utter beauty of the kiss. the way your arms slot perfectly just underneath his neck, like you were made for each other.

he presses his lips even firmer on yours, passionate and all-consuming. you think you can feel your heart melting into a little, happy puddle of warmth and everything isagi yoichi. your mind's consumed whole with the blazing inferno of heat warming your heart completely, and the sheer mindnumbingness of your boyfriend's kisses.

then, you two break apart. cheeks flushed, breathing heavy. his eyes meet yours, and you think you might cry with the pure love and passion practically shining out of them. suddenly, you feel utterly whole and human in a way.

you can even feel the press of his coc-

"do you forgive me, y/n?" isagi distracts you from your... thoughts.

"i wasn't ever mad," you smile up at him. spills of milk and broken pans are temporary, they're easily mendable. but love and emotions and memories, now that's forever.

he picks you up gently as a porcelain doll and suddenly you're on your bed, the white sheets warmed by the sun. featherlight kisses make their way down your neck, and he traces absentminded patterns on your chest with warm, gentle fingers.

indelible marks on your skin showing your love.

"may i?" he smirks, moving further south.

"i thought you'd never- ahh- ask-" you breath out a soft sigh as you feel his lips press soft kisses on the inside of your thighs.

"fuck being a gentleman," he says, and it's your last coherent thought before you really feel all of isagi. you fall underneath the spell of the sun and the sheets, completely and utterly blissful.

it's always the two of you, broken down to sand, it's the two of you. you and isagi yoichi, together.

and that's enough.

GAWDAMNN WHATTT

i did NOT think that was how it was gonna play out LMAOOO

lowkey i never have any set plans, like i just write and write and yeahhhh

that would be an amazing ending, but now i want to reverse the roles a little bit!!!

a fresh coffee spill glares at you from on your computer, a silent, undeniable sign that maybe mornings aren't the best time for working.

especially not mornings like these. (your mind heats up at thoughts of just hours before, skin on skin and lips on lips and you two just-) shaking your head to clear it, you try to focus on your work again.

you can hear isagi puttering around the house. he's a real house husband, truly, doting and all. even if the tasks he does aren't exactly the best results, they're certainly intented with the best result in mind. effort is what matters most in your eyes.

"hey, baby," he comes in with bangs tied up with a red bandana, sweat slightly beading on his brow, and looking totally and utterly adorable.

"it's giving housewife from the 80s," you tease him and he makes a mock-affronted noise.

then, he seems to change his mind. "actually, being a housewife's tough work," he nods sagely, "and i think good housewives deserve rewards, don't they?" he says this with such a straight face that you can't help but crack a smile, despite your macbook's bright screen shining up at you a reminder to get back to work.

you lean in to peck him on the cheek.

"i think a kiss should be sweeter, don't you?" he smirks,

he smirks, and leans in, but you back away. despite the warm tinge of heat you can feel emanating from his body, soft and sure and everything you want. despite that fire courses through your veins, threatening to set you and everything around you ablaze.

somehow, you manage to affect a tone sweet and soft and languid as honey. "if you kiss me, i don't think i'll be able to finish my work."

isagi lets out a soft, low laugh. "when'd you start becoming so hardworking?" he leans in closer, and closer, and like the bewitched lover you are, you're powerless to back away.

then, you feel the absence of warm heat, and only the soft scent of isagi's shampoo.

"get your work done, y/n," he whispers with a smile, and then he's gone. you're left alone with only thoughts, a half-spilled cup of coffee, and a undeniably empty word document.

time passes, yet your productivity remains frustratingly low.

11:39 A.M., your computer blinks up at you and you resist the urge to slam it shut. time's moving slow, but not sweet. slow as a snail slowly inching past your door, and your head's muddled with thoughts of precisely nothing.

you're walk down and your eyes are met with the sight of a cheerful isagi, covered in a form-fitting plaid shirt that's faded and a size too small, hair tied up in bandanas and all, talking with a delivery girl up ahead.

said girl is very clearly starstruck, and it sends a ray of sunshine through your otherwise very grey, very tired brain.

sometimes, you forget that your boyfriend's a striker celebrity. you smile fondly, going up to receive the forlorn pizza in her waiting hands, when you freeze. it's like ice freezes in your veins, slowly threatening to swallow you whole.

she's giggling at something he said, twirling her hair behind her ears, and, oh- it fills you with a hollow pit of jealousy and a frightening feeling of rage.

she's flirting with your boyfriend.

and you see her grab onto his arm- oh- it's like a bucket of cold water's dumped onto your head and now the rose-colored reality of earlier this morning is no more. you aim to walk forward, to give that girl a piece of your mind, and you notice her lean into him.

oh- and the second you don't see him back away, it's like something's stabbed your heart, piercing it into pieces and shattering it whole. suddenly, you don't have the fight, the energy. looking on helpless for a moment that feels like forever, you're oceans apart.

heart thudding fast, you feel the emotions threaten to spill over your cheeks. soft tears cascading down in a never-ending waterfall and forcing you into an melancholy abyss.

isagi looks back then, and you see a confused quirk of his lips before his eyes widen.

"thanks for the pizza," he looks down at her nametag, "val," before he runs towards you. you see her shocked, indignant face, and you can't help but feel a gleam of fury.

"get the hell away from my boyfriend," is all you say before she huffs and shuts the door and you collapse into isagi's waiting arms.

"baby, don't cry," you hear his voice crack and his hands rub soothing circles onto your back.

you scoff. "oh, please, isagi. i saw the way you two were flirting. good for you, she's a great catch-"

he cups your face in his hands so gently you can almost feel your heart begin to mend itself. it's a mindbending stare that sets all your nerves alight. long fingers wipe your tears away gently, and you can see his eyelashes and watery eyes too.

"it's not what it looks like."

you sigh, "well, what it looked like to me, was her arm was on yours and she-"

isagi looks at you firmly, eyes entrenching you in that sea of love you want to fall back into. but insecurity nips at you, pulling you back into that dark abyss.

"it's true, but-"

"and i'm just terrified, you know," you whisper so soft the silence's almost serene but not at all, "that you'll leave me-" your voice cracks, "for a better, younger, prettier-"

he presses his lips to yours. it's nothing like the kiss from earlier today, that was pure, raw passion. this one's tender, like you're falling into the arms of a waiting angel.

soft, sweet, and slow.

your arms find their comforting space around his neck, and your world's tumbling on your axis. but his lips on yours, arms a constant warmth on your skin, ground you, and center you. rebuild you, because he's there.

"listen to me, y/n," he whispers so fiercely you can feel the gravity of his emotions and everything else blocked out for a moment but the two of you.

"i will never, ever leave you. never. because there is nobody, more gorgeous, more intelligent, more caring, more kind than you."

"even a gorgeous pizza worker who should be a korean idol?"

isagi's hands come to grasp yours, lovingly, reverently. "definitely not. and you know why?"

"why?" you breathe out softly.

he looks at you with that gaze that could stop tides and set the world aflame. again, like you're the only object of his affection and his whole world's you. it's enough to make any girl cry. "because she's not my y/n. in my eyes, you're the most perfect ever. there's nobody else who's comforted me, helped me, and just loved me as much as you."

each word's punctuated by a wordless deeper meaning that you find yourself remarkably understanding. he loves you.

"i love you to the ends of the earth, y/n. till we grow old, and forevermore, i'll always be with you."

"i-" your breath shutters to a close with the soft press of his lips on yours.

isagi grins at you, smile so gleamingly wide with all the force of a thousand suns you can't look away from it's brilliance.

"i love you too," your lips curve up and are captured immediately with his. fireworks set off in your brain, glorious in their radiance and defeaning all your inside thoughts.

because you're isagi yoichi's, he's yours, and nothing will ever take him away from you. for a moment, just being together's enough.

kisses speak unspoken volumes. of memories, of desires, of pure love.

of being infinitely together, forever.

WOWOWOW i did not have any plan for it would end

isagi's really the sweetest, isn't he? that's how i imagine him, at least, soft cuddles and small smiles. he's not the loudest about his affection, but he shows it in actions that warm you to your core, fundamental things that can rent you asunder, tear your world apart, because of his love.

and when it comes to, we love poet isagi.

ignore the fact that this one's 2x longer than the first i had a lot of ideas okay

a humongous thank you to @benkeibear and @cute-sushi-roll for dividers, idk what i would do w/o u 🫶

man makes me powerless, you see his normal cute adorable side on the left, and let's just say the one on the left's when he gets really passionate, and i don't just mean on the field ;)

THANK U SM for reading, you all keep me motivated! any reqs you have for the future, don't hesitate to comment! 💖

[cvlutos]

“God of Teyvat”

| Repost: 02.15.23 | 0.9K | Rated Mature |

Genshin!Various X GN!Reader

| Characters 18+ | Yandere | Cult AU | Obsession | Mention of Self harm [Not the Reader] | Sexual Suggestions | Genshin Impact | Self-Aware Genshin | Proceed with Caution, Beloved. |

T.Manor.Notes: Repost from my old blog, this was first posted in like 2021 so it’s old as hell.

They are your vessel.

The twins that came from a different world. They are how you see the new plane in which you inhabit. Their eyes—yours. Their breath belongs to you. They are how you exist until you gain a body of your own. No one knows of your arrival but them. For the twin is selfish and wants you only to themself, for they view themself as the only one worthy. To be the body that you control, to feel you within them.

To be one with you.

To be one with you.

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Barbatos is the first to know. The first to feel the wind shift and wrap around him, drawing him to you, to the twin you chose as your vessel. He is jealous. For he has sung your praises for so long, for he has sent your tales across all of Teyvat. For he is your most devoted. Yet you chose another over him.

It will take time for Venti to subdue his jealousy, but he will remain cheerful. Staring at you through the eyes of the Traveler. For he will become the most suitable host, if only for a mere moment, to gratify you. Venti is devoted. He will destroy Mondstadt if it meant that only for a mere second, he is able to see your form. Your true form, and to witness a fraction of your power. The idea makes him weak and hot, and though he speaks kind words to the traveler, they are meant for your ears. He will make sure you hear him, that you understand the lengths he’ll go to make you love him.

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Morax is the second. He learns of your arrival the moment you step into Liyue and he is angry. The earth bends and sways beneath his feet as he glares through the eyes of the Traveler’s, into yours. He has existed since the beginning; he was watched friends and lovers fall to their demise, all under your wish, under your control and desire. He will not rejoice in your return, not now, not yet.

He wants to rid of your existence. To end you, to force you back into your slumber, but he cannot. For he hates you, but not even his spear will harm a single hair upon your head, no matter the body you use. He will ignore your existence, forget that you are above him, until you appear everywhere, as if mocking him. Soon he will bend and break, before kneeling before you. He will apologize and praise you, but still, his anger has not been quelled. It will take time, but soon he will love you.

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The Raiden Shogun is the third. She learns of you the moment you step into the Plane of Euthymia for the second time, within the body of the Traveler. She will fight, blinded in sadness, until you win and she is defeated. She will cry and cling to you, clinging onto the Traveler, with wide eyes. She will beg for forgiveness, for you have learned of everything of Inazuma and her carelessness.

She will claw out her own eyes, peel at her skin, if it meant you revealed yourself. She feels the most shame and willing to toss everything aside, if it meant you’ll be happy. She loves you, adores you. Will wipe everything off of your path, give you anything to make your journey easier. She will ramble about your grace and if you want her gone, she will no longer to exist.

══════ ♡ ══════

“Welcome.”

They all kneel to the Traveler, to you. Who sits cross-legged, a smile across their lips. Your first vessel, a name the Traveler has taken upon themself, to show their own superiority. Venti, Zhongli, and Ei, all eager to appease you, adoring your bedroom with the finest of materials, the freshest of food, and the highest quality of products.

Venti feels weak, his face flushed. He wants nothing more than to touch you. He nudges his nose against the boot of the twin, staring into your eyes. His nails dig into the wooden floor. He can feel your presence as you stare down at him. His hips buckle blindly, a soft whine leaving his lips as he crashes to the ground. Merely a look sent him over the edge and into the pleasure of release.

Ei begs to be next. Her hands grabbed at the leg of your chair, inching closer with wide-pleading eyes. Resting her head against the twin’s thigh, squeezing her eyes close, feeling the energy of you radiate off and through her body, like electricity. A muffled whine leaves her throat, her body twitching, her chest heaving as she clung to the traveler’s clothing, drool rolling down the side of her lips. Your aura alone sending her into a frenzy as she came.

Zhongli kneeled as the other archons fell weakly to your knees. The twin says something to him, but all he can hear is your voice. “Zhongli.” As if he was lit on fire, his body burned. He was not as strong as he would like to believe, a low groan leaving his mouth. He looks up at the traveler, a scowl on his lips, while his body tense. He hated you so much. How could such a God, a God without a form of their own, control him to such lengths?

All weak to the power of the true rule of Teyvat. One that stood above and used those with visions as their vessel. One should count that alone as a blessing to come true.

[those-late-night-feels]

Take Care of You

Summary: Steve Rogers seems to take care of everyone. But who takes care of him?

Pairings: Steve Rogers x reader; a little Loki x reader (because I can’t help it)

Warnings: smut; angst; drinking

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Actually, it's interesting…"

In all honesty, the contents of your wine glass was the most interesting thing at the table. Between the appetizer and main course, it has become apparent that this date had been a mistake. The downtown restaurant was quite popular and loud, easy to drown out the one-sided conversation from across the table about whatever was incredibly interesting. Had he even asked a question all night?

Smiling your way through dinner and dessert, he rambled on until the bill was paid and you could finally slip on your coat to leave.

"Thank you for a lovely evening," you said at the main entrance of the restaurant.

"Let me take you home." It was a statement more than a suggestion. Protesting was futile as his car pulled up from the valet and, with a sigh, you gave in.

"Thank you, again," you said as he parked his car and started to walk you towards the Towers, not taking the hint.

"Let me get you safe inside," he offered, placing a hand on the small of your back. Cringing, you gently guided his hand away and turned to face him.

"Thank you," you said all the more sternly. "I can take it from here."

He frowned, as if he had something to say, and then his eyes darted behind you for a split second before saying a quick good night and leaving. You spun on your heel to find a shadowed figure emerging, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. Steve.

You let out a breath, a little thankful, a little frustrated. Of course, one of the most emotionally unavailable bachelors in America would be your knight in shining armor. He walked up, looking between you and the man bee-lining it to his getaway vehicle. "Don't start, Rogers." You didn't need a lecture after the night you had.

His hands shot up in animated defense. "Only here if you need me."

He held the door open, waiting patiently as you strutted toward the entrance. Maybe he was emotionally unavailable, but he was still Captain America, and you'd be damned if the little dress you wore went to waste. You passed by him, imagining how confident and sexy you must appear when your heel caught on the door frame, tripping you forward. On instinct, Steve grabbed your hand and waist before you landed on your face. Adrenaline rushed through your veins for a moment, and when you turned your head, he was closer than expected. "You okay?"

"Guess I needed you after all," you laughed a little breathy, attempting to lighten the mood amidst him everywhere on you–his hands hovered on your hip and back, his chest pressed against yours, his face only inches away.

He smiled warmly, helping you upright. "Let's get you upstairs."

The glass elevator held a perfect view of the skyline, and you watched the planes above while waiting to reach the main loft. Leaning against the railing, you slipped off your heels, your feet finally rejoicing.

"Bad date?" he asked, trying to make small talk.

"I don't think he even remembered my name." He chuckled quietly, sliding his hands into his pockets. The elevator doors opened and he walked in stride with you down the hall while you gave him the play-by-play highlights of your disaster of a date. He paused when you reached the front of your bedroom door.

“I dunno,” you said with a sigh. “Somehow I just continue to attract the self-absorbed assholes. Maybe that's just the type I'm meant to be with.”

He shook his head. “Don't think that. You deserve better.”

“You really think so?”

He gave you a look like it was obvious. “Come on, you're too good of a girl to end up with someone like that.” His words made you smile, and they lingered in your mind long after you had said good night, making you wonder if anyone took care of the captain the way he took care of you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Pancakes and coffee. That was all you could think about in the morning, and the aromas wafting from the kitchen brought some of the team to slowly trickle out.

"So, how was the date?" Natasha asked, pouring a large cup of coffee and settling in a seat near the kitchen island. You gave her a look. "That bad?"

You turned to flip pancakes and pour more batter on the skillet. "Let's just say I'm glad Steve was there to send him on his way without a word."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Steve, who shook his head like it was nothing, but she gave him an amused look.

When you turned back around with a fresh stack of pancakes, you were faced with hungry eyes. "Alright, you guys have to share!"

Taking your share of the prepared breakfast, you settled into a chair at the island.

"So, is that a no to any future blind dates?" Natasha asked.

"That's a definite no. But I will absolutely say yes to a date with you at that new club downtown."

"Alright, alright, we'll go. Steve, what do ya' say? Wanna join us and make it a threesome?" she asked, leaning up against him.

Flustered and choking on his coffee, he turned three shades of red and shook his head. "No no, you ladies have fun."

You and Natasha sighed in unison. "Suit yourself."

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Your night out with Natasha was magical. The club was classy and modern, the kind where you'd find paparazzi hiding out. Both men and women lined up to buy you and Natasha drinks, join the VIP lounge, and dance the night away.

By the early morning hours, you had stumbled back into the loft with Natasha, giggling and shushing one another way too loudly. Natasha went to the kitchen, making a racket of noise with glasses and cupboards while you laid down on the couch, feet aching from hours of dancing. A glass shattered on the floor, followed by Natasha cursing and a very tired and irritated Captain storming out of his room.

"Seriously Nat?"

"Sorry dad," she said, attempting to pick up bits of glass from the floor. Steve sighed, running his hands through his hair.

"Just stop, your gonna cut yourself. Go to bed, I'll take care of it."

She was stubborn, but he was firm, and soon she was scampering out of the kitchen and down the hall to her room. Steve sighed and you heard the sweeping of the broom, the metal grating of the dustpan.

When he shut off the kitchen light, you sat up from the couch. "You're good at that."

Steve turned and practically jumped, placing a hand on his heart. "Jeez, you scared me half to death!"

"Sorry," you said meekly.

"Have you been drinking too?" He didn't sound upset or accusational. More amused.

Putting your index finger and thumb close together, you scrunched up your face in guilt, making him laugh. "Alright, come on."

He offered his hand out and you took it, faltering when you stood. "I see Nat forgot how much of a lightweight you are," he joked.

"Hey," you said and smacked him on the chest. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, looking down and holding you in his arms for a moment. You felt so small in his arms and swallowed the lump in your throat before breaking the silence. "You take care of everyone."

"Is that what I'm good at?"

You nodded.

"I guess I do," he said, and in one swift movement hooked his arm under your legs, causing you to squeal while he carried you down the hall.

The room was dark, illuminated only by the faint light of the moon. He laid you down on the bed and sat next to you. "Need anything before I go?"

You took hold of his hand and he looked down at the touch. "Steve… Does anyone ever take care of you?"

He considered the question. "The team takes care of me when it's needed."

You shook your head. "No." And then, heart pounding in your boldness, you sat up and climbed over to straddle him. Arms wrapped around his neck and his breath grew heavy. "Does anyone take care of you…like this?"

You leaned in slowly, in case he was uncomfortable, in case you were reading it wrong, but he allowed you to kiss him, and after a moment, his lips responded, his hands slow and steady guiding up your legs, your hips, your back. He whispered your name, a question, a desire, a need.

He pulled back to look at you, a little in shock, a little in lust. Like he wanted to be good, but he also wanted you. "You're… you've been drinking."

Your head tilted to the side. Should have known–always the chivalrous one. "Steve, I want you."

Kisses trailed down his neck and across his jaw line as you spoke.

"Let me take care of you," you whispered, pulling up the end of his T-shirt until he allowed you to pull it over his head. He was torn, hesitant. He didn't allow his desires to normally take precedence over honor. But, this time, he did. Hands ran over his thick chest, his hardened abs, to play with the little grooves on his hip bones. "Sit back," you ordered, and he obediently listened, watching with want and desire while your fingers hooked into his shorts and underwear, sliding them down in one go.

His cock sprang forth from its confines, already hard and pulsing and wet from precum, and your eyes went wide at how incredibly well-endowed he was. The ladies had all speculated at how big the super soldier actually was, but you'd never imagined…

You knew then how you wanted to take care of him. With a devilish smirk you crawled up, your tongue running along the underside of his cock, never breaking eye contact. A little moan escaped him, making you want to hear the range of all his noises. Your fingers stroked at his balls as you slowly guided your tongue along his shaft, causing his breath to shutter.

His fingers ran through your hair and when you lifted your head he brushed your cheek with his thumb.

"God, you are gorgeous," he whispered. You closed your eyes and then took him full in your mouth and down your throat. The response he gave was guttural, claiming your name when you took a breath, only to go down again. In that moment, you were in control and he was yours. His breaths became faster, his moans more frequent, and you knew he wouldn't last much longer. But that was perfectly fine; you were here to take care of him.

Your mouth became hot and full of him and was swallowed down like it was nothing. It took a moment for him to catch his breath and come back down from his high and he started to ramble, from embarrassment or being unsure of what to do. You shushed him gently, curled up next to him, and grabbed his hand to wrap his arm around you.

He laid there quietly, kissed your shoulder and fell asleep in your bed. But in the morning, he was gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You weren't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. More than a dozen times you had reminded yourself that Steve Rogers was emotionally unavailable. But that didn't stop your drunk ass from what you did last night.

In the light of the morning, you were determined to not walk out of your room looking like some drunken whore. You'd be damned if you were someone he regretted. Extra time was taken to scrub yourself clean, brush your teeth twice, and make yourself not only presentable, but gorgeous.

Taking a breath, you walked out to the foyer. Natasha looked up from her cup of coffee, a tired smile on her face. "Sorry I bailed on you last night. I don't even remember what happened. Where did you go?"

You shook your head at her apology. "No, it's fine. I just passed out."

Natasha raised a curious eyebrow at you. "No midnight romping?"

You laughed, maybe a little too loudly. "Nothing of the sort, I can assure you."

She hummed in response. "Morning Captain."

Your eyes went big for a slight moment as he passed behind, a scent of evergreen lingering behind. "Morning," he acknowledged evenly.

Pulse starting to race, you slipped into the kitchen before Natasha could question you further. Pouring a cup of coffee (the larger, the better after the night you had), Steve walked in casually.

"Morning agent," he said, grabbing a carton of eggs from the fridge.

"Hi," you said, stirring your coffee as if it was the most fascinating cup of coffee you'd ever laid eyes on.

"Sleep well?"

You raised your eyes up to meet his, a small smirk on your face. "Yes…" you said slowly. Was he playing a game with you?

Steve waited until he was sure Natasha was gone and out of earshot. Then, crossing his arms and studying the floor, he said, "Listen, I need to apologize for last night."

You blinked but kept silent, stirring your coffee and watching him. He was infuriating! Just wouldn't let you have that moment with him.

"I took advantage of the situation and should have stopped it before it went that far," he continued.

Your breaths were even through your nose, but internally you were screaming. As frustrated as you were, you knew there was no point in arguing. Once he had gotten something in his mind as fact, there was no convincing him otherwise.

Sighing, you made to leave the room. "Whatever you need to tell yourself, Steve."

He grabbed your bicep as you passed by, making you pause in your tracks. "It can't happen again."

You looked from his grip on your arm to his piercing stare and bit to your lip to refrain from screaming at him.

"Got it," you choked out, and pulled away.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was easier to just avoid him in the following weeks. If he hadn't made a thing of it, you could have gone back to being friendly and flirty. But he didn't make things easy

You chose the missions he wasn't on and made excuses for the ones he joined. But it was hard; you missed him, his kindness, his stories, his listening ear. He was your leader and you just felt…lost.

There was no use in regrets, but sometimes you'd wonder if you'd make a mistake and lost a friend.

It was a strangely quiet Saturday night for most of the team. After a few weeks of intense missions and undercover work, it was nice to finally have a break. The last thing you wanted was to go out to a bar or club and Natasha agreed. Giving you a look like she was up to no good, she pulled out a deck of cards and a bottle with a language you couldn't translate.

"What are you doing, Nat?" you asked with a warning tone.

"Making our own fun. We aren't a couple of spinsters. If we don't want to go out, doesn't mean we can't still have a little fun," she said with a wink.

You smiled while shaking your head. "You're the worst influence."

"No, I'm the best. Now round up whatever boys are still around."

You trailed down the hall and paused at Steve's door. Knocking, you prayed that he wouldn't answer, but the door opened before you could slip away.

"Hi," he said, crossing his arms. He appeared standoffish, but there was a kindness in his eyes.

"Hey, um, Nat is setting something up out there. Wanted everyone to join."

He raised an eyebrow. "What did she pull out from her bag of tricks this time?"

"Box of cards and a bottle of something."

"Blue label? Foreign writing?"

"Yeah." As silly as it was, you missed this–the normalcy, the casual chat, feeling comfortable with him again. There was a beat where you two locked eyes, getting lost for a moment. You opened your mouth to say something, a sorry, an I miss you, anything, but he beat you to the punch.

"I think I'm gonna stay in tonight, but… you should be careful with that bottle. Asgardian firewater isn't for the faint of heart."

He started to close the door. "Steve?"

He paused, but the words caught in your throat and you just stood there like an idiot.

"Have fun," he said, and hearing your name on his lips brought it all back. You wondered if he thought about it as much as you did.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He was right about the firewater. Natasha had poured you a shot and it burned like kerosene going down. You shuttered, turning the bottle to study its label. A hand reached out, clasping the shot glass and pulling it to the side. Your eyes followed the hand to the dark haired Asgardian prince who leaned toward you.

"Please do not tell me you drank this in a shot glass."

You smirked at him. "Blame Nat. I just do as I'm told."

Shaking his head at your naivety, Loki refrained from engaging on your comment further and slid the used shot glass to the sink, pulling a clean large glass from the cabinet.

"If you're going to drink this, you're at least going to learn how to make a proper Asgardian beverage out of it." He rolled up his sleeves, rummaging through the bar and pulling out an assortment of bottles and citrus fruit.

"You making me a drink or breakfast, Loki?"

He stood, pointing a paring knife at you. "Hush. Now come around here, you're making it yourself."

He taught you how to skin the rind off an orange without the pith, instructed you to juice a lime, showed you the measurements for the other spirits to add before pouring it over the liquor. He didn't touch you, but his close proximity somehow still made you feel warm.

"Stir it, slowly” he drawled. “The point of this isn't to rush and hit your high as fast as possible. Savor it, enjoy yourself."

He slid the glass toward you and watched as you took a sip, an eyebrow raised in a question. Your eyes widened as that first sip went down, not burning like fire, but sweet like honey. "It's good. Thank you Loki."

Satisfied, he leaned forward, palm landing on the back of your arm to whisper in your ear. "Now don't let me catch you with that shot glass again. You deserve more than just a quick fix."

You took a short breath in as you laughed nervously, something twisting deep inside. Was he…flirting with you? Your eyes darted to the side to see Steve talking to Tony, but watching you. He turned, patting Tony on the back before walking straight out the door, his jaw firmly set.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The night had been fun, playing an assortment of card games. Loki and Thor attempted to teach everyone a complicated version of Asgardian poker, which turned into peals of laughter. You wiped your eyes, both from laughing so hard and feeling exhausted, when Loki stood. "Thank you for a pleasant evening, but it is time for me to retire for the night."

You nodded and yawned on cue. "Me too. Goodnight guys."

Natasha shuffled the cards and dealt out a hand to the rest of the night owls, saying a quick good night.

You followed Loki the short distance down the hall to your separate bedrooms. "Sorry Loki, I think we're a little hopeless at learning your game."

"If my brother can master it, there is hope for you all yet. Plus," he paused, turning to you in front of your door, "it seemed like a welcome distraction for you."

You looked up at him, a little alarmed at his observation. Hadn't you been more discreet watching the front door for Steve? Apparently not.

"Oh, I…" you stuttered, but he shook his head and put a hand on your arm to reassure you.

"No need to be embarrassed, little one. I wasn't trying to pry. It was just nice to see you carefree and smiling again."

He was right, it was a nice change. You were tired of walking on eggshells and needed an attitude shift.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You couldn't sleep that night though, as tired as you were. Between Loki's flirty antics and Steve's frustrating behavior, your mind was swimming and needed to be cleared. After tossing and turning, the blankets were finally ripped off and gym clothes slipped on, deciding a quick workout would help.

Earpods turned on, you entered the gym and started up the treadmill. A mile in and sweat starting to drip, a resounding boom caused you to pull out your earbuds. Pausing on the edge of the treadmill, you pulled out an earbud to listen, a rhythmic pattern of beats down the hall. That was odd, you thought you'd be alone at this hour.

"Hello?" you called out, wiping the sweat from your forehead and chest and following the sound. You opened the door to an open studio used for combat practice and paused in the doorway. On the opposite side of the room, Steve focused on a punching bag, his back muscles rippling and contracting within a tight T-shirt. Standing mesmerized, you watched as he worked the bag until one final blow busted it off the hook and he went to grab a new one.

His eyes turned up and locked on yours, startling you out of your trance. "Sorry. I…" you fumbled at your words.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

You shook your head. "Came down here to clear my head."

"Yeah," he said, hooking the bag on with one arm. "I've been trying to do that for a while now."

"Well, I'll let you get back to it." You made your way toward the door. Halfway through the door frame, he said your name, staring at the bag, making you pause. "I haven't… I haven't been able to sleep for a while. I can't stop thinking about that night."

You almost didn't hear him, almost asked him to repeat himself. When he turned to look at you, you were like a deer caught in headlights. Too afraid to move or look away.

"I know that I shouldn't. And I tried to stop myself, tried to push you away and ignore you. My focus should be on the team and our missions. That's why I told you it couldn't happen again."

He unwrapped the boxing tape from his hands, walking toward you.

"But I can't get you out of my head. You're all I can think about."

You ignored the pounding of your heart and the tingling in your core. He was so close to you now, and you were furious. How dare he say all this after how he treated you! You wanted to slap him, yell at him, anything to show him how much pain and frustration he had caused you. But then, his next words cut to your core: "I'm so sorry. I miss you."

His blue eyes searched your own, no doubt looking for a sign that you would forgive him. He hesitantly raised a hand slowly up to your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone, melting your resolve and angry exterior with the swipe of his hand. Who were you kidding? You missed him too.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The sun was creeping up along the horizon when your eyes opened. Your bed was warm and cozy and your arm clutched onto the arm wrapped around your body.

You turned slightly, Steve still asleep and breathing steadily. The man was probably exhausted from his lack of sleep the last few weeks. It didn't help that you both stayed up late the night before as well.

He had walked you back to your room after your encounter in the gym, stood outside your door to wish you good night like the gentleman he was trying to be. No, he was a gentleman, he reminded himself; only you had ignited something inside him that he was fighting hard to resist. You gripped onto the edge of his T-shirt and pulled him into the room with a coy smile that he reciprocated.

Neither knew what to do, and you didn't want him to feel like you were expecting him to reciprocate for the prior night together. After keeping your distance from him for weeks, you just knew that you wanted to be near him again.

"For the record, I missed you too Steve." You grabbed two water bottles from the fridge, tossing one across the room to him.

He downed half the bottle before recapping it. "I'm not very good at this. I've spent too long focused only on whatever the mission is and not anything else."

"This," you said, gesturing between the two of you, "can be whatever we want it to be. I just know that I want you back in my life. However you want that to be."

He nodded, taking in your words. Then stood and walked over to you leaning against the dresser. His blue eyes looked down to yours and you could feel your heart instantly picking up pace. He could probably hear what he was doing to you by the uptick of your pulse, but didn't let on. "However I want?"

You nodded, words lost to you. Even though you had had him once before, he still made your nerves twist. He leaned down and kissed you then, and it felt like you both let go of a breath that was held for far too long.

When he pulled away, you almost whined, wanting more.

"Let's start by taking care of you," he said, and gripped your ass to sit you on the dresser.

With easier access, he trailed kisses down your neck, body shivering in response. He pulled you into him and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Lifting you up, he carried you easily to your bed and gently set you down, hovering over you.

“What do you want?” he asked, and you knew that his question was meant for more than just pleasure.

You hooked your finger into the hem of his t-shirt, bringing his lips to yours. A girl could get used to those soft lip caresses. The warmth of his hand traveled underneath your shirt, up your ribcage to the curve of your breast, and you gasped as his fingertips circled your nipple. He pulled his lips back from yours to watch the expression on your face, and with a little hesitancy, you told him, “I want to be yours.”

It was like you had lighted a fire within him with your words, and he engulfed you in flames. Your leggings were removed, his lips trailing kisses lower and lower until he was in between your thighs, finding solace in your warm folds. His tongue was like a flint, unyielding until sparks flew. Without mercy, he gripped onto your thighs, making you rise higher and higher. You gripped onto his hair, moaning his name at a higher octave until you fell into bliss, and were cradled in his arms.

There was no telling what would become of you and him, but for the moment, you would take care of each other.

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box Series— Quinn's Birthday Edition

23-24 Season Masterlist

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, jackhughes, and 13,437 others

yourusername “sharing the same family tree doesn’t often make people stay. find family in the ones who make you laugh uncontrollably. find family in the ones who take your side but also talk you through your wrongdoings. find family in the ones who would hop on a plane & fly across countries the moment you needed them. find family in the ones who rejoice in you, especially when you’re unsure of yourself. find the ones who will face the fire with you.” (amanda lovelace)

sorry for the extra long poem, but the “hop on a plane” line was way too spot on for me to not use it.

quinn, you have not just been my best friend for fourteen years, but you’ve been my big brother for over eighteen years. you saved me from my darkest hours, and taught me how to save myself. you were the first person i ever gave a present to, and i remember freaking out to mom when she had to explain to me what birthday parties were and that people got presents for them. i picked out that captain america action figure all by myself and i still remember how happy you were. i think my love language is gift giving because of you.

i feel like i’ve been playing a game of “go fish” my whole life. i didn’t have any of the same card when i was younger. life kept telling me to “go fish,” and i kept pulling a card that didn’t help. and then i met jack, and suddenly i had a pair of kings. i quickly found luke to be the most precious thing on the planet, and he always made me smile. he was my third king.

you quickly started to treat me like your own sister. you walked me to class, and you always brought me a snack on days i didn’t have breakfast with all of you. you were the first person to ever hug me when i was crying. i didn’t have that at my house. at just five years old, i didn’t know that i could be comforted, and you showed me that i could be. that i deserved to be. you were my fourth king. you completed my first book. you were the start of me winning the game.

and now you’re 24, and i’ve got many more piles of books in my go fish game, and most of them are because of you. i am who i am because of many people, but you, quintin jerome, helped me start to find myself.

i love you more than every word in every language! happy birthday, best friend💙 and good luck tonight!

tagged _quinnhughes

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_quinnhughes it’s been amazing growing up together, sissy💙 thank you, and i love you, too!

yourusername i’m totally not crying <3

_quinnhughes but i love you despite your tendency to cry! it’s endearing

yourusername i’m totally crying <3

_quinnhughes yep, there’s my girl

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes you’re putting me through a lot right now

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras happy birthday to me!

user3 happy quinn day!

jackhughes @_quinnhughes *in schmidt’s voice* 24! happy birthday, huggy bear!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes thank you, i can feel the sentiment from edmonton

jackhughes @_quinnhughes that’s brotherly love, baby!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes i love you, too?

yourusername @_quinnhughes i do believe that’s what the fool was trying to say

jackhughes @_quinnhughes nailed it! i do love you! @.yourusername *insert curse word here*

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/yourusername you know the rules! you two are nice to each other on my birthday! i don’t care that you’re across the country!

jackhughes @/yourusername ily soulmate

yourusername @/jackhughes ilym soulmate

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/yourusername great job! now no betting today because it’s my birthday and i make the rules! and sissy, best friend contract!

yourusername i-

jackhughes @_quinnhughes meanie

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/yourusername we’ll call it a birthday present

yourusername mmf

jackhughes mmf

lhughes_06 @/jackhughes @/yourusername @_quinnhughes i feel left out so i also love you guys!

yourusername @/lhughes_06 awww i love you, lukey moosey! 🫶

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 i love you, too!

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 you sap, i love you, too, lukey!

user34 i’m crying so hard right now omg😭 happy birthday, captain!

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes HAPPY BIRTHDAY, QUINNER! thank you for letting me love your sister and best friend! love you, man! enjoy 24

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras thank you! and love you, too, z! thank you for treating sissy well all these years

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i wouldn’t dare treat her any other way. you raised a great girl

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i tried my best

yourusername @/trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i’m gonna vomit cry i’m so obsessed with you two being nice

trevorzegras @/yourusername we’re always nice!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername please don’t vomit cry or i’ll have to get meaner

trevorzegras oh

user7 AHH HE’S GROWING UP SO FAST! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, QUINNY!

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes happy birthday! you’re my favorite sibling of the day! i love you, quinny! maybe you’ll grow this year!

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 thank you, i love you, too! (i do not love the jab at my height)

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes (i’m just doing my brotherly duties)

yourusername @/lhughes_06 (you took all the tall genes!)

lhughes_06 @/yourusername (i was born last?)

yourusername @/lhughes_06 (mom was saving them for you)

_quinnhughes @/yourusername this part of your personality was not my doing

yourusername @_quinnhughes me being funny? that was all me, bubba. you’re welcome🥰

_quinnhughes @/yourusername yeah, okay, let’s go with that as my intention

user66 crying in the club? nah. sobbing in the club.

user23 huggy bear is growing up too fast😭

_eliaspettersson @_quinnhughes happy birthday, cap! 🎉🎈🎁

_quinnhughes @_eliaspettersson thank you, petey!

yourusername @_quinnhughes wait i just realized the first present i ever got you was captain america and now you’re captain canada 😭

_quinnhughes @/yourusername i love you so much, but please don’t call me captain canada

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes too late

jackhughes LONG LIVE CAPTAIN CANADA

_quinnhughes i prefer captain meme over this…

jackhughes LONG LIVE THAT TOO

user5 *plays the scene in borhap where freddie sings happy birthday to himself*

user88 oh to be a fly on the wall when the canucks embarrass quinn with a terrible rendition of happy birthday

_alexturcotte @_quinnhughes HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BILLET BROTHER! love you, man! good luck tonight!

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte i love you, too, turc! thank you

yourusername @_alexturcotte quinn didn’t live with us when you lived with us… but okay

_alexturcotte @/yourusername he did in my heart

_quinnhughes @/yourusername shhhh it’s okay

user65 are we not going to address that quinn’s birthday party was the first one sissy experienced????

colemcward @_quinnhughes happy birthday, dad!🎉

_quinnhughes thank you, son!

yourusername @/colemcward I MISS YOU! SWEARZIES I’LL COME SEE YOU PLAY THIS SEASON!

colemcward @/yourusername I MISS YOU, TOO! YOU BETTER!

_quinnhughes @/colemcward swearzies is sissy for “i’ll move mountains and sneak onto cargo planes if i have to just to see you play”

colemcward @_quinnhughes is that exact definition? is there a mom dictionary?

_quinnhughes @/colemcward there’s mo dictionary

trevorzegras @/colemcward you learn as you go

colemcward @_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras she’s never actually snuck onto a cargo plane, right?

_quinnhughes @/colemcward not that we know of

user40 AHHH HAPPY QUINTIN DAY!!

user70 THAT SECOND PIC! long live the yankees hat!! happy birthday!

colecaufield @_quinnhughes you’re getting old! congratulations! happy birthday, man, i hope you crush it tonight

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield thank you…?

yourusername @_quinnhughes i’ll fix him, hold on

colecaufield @_quinnhughes happy birthday, quinner! love you! destroy those robot oilers again!

yourusername close enough

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield love you, too😂

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[sadclowncentral]

Sorry if this is a weird question, and if that's the case you can absolutely not answer, but how do you cope with having multiple full-time jobs and still having energy outside of work? Feels a bit like I'm dying of exhaustion every day over here lol

I've been ruminating for a few days on this ask because truly I struggle with this more than I want to admit. My jobs rarely leave me with energy outside of work, and I have gone through times in the last two years where working and sleeping were the only possibilities, and it sucks, and it is kind of embarrassing, but I have also found some ways to mitigate it even slightly which I am more than happy to share:

1. Schedule fun times (yikes)

It was a harrowing realization that I need to schedule hang outs and self care just like every meeting - weeks in advance, colour coded in both the calendar and the to do list - but since I started doing it, my success rate has skyrocketed. You either die a type b or live long enough to become a type a i guess

2. Bring your fun to work day

I will suggest anything that's fun to me as a work activity. I like drawing so you KNOW the ministry is littered with illustrations. My PowerPoints create envy across departments. I scout the world of my office for ways to have fun and I am not embarrassed to say so. I'm funmaxxing the grind. So what

3. Everyone is depressed bitch

Acknowledge that everyone your age is looking at their fifty-year olds in their work life with white-hot envy (WHEN THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE TIME TO GARDEN) and that the loss of agency that comes with starting your career is normal and sad, but also means that...

4. Let's get some fruit

...you gotta stop thinking in old time frames of friendship expectations. people you haven't talked to for eight months will not be mad about your absence as they are stressed and hobbyless as well and will instead REJOICE at a scheduled hangout. I have friends I see once a year we love each other. no one is mad and everyone is stressed tf out LET'S HANG

5. Win the war not the fight

hey. listen to me. this isn't easy. it sucks coming home and feeling like having no agency left. and it's hard to break that cycle of exhaustion, and I fail all the time, when is the last time i saw the sun, oh god oh no my twenties. and if you feel like that is necessary in the time you are in, that is respectable. don't be mean to yourself for being stuck in a system that tries to squeeze all the energy out of you like a grape of some sort. you just gotta make sure you don't FORGET that you are a fully formed person with hobbies in another life. buy that plane model kit. bookmark that recipe. join that knitting group. i know you dont have time and energy. but your future self will thank you for paving the way.

I hope these are helpful. don't forget to have fun and be yourself. godspeed

[gold-rhine]

Inazuma Rewrite Act Two

Please read part one before reading this. It will make no sense otherwise.

In part one I did setup for the vision hunt conflict, changed Raiden’s motivations, added Rebellion \ Resistance interaction and Teppei setup, added setups to the arcs to Ayaka and Yoimiya. And more!

In this installment:

Let’s Make Player Give A Fuck About Rebellion and Teppei

Kokomi Is Not An Idiot

Delusions Are Not The Aging Beach

Ayaka’s Arc Pay-off

and more!

All disclaimers from part one also apply, I’m not gonna copy paste them.

Raiden Shogun First Duel 

I think we can keep the duel itself mostly unchanged. The cutscenes are pretty good and very cinematic, I don’t see reason to fix things which are not broke when there are already so many broken things

so, Traveler comes to Thoma’s rescue, gets taken to raiden’s plane of euthemia

also mb let’s cut i hate all minorities dialogue and instead like. open disobedience of the traveler to raiden shogun is i think enough to be used as a cause for the duel

The dialogue with raiden changes, we add banter with Traveler where traveler is like but you were pro-change before! and like cites some Transience things we talked about in the part 1.

Raiden gets mad in response, yells “Don’t you dare to mention her against me!” and that’s when she throws Traveler out of  euthemia and prepares the boob nuke

yeah, it’s foreshadowing of Makoto reveal

then the cutscene is the same, Thoma chucks a spear in her face and escapes with the traveler

thoma goes into hiding, traveler goes to join rebellion. bc they’re already in contact with gorou, we skip meandering around and go straight to the goal

First battle

and we arrive directly to the battlefield

there are several problems with rebellion pacing and kokomi characterization, which i elaborated on before. Like, Kokomi in canon only has one battle, which she wins because she hired mercenaries with fatui money. which like! invalidates this whole thing and makes her naive enough to be duped by the bad guys. So we need a battle win which is decidedly due to Kokomi’s genius.

so like in canon, Kujou Sara demands rebellion give her the traveler. Teppei, whos also there, is like no, fuck off! he’s embarrassed to speak out of the order but determined.

Gorou of course gives a speech about not giving up comrades, the fight starts, we have cool battle animation blah blah, and then suddenly!! Kujou Sara has reinforcements coming from behind some cliffs, oh no!! Teppei yells there’s too much of them! We will be overrun! Close up of Gorou’s snarling face, eyes darting, ready to call retreat, close up of victoriously looking Sara, Tenryou reinforcements are running to the battle... 

The water bubbles start rising up and Kokomi appears. She smiles at Gorou reassuringly and does some cool water animation. The hidden spring\waterfall bursts up with water and crushes into the reinforcements, washing them away. Rebellion rejoices, Kujou Sara curses and calls retreat.

i’ve seen people demand kokomi to have like a cool battle transforming into a dragon or smth bc of her origins and draconae constellation, but like this is missing the narrative pacing. the vishap origins only make sense after enkanomya where we learn about watatsumi history AND on the subversion of “oh its pink pastel kokomi who is smart and sweet :3”. Like we need to know her like that first, and THEN the dragon reveal will be cool and interesting.

Rebellion and Teppei overall setup

so, the Rebellion act wanted to accomplish too many things and didn’t structure them efficiently:

make you feel comradery with rebellion

make you like teppei

make you feel like a leader of your own squad, but like you EARNEd it, bc at first soldiers are distrustful and make you prove yourself

establish delusions and that delusions are bad bc teppei died, which is sad bc p.2

 in canon it’s like - have one scene with teppei, do some useless fetch errands for rebels, have another scene with teppei, be assigned swordfish captain and have two quick scenes with two dudes you will not remember

so obviously no one gives a fuck with this kind of pacing

instead, we will combine all of this and more importantly, give it narrative throughline so it doesn’t feel so disconnected and erratic

traveler is already known to Gorou through resistance meet up, he vouches for them, and Kokomi immediately names Traveler as captain of swordfish 2

Teppei is here and he excitedly volunteers to join that squad too

Gorou is like hey its a high risk squad that’s deployed on front lines, and you don’t have combat experience like, at all

Paimon and Traveler step up to be like yeah its fine, we’ll look after him, teppei is like omg thanks you guys :3

turns out he has problems fitting in with the rebels. they are all great ppl, sure, but they are warriors bonded in fights for years and most of them are from watatsumi. 

and he’s like a merchant or a clerk from narukami island. he feels like an outsider and a burden

but now the Traveler is here! they are already buddies from that resistance meet up and Traveler is an outsider too. They can stick together!

Swordfish II

So you go to meet up with your swordfish squad. You are greeted by a buff butch woman who is v no-nonsense and skeptical about your ability to be leader and another woman who is more friendly, but still kinda keeps distance and is snarky

their code names are Xena and Gabrielle for no reason other that we need buff female models like blacksmihs, hoyo. The point is that we need some memorable NPCs to represent swordfish, bc these two dudes that give you shit in canon for 3 second? I couldn’t remember them if my life depended on it

anyway, you learn that the previous captain just died and everyone loved and was very loyal to them, and now they are hostile to anyone who tries to take command.

So we do couple of battle to prove we’re strong blah blah, teppei is useless during a fight and Xena makes fun of him for this, and he’s super embarrassed

after that we walk around with teppei. Swordfishes camp is kinda shabby, they just took a bad hit. So we help the wounded, repair some tents, etc, but most important, Teppei uses expertise he’s got from his civilian job to solve problems

like he knows how to make a great painkiller potion bc he used to sell them. Or he gets an idea to use empty bags from used supplies to cover holes in tents, etc. 

Point is, he contributes.

After all this, Xena and Gabrielle are walking around, and Gabrielle is like wow captain, did you do all these improvements, and Traveler is like yeah, but it was all Teppei’s solutions, and Xena doesn’t say anything, but you can see she’s surprised and appreciative that you’re not only strong in combat, but care for the squad

she nods over the campfire at teppei like “i guess you’re not so useless after all, narukami nerd”

he protests, everyone laughs, its Bonding Time

Kokomi is not an idiot\ Fatui

We’re summoned to go see Kokomi. She’s in deep thought. Rebellion is in dire situation, supplies are running out, she’s sure they will not be able to win another open confrontation, even with her strategic tricks

But there is a new development - she’s being offered a huge anonymous donation. With that money, she could hire mercs to help. But to accept money without knowing the source is too risky, it could be a trap or setup

so she asks us to investigate these mysterious benefactors. bc also there are some vague rumors about some way to get boost to power going around and thats very sus too

bc like no, I cannot get over supposed genius Kokomi just taking fatui’s help blindly and letting them spread delusions around

so we go to the quest to investigate clues, with the swordfishes, its our first srs mission as the captain.

its couple of fights, blah blah. we find some clues and then its the Leader Decision time.

like there are two camps and we need to strike both at the same time, or the other one will destroy evidence and run, but we don’t have enough manpower. traveler is like  can take one camp by myself, and Xena at first is skeptical, but we’ve proven ourselves yesterday so she’s like okay I trust you, boss

everything goes well, both camps are taken and we find evidence that these donations are in fact, from fatui! and they are trying to spread delusions, which are bad and can kill you!

Delusions

I’m not a fan of Delusions working like the aging beach from that movie Old. Like first of all, if that’s how it worked, Childe should at this point look like this

and Diluc. And Signora. Like I get that these are like low quality delusions, so effect is worse, but you can’t be like wow Teppei turned 90 in 2 days and Diluc stayed babyfaced after 4 years.

second, how is that no one noticed Teppei aging 20 years after each fight. Like it had to happen in front of other soldiers.

And like, why change the mechanics at all?? You use delusion, you get burst of power and take huge hit to the health, that’s it. Low quality delusions take more out of your health, so people using them die faster. They don’t need to age faster at the same time.So that’s mechanics I’m using here.

Anyway, while swordfishes discuss delusions finding (and Xena loudly condemns them), camera shows Teppei being quiet, kinda sus and looking away

Kokomi Mini-Arc\ Swordfish Bonding

we go back and report to kokomi. She’s distraught. The battle is so soon and she doesn’t know what to do!

from pure strategic, emotionless perspective to win the battle she needs to take fatui’s money and close her eyes at some soldiers using delusions. She can trade their lives for the voctory

But as a Watatsumi leader who cares about her people she cannot do that!

Traveler comforts her, but leaves without any obvious decision made and with a heavy heart. 

the night before battle, we gather at campfire with the swordfishes

everyone is kinda doom and gloom bc it’s obvious Rebellion doesn’t stand a chance

Traveler stands up and makes a motivational speech about fighting together, about how they’ve faced seemingly impossible odds before and prevailed, bc everyone worked together, like with Ossail fight

Xena suddenly stands up to support us, she’s like yeah, I didn’t believe in you before, but now I see you’re worth it, Captain!

everyone cheers, Xena punches Teppei into shoulder and he almost falls over like “Even this narukami nerd is not as bad as I thought haha!”

Final Rebellion Battle

So, cinematic cutscene. Sara on one side with obviously more soldiers. Kokomi and Gorou with rebellion on the other side. Traveler is with the Swordfishes and Teppei. Kokomi and Sara shjare some snappy banter. 

mb there’s a duel, but only if combat designers can figure out way to make it cool. Traveler whacking NPC in a row who can do nothing back with a sword 5 times in a row like in canon is fucking boring. Mb incorporate like challenge with Inazuma mechanics like the thunder zoomies or smth.

the battle begins. Rebellions fights fiercely, close ups of our swordfishes.

Teppei is fighting Surprisingly Good For Him. Xena comments on this and he beams up

but the difference in numbers is too much. Rebellions starts being overwhelmed, and then!

Suddenly Beidou and the mercs join the battle! Kazuha is here too. Traveler looks worriedly at Kokomi, does this mean that she’s accepted Fatui’s bloody money??

But Kokomi smiles back. No, she’s had another trump up her sleeve

trail of snowflakes runs through the ground and suddenly, Ayaka appears on the battlefield. 

animation cutscene plays, Ayaka is shown in the past, after Traveler leaves, feeling restless and trapped in the estate. She’s still reeling from Yoimiya’s words and the fact that she couldn’t even help Thoma herself. She feels powerless, a pretty helpless figurehead princess that she didn’t want to be

letter from Kokomi arrives, telling about Rebellion’s dire situation and asking if Ayaka can help

Ayaka is in turmoil, she wants to help so bad, but she can’t steal money from Yashiro commission, that’d be stealing from people of Inazuma! 

She glances at her dancing fan and suddenly, a solution comes to her.

Looking determined, she goes to the Kamisato estate treasury and opens the chest of her parents’ inheritance

She sells some of her family heritage jewels and silks to get the money, deciding to use the same privilege that kept her trapped to finally help people 

she also officially announces that she’ll be in religious solitude meditation ritual or smth and instead sneaks off and travels to Watatsumi

she’s wearing that carnival mask that hoyo puts on models when they want to do “disguise”. Listen, if Diluc doesn’t get recognized in this gay little mask, then it can work for Ayaka too

anyway, animation ends with Ayaka springing from the ground on the battlefield and starting her burst, which transitions to her in-game burst animation

Her burst shreds through Tenryou forces.

Ayaka freeze with Kokomi and Kazuha is one of the best meta teams. Sara realizes it’s fucking JOVER for this battle and calls retreat.

Teppei death \ Delusion factory

Rebellion overjoices, Traveler and the swordfishes hug or whatever our animation department can handle in celebration, when suddenly!

Teppei falls down! Everyone gathers around and see delusion roll over from his hand!

oh no! He says he secretly picked up delusion from the fatui camp we cleared during investigation. This is why he’s fought so well today.

We tell him that he shouldn’t have done it, the fool!

He says he wanted to be useful. He just wanted to finally be one of the rebels!

Xena sits down next to him and says “You were already one of us.”

He dies holding her hand, with all comrades all around, instead of alone behind a shed like a sick housecat

Gorou and Kokomi walk up.Kokomi says that this is exactly why she refused Fatui’s help, but this happening even to one of the soldiers is a tragedy

Traveler and Swordfishes of course demand revenge. But we don’t know where the delusions are coming from! we already cleared fatui camps we knew of, we just don’t have any new leads!

Kujou Sara who watched this scene from afar suddenly speaks up

She has intel about possible location of Fatui factory, that she didn’t have time to explore. It’s on Tenryuo territory, but she’s willing to let Traveler pass. Fatui betraying and harming Inazuma people like this is unacceptable to her, even if they are enemies for now.

We’re like but can we trust her?? What if she just captures us?

Kokomi has long eye contact with Sara. It’s very Yuri. 

She finally says “No, we can trust Kujou Sara’s honor”

Sara only lets Traveler pass, so we have a scene of swordfishes wishing us luck and then we leave

Delusion factory quest goes the same. It’s okay, again, not fixing what’s not broke.

We confront Scara, he rants about mortals being bubbles, blah blah

The only dialogue change is when he bullshits about like oh, these mortals are weak and useless, of course they have to pay for power, Traveler argues that Teppei was already useful, he helped with the camp in a way others couldn’t, and he didn’t have to die to prove anything or “pay” for power

Otherwise it goes the same, Traveler passes out, Yae shows up to trade the gnosis

we’re moving to the Act 3!

PART 3

[jacksprostate]

me and @a-forsteri were talking about how the narrator like, desperately wants someone to tell him his life is fucked up, what he does is fucked up, he desperately wants someone to respond with the gravity he desires.

Like, he tells these people on the plane what he does. Trying to fuck with them. Desperately hoping!! One of them will go: holy shit!!! That's really fucked up how do you live with that!!! But all he gets is people thinking he's the freak and just asking what car company he works for. Because it is easier to pretend he himself is the problem, maybe just his company, rather than actually face and recognize the systemic, widespread nature of what he's saying.

It leans together with his sense of where he is in his office, too. He feels separate from all these people. They feel fake. They feel like people going on as normal even though they're all working to hasten the apocalypse, and no one acknowledges it! They're all perfectly happy to turn a blind eye to any of the distant consequences of their actions. That is what their jobs are for. Keep them up in the cubicles, nicely fed and watered with inflated salaries, and then they'll have no issue with the distant sense that they may be contributing to a corrupt system. They can't change the system, but they need to feed their kids, so hell, just don't think about it too much.

But he doesn't have that option. He is the one who actually does go out into the field and he sees the direct result of all of their collective actions, but especially his. Every crash related to a faulty part he sees is because someone like him before him, or him himself, ran the formula and let this happen. He has no choice but to see the very real result of his actions.

And he feels INSANE over it. Because he returns to the office and it's just numbers. Applying the formula. Hearing your coworkers chat about a potluck. You're not contributing to a horrific system, you ARE the horrific system, and it's like you're the only one who sees that. He literally cannot sleep over it.

And when you tell people about it, they try to minimize it. To your company, to you. Because that is easier than acknowledging just how many things have to be corrupt and uncaring of human life to allow this to be the case. It's too much. Stick your head in the sand.

He desperarely wants someone to scream at him: how could you do that? How could anyone do that? Why is this allowed to happen? Doesn't anyone see something wrong here?

He imagines his plane crashing. Free him from this. The burden of every piece of normality manufactured for satiating any thought and discomfort he has about his job. It's all petty, pointless fluff. It's putting some artificial grass on the feedlot. Why does everything and everyone say it's all worth it for this garbage?

He wants someone to tell him all this. He doesn't want to be alone. He already feels catastrophically alone. In his life, whenever he talks about this, whenever he does anything. He loves the support groups because you're allowed to have abject misery there. You rejoice in it. Everyone's life is falling apart and ending and nothing means anything good ever. They're all honest about it, too. He plays coy when he talks about his job, but these people, everyone knows they're falling apart, and it's recognized and treated as the horror it is. This is freedom. Hitting bottom is freedom.

But he's supposed to be happy, because he's got his cushy little IKEA nest. It is only when people think he also has cancer and parasites causing his deep dissociation from his own life and general aura of resentment and misery that it's treated as something that isn't just... an individual flaw. Because it's easier for there to be something wrong with him than for that thing wrong with him to be how society makes him be this way. Rewards him for it.

So he invents someone. Tyler. To stop his little dance. To interrupt him. Drag him away and tell him all those little sundries are meaningless. Like he knows. But now he has someone saying it's true. The world IS falling apart. Everything is fucked up. It's everything he knows and has been too cowardly to say and now he finally has someone to say it for him and push to make some changes in his life. To expect him to actually do something. To feel his rage for him. And it's a catch-22, because a large part of what he hates about himself is that he's too cowardly and noncommittal to just do this all on his own.

[cloudseeker14]

Late Spring (Scaramouche x GN!Reader)

Pairing : Scaramouche x GenderNeutral!Reader

Summary: The Balladeer's heart had always been a closed door but you'd managed to throw it open. Your love, though he never knew how to return it, was like warm sunlight kissing his skin. Yet, good things never last, do they?

Love. 

A word that shook the heart of every creature with tumultuous yearning, the subject of bards in every drinking den across Teyvat. 

Scaramouche could only scoff at the ridiculous notion. Love could never be true, not within the boundaries of a wretched, heartless world where emotions were a source of disdain. 

Not in a realm where his tears meant being cast aside, a creature as noble as him was supposed to be as steadfast as the mountains that slumbered in stone. 

Especially not in a world where you couldn’t exist. 

Scaramouche downed a bottle of whiskey, leaning against the headrest of his velvet armchair as he relished the burning sensation of the drink running down his throat. 

The stinging tethered him to this pathetic plane of existence, fastening the strings of his limbs to the earth as he attempted to fly away to the heavens. 

He could still remember that night, the wind had felt frigid on his porcelain skin as bonfires reached up to the sky. 

The fatui had been rejoicing, their hoarse cries of victory at the thought of another pesky obstacle in their path being tossed into oblivion. 

Yet, all he could see was you, all thoughts of merrymaking cast aside at the sight of your bright laughter. The sound of your joy had been a gentle breeze, blowing the cobwebs and opening the windows to sunlight in his heart. 

You’d drunk yourself to a slobbering mess, stumbling around as you jested with your peers. Scaramouche swirled his cup of cherry red wine, positively relishing the blush that coloured your face when you met his eyes.

After a couple of hours of painstaking formalities with the other harbingers, The Balladeer couldn’t help the groan that escaped from his throat as the gathering cleared,leaving him all alone with the stars and his mind.

His accursed mind, tormented with the sights of eras long gone.

He could practically see those cruel violet eyes in front of him, mercilessly casting him down from the heavens as he writhed in the air.

Scaramouche shuddered, breathing shakily, the silence penetrating the nooks of his heart.

Just as he was about to return to his quarters, he’d felt a tap on his shoulder.

The harbinger whirled around, only to be greeted by your charming face.

“I wouldn’t have come for this banquet if you were only going to keep staring at me.” You smiled, clasping his hands

If any other soul had done that simple action, it would have warranted instant death but what could Scaramouche say, in your hands he’d always been putty.

You stared at Scaramouche, eyes raking over the way the moonlight lit his porcelain features.

The way his clear blue eyes seemed to hold the depth of all the oceans of Teyvat itself.

The way that soft smile making its way into the corners of his lips had your heart bursting into flames.

“I missed you.” He muttered

“Hmm, what was that again?” You smirked, snaking your arm around his waist

“Don’t test me.” Scaramouche gritted, but the growing grin on his face said otherwise.

The two of you sat between the tall blades of grass, the birds chirped softy as a shooting star whizzed past.

“Did you see that!? Scaramouche, please tell me you saw it!” You cheered, your eyes practically about to fall from their sockets.

You were radiant, a source of such pure vividness that even someone as vile as him couldn’t shun away from.

“Yeah.” Scaramouche said, staring at you as he traced the lines of your palm. “It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.”

Deep inside you both knew he didn’t mean the star.

“Y/N.” The harbinger called, gently laying his head on your shoulder.

You stiffened, your heartbeat echoing in your ears as his cold breaths fanned your neck.

“You’ll stay with me, right? Always?”

“Always.”

“Once I get that gnosis, you’ll have to be the one by my side,” He confessed, biting the inside of his cheek “It can never be anyone other than you.”

“Whether you have the gnosis or not makes no difference to me, but if it makes you happy, I’ll stay by your side as long as you want me to be there.”

Scaramouche could swear that a strange warmth seemed to blossom in his chest, but that would remain a thought for him to ponder during a freezing, lonely night.

You placed a chaste kiss on his forehead. “I love you.” You whispered

Scaramouche nodded, closing his eyes. What else could he say? How could a creature like him, a broken puppet with neither a heart nor strong will, be able to understand the intensity of your words?

You knew you would never hear it back but that was fine, it would just be a silent prayer you’d utter to him each day. You didn’t need that simple sentence to understand how he felt, as long as you could still see that gleam in his eyes when he looked at you, you knew you had nothing to worry about.

It was love, Scaramouche just hadn’t understood it yet.

—

With you in his life, Scaramouche knew he was invincible, nothing could stop him anymore. 

He was no longer that fragile creature, sobbing and wailing, he was going to be a god.

The gnosis was so close to falling within his grasp that Scaramouche could practically taste victory on the tip of his tongue. 

Yet, all those thoughts fell apart into dust fluttering in the wind at the sight of you on the ground, your skin devoid of it’s warmth. 

Hair clung to forehead, drenched in blood as you pitifully covered the gaping hole in your stomach. 

“S-scaramouche,“ You called, feebly reaching for the man you were bound to leave 

“Who did this to you!?“ Scaramouche bellowed, cupping your face

A whimper escaped his lips at the coldness of your body and with every second that passed, Scaramouche swore he could see the light fading from your eyes.

“I-I’m sorry I couldn’t make it through.“ You felt warm tears falling upon your arm and you forced yourself to look at Scaramouche, the bottom of your lip trembling as the harbinger stifled his sobs. 

“I won’t let you die!“ He bellowed, tightening his grip on you. You weakly shook your head as your vision blurred. 

“I love you, Scaramouche. D-don’t forget me.“

No. 

No. 

It couldn’t be you. 

Another betrayal, another mar upon his frivolous existence. 

You grasped his arm tightly, hopelessly trying to hold on to the last embers of life within you just to not leave the man before you ablaze in rage. 

But alas, the archons had other plans, and you shut your eyes; blissfulness washing over you. 

Scaramouche would have followed you to the ends of the world but at that moment, you’d slipped away to a paradise he’d never be able to reach. 

“I love you too."

Those were the words that escaped Scaramouche’s lips, only to be heard by the stars. 

He knew what love meant now. 

It was you. 

It was your touch, the comfort you'd ushered him into.

It was the web of passion he had allowed himself to be foolishly woven into.

You, the one who’d made him have a heart by giving yours even though he’d done nothing to deserve such a boon. 

Scaramouche couldn’t help but bawl your name, the wind carrying the puppet’s rage across Teyvat and to the archons. 

The world shouldn't be the same without you, it should have been torn apart in flames that should tower the mightiest pantheon, stifling every creature with smoke.

A world without you had no right to have even a glimmer of beauty.

Scaramouche remained rooted in place, the facade of the ruthless harbinger shattering into pieces, leaving only a wailing child stuck in the body of a man crying for the loss of his only salvation.

[tieflingfingers]

What and who: Astarion tries his first attempt at close quarters. Thomasin isn't happy about it. Summary: Thomasin awakes to find a silhouette hovering over her. Between blades, blood, and bickering, Astarion tries to find a way to feed himself without breaking the mild trust they have. Warning/Content: Re-write of first bite scene, character lore, and Astarion character study. Adjacent to horror/angst/humor/the seed planting of fluff. Vague mentions of abuse/trauma. Part of campaign remix, but can also be read as one-off. Word Count: 4,925 Ao3 Link

In the depths of the Dales, where agriculture and pillagers roamed free, lived a forbidden courtship. Proof of peace and harmony sprout from its bud. It was the birth of a child. One whose cheeks were pink and supple like her human mother. Like her mother before her and those before them. Skin stained shades of raspberry as though she, too, was grown from the same acre of land. Soil rich enough to build a lineage of women feminine yet sturdy. 

Paternal instincts didn’t come naturally to the infant’s father, but not out of his own volition. He was a drow softer than the Underdark would foster. Intimacy was prohibited. The gentle touch of sun-warmed flesh even more so. Only a handful of meetings left a legacy he’d never know. A daughter bathing in light not afforded to him whilst he was swept back underground.

But, living on farmland proved rich with experience. The child braided ribbons into her hair to keep strands out of her eyes while tending crops. Hours under the sun left imprints on her skin that mirrored her mother. Skin decorated by a labor of love. Speckled and peachy against silver tints.

"There’s so much to see in every plane, Thomasin,” her mother interjected between lullabies.

Perhaps her parents were both stricken by their own nagging wanderlust. Thomasin heard countless stories of travels beyond her young comprehension. Stories of a drow that defied Lolth. Not by mighty bloodshed, but a gentle demeanor. The defiance of a man wanting nothing more than freedom. Details that were mulled over so often, he began to feel more like a fairytale. His character evolved with the human’s fallible memory.

Some evenings, the drow was heroic against his raiding caravan. Other times, he simply was a man whose fingers ached for acceptance. All of it, all of him, muddled together, fed Thomasin like breadcrumbs. They were memories she could cling to, even if he existed only through anecdotes and physical letters left behind. He was folklore.

-

Lifetimes away from her original roots, Thomasin became the conduit of their dreams. She’d witness the vastness of their plane. Places where adventures never ended. But, her mother never truly warned of life’s woes. How merciless it could be, even when fruitful.

Thomasin spent the evening concocting medicinal magic. They were common procedural spells that ward off inflammation and voided the need of stitches. As content as her new companions were, it wore the half-elf down, and so she retired to her tent earlier than the others.

It wasn’t long until she was tucked away underneath a makeshift blanket. Sleep hadn’t always come naturally, so she took advantage of exhaustion. Her dark hair sprawled around her head like a halo, strands entwined and unfurled from restless slumber. But, no matter how hard she tried, her mind remained partially tuned in to life outside her tent.

Thankfully, it was nothing more than banter around a campfire. They rejoiced in comradery fueled by dinner whose foundation was primarily red wine. It eased tension. Let their playful jabs and jokes wash off their backs. This possibility of protection comforted the half-elf a bit.

So, Thomasin remained in her nest. At forty-five years of age, she figured fatigue stemmed from her human half. The same that made her frame worn yet strong. Travel brought city inclines, grassy hills, and crouching through thistle in the name of foraging. But, no matter how much she pushed herself, she was constantly decorated. 

Easy on the eyes. It was a habit, more than anything. A default state of being.

Curated fashions were collected over years. Gifted, stolen, sewn, swapped, and saved. Pigments made cheeks looked pinched and sparkles smeared over scars from unfortunate scraps. Her hips were wide when seasonal harvests were plentiful. Her posture bordered between straight and feminine. It was as though every aspect of her persona had been created from decades of standing in front of a mirror.

Starting this new journey, as involuntary as it may be, she was thankful for what piece of home she carried. The belongings of an abandoned home still packed in her bag after getting abducted by mind flayers. Scarves made of fine stolen silk, whose weave snagged. Books with split bindings lovingly re-bound by bundling pages until whole once more. Their contents ranged from fictional anthologies to sappy romance to guides of edible flora.

Residing next to potions, bottled perfumes soaked into cork tops. Her violin slept in the corner. Its body had been as plucked, popped, and rewound as hers. Simple blessings.

Eventually, noises dwindled. Those outside finally laid to sleep. The forest began to rustle louder, as though it had been waiting for their commotion to cease. To be able to exist in its most natural state. It harmonized. Branches creaked and native berries were plucked by gusts of wind. Whenever the unknown awoke Thomasin, she reminded herself of her mother’s saying.

“We are a guest to nature. The nocturnal world has always lived with us, just as the light does."

What she lacked to consider, was the nocturnal entering her den.

Cast shadows were almost tactile in their density, hovering atop her skin. An ever faint sensation. One that resurfaced her hypervigilance born from syndicates. And, for a split second, she caught a glimpse of the greyed silhouette above.

Dread set in.

Before her was a tale as old as time.

Domineering men proving she was just consumable company.

There was no hesitation in her reflexes. No need to identify who it was. No time. Words fled from her lips in rapid succession. The spell, readily accessible, flowed from an unnatural tongue. It was a series of broken common, deep, and high drow. Unintelligible horrific statements. The whispers trickled in a river of flowing smoke, its blue haze snaking its way into the figure’s skull.

As the weave infiltrated their thoughts, it illuminated streams that spilled down the planes of their face. Down their cheeks like painful tears and pouring from an agape mouth as though squeezing the last remnants of a well’s ground reserves. 

In a full blown panic, the figure gasped. Thomasin wouldn’t prolong the forced terror, but she knew even a single second of torment felt like hours. The pressure entangled within her foe’s temples and dragged its ephemeral claws around an already battered brain.

Out into the moonlight, Astarion stumbled from the mouth of her tent. He had flung himself backward, landing square on his palms. He stared back at Thomasin, but it was apparent he was still recovering from the sudden retaliation. He appeared disillusioned. Frightened in a way that made her uncomfortable.

Thomasin scuttled to the entrance with ragged breath. A small dagger embedded so deep within her fist, her knuckles grew white and sharp. Although her blade had become a beacon of last resort rather than an eager desire. Chips and wear along its metal mumbled its victims, but that couldn’t defy the obvious shaking of her hands and the memories of every time she’d fallen victim, herself.

In the darkness, the light from her cryptic illusions mellowed until both elves peered at one another in shades of livid grey. Before her, Astarion was shivering in place. Jaw slackened and back hunched. He knew he had to simply endure. Magical cruelty was unyielding, but the clutches of the Weave always dissolved before he did. 

Thomasin recognized her chance to approach. Survey the feigning of undeath she figured he existed within. His humanity, stunted. Stagnant. She peeked her head out further like a writhing animal curious about a writhing beast. As though her quills plunging him into fright was an act of wry mercy. 

Astarion’s knuckles appeared speckled in shades of bruised plum. Its fruit’s tender exterior tumbled, prodded, and thudded against the dirt before truly ripening. His heavy breath revealed the sheer discomfort his posture took to maintain. It was as though his frame ached under the weight of its growing hunger. They were wordless pleas of pangs. Pains of a pallid complexion.

Eventually, Astarion melted into his body once more. Pupils no longer dilated and dissociative. No longer forlorn. As his fingers eased from their strained grip into the grass, his gaze flicked back up to hers. It reeked of exhausted predation.

“Gods—shit,” he muttered. “It’s not–”

Thomasin’s intuition begged for civility. Her history beckoned her to protect herself through any means necessary. It boiled to a froth from her gut. Words clamored to be free, vitriolic in her throat. Syllables bashed against her teeth. But, she ground them down until the unbridled anger condensed into something meek. Uncharacteristically so. 

“Astarion- Please. You promised,” Thomasin whispered.

His eyes trailed down to the dagger she still held tight. 

“You don’t have to use that. Blades among friends is never the answer, honestly” His voice cracked. “An old-hat solution. Passé, even.” 

“I-” She looked around the camp with bleary eyes. It was still. Oblivious in each tent’s drunken slumber. “Is this from all that dessert wine you found? Fucking hells- you have ten seconds to plead before I wake the others.”

“Ten seconds?” The elf swallowed his distress, struggling to smooth its ridges with his usual temperament. “Going back on a promise?  I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I’m not some kind of- oh, I don’t know.” His hand twisted about in the air in search of answers. “A ne’er-do-well? I thought we were better acquainted than that.” 

His lilt was slithering back into his grasp. He even let out a light titter.

“Thomasin. Darling. You’re beautiful, but I am no ill-intentioned monster.

Astarion shifted to tend to the impact upon his wrists, wringing his hands around sore joints. Thomasin watched him repress every line of dialogue that would fail to placate her. But, there was overcompensation in his eyes. After their tumultuous days, little strength was left to press down the fatigue he forcibly polished like an ever rotating stone wheel. He was stuck with the excess. Nothing but powdered iron and rust.

The elf’s ears drooped at the unnerving silence between them. He caught her hesitance. But, even her reluctance to strike couldn’t mask the sheer adrenaline coursing through her. And before he knew it,  Astarion found himself pulled by his linen shirt collar.

His back slammed against crackling wicker. It was the mat flooring of her tent. Wavering between fragility and disorientation, he found himself straddled and pinned by the half-elf’s knees. One restrained his forearm whilst the other dug into his open palm. His fingers curled under the crushing weight.

“Absolute bitch- I need that!” Astarion hushed himself, but not before hissing through his teeth. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Next was the fine point of a dagger nestled between his jawline and jugular. Any quick movements would prove deadly to Astarion, if he wasn’t careful, but the act of unrelenting threat grew muddled. It wasn’t her voice that faltered. Nor her commitment. It was the droplets that hit the elf’s face under her. Gravity pulling what laid along her lashline with little consent.

“What were you thinking? Sneaking up on me? Inside my tent? I wanted to consider you more than some… tawdry dandy… The lack of tact. I’m not afraid to end you where you lay, you know. Those weren’t falsehoods I spoke of.”

“Wait- There are few things I have a difficult time wording,” Astarion uttered. “Nothing awful, terrible, of course. I wouldn’t dare ruin the company we keep. Sometimes actions are more via–”

The microscopic tilt of Thomasin’s hand shoved the blade deeper against his neck, cutting shallow within the flesh. She was terrified, but couldn’t allow herself to voice it. Every word of his tasted like milk and honey. If only there weren’t gall in his heart and fraud in his deeds.

Astarion gasped and pulled his shoulders upward as though he could make distance between them. “Ah! Easy there. No need to spur a horse going full speed. Listen-”

A huff jut from his nostrils. His eyes closed to shield himself from the consequences. Each sentence raced behind the next, detailing the confession that finally caught up with him. The reason for his comeuppance. 

“You remember that ghastly sight we saw on our walk earlier? That hog . You remember the one, yes? The one with those curious little wounds on his neck.” A weak laugh fluttered out, making the wound sting more. “Exsanguinated. Perhaps… the stories of creatures going bump in the night aren’t entirely as they seem. That-Perhaps… Perhaps! Just maybe, vampire spawn live amongst you just as your peers.”

Astarion opened his eyes to witness her reaction, although it was not as extravagant as he expected. It was quiet contemplation wracked with desires. For mercy. Possible bloodshed to solve it all.

After years of prowling, he was left to his own devices. No masters or gods to tell the elf what to do or how to act. No higher powers to blame. No scripts for the circumstance. No one to pick up the pieces.

“I could have guessed as much,” she finally spoke up. “You lack subtlety, I fear.”

“Look. I won’t be saccharine about all of this. I am not in this state of being out of choice . I-There are powerful people in Baldur’s Gate, you know this. Cazador resides in the high mansions of the city, maintaining his control through slavery. I was only lucky to be plucked from his clutches.” 

The muscles in his face struggled to maintain a calm. His dignity, visibly pained.

She paused, recognizing the name from word of mouth. The rare occasions she associated with the upper echelon, where her escorting brought forth gifts of fresh seafood, fresher furs, and the freshest hearsay. She was suddenly grateful she’d never accepted invitations to the grand castle in the sky.

“Do you survive off animals?” she asked.

“Typically, yes. I’ve existed under strict rules for as long as I’ve been riddled with this disease.” 

He averted his eyes and recalled the list of his master:

“‘First, thou shalt not drink the blood of thinking creatures.

Second, thou shalt obey me in all things.

Third, thou shalt not leave my side unless directed.

Four, thou shalt know that thou art mine.’”

Astarion’s glanced and lit up at the sight of her expression softening.

“Though… quenching my thirst has proven difficult out here, “ he continued. “Every day I grow weaker. It gets more and more difficult to fight beside you all and hide such ailments. Aha… Color me… desperate.” The admission was bitter to taste.

Thomasin unsheathed the blade’s tip and pressed her thumb against Astarion’s wound. The gentle touch did not heal, but rather pondered over the damage. It was a souvenir of who she once was.

Astarion didn’t let his guard down further. He couldn’t. She had no reason to spare him the quickened death of a dagger through his chest. The obvious answer was self-preservation. Yet, she was suddenly tender, despite her weight heavy atop him. He let out a weak laugh. The reality was, he was still alive.

“Vampirism seems to have an odd relationship to the city streets,” Thomasin said. “I came across your kind every so often, but rarely did we speak. I imagine murdering the harlots would put a damper on your ability to blend into flophouses…” She grabbed his jaw, turning his face to assess the gnarled scar on his neck. The trauma of a blistering bite. Under it was an elf he once was. “I suppose part of me wanted to encourage whatever humanity is left inside you.”

“I… Well…” he mumbled, uncertain the comments called for offense or flattery.

“...Did you want to feed off me?”

He inhaled sharp, nodding his head in her clutches. “Yes! Yes, I would, very much so. Not a drop more than you are willing, of course .”

“Will… I turn?”

“No, I am merely a spawn. Transforming you into some thrall isn’t in my…  vampiric wheelhouse.”

Thomsin felt coziness in the unconventional path. Dangers were plentiful and often more perilous than the man sitting before her. What was more indulgent than snake oil? The grey morals that provide true, unfiltered respite. The enticement of taboo relief. A thought that would later morph into regret if she didn’t take the chance. She yearned to finally relax. To finally feel something. Or nothing. Anything.

Although she’d never admit it to herself.

After short deliberation, the half-elf freed Astarion and positioned herself beside him. A shaking hand tucked her weapon back into its sheath. Her knees pulled into her chest. And, as she was about to consent, a noise escaped her throat. A whimper. Biology voicing its disapproval.

“Ah-What should I do?” she whispered.

“Just… let me take the lead. You sit pretty.”

Astarion sat up and gathered what energy he had left. He groaned and articulated his fingers, instructing his limbs to cooperate once more. Gradually, he oriented himself behind her with a slow stalking grace and encouraged her shoulders to rest against his chest.

It was as though a spark livened him. Not a sensation of excitement from pocketing coins or fulfilling lewd fantasies. This felt different. The vampire never had the luxury of an artery so willing and gifted. Wrapped in a bow, so to speak. Yet, he had an epiphany. 

Every fiber of his being had subconsciously prepared itself for another death. His master professed this fate. He could already hear the joyous cackling Cazador would make upon finding his withering starved body in the forest. It was everything he promised upon escape.

Even if he wished to disobey, Astarion had never fed upon a victim nor been taught to. Rodents' bodies were compact, whereas living speaking anatomy had nuance. In fact, he’d only witnessed feasts from a distance with palpable envy. One could recall wounds, but where would be best to bite? How could he ensure she was preserved, leeching life without the inevitable corpse on his hands?

Astarion proceeded to mimic those dining in the halls of his home. The decorum was different, but that wouldn’t matter. The elf proceeded to wrap an arm around her waist for support and gently brushed aside long strands of hair. They ran down her clavicle like a cascading curtain, revealing her neck.

"How much will it hurt?" she asked. 

Seconds went by. No answer. He was enamored by the mere concept of a meal. Stone still, ferality awoke within his brain, although he eventually snapped back into reality. He felt like a starving animal careening toward rats for sustenance. He was.

"It's only a pinch. A nick. Just…” His words trailed off, voice low and heavy. “Just relax yourself against me. I'll keep you steady.”

"What if you go on a count? I breathe in and out a few times?”

“Sure- Yes. Let us count.”

There was impatience in his tone being strangled. The elf was fueled by tunnel vision. Unshackled hedonism. Still, he played along.

“One.” 

“Two.”

And not a syllable more. 

Thomasin’s flesh being punctured felt like the hissing of an unkempt fire. Dried kindling snapping and sparking against moisture in the air. She yelped. The wound in her neck pulsated in a way she'd never experienced, uncomfortable and siphoned. Excitement of the unknown had all but culminated into panic.

But, if there was one about the half-elf, it was that she was stubborn. Her nails dug into his shirt, pawing at the linens for his cold embrace. They searched for any semblance of safety. Through creases and cuffed folds, they landed at his wrist and etched a codex into his skin.

Astarion's body began to writhe against her in pure intoxication. With his hand guiding her head, he rose to a kneeling position, fulling taking control of the dance macabre. The footwork proved messy, but style was far from his mind. Never had the finer tastes in life been so abundant. Every sense was sharpening. Every emotion, ecstatic. 

The elf’s eyes had nearly glazed over until a pain brought him back. It was Thomasin’s nails. He realized her composure was crumbling.

"Keep counting, love,” he managed through a tongue coated in the blackened blood pooling at his lips.

Diving back into her neck once more, Thomasin finally let go. The pain that once seized her neutralized. What now resided was a bloodless calm. Their hearts raced at uneven beats, momentarily syncing until they passed one another. Hers slowing whilst his engorged with borrowed life. He ventured into an aggravated fervor at the expense of a bard’s descent into the dirt. The oozing ebb and flow of building delirium. An amalgamation of every misstep and the bottles of whiskey that couldn’t quite wrap them in creature comforts.

She did as she was told and crept into a languid submission, head rolling any way his body contorted hers. 

Back to counting. 

Two. Three. Four.

The numbers coinciding felt more like concepts than measurements.

Five. Six. Seven.

Internal dialogues began to devolve. Abstraction. It washed over her. Abrupt and startling like tumbling into a cold lake. Although its cool waters rejuvenated where her soil never knew rain. Repose began to blossom.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

Thomasin clutched onto him as a safety net. She ran her fingers along his shirt. They trailed over every stitch, discovering mending he’d sewn by hand. Bumps and valleys. 

By now, the sounds of his neglected appetite were fading into the ether. Numbers had lost meaning and she had to find new ways to remain grounded. First, it was the threads. Then, the slowing repetition of her heartbeat. They were the last ways of documenting how unsubstantial seconds passed by.

Time was trivial in the face of the physical.

Sensations lured her forward with warm euphoric dreams and brighter visions of the past. For a moment, she couldn’t identify the emotion heavy in her chest. Whether they were death’s temptation. But it wasn’t long before she realized they weren’t all acidic.

They were shades of colored wax she used to liven monochromatic children’s books. They were the light noise of tin cans tickling your ears as they clinked down cobblestone walkways. The mythical society of dust particles floating indefinitely against a window’s evening light. The stray fuzzy knits of her favorite sweater and the lingering scent of perfume from hugging close friends. 

They were the protective glow from oil street lamps guiding her way home. The giggling and tingles of bubbles popping from steins of beer. Fogged mirrors from steaming rooms with a hot bath and the way sounds muffled when sunken into a wooden tub. Stories told under the covers, fairytales to romantic confessions, until everyone fell asleep to dwindling candlelight.

These all lived in a hypothetical mist that rolled in. More of a fog, like those she experienced during her childhood winters in the Dales. How she’d begun the exchange with Astarion was unimportant. Details melted into something viscous. Consumed how the two had even met. 

Her fingers were still moving as far as she could understand. The atmosphere felt heavy against their journey, but they operated as their own entities. Their coordination, unsteady, persisted out of habit. The stripped down basics. 

Repetitive motion. Color. Air. Pressure. Darkness. Enveloping darkness.

“Stop,” she mumbled. “Please.” Words seemed warped from her lips, unsure she had even spoken them aloud. They felt incorporeal.

Hunched over her, Astarion was coursing with vitality he’d didn’t know how to tolerate. His fangs were hooked and mania was the only voice in his head. It wasn’t until he noticed her shallow gasps of air in his arms. How her muscles no longer fought against him. The desire to simply finish her screamed at him, but he found the strength to pull himself off. 

The elf’s grin framed his pointed teeth in their glory. He chuckled in his daze, unsure if her pathetic grasp for life were to be laughed at or pitied. She was food. An object. For once, he didn’t share that feeling. 

Astarion scoot back to let her head rest in his lap so he could revel in his dinner. Although, his fantasies couldn’t help be bombarded with the reality of her death on his hands. It all conflicted. Anxieties had been buffered by his bloodied delectation.

He slapped her cheek twice, printing her blood against her flesh in a hasty spattering. 

"C'mon. You haven’t lost that much.”

To no avail, the elf snapped his fingers over her shut eyes. He jostled her side to side. Pressed his hand against her neck, hoping to calm the flow unleashed. Soon, he noticed thin ribbons of red staining both of their clothes and caught himself staring  at the blood wet between his fingers.

“Wake. Up. Don’t make me start asking gods for favors.”

Despite a faint pulsing thump against his hand, her responses were absent. Even looking at her made him uneasy. He wondered if holding his gaze for too long would unlock parallels between him and this random young woman. A thought that would anger him if not for being appeased by his leeching. 

Suddenly, he considered her backpack and yanked it to his side, digging around for anything of use. He needed to stop the escalation. A potion. A salve. A deity with a worrying sense of humor.  

Within, a diamond shaped bottle glittered. One he recognized. It was commonly consumed among mortals for hangovers, bar fights, or the lucky escape from an owlbear. The concoction healed minor injuries and illnesses in a foul swoop. Thomasin’s sickness was more dire than half a bottle, but it was still a victory to toast to.

Astarion tucked a pillow between his thigh and her head to create elevation. And, with a gentle tug by the pad of his thumb, he lowered her bottom lip. Its glittering elixir slowly but surely ran down her throat.  

“Aha, wonderful. There you go. Watch your pretty little head.”

It took a minute or so, but Thomasin’s eyes finally flickered open. She had been unceremoniously thrown back into the realm of the living, where she lay in a veil of crimson strewn across her face. The land smelled of iron much richer than she remembered. But, her comprehension of her surroundings faltered.

“Do you know how irritating these stains are going to be to get out?” Astarion said, taunting her, egging her on to get a reaction. 

Thomasin’s body suddenly flinched. A ragged titter. The half-elf was at least somewhat responsive.

“Wasn’t it wonderful though?,” she whispered, nearly inaudible. 

Astarion’s ears perked up. Crisis had been averted. He was prompt to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the remaining evidence of bloodletting. With fresh water from her canteen, he soaked the fabric swatch and grazed it over her shoulders, chest, and neck. It wiped away what streamed down her arms. What dripped down her back. A courtesy of aftercare, wringing the tainted water into a bowl between each cleaning. 

Once she acknowledged she, too, was alive, she resigned herself to slumber. His touch was oddly gentle. Comforting. The mindless task allowed him to think clearly for the first in centuries. Although he was unsure what to do with said thoughts. Knowing what he was feeling had become impossible over the years. Trusting them, even more so.

The longer he studied her face, the more he considered it helped repress the urge to kill. It forced him to humanize his prey. A concept he wasn’t privy to. A new novelty. 

The elf ran his hand along her cheeks and admired her freckles through backhanded compliments not spoken aloud. He traced along the thick scar across her nose, pressing into the curl of her lashes to reveal her blinded eye, and conjured stories of how it came to be. Then, his trail took him up. The space where her fringe often fell and covered her forehead. 

Right atop her brow, a tattoo had been intentionally hidden. The pattern consisted of four shapes laid in a row, overlapping one another in mashed thieves cant. Its black ink had faded. Damage that could only come from years of sun and forcible scrubbing.

“Everyone in Baldur’s Gate is owned by someone,” he mumbled, twisting his head every which way to decipher the tattoo’s meaning.

Eventually, he grew bored of solving her mysteries and situated himself in the corner of her tent. From the sullied water bowl, he wiped his own face with a dampened cloth, sneaking self-indulgent licks of what was left on his forearms. Only then did he notice he was shaking. 

But the only person that could judge him was comatose. Her chest gently rose and fell with each rickety breath, but she would awake in the morning. For now, he'd keep an eye on her. What if she choked in her sleep? Stopped breathing altogether? He would be blamed.

It wasn’t difficult to busy himself in the confines of her tent. He was used to much more unwelcoming atmospheres where dangers lurked. Threats much more vile than him. 

As he rid of incriminating stains, the water bowl grew dark and rich. What the elf had cobbled together was a fine wine of his own. Stealing an empty glass bottle, he began to store the liquid away for a rainy day. A treat for later.

Even engulfed in his usual unease, he couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe it was amusement. Maybe fatigue like before. Disbelief, even.

One thing was certain.

By the gods, he was rightfully fed. 

[sgiandubh]

Jottings: Season 7, Episode 2. Nothing compares to them

A tiny, but welcome disclaimer: I have not read all the OL books yet, so do not expect witty repartees and connecting the dots with the current book follow-up by the series. In fact, I am still struggling right now with Voyager, after I gave a resolute middle finger and an excruciating amount of time to Dragonfly in Amber, which bored me to death with its sketchy depiction of eighteenth-century Paris. Unpopular opinion, I know: I can't help it, since I consider Paris, for many personal reasons, as my second, beloved home.

There go my two cents, with little to no spoilers. There is much to savor in there:

I thought I couldn't bear to watch one more single time Sinéad O'Connor's rendition of ye olde Skye Boat Song. I was wrong. I think it is exactly what this season needs: a bit bruised & battered & breathless. The perfect tinge of rough around the edges. This is no walk in the park and hers is the right cue, setting the tone for all the rest.

Vlachos. Excellent. Loved every second of it.

I suppose everybody will talk about the Look Jamie gave Claire right after Insufferable Bree gives birth to wee Mandy. I cackled all by myself, which is not even surprising. And so will you, Shippers United. Mark me.

SS upgraded a bit her game, to the extent she doesn't sound all the time like reciting United Airlines' flight schedule. She and Rankin finally manage to pull off a decent rapport (chemistry will always be at a deep-frozen 0). So, rejoice: at least they don't look like the mean troop leader forced them to share the same tent at Camp Sunrise. It's all fine and dandy, until she relaxes and slips back into that horrific, East Coast wannabe accent. Sorry, not sorry.

Did Lizzie say ”Fraser's Fridge”, when reading the birth announcement, or am I hearing things again? Now that's an earworm, sheesh...

Vandervaart looks promising enough, but what do I know, after a two-minutes scene with SS? Court is adjourned.

LJG & JAMMF, what a powerful, ambiguous, elegant scene. Tension is mounting, and this is when you crack open the Netflix & Chill'd ice cream bucket. It will come in handy, trust me.

The fireflies' scene was the death of me. There is something extraordinary about S's superb ability to speak volumes without uttering a single word. There is so much love and such despair to capture Bree's face, Bree's voice, Bree's alien joy when she mentions damn Mickey Mouse, and keep them forever. Did I ugly cry? I let out a sincere Fuuuuuck and couldn't help it. This is when the box of tissues came in handy, and you know, damn the consequences.

Dear (?) Diana Gabaldon: GET THAT WONDERFUL MAN THROUGH THE STONES, WHERE THERE'S PENICILLIN AND A HOT BATH AND A HIGHER AVERAGE LIFE EXPECTANCY, STAT.

Yeah, sure. She missed that point five seasons ago, why do I even bother?

Spoiler: "What was it like.... there? It was.... magical". BOOO-HOOO-HOOO (I have no qualms).

Jeremiah's wooden toy plane in the streets of Wilmington and then the real thing across the sky, just after the little family gets through the stones. Clever reminder of that plane landing in Boston, with Claire, Bree and TMcG... ho-hum ... Frank Randall, after Culloden.

And finally, since I would really like to let you enjoy the wonderful last quarter of it, Jamie and Claire. That unspeakable tenderness that keeps us all completely spellbound. This is S&C acting, how could it be otherwise: and splendid, at that. But their acting, since that chemistry test, is informed by clear, present, deep feelings. We know. They know we know.

And they got their mojo back. I always hoped and prayed they will go out with a bang, not a fizzle. And it seems I was right. Fingers crossed. I trust them and, as always, I trust my gut.

[tomicaleto]

All the prompts sound sooo good, but I'm going to ask you for your take on the "best friends sibling au" for Obikin?? I looove that concept

Vel, I apologise for how long this took me! I promise each day I didn't answer I was haunted by this prompt kshlgdjsgs Now for real I struggled to come up with an au to fill this one (mostly I struggled on who was going to be the sibling and such) and then once I came up with one I took too long writing it because I'm a human disaster but here it is!

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I'LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

21. best friends sibling au

I hope you like this! This is an Argentine AU, with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan being brothers and Anakin being Qui-Gon's best friend. Unedited because I wanted to share it with you :) Also what a coincidence that I'm posting this at the beginning of July because:

Obi-Wan walked through Ezeiza’s airport shiny floors, his stroller behind him as he searched for his brother. The morning was cloudy and windy, a combination that fit the beginning of July perfectly and made him let out a sigh of relief at being back to the season his body was used to during the middle of the year. 

“There you are,” Qui-Gon’s voice made him look behind him. His brother was holding a little board with Obi-Wan’s name just like a cliché from a movie. He even seemed amused by the fact, as if he couldn’t believe himself that he was doing it. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but there was something about the way the board was decorated, with small spaceships and planes surrounding Obi-Wan’s name that spoke of a story for it that made Obi-Wan curious enough. “I was afraid your flight had been delayed. Come along, I have my car parked outside.” 

They caught up as Qui-Gon put Obi-Wan’s luggage in the trunk, and as they drove away from Ezeiza, the highway thankfully was not full. “We can’t be late, I have a previous arrangement.” Qui-Gon had explained. 

“And what that arrangement may be?” Obi-Wan teased, a smirk on his face as his brother huffed a chuckle and changed lanes. “Has your husband finally decided to be a romantic?” “We both know Dooku would never.” Qui-Gon shot back. “No, Anakin is coming over today and I want everything ready before he arrives.” 

The name sparked something inside Obi-Wan. “You still meet with him?” Anakin had been Qui-Gon’s student when he was in high school and they had bonded over the subject Qui-Gon had taught back then. As he grew up, he often kept visiting the man even after graduating, seeking advice and comfort. Eventually, a friendship had been established, with Qui-Gon often inviting Anakin for tea while he studied in university. Both Obi-Wan and Dooku had been dubious about their strange friendship, but Qui-Gon had always been great at ignoring everyone and doing whatever he wanted and it seemed like Anakin had benefited greatly from Qui-Gon’s guidance. 

“Even more now than before, his kids love colouring with me.” 

“He has kids now?” Obi-Wan had met Anakin eventually, and had understood why his brother had taken him under his wing. Temperamental and moody, the then nineteen-year-old seemed to soften under Qui-Gon’s calm demeanor. And in turn, it seemed like Qui-Gon rejoiced in sharing conversation with someone that matched his interests in mechanics and engineering. He may have enjoyed talking literature with his husband and philosophy with his brother, but Anakin also provided Qui-Gon with something related to his own field of study. 

“Yes, he got married two years ago. Sadly, his wife passed away during childbirth. I don’t think being a single father so young must be easy so I’ve been offering extra support.” “Only extra?” Obi-Wan wondered. “Is he getting help from somewhere else?” “Of course, his stepbrother took him back in when rent became too expensive and I think he has a cousin that babysits here and there.” Qui-Gon explained. “The children also go to kindergarten and swimming class. And of course, they come to play sometimes.” 

Obi-Wan thought back to the cardboard decorations back in the airport, it all made sense now. “It’s wild to think about Anakin with children and a life now.” 

Qui-Gon didn’t answer, just chuckled and nodded. 

—

The bell rang as Qui-Gon turned off the gas and dropped the water into the thermos. “That must be Anakin, can you let him in?” 

Obi-Wan got up from the stool he was sitting in and let Qui-Gon grab the yerba and the mate. 

He heard childish voices from the other side of the door, among a much deeper one answering, and checked the peephole by reflex before opening.

“Hi, Anakin, it’s been a while,” he began, as the man looked up from his children and blinked confusedly at him. The two kids at both of his sides had fallen quiet at the sight of Obi-Wan, most likely shy at the new stranger. 

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, unsure like Obi-Wan had never heard him before. 

“In the flesh,” he answered, opening the door wider and gesturing with his free arm. “Please come inside, I don’t want you three to get cold. Qui-Gon is inside.” 

Anakin looked down at his children, who were gripping his pants like their life depended on it. “Come on, say hi like I taught you.” 

“Oh there is no need—” He didn’t even get to finish the phrase, the kids had already slipped by him without a word. Anakin sighed and shook his head, before letting himself inside too. 

“I’m sorry, we're working on being polite with people they are not familiar with.” He explained, taking off his coat. “It’s taking a while.” Obi-Wan laughed good naturedly. “We all go through that stage, I refused to kiss my aunts hello for years! My mother did not appreciate it at all.” 

Anakin answered with a small smile and it tugged at Obi-Wan’s heart. He remembered Anakin at nineteen. He had had more baby fat on his cheeks then, but even at that time, he had been a gorgeous young man. He was sure Qui-Gon had tried to play matchmaker but it had come to nothing. While admitting Anakin was beautiful had not been particularly hard, Obi-Wan had refused to act on his attraction, their age difference something he worried about. People already commented on Qui-Gon and Anakin’s friendship to add a wild romance with the remaining brother to the mix. 

He had grown taller in the years that had passed. His hair now fell in wild curls to his shoulders and his features had become more refined, though Obi-Wan did not miss the deeper bags under his eyes, probably a result of being a single parent of twins. 

“Give me a second and I’ll be polite myself,” Anakin teased, before putting a hand next to his mouth and loudly saying: “Luke! Leia! Come and get your coats off before bothering Qui-Gon!” 

Obi-Wan heard twin groans before the pitter-patter of their feet running towards the door again. Anakin rolled his eyes at Obi-Wan with a complicit smile before kneeling down and catching the first kid in his arms as he crashed against his body. “Hi, Luke, let’s take this off so you can go play, alright?” 

The boy nodded eagerly and hummed under his breath as his father helped him out. His sister had arrived in the meantime, and she was looking up at Obi-Wan less fearfully now. Obi-Wan smiled and exclaimed “Hello there!” She startled a bit and stayed quiet, until his father turned to look at her. “What do we say, Leia?” With the tiniest voice, she waved back as she said: “Hi!” before quickly hiding her hands behind her again. By that time, Anakin had finished with Luke and gestured to her to get closer. Luke stayed standing close to his father, not looking up at Obi-Wan at all. 

“Now, Luke, it’s your turn.” The kid shook his head and pouted. Anakin frowned but didn’t turn towards him, instead keeping his focus on Leia. “Come on, he won’t bite you.” The second push didn’t work either. Obi-Wan was about to tell Anakin that, really, he did not mind the children ignoring him but Anakin was faster. “You don’t want to make Qui-Gon’s brother sad, do you?” It worked like a magic spell. Both kids looked at Obi-Wan, the new information piquing their curiosity. And then, hiding a bit more behind his father, Luke said “Hi.” 

“Hello, Luke, nice to meet you.” Considering the niceties done, the kids turned and left for the kitchen where Qui-Gon still was. Anakin got up and smiled at Obi-Wan again. “We’ll work on the kisses next time.” 

–

Heavy rain poured down making anything hard to be seen. With that in mind, Obi-Wan drove with special care, even when the streets were almost empty. As he stopped at a red light, movement on the sidewalk caught his attention. Two kids were jumping around in heavy raincoats, uncaring about the rain or the cold weather. A couple of steps behind them, their parent held two colourful umbrellas over a curly haired head, taking advantage of the children’s eagerness to play. 

Could someone be embarrassed from recognising someone by their hair? Obi-Wan pondered about it as he lowered the right car window and leaned over to scream “Anakin!,” making the man turn around and almost drop one of his children’s umbrellas when trying to wave at him. “Do you need a ride?”

Five minutes later, he had two kids in his backseat, soaking the seats while cheerfully arguing on how to put on their seatbelts. Anakin had thanked him profusely before he told Obi-Wan where to go and focused on calming down his children. 

The kids had loosened up around Obi-Wan since that first meeting at Qui-Gon’s. It had helped that Obi-Wan had been there the other two times Anakin had dropped by and that his colouring skills had been deemed appropriate for the twins. 

“You must stay for a coffee after that favour, Obi-Wan,” Anakin told him as they stopped in front of a building’s glass door. Behind them, the twins cheered at Anakin’s proposal and Obi-Wan sighed. 

“Only a coffee, I don’t want to impose.” –

Anakin’s apartment was much tidier than what Obi-Wan would have expected from a single man living with two young children, but then again, Anakin had always been neat in his own spaces when he wasn’t in the middle of an exam period. 

Luke and Leia scrambled away, probably hiding in their room, as Anakin led him towards the kitchen and made him sit on a stool. He began setting the coffee machine up while humming under his breath and Obi-Wan relaxed against the wall. 

“This place is lovely, Anakin,” Obi-Wan commented, signalling for one sugar when Anakin showed him the sugar can. 

“All thanks to Padmé,” Anakin shrugged. “I mean, we chose the decoration and furniture together but she was the one with enough money to actually find us a place to buy instead of renting.” Qui-Gon had filled Obi-Wan in regarding Anakin’s dead wife situation so he could avoid messing up when talking with the man but he hadn’t expected Anakin to so casually bring her up. 

At his silence, Anakin turned and quickly deduced what had quietened Obi-Wan. He smiled sadly. “Qui-Gon told you about Padmé, I see. I miss her dearly but I’ve been working through it with my therapist.” He turned around to grab two small mugs and continued. “Don’t tell Qui-Gon, though, I’m not ready to admit to him that I’m going yet.” 

“I don’t think he would judge you, he’s your friend, after all.” Obi-Wan jumped in to defend his brother. 

“Oh, I know, it’s just that I still can’t believe it myself so I need a bit more time.” 

They moved on from that as Anakin made them move towards the sitting room. Obi-Wan told Anakin about some of his trips, and he in turn filled the holes in Qui-Gon’s retell of their shared history since Obi-Wan had left. 

“You know,” Anakin began casually, staring out the huge window where rain still fell with fury. “I used to have a huge crush on you when I was younger.” 

He side-glanced at Obi-Wan to gauge his reaction. And for a moment, Obi-Wan was not a much older man drinking coffee with his own brother’s much younger friend, but a single, lonely man who had returned to his home country because he missed it and had a gorgeous man saying he used to like him so long ago. 

So, as any sensible person would do, he choked on his coffee and had to cough for a while as Anakin chuckled at his misery. It took him several minutes to compose himself, straightening up as Anakin gently patted his back. He took a deep breath and then risked another sip of what remained of his coffee before turning towards Anakin again. “Used to?”

Anakin’s eyes widened as Obi-Wan realised what he had actually said. Blushing, he clumsily thrust the almost empty cup into Anakin’s hands and stood up. “Well, I have overstayed my welcome, I need to go back home, Qui-Gon must be waiting for me and…” “Obi-Wan,” Anakin interrupted his tirade of excuses, standing up as well. “If you’re interested we can…” He paused, unsure on how to continue. “I mean, that is to say, maybe we could actually go out, uh, for a drink?” 

He cringed at himself and looked down towards the cup. “I mean, nevermind, I didn’t actually….” “I would like that.” Obi-Wan cut him off. “I always thought your relationship with Qui-Gon was a bit strange.” He began, doing his best to ignore how Anakin cringed again at his words. “But he always told me I would have to get to know you before making my opinion. And seeing your bond remain after all these years, even becoming stronger with your children… I think I may enjoy getting to actually know you, Anakin.” 

Anakin finally looked up at that, cheeks pink but an earnest smile on his lips. They stared at each other and then Anakin handed him back his cup. “You still have to finish your coffee, why don’t we start now?” 

[kckt88]

Gēlenka Zaldrīzes III.

Summary:

Events of Dynasty through Aemond's POV.

Warning(s): Grief, Worry, Anger, Threats of Violence, Mention of Child Loss, Mentions of Sex, Child Birth, Blood.

Word Count: 3100.

Author Note: A companion piece to Courtship/Wedding & Consummation/Bath Time/Arrival(s)/Mother & Father/Petitions & Final Tributes/The Hand, The King & The Dragon/Dragonstone/Blood & Cheese/A Time for Grief/ Rooks Rest & the Silver King/The Gullet/Taking of a City/Harrenhal and the Rivers/The Gods Eye/The Fallen Queen/New Beginnings/Ravenous/Don't Leave Me/Another Plane of Existence/Gēlenka Zaldrīzes I & Gēlenka Zaldrīzes II.

But can be read as a one-shot.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

Aemond was staring at Vaera like she had three heads.

His sweet wife, who was heavy with their child, had just decided to inform him that she had beseeched the King for clemency on behalf of her bastard brother Jacaerys.

“He doesn’t deserve one single ounce of your kindness”.

“Nothing will ever change my love, not unless we are the ones who are willing to make those changes” whispered Vaera as she pressed her face against his chest.

“But he-“

“-Please Valzȳrys. My term is almost upon us, and I want to rejoice in the birth of our child, not spend it inciting another war” replied Vaera (Husband).

“Like the bastard could muster up anyone to support his cause” muttered Aemond rolling his eye.

“Cregan Stark would and with him the rest of the North would follow” whispered Vaera.

“Pfft, the Lord of Winterfell is of little concern to me”.

“He swore an oath to my mother, the Stark’s are honourable men” said Vaera quietly as she fiddled with a buckle on his tunic.

“I’ll introduce him to Vhagar, let’s see how honourable the northern dog is then”.

“Cregan Stark is of no concern, now that Jace has bent the knee” muttered Vaera.

“He what?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Aegon the younger and Viserys were offered in exchange”.

“Has my brother lost his wits” gasped Aemond.

“What other fate could have befallen the boys? They are but children, innocent of their parents crimes”.

“Children who will grown into men” whispered Aemond.

“Aegon also granted Jace possession of Dragonstone”.

“The ancestral seat of house Targaryen has the wine finally addled his brain?” asked Aemond.

“Jace needs somewhere to live, or would you rather have him here in the Red Keep?”

“I’d rather chew glass” quipped Aemond.

“Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but we must accept it” breathed Vaera.

“Why do I feel like there’s something else you need to tell me?”

“Jace has asked that the King legitimize Cregan Stark’s younger sister Sara-” said Vaera.

“-And the point of that is?” asked Aemond.

“Surely, you’ve heard the rumours my love. Sara Snow is currently with child”.

“Bastards producing more bastards. Not exactly the sort of palace gossip I keep up to date with. I couldn’t give one single shit about where your brother sticks his cock” said Aemond.

“Aegon wanted Jace to bend the knee and he has. He’s been made aware of the consequences if he dares to entertain even the briefest of notions about reclaiming the Iron Throne. Aegon and Viserys will be executed in front of him” replied Vaera.

“I still don’t like it. My brother should just execute the lot of them and be done with it”.

“I’m tired of all the death Aemond, I just want to be at peace with our children” said Vaera.

Aemond knew he was fighting a losing battle.

Deep down he wanted exactly what his wife wanted. The war had taken so much from them, and he just wanted to look to the future.

But before that could happen there was still much to be done.

Reconstituting the council had been an arduous task, but somehow Aegon had managed it. Of course, having two of the largest dragons in the world in his corner helped to move things along.

But Aegon ruffled a few feathers, when he named Aemond as Hand of the King, Vaera his Mistress of Laws and offered Jeyne Arryn a place on the council.

Of course his generosity with Jacaerys didn't go down to well either, there were those that believed Rhaenyra's last strong bastard should be cast to the winds and exiled across the narrow sea with his bastard wife and offspring. But Aegon was unmoved and many on the council chastised the King being too soft hearted.

Clearly Aegon wasn’t finished with his little revelations as he had refused point blank to take another wife and sire anymore children and he also casually announced to his entire council that he was naming Rhaegar as heir to the Iron Throne and betrothing him to his daughter Jaehaera.

He had planned on having an official ceremony, but that would have to wait as Vaera had begun her labours.

Aemond hated seeing his wife in pain.

It made his heartbreak to know there wasn’t anything he could do.

“I-I can’t do this,” cried Vaera.

“Yes, you can” exclaimed Aemond as he climbed onto the bed at sat behind Vaera.

“W-What are you doing?” muttered Vaera.

“Lean against me and take my hands” urged Aemond as he pulled Vaera between his open legs.

“A-Aemond” gasped Vaera.

“Now, you squeeze my hands as hard as you like” said Aemond.

Vaera was sweaty and exhausted, but she took a deep breath and as the next contraction ripped across her stomach, she pushed.

“FUCK!”

"Keep going my sweet you’re doing great" said Aemond.

"I'M GOING TO CUT YOUR COCK OFF!" screamed Vaera.

"Oh, my love, surely you don't mean that".

"I do. This is ALL your fault,” cried Vaera.

"Another push Princess" 

“I swear if you say push one more time. I'll feed you too my Cannibal” snarled Vaera.

“The head is out Princess, but I need you to stop pushing. The cord is wrapped around the babe’s neck” exclaimed Maester Munkun.

“W-What” cried Vaera in alarm.

“It’s ok. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys. Just breathe” said Aemond (My sweet wife).

After a few moments, the Maester had managed to cut the cord from the babe’s neck and with a wet squelch the babe arrived.

But the room was silent.

“M-My babe?” asked Vaera her hands raised in expectation of receiving her babe.

“Just a moment” replied Maester Munkun as the babe was lifted off the bed.

“What’s happening?” yelled Vaera, her hands still grasping endlessly for her babe.

“Why is the babe not crying? What’s happening?” exclaimed Aemond.

“Aemond” sobbed Vaera, her entire body shaking.

But Aemond could only sit in silence as he watched the Maester try to save his newly born babe.

Vaera began wailing loudly in anguish, as the seconds passed.

Aemond’s heart was in his throat as the Maester did everything he could to stimulate the silent babe.

“No. Please. Don’t take my babe. Not again. I can’t lose another babe” sobbed Vaera.

Aemond buried his face in Vaera’s shoulder as he tried to stop the tears from flowing down his cheeks.

The wait was agony. His babe unmoving and lifeless in the arms of the Maester.

But then the sweetest sound in the world echoed around the room.

A loud shrieking cry.

“A daughter” declared the Maester.

Vaera all but snatched the crying babe away from Maester Munkun and sobbed.

“T-Thank you Maester” breathed Vaera, the tears streaming down her face.

“Your welcome Princess” replied Maester Munkun.

“S-She’s ok. Aemond, look” gasped Vaera.

Aemond let out a sob of relief as he gazed at his squalling daughter.

“My daughter. She’s ok. She’s alive. Thank the gods” gasped Aemond.

“She’s beautiful” cried Vaera as she stroked her daughter’s head.

“What shall we call her?” asked Aemond.

“Vharla” whispered Vaera.

“A-After my dragon?”

“I know how much Vhagar means too you and I wish to honour your old girl” replied Vaera.

Aemond’s heart burst with pride.

“So perfect” whispered Vaera.

“I’m so proud of you Issa prūmia” (my heart).

“I love you” muttered Vaera.

“-And I love you. My sweet perfect wife.” praised Aemond as he nuzzled Vaera’s neck.

“Would you like you hold your daughter?”

“Please” whispered Aemond as he manoeuvred himself away from Vaera and climbed off the bed.

Their daughter. They’d almost lost her. But she’s here. She’s safe.

Nestled in her father’s arms, Vharla had opened her eyes and Aemond’s heart stopped.

Those eyes. The colour of dark amethyst.

Exactly like her big brother’s.

She had Aemon’s eyes.

Their next babe, a boy named Caelan in honour of the Cannibal arrived in the world with relative ease, according to Aemond anyway.

As soon as he was delivered, the boy cried so loud that Aemond was sure the entire population of Kings Landing could hear him.

Caelan was such an easy babe, he slept and remained content as long as he was fed, warm and kept entertained.

He seemed to have developed a fascination with Rhaegar and would only sleep if his older brother was close by.

Which of course made Rhaegar feel special.

Vharla of course was indifferent and didn’t care for the drooling stinker she had to call brother.

Given they were so close in age, you’d think that they would get along, but sadly they didn’t as Vharla preferred to spend time with her grandmother most days.

Aegar’s birth however now that was eventful.

Vaera had gone beyond her term and there were some concerns expressed by the Maester’s over the health of both mother and babe, but Vaera remained steadfast in her view that the boy would simply come when he was ready.

Of course, doing things to help him along wasn’t an issue either as Aemond regularly found himself pressed against the bed as his wife rode him like a dragon.

Not that he minded at all, any excuse to stick his cock inside his wife was good enough for him.

On the day of Aegar’s birth, Vaera had been attending a council meeting with Aegon over some new tax laws that he wanted to implement. The other council members were not required to attend which in hindsight was probably a good thing.

Vaera had been experiencing pain on and off for most of the morning, but nothing seemed to progress, until of course she heard the splash of her water’s breaking and not even an hour later, Vaera was perched on the council table as she gave birth.

With no time to summon the Maester’s or midwives, Aegon had to be the one to support Vaera through the pain and ultimately help deliver the babe.

Upon his return from flying with Vhagar, Aemond was racing to the council chambers, to be greeted by the sounds of a crying babe.

Aemond would never forget the look on his older brother’s face as he leant against the wall, his hands shaking and his face much paler than usual.

Aegon admittedly saw more of Vaera that day than he ever wanted too.

But in the spirit of names, Vaera decided to honour her good brother, and named the babe Aegar.

Aegon was so unbelievably happy that he threw a celebration so grand that he was still recovering from the effects of the wine that he’d consumed almost a week later.

Maella was the next babe to be born, she didn’t cry at all. Not even when she was born, she was such a quite little thing, that Aemond often had to put his hand on her to make sure she was breathing.

Even though she was almost six name days older, Vharla had more of a positive opinion of her little sister, she didn't refer to her as drooling stinker which was quite positive.

Now she wasn’t the only girl, and it pleased her immensely.

Rhaegar as the oldest took it in his stride, another member of the family to love and cherish.

As much as he would join his father in his training sessions, he would also spend time with his mother and help take care of the newest babe.

He would spend hours sitting by Maella’s cradle, reading to her, and telling her about Aemon.

When Aemon had died, Rhaegar had only been two name days old, but he remembered his brother so vividly, that it was almost like he was still here.

Caelan of course followed Rhaegar everywhere, idolising his older brother and Aegar just liked to dig around in the gardens looking for bugs.

Which kept both Aemond and Vaera on their toes as more than once he tried to eat them.

Jaerys was the next babe too arrive, born in the middle of one of the worst storms that Kings Landing had ever seen.

Which of course Vaera attributed to his fearsome nature. Even on the day he was born, it always seemed like he had this perpetual scowl on his face that never seemed to go way unless he was with his grandmother.

He definitely had a soft spot for her, and he would often be found sitting beside her as she told him stories and taught him how to braid hair.

Alicent loved all her grandchildren, but she definitely had a soft spot for Jaerys.

Aemond and Vaera had believed Jaerys was their last babe, but after a nightly dragon flight, a ravenous husband and a lapse in memory over taking moontea, Vaera was with child again.

Aegon of course made sure his brother knew that the people of Kings Landing were raising their cups, in celebration of his virility and his wife’s fertility.

Aemond of course had to resist the urge to punch his brother in the face, after he told him.

As with the other births, Aemond naturally assumed this one would go just as well.

How wrong he was.

After Vaera had surprised him and birth another set of twins, she began to bleed heavily.

It began flowing out of her like a river, spilling in every direction.

The Maester’s worked frantically, trying to save her and whilst they were successful, Vaera had slipped into a coma.

For almost thirteen name days, Vaera had been a constant presence in his life, and to suddenly not have her there anymore, he felt lost.

As each day passed and Vaera still didn’t wake up, Aemond could feel himself slowly dying inside.

He was nothing without her. He needed her like he needed the air to breathe.

Aemond knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He shut himself off and spent hours at Vaera’s bedside praying to any god that was listening.

“Please come back to me my love”.

Yet she remained unmoved, her chest rising up and down slowly. Her eyes firmly shut.

He was afraid that they would never open.

What would he tell their children?

How could he go on living if she didn’t make it?

A world without her didn’t make sense.

For three weeks, Vaera remained unresponsive.

The Maester’s had said that the longer she remained in such a state, she wasn’t likely to wake up.

Aemond despaired at the news.

He was going to lose her. His sweet wife. The love of his life. His twin flame.

At some point in the night, he’d laid on the bed next to her and pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

He begged her to come back. But still she slept, at some point he’d fallen asleep, his hand clasping hers.

Every night it was the same dream, and every morning it was the same nightmare.

But this night, something moved against his hand, and he jerked awake.

Aemond stared in shock as Vaera’s fingers were moving.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then Vaera’s eyes began to flutter.

“V-Vaera” exclaimed Aemond.

Is she waking up? That’s it my sweet. Come back to me. You can do it.

“Vaera. Issa dōna ābrazȳrys” gasped Aemond (My sweet wife).

“A-A-Ae-m-mond” stuttered Vaera as she finally opened her eyes.

“I’m here my love. I’m here” whispered Aemond.

After being in a coma for three weeks, it took Vaera some time to fully recover.

She told Aemond about her experience whilst she was in the coma, and it fascinated him to no end.

Especially when she told him that Rhaegar would become King just after his eighteenth name day.

The gods had certainly given Vaera a gift, and she had thanked them for it every day since.

It was a phenomenon that Aemond couldn’t even begin to understand or explain, but they had both decided to keep it between the two of them.

Especially when she told him of Aemon and Helaena.

Despite the circumstances, she had briefly held their precious first born in her arms once more and Aemond knew in his heart that it was his son and sweet sister that had sent Vaera back to him.

Even though Aemond protested wholeheartedly, Vaera resumed her place on the council as Mistress of Laws three moons after she’d woke from her coma.

Saeryna and Daenys were growing fast, and soon they would be reaching their first name day.

It took a little while for Vaera to fully bond with her twin daughters, but they eventually got the hang of it, and now they would crawl after their mother as fast as they could, giggling sweetly.

Aemond watched with a smile as his wife was surrounded by their children, this was everything she’d ever wanted.

During her childhood, she’d been so lonely and Vaera never wanted that for any of their children.

This was a family they’d created and none of their children would suffer as they did.

“Marry me” whispered Aemond.

“We’re already married” replied Vaera.

“In the tradition of our house. Let us bind our blood as our ancestors once did” said Aemond.

“Who’s going to marry us?” asked Vaera.

“I’ve asked Aegon, as anyone who can speak high Valyrian can wed us” said Aemond.

“Ser Criston and my mother will serve as witnesses” said Aemond.

“Where will the ceremony take place?”

“In front of Balerion’s skull. The children will also be in attendance” said Aemond.

“You seem to have given this some thought”.

“I’ve been thinking of it for a while” replied Aemond.

“In that case. I will marry you. Again” said Vaera softly.

“Hen lanoti ānogar, Va sȳndroti vaedroma, Mēro perzot gīhoti, Elēdroma āirza sīr, Izulī amapā perzi, Prumī lanti sēteksi, Hen jenȳ māzīlarion, Qēlossa ozundesi, Syndroro ono jēdo, Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi”

(Blood of two, Joined as one, Ghostly flame and song of shadows, Two hearts as embers, Forged in fourteen fires, A future promised in glass, The stars stand witness, The vow spoken through time, Of darkness and light)

Aemond and Vaera each took turns in cutting the other’s lip with a dragon glass blade and marking each other’s forehead with the symbols of fire and blood.

Aemond cuts his hand and then offers the blade to Vaera who did the same.

As they face each other once more, both husband and wife join hands allowing their blood to flow into one another.

Once the vows are complete, they allowed their blood to mix with a kiss.

A loud booming roar echoed across the sky as Vhagar and Cannibal flew over the Red Keep, the other dragons soon join in and Kings Landing is alight with sounds of a dragons song, unlike anybody has ever heard before.

As they part, Vaera and Aemond gaze upon one another. All their children surrounding them.

“Will you love me Aemond, until the day I die?” asked Vaera.

“No. Much longer than that Vaera. Much longer” replied Aemond as he took his wife’s face in his hands and kissed her once more.

[splendidsneb]

So chapter 15 of TDYK was released earlier this month and there was much rejoicing.

Naturally that meant I was going absolutely feral over it

I had done some art inspired by it in the past but this time I wanted to do a piece specifically about the newest chapter.

So I did.

And I even went the extra effort to make it a traditional piece, using a bunch of my new fine liners that I'm still getting the hang of.

Not sure if I like them yet or not. On the fence. I'll have to use them more before I make a decision I think .

That being said, this was a multi day project, PLANING, STRATEGIZING, COLOURING, GETTING PAINT ON MYSELF

But shit, do I like how it turned out.

I'll def do more pieces like this again in the future.

<3 Thanks for inspiring me Hellraiseher. xoxoxoxoxo <3

[poppyclangen]

"Hello Visitor!"

Meet PoppyClan's StarClan Guide, OleanderPaw; brother of FallenStar, PoppyClan's first leader, and judge of the dead.

OleanderPaw was killed by the flood that swept the founders away, and used his power to give FallenStar her nine lives, and grow the first poppies that now populate the moor where PoppyClan lives.

His reddish orange coat can be seen in many of FallenStar's children, proof of his bloodline and strong ties with his sister. He does not often visit the clan medics, though when he does, it is considered a great honor and not to be taken lightly.

Leader of those who live in StarClan, OleanderPaw has let the thrill of spiritual power go to his head a bit. Each time FallenStar visits, he grows more 'holy' in appearance, followed by stars and a glow that most of the other dead do not have. His scent is hidden beneath the flowers growing from his pelt, and he become more eloquent and stiff with each passing day- to be frank, he was very different from the brother FallenStar remembers. She figures that was just what happened, though, as a spirit ages; while he may look rather young, he grows older still.

----

What power does StarClan have over living cats?

"Oh, a good question. I myself have found that I can effect many little things that the living see and touch- though it takes a great deal of energy. When I gave FallenStar her nine lives, I was dormant for many moons after, unable to protect those who walked the earth. While we may not need to eat or sleep, we StarClan cats are powered by... an energy. Perhaps it is belief?"

What was it like, being the first StarClan cat?

"It felt like a betrayal of sort, at first. Throughout my short life, I had been promised a rich afterlife, full of loved ones and an endless paradise. When I awoke, I was alone, in the dark. I built our paradise. I shaped it from the energy I found within my spirit. I am glad to have company now, my sisters kin, though there are times where I fell that emptiness once more. I built this place, yes, but... it has left a part of me hollow."

What about the StarClan of the past?

"I do not know what became of the cats that ruled the StarClan of our ancestors. I do not know if it was destroyed, as the living had been destroyed. I do not doubt there are other afterlives, though; after all, if I could do it, so can any cat who has been remembered and cherished."

Do you dictate the future of PoppyClan?

"Oh, no, goodness no. While I may have dominion over this plane, I cannot influence the actions of the living, outside of the way any cat may influence another. I cannot change the outcome of the seasons, though I find through intense emotion, I can effect the atmosphere of this territory. When I mourn, the clouds grow heavy with rain. When I am angered, the sky is dark and the moon is hidden. When I rejoice, the poppies of the land bloom more quickly. My influence seems to end there; though, the more I try, the more I learn. Recently, I've found the dreams of my Clan's cat's are just out of reach, drifting closer every night. The more who die and come to StarClan, the more I've found I'm able to do. I cant help but be curious...

Back to the question at hand. I know much more than I could have known as a living cat, but I do not know the future. I cannot predict what is coming, though I have my hunches and instincts, as a cat who has lived a long time would. When spirits come to rest here, I am blessed and burdened with their memories; their lives, their deaths. I am a collective of their stories, and at times, I fear I will forget my own, as short as it was.

What's that shadowy place?

"Oh, pay no mind to that. That's just a little project of mine, though I don't think I will finish it. There is no need to worry. I have it contained. It is empty."