#steel frame solutions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

papiliotao · 1 year ago

Text

꒰ 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 ✩࿐

pairings: alhaitham, kaveh, kazuha, lyney, scaramouche, and xiao x gn!reader (separate)

content: fluff, modern au, college au, the reader is a sleep-deprived student, correction: everyone in this fic is a sleep-deprived student, cuddling, reader is sick in scara’s, venti makes a cameo in kazuha’s part, reverse comfort in kaveh’s

summary: small scenarios with the genshin boys as your roommates! ♡

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, so i decided to finally finish it up. i hope you enjoy!

₊˚ପ ALHAITHAM

Tonight, it feels like endless night ebbs and flows into the very core of your being, chilling you with fragments of a glacial atmosphere.

It’s cold.

Even with multiple blankets wrapped around you, you can’t help but shiver, shake like a vibrant autumn leaf in a passing zephyr. Winter is approaching, and unfortunately for you, you may have relished a little too much in the gilded threads of summer warmth that had graced the world a few months prior. For now, you’re unable to stand the gradual freeze that’s beginning to spread throughout your city.

Slumber is tempting. It lures you in, wrapping you in a blanket weaved of starlight and dreams. However, it’s all an illusion. In reality, you’re far from sleep. You know that there’s no way you’ll be able to pass the gateway into the oneiric realm. Not with the sensation of frostbite threatening to consume you whole.

Eventually, you decide to get up. You’re certain that you won’t be able to fall asleep, at least, not without more blankets, so you decide to make your way to Alhaitham’s room to ask if he has any spares.

Although you’d normally feel guilty for rousing someone from slumber, it’s not that late as of right now. Either way, you’re quite certain that your roommate is still wide awake, most likely losing himself amongst the yellowed pages of a verbose book. After all, he always seems to have his nose buried in a complex tome, filled with words that make your brain hurt.

Slowly, you drag yourself out from under the plush covers of your bed. The floorboards groan slightly as you stand, exhaling under the pressure of your footsteps. You make your way down a hallway drowned in shades of midnight, making your way towards the golden light seeping out into the corridor from under the cracks of a closed door.

The door to Alhaitham’s room.

You knock, the sound seemingly echoing down the walls of the hall, repeating in a chorus of onomatopoeia.

A few seconds pass before the door opens to reveal Alhaitham. Strands of silver hair messily frame his face, and yet as the aquamarine hues of his irises meet your gaze, you find that he’s just as dazzling as ever.

“Do you need something?” he asks, his voice as flat and monotonous as always. As usual, your roommate’s front doesn’t betray a single hint of emotion. Not even irritation.

You pause for a moment, still a little intimidated by Alhaitham. Although you’ve been living together for a while now, his apathetic demeanour can be slightly off-putting at times. Nonetheless, you eventually manage to steel your nerves.

“Yeah,” you say. The word comes tumbling out of your mouth clumsily. “Do you happen to have any extra blankets?”

Alhaitham pauses for a moment, seemingly deep in thought.

You hold your breath, hoping that he’ll say yes, and you’ll be able to get this over with.

However, he shakes his head, and you feel your heart drop, shattering into a thousand shards of fragmented ruby.

“Oh,” you sigh, trying your best to hide the dejected expression overtaking your features. “That’s okay. Sorry for bothering you.”

You turn away, ready to head back to your room, but Alhaitham’s voice stops you.

“I think it’s safe to presume you wanted a blanket because you were cold, right?”

It’s a rhetorical question, so you don’t bother to answer it. Instead, you freeze, becoming akin to a statue carved of pale blue ice.

“Then allow me to propose an alternate solution.”

You turn around, meeting Alhaitham’s eyes once more. Lakes of turquoise, typically devoid of emotion, are now filled with a particular spark. You can’t quite determine what it is, but there’s a subtle glimmer — barely visible, but it’s there.

“Why don’t you stay in my room for the night?”

Your eyes widen, and you feel your jaw drop. For a moment, you just stand there, absolutely still and dumbfounded.

Perhaps you had heard Alhaitham wrong. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, making mirages materialize out of nothing. The blank expression painted over your roommate’s features certainly makes you think so.

“Excuse me?” you blink languidly, staring at Alhaitham as if he’ll disappear into thin air if you take your eyes off him.

“I said why don’t you stay in my room for the night?” he repeats nonchalantly, the evening chill seemingly intertwining itself into his tone. His gaze remains fixated on you.

Your mind blanks for a second, each intricate acrylic line of a composition painted over, leaving you with nothing but an empty canvas. As you stand still, a thousand scenarios seem to flash through your head, filling up the blank space with a myriad of thoughts — some pleasant and some unpleasant. However, you soon realize that you don’t have time to weigh all the pros and cons of your decision, as Alhaitham is staring at you intently, awaiting your answer.

“Sure,” you blurt out.

You’re not sure what compels you to accept his proposal. Perhaps it’s your longing for the comfort of shared warmth. Perhaps it’s a result of your inability to say no to others due to a fear of disappointing them. Or perhaps it’s because you’ve grown a lot closer to Alhaitham than you’d care to admit.

Although you’re still slightly intimidated by him, you’re certain that he’d never do anything to harm you. And there are even times where he shows he has your best interests in mind (despite the fact that you were initially under the impression that he cared little for others).

You’re snapped out of your trance of reminiscence as Alhaitham speaks once more.

“Alright,” he says, taking your hand and leading you over to his bed. His grip is firm — not suffocating, but at the same time, not so soft that the connection between the two of you would be easily severed.

Alhaitham’s touch sends butterflies, tinted a colour reminiscent of spring blossoms, dancing within the pit of your stomach. It’s enchanting, and at this rate, you’re not sure how you’ll be able to handle sleeping in the same bed as him.

He allows you to climb into bed first, tucking you in with an unexpected amount of care. You know Alhaitham’s not exactly the cold-hearted jerk many make him out to be, but you didn’t anticipate that he’d be this gentle, his touch akin to the caress of sunlight on a spring day.

After the man ensures that you’re cozy, he lies down beside you, embracing you. As he does so, you feel a wave of heat overwhelm you. To your relief, the frigidness that had once gnawed at your very soul is now gone, but unfortunately, you’re faced with a new problem.

Alhaitham’s actions have flustered you, and to your misfortune, it feels as though crimson embers of embarrassment are bursting into flames far too quickly for your liking.

You’ve solved one issue, but in turn, you’ve accidentally created another.

This is going to be a long night.

₊˚ପ KAVEH

It’s no secret that your roommate is a perfectionist.

Whenever his eyebrows knit up in a jumble of discontent and pools of liquid ruby tinged with sunsets glint with hints of frustration, it becomes obvious what’s going on. He’s spent too long trying to perfect yet another assignment. The bags that seem to perpetually line the undersides of his eyes are dark shadows — serving as an eternal reminder of the man’s exhaustion.

There are times where you find him hunched over his desk, teetering on a thin tightrope, walking a line between the waking world and a wonderland of dreams. Of course, he refuses to succumb to the temptations of a golden slumber time and time again, forcing himself to fixate on his projects until he’s finished and happy with the final product.

Today is one of those days. The cold light that leaks through the cracks beneath the door to Kaveh’s room seeps into the hallway, serving as a warning written in a display of molten opalescence.

Stark white. Cutting through the darkness of deep midnights with ease.

It’s jarring, and when you press your ear to the door and listen carefully, you manage to make out the sound of Kaveh muttering underneath his breath.

You know you have to do something. Now. Before your roommate decides to work himself into a stupor again.

You take a deep breath, inhaling night air reminiscent of the crystalline waters. It’s refreshing, and as you breathe out, a sense of tranquility washes over you.

Steeling yourself, you knock on Kaveh’s door, the sound seemingly reverberating through the corridor in a myriad of echoes.

“[Name]? Is that you?” he asks, his voice ringing out loudly, fragmenting and shattering the quiet ambience.

You hear the sounds of drawers opening and closing, papers rustling, and footsteps falling.

“There’s no point in hiding anything,” you tell your roommate, picturing the distress swirling like nebulae in his vibrant crimson eyes. “I know you’ve been working late again.”

The noises come to a halt, and peace returns to the late night atmosphere once more. Soon, the sound of soft footsteps fills your senses, gradually growing louder in a crescendo until you’re sure that Kaveh is right in front of the door.

Not a second later, it swings open to reveal a sleep-deprived Kaveh clad in pyjamas.

“Alright, I’ll admit it,” he sighs. “You caught me red-handed.”

Silence permeates your senses for a few seconds, but the illusion of stillness is quickly shattered as Kaveh breathes out a sigh.

“I just can’t seem to figure out this one last thing,” he groans, burying his head in his hands. “I seriously can’t take it anymore. It’s driving me insane.”

For a few seconds, his gaze remains averted, staring down at the wooden finish of his desk, tinted a subtle peach under the topaz shades of light spilling from Kaveh’s lamp. If you didn’t know any better, you would have sworn that he had fallen asleep. However, your eyes eventually meet hues of dulled rose, glittering with a faint spark concealed by exhaustion.

“You should rest,” you tell your roommate, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder. To your relief, he doesn’t flinch or pull away when you touch him. He simply slumps and begins to stand up.

“I suppose you’re right,” he speaks slowly, his voice laced with resignation. “Maybe a short break will help me clear my mind.”

Kaveh walks over to his bed, brushing locks of sunshine away from his eyes. The mattress sinks like quicksand as he lies down and tucks himself under the covers, enveloping him in layers upon layers of plush comfort.

You turn away, switching Kaveh’s lamp off before you head back to the door. However, just as you’re about to leave, Kaveh calls your name.

“[Name],” Kaveh starts, his voice seemingly amplified by the abyssal midnight overtaking your surroundings.

You spin around, only to be met with the sight of Kaveh’s silhouette outlined against backdrops of navy and black, enveloping the world in curtains of phantasmagoric silk.

“Can you stay with me?” he asks. His voice trembles slightly, and he sounds sheepish — almost shy. “It’s just that, if I don’t have you around, I might convince myself to start working again.”

You freeze.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

It takes three seconds for you to fully process Kaveh’s request, and when you do, you feel your heart skip a beat.

“I would be happy to.”

And with Kaveh’s permission, you climb under the covers of his bed with him. He wraps an arm around you. The position feels far too intimate for two roommates who harbour nothing more than platonic feelings for each other, but you decide that that’s a problem for future you to address.

For now, you decide to close your eyes and seek solace in a realm of breathtaking dreamscapes. Finding joy in each cotton candy cloud, each droplet of crystal rain, and each gilded leaf within a fantastical world found far away from reality.

And yet as you drift off to sleep, you find that there’s one thing in the waking world that has become far more tantalizing than anything your imagination could ever conjure: the warmth of Kaveh’s embrace.

₊˚ପ KAZUHA

Golden ribbons of warmth caress your face as you open your eyes to find yourself awake again. A wave of tranquility washes over you, weighing down your eyelids with a serene lullaby — an ode to quiet mornings spent in the solace of your home. You want nothing more than to stay in bed for a few more minutes, but you have classes.

Groggily, you stretch and then pick your phone up from where it’s sitting on your nightstand in order to check the time. The screen lights up with a cold radiance, a stark contrast to the gilded rays of the sun, as you turn it on.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

It’s 9:30 a.m., and you’ve already missed the start of your first class. You grimace internally, but you can’t dwell on your feelings for too long. After all, the longer you delay, the more you’ll miss.

You change in record time, pulling on a comfortable hoodie and jeans, grab a few of your belongings, and rush out the door.

The chilly autumn air brushes against your skin as you make your way to class, and the enticing fragrance of sap hits your nose, tantalizing you with a perfume that carries nostalgic memories. In the corners of your vision, you watch as leaves coloured shades of vivid crimson, marigold, and amber swirl in a waltz signaling the end of summer and the beginnings of harsher days. The scenery is beautiful, and if you weren’t in a panic, you would have stopped to admire it. However, you force yourself to ignore the scenes around you, continuing to focus on your primary objective.

When you arrive at the lecture hall, you’re panting. Simple oxygen feels like ambrosia to you, sweet and satisfying, refreshing in a way that it’s never been before. For a few moments, you stand outside the room and catch your breath. With each inhale and exhale, you get closer and closer to finding a rhythm until finally, you’re no longer gasping for air.

Quietly, you walk into class, trying your best to avoid disturbing anyone. Thankfully, nobody seems to notice as you take a seat near the back of the hall, settling down in your seat. Time passes slowly as class continues on, and it almost feels like universal laws operate differently within the small bubble of the room you’re currently sitting in. Everything seems to take an eternity, and you can’t do anything except watch the minutes tick by, each addition of one moving you closer and closer to the end of a mundane lecture.

It feels like the moment will never arrive, but eventually, you’re dismissed. Thankfully, there’s quite a while until you have to go to your next class, so you decide to wander around for a while.

For a while, you stroll aimlessly, eventually finding yourself back outdoors once more. Now, you can truly savour the beauty of your surroundings, relish in the splendor of each flaming leaf that drifts by and each rivulet of tepid light that pierces through the crystalline coolness of the autumn air.

You stand there for a while, simply enjoying a break after a hectic morning.

Until something else — or rather, someone else — catches your eye.

Under the shade of a maple tree stands your roommate, basking in the glory of a crimson waterfall composed entirely of maple leaves dancing gracefully until they hit the ground. His platinum hair is tied back in its usual ponytail, each strand of silken moonlight swaying as a gentle zephyr blows by, and his eyes are a shade of ruby that flawlessly mimics the autumnal landscape.

He’s as breathtaking as ever.

But before you can admire him for long, hues of starglitter and rose petals meet your gaze, and a small smile dances across his lips. Without a word, he walks over to you.

“Running into you here is certainly a pleasant surprise,” he says, his grin widening.

“You say that as if we don’t already live together,” you remark, laughing a little.

He chuckles, the sound as light and airy as autumn winds swirling leaves around in a finale of farewells. The lighthearted atmosphere is truly euphoric, especially after such a stressful morning.

Of course, good things never last for long.

“Good morning, Kazuha. Good morning, [name]. How’s my favourite couple?” a cheery voice asks. In the edges of your vision, you see a figure donning twin braids of sapphire and turquoise approaching. It’s Venti — one of Kazuha’s friends.

Both you and Kazuha freeze, a frigidity crystallizing the ambience into icy fractals. And yet at the same time, you can feel your face beginning to heat up.

Couple?

Before you can clear up the misunderstanding, Kazuha speaks.

“Good morning to you too, Venti,” he says. “We’re doing well, but I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” Kazuha subtly averts his gaze, staring at the ground, but you swear you can see a blush dawning on his cheeks in shades of sunset. “[Name] and I aren’t a couple.”

“Oh really?” Venti asks teasingly, giggling in a manner that sounds almost maniacal, “then why are they wearing your hoodie?”

You look down, and sure enough, the top you chose to wear today was Kazuha’s. He had allowed you to borrow it a few days ago when you complained about the chilly autumn weather, and you had forgotten to return it. Apparently you were in such a rush this morning that you pulled it on without a second thought.

“It was an accident,” you blurt out, wanting to clear up the misconception as soon as possible. “I woke up late, and I was in a hurry.”

“Uh huh,” Venti nods, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Sure. I believe you.”

“No, seriously. We’re not a couple,” you reiterate, sighing as Venti laughs quietly.

“Whatever you say,” he says. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere to be. I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.”

Without another word, Venti skips off, jubilantly humming to himself. And now, you’re alone with Kazuha, left to deal with the awkward aftermath of Venti’s assumptions.

“That was… interesting,” you remark.

Kazuha nods.

“I hope you didn’t feel too uncomfortable,” he says, smiling at you gently, a light blush still coating his cheeks. Although you’ll never admit it out loud, you find him quite cute when he’s flustered. Venti would have a field day if he knew you found your roommate so adorable.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Kazuha, “and I’ll return your hoodie to you as soon as possible,” you add.

However, to your surprise, Kazuha shakes his head.

“You can keep it if you want,” he tells you.

“Really?”

Kazuha chuckles.

“Really,” he assures you. “As long as you don’t mind being mistaken for a couple, that is. I know I certainly don’t.”

₊˚ପ LYNEY

“Lyney, if I remember correctly, you told me you perform magic as a sort of side hustle, right?” you ask your roommate.

The question comes from out of the blue, but you want nothing more than to learn about the man you’ve recently grown to be infatuated with. Besides, he’ll probably think nothing of it; it’s only natural for someone to want to get to know their roommate.

“Yeah, I guess you’d be right,” he responds, averting his gaze from his phone and glancing at you. “Although I’d say it’s more about putting on a good show than the money.”

Lilac hues make your mind go blank as you make eye contact, enchanting you with oceans full of stardust and sunshine alike. Lilac. It’s a colour you’ve come to adore. Before meeting Lyney, it was a shade known to you as the border between night and day, mixed into compositions of dawning sunrises and fading sunsets. But now, it’s synonymous with magic and mystery, and it’s all thanks to your charming roommate.

“Oh, I see,” you mutter.

You’re surprised that your voice doesn’t end up shaking. Simply looking into Lyney’s eyes is causing your heart to beat rapidly, igniting crimson sparks of giddiness and glee with each thump.

Perhaps this is what it feels like to be in love.

“Why do you ask?” Lyney inquires, tilting his head slightly. “Are you interested in seeing a trick?”

Lyney flashes a charming smile at you — a smile embodying the enigmatic charms of various twilight hues. He reaches his hand up to brush the few strands of dusky hair that had fallen in front of his eyes away, and somehow, the subtle action makes you find him all the more attractive.

“I would love to,” you say, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

You wait with bated breath, feeling the whole world still as you await Lyney’s response. The carefree atmosphere solidifies into something denser, heavier, as tension begins to build.

“Well, I usually don’t do private shows like this, especially not out of the blue,” he remarks.

For a second, you feel your smile fall.

“But since it’s you, I can try,” Lyney says.

A grins dances upon your lips once more, and the elation from before comes back in full force. Unbridled adoration swirls through your heart, taking down each and every glacial barrier in a roaring tempest of rose and vermillion. With every day that passes, you feel yourself falling deeper and deeper into the clutches of romantic fantasies.

“Thank you.”

With that, Lyney rushes to his room. A few seconds later, he returns with some props and a top hat, midnight black adorned with velvety scarlet and magenta detailing, perched upon his head.

He performs for you, and it’s absolutely enamouring. His prowess is incredible, and it’s clear he’s enjoying putting on a show for you. The entire performance is interesting, captivating. However, it’s Lyney’s last act that stands out to you most of all.

“I’m sure you’re wondering what my grand finale will be,” Lyney announces with a fiery sort of flamboyance. It’s amusing because you’re the only audience member, but at the same time, slightly endearing.

He takes his hat off, reaching his hand into the void within. Slowly, he pulls something out.

The verdant green of a stem lined with thorns appears first. Then you catch sight of luscious leaves. And lastly, the delicate petals of a rose enter your line of vision. They’re tinted a vibrant purple, reminiscent of sparkling amethysts.

“For you,” Lyney says, handing you the flower.

Upon closer examination, you note that the rose is unblemished. It’s perfect. You wonder if Lyney put any thought into picking out this particular flower, but you brush the thought off. Embers of newly-kindled feelings of romance brush against your skin.

You’re flustered.

Flustered beyond measure.

Awkwardly, you take the rose from Lyney, your heart fluttering as your fingers accidentally bump against his. His skin is soft, and his touch is tantalizing. You wouldn’t mind feeling his hand in yours.

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, averting your gaze and looking anywhere but into the very lavender irises that will never fail to enchant you. “It’s stunning.”

“A stunning flower for a stunning person,” Lyney says. The sincerity lacing his tone doesn’t go unnoticed, and you have to stop yourself from melting on the spot. “Do you know what the purple rose represents?”

You shake your head as sudden curiosity and cupid’s final arrow strike simultaneously.

He leans in, moving so close that you can feel strands of silken platinum tickle your skin. A soft breath lightly brushes against your ear as he opens his mouth to speak.

“Love at first sight.”

₊˚ପ SCARAMOUCHE

Weak beams of winter light filter through the curtains of the window beside your bed, illuminating your room with a radiance tinted pale blue. With a foggy mind, you make your way over to the window, leaving the warmth and comfort of your covers to do so. The chill pokes at your skin like a thousand miniature needles of ice, and yet you continue on.

As soon as velvety veils of fabric fall away from glass panes, glacial sunshine spills through. The panoramic scenery that welcomes you is a glazed-over landscape, thick blankets of pure white sprinkled with glimmers of stardust. Even the branches of the tall evergreen trees surrounding your home are dusted with powdered opal. Nothing is free from the frigid caress of winter, and you’re suddenly reminded of this fact as you start coughing.

Oh. You’re sick.

You blink slowly, an unbearable headache making itself known by jumbling your thoughts into nothing more than incoherence. Begrudgingly, you decide to lie back down, pulling a few blankets over you in order to stay warm. However, the layer of plush protection isn’t enough to shield you, as shivers continue to wrack your body.

For a while, you just lie there, huddled and trying to cling onto any remaining heat, any remaining comfort. You close your eyes, feeling absolutely helpless against the coolness that threatens to permeate the very essence of your being. The world around you begins to become distant as grogginess and discomfort plague you, but soon enough, you’re snapped out of your haze.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The last thing you want to do is answer the door.

“[Name]? Are you in there?” your roommate, Scaramouche, calls. As usual, irritation laces his tone, but there’s something new this time. Maybe you’re delusional, but it almost sounds like concern.

“Yeah. Come in,” you manage to respond.

Your voice is unsurprisingly hoarse, and you have to strain in order to be heard. However, in the end, it seems that you were just loud enough because seconds later, the door opens with a click. In its wake, a man with hair reminiscent of desolate midnights walks in. Soon enough, you find your gaze meeting hues of deep twilight fading into a paler shade of periwinkle akin to the colour of forget-me-nots.

“Wow, you look awful,” Scaramouche remarks bluntly, examining you.

You feel yourself shrink under his gaze.

“Can you not?” you shoot back, mustering the strength to glare at him between coughs and sniffles. “I'm kind of dying here.”

Scaramouche scoffs.

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone,” he says, turning away and walking out the door.

Once again, silence envelops the atmosphere, ebbing and flowing throughout the greys and blues of an early winter morning in soundless waves. Although you’re thankful for the serene ambience, you also feel awfully lonely now that your roommate is gone. All you can do now is stare blankly at the wall in front of you and entertain yourself with your own thoughts.

Time becomes a blur, and yet it stretches on as well. It feels like you’re trapped in a sort of limbo — suspended in a mundane reality without any sort of respite or the slightest idea of when you’ll finally find your refuge.

That is, until you hear the hinges of the door creak once more.

Scaramouche is back.

You look up. To your surprise, the glints of starlight that dance within his indigo eyes show a rare sort of softness, and he’s carrying a bowl of soup.

Without a word, he sets the bowl on your bedside table, staring at you expectantly.

“Is that for me?” you ask.

Scaramouche groans, rolling his eyes.

“Who did you think it was for?” he says, averting his gaze.

A small smile dances across your lips. Although your roommate doesn’t want to show that he cares for you, you’re beginning to realize that he’s looking out for you in his own way.

“Thank you,” you respond. However, just as you’re about to reach for the soup, you’re attacked by another fit of coughs.

Scaramouche’s eyes fixate on you once more, and he sighs.

“Do you need me to spoon feed you or something?” Although it sounds like he’s mocking you, you can tell he’s serious to some extent.

“Do you want to feed me?” you say, trying to muster a playful tone. Even though you’re sick, teasing Scaramouche is as fun as ever.

“I will if it means you’ll shut up,” he mutters, taking the bowl carefully and scooping up a spoon of the soup.

With caution and a shocking amount of attentiveness, he lifts the spoon to your lips, and you open your mouth. To your surprise, the soup is actually quite tasty. You didn't expect your roommate to be such a good cook.

“How was it?” Scaramouche asks after you swallow. Not a hint of emotion shows through the veils of apathy he’s crafted as he awaits your response.

“It was amazing,” you remark genuinely. “I’d love to try some more of your cooking, and… thanks for taking care of me.”

Scaramouche looks away, but as he does, you notice a colour reminiscent of delicate rose petals rising to his cheeks, tinting porcelain akin to the snow outside a vivid shade.

“Don’t mention it.”

₊˚ପ XIAO

Procrastination is every student’s worst enemy, and you’re no different.

You had spent the past few days putting off your latest assignments and neglecting your studies more than you’d care to admit. It’s not that you didn’t want to work and study, but every time you tried to start on something, you’d feel put off by the copious amounts of labour you’d have to put in. And unfortunately, now you’re reaping the consequences of the seeds you had previously sowed.

It’s currently 1 a.m., and all you can see outside the window is ebony fragmented by the occasional streetlight or polychromatic star. Your eyelids are beginning to droop of their own volition, but you force yourself to stay awake. You have something important due later today, and unfortunately, you’ve barely even started on it.

So you have no choice but to continue on, allowing yourself to fall into the treacherous grasp of sleep-deprivation all because of your poor decision-making skills.

The minutes seem to count down all too quickly as you toil, yet at the same time, the mundane assignment makes every second feel like an eon. It’s a paradoxical distortion of the universe’s concepts, but it’s something you’ve grown far too accustomed to in your time as a student. Panic and hopelessness set in more and more with every tick of the clock, and eventually, you lose all sense of time, burying yourself in a pile of work.

The next time you look up, you notice that it’s well past your first scheduled break time, and you’re absolutely exhausted.

You stand up, stretching and relishing the sensation of being able to move your aching limbs after hours of sitting in the same position, mulling over boring assignments. However, your momentary respite is ruined, as it isn’t long before the creaking of a door pulls you out from the temporary euphoria that had taken over your mind.

“Hey,” a calm voice utters. It’s melodic like a beautiful song you wouldn’t mind hearing on repeat. “Are you alright?”

You turn around, and as expected you’re met with the sight of your roommate. Honeyed eyes filled with a dandelion warmth shimmer when met with the dim incandescent glow of your desk lamp, and locks of seafoam frame his pale face. Even though his hair is messy, and there are visible bags under his eyes, Xiao looks as stunning as ever.

“I’m fine,” you say, miraculously stringing together a couple of words despite your exhaustion.

“You’ve been up all night,” Xiao observes, glancing at your messy desk — a testament to the few hours you had been chipping away at your work. Somehow in that time, you’ve managed to make it look as though some sort of wild tempest had ravaged your room.

“You’re saying that as if you don’t stay up all the time,” you shoot back.

You flinch. Your tone is harsh and dripping with venom, but you hadn’t meant your words in that way. They were from a place of concern, but it seems that Xiao understands.

“That’s true,” he remarks, “but I’m not as keen on working myself to death as you are.”

A second passes.

Then you realized that you may have gotten a little bit carried away due to your momentary burst of energy — a rush of exhilaration prompted by a sense of urgency.

“Oh.”

Xiao sighs.

“You need a break,” he says, hesitantly walking over to you and intertwining your fingers with his.

His actions surprise you. Most of the time, Xiao avoids touch, but now, he’s holding your hand. The tepidness of Xiao’s skin on yours causes lucidity to wash over you. Suddenly, you feel more aware of your surroundings.

Your roommate pulls you out the door, exiting your dorm swiftly before you can refuse. Truthfully, you wouldn’t have denied him his demand anyway. Although Xiao seems like a tough person on the outside, his heart is forged of silvery moonbeams — glittering lights that illuminate the world with a subtle phosphorescence, not quite as glaring as rays of sunlight, but equally as bright, nonetheless. As a result, you’ve grown to develop a soft spot for him.

When you exit the building, the first thing you notice is the crisp, fresh air. After staying cooped up in your room for so long, it’s relieving to breathe in the liquified stardrops dissolved within the night atmosphere. Your head clears up nearly instantaneously, and finally, you feel a sense of peace wash over you.

“Feeling better?” Xiao asks, noticing the change in your expression immediately.

He’s usually not the brightest when it comes to interpreting emotions, so your prior distress must have been extremely obvious. Nonetheless, you brush off your embarrassment and swallow your pride, nodding to reassure Xiao that yes, this is helping, and yes, you’d like to stay here with him for a while longer.

Xiao seems to get what you’re trying to convey, so he continues walking, leading you under the gold-lacquered light of the lamps lining the path before you. Right now, it feels as though your hearts are connected, and for once, you’re under the impression that Xiao’s let down his walls.

You know that once your midnight escapades cease, you’ll have to face a world of pain, but perhaps it’s worth it.

After all, exhaustion is temporary, but maybe, just maybe, this lavender haze will endure forevermore.

thank you for reading!! if you liked this, i’d really appreciate it if you reblogged this fic.

#r.archives *ೃ༄#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #alhaitham x reader #kaveh x reader #kazuha x reader #lyney x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #genshin fluff

2K notes · View notes

chgridlock · 6 months ago

Text

Fine. LN- pt 5.

Part. 4 here: https://www.tumblr.com/chgridlock/751646779786870784/fine-ln-pt-4?source=share

Y/n and Lando were childhood best friends, an inseparable duo who knew each other’s secrets like the back of their hand. But then came F1. Lando transformed into a playboy prince, his name synonymous with champagne showers and a different model on every arm. Models just like y/n, except for her. Disgusted, she distanced herself, the warmth of their friendship replaced by a biting cold. Y/n, chasing her own dreams, blossomed into a sough-after model, gracing the covers of magazines right under Lando’s nose, well, at least that’s what she assumed. In taught, Lando followed her religiously on social media, a secret admirer hidden behind a facade of arrogante.

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, ex best friends, Lando being a dick sometimes.

Lando pulled up in front of your apartment, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’d driven like a man possessed, every red light an eternity, every slow-moving car an obstacle to overcome. The memory of your weak voice on the phone, the rasping breaths, fueled his need to get to you.

He’d considered calling an ambulance, the quickest solution, but the thought of you being poked and prodded by strangers in a sterile emergency room made him scoff. He wanted to be there, holding your hand, offering a familiar face in a sea off worry.

He parked the car, his breath fogging in the cool night air. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself. You might be stubborn, ridiculously stubborn, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. He needed to see you, needed to make sure you were okay.

He marched to your door, he raised his fist and knocked, a loud, insistent rap against the wood. Silence. He waited, counting the seconds that stretched into and agonizing minute. Just as doubt started to creep in, the door creaked open a sliver.

There you stood, hair a mess, face pale except for the angry red flush high on your cheeks. Your eyes, usually sparkling with defiance, were dull and heavy-lidded.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice thick and sluggish. It was a lie, a transparent one, and Lando felt a surge of anger that quickly morphed back into concern.

He took you in, his gaze scanning your entire form. Your once vibrant clothes hung limply off your frame, and despite the boldness in your voice, you couldn’t hide the tremors that run through you. “You don’t look good y/n” he said gently, his soft voice against the harsh reality in front of him.

You swayed slightly extinguished by a wave of fatigue, a hand hovering over your arm. You flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

The air hung heavy between them, thick with the weight of unspoken emotions and your obvious illness. Lando’s gaze was so soft. “…you really don’t care of yourself, do you?” He said, the question laced with exasperation.

You arched an eyebrow, a flicker of confrontation playing across your features. “You care?” The question hung in the air.

Lando coulnd’t lie to himself anymore. He did care. Deeply. He’d spent those two days pushing down the realization, masking it with frustration and annoyance, but seeing you like this -pale, feverish, and undeniably vulnerable- stripped away all his defenses. He gulped, avoiding a definitive response. He just couldn’t bring himself to say the words yet.

“Don’t lie to me,” you countered, your voice raspy but firm. That caugh him off guard. He hadn’t expected such a direct response, and a surge of annoyance bubbled within him. He rolled his eyes, attempting to mask his growing concern with feigned irritation.

“…I didn’t even say anything,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you really that narcissistic to think that I don’t actually care about you or something?”

“Well its been what? 3 years since you stopped worrying about me? And why are you being so stubborn?” You shot back, your voiced laced with a similar frustration. He scowled. You and your damn stubbornness. He was about to unleash a retort when he caught himself. Now wasn’t the time for a petty fight.

Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. “…Don’t change the subject,” he said, his voice regaining its firmness. “You have a 40-degree fever and you haven’t even taken anything for it.”

He watched you, his gaze unwavering. “Do you really believe that you’re fine?” He pressed.

You opened your mouth to protest, but a tired groan escaped instead. “Ugh, yes,” you mumbled, collapsing further into the doorway.

Lando’s heart lurched. “Well, you’re wrong,” he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’re not fine. Not at all. So get your stubborn ass in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“What? No!” You shrieked.

“Y/n,” he countered, his voice now firm as before but gentle, “you have a 40 degree fever…and you’re still refusing to get help for it. You’re so damn stubborn…but no one’s that stubborn to the point of being completely suicidal…”

He sighed. “I’m taking you to the hospital whether you like it or not,” he declared, his resolve hardening. “This is not up for debate either. You’re sick, and you need professional help. Now get moving.”

Lando’s grip on your arm tightened, not out of malice but a desperate need to ensure you wouldn’t crumble beneath your own stubbornness. He steered you towards his car, his pace brisk an his jaw set in a determined line. “You don’t have to this,” you mumbled, your voice weak with protest.

“Yes, I do,” he countered, you could hear his voice with hint of tenderness he couldn’t quite suppress. “I’m not going to leave you here when you’re this sick.”

Seeing the futility of resistance, you let out a defeated sigh and allowed him to guide you towards the passenger seat. Relief washed over Lando as you settled inside. He hopped in behind the wheel, wasting no time as he stated the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

The silence in the car was heavy, the only sound your shallow breaths. He stole glances at you every few seconds, his gaze lingering on the way your eyelids fluttered closed, the ghost of a grimace playing on your lips.

“You don’t have to do this,” you whispered again, your voice weak in a whisper.

“I have to,” he replied without hesitation. He didn’t want to hear another argument, another protest. You were clearly in no state to be making rational decisions.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to lighten the mood. “Have you eaten anything today?” He asked, hoping to distract you.

The question hung in the air, unanswered. You were silent, your body slumped against the seat, your eyes fluttering shut once more.

He sighed, shaking his head before he even spoke. You hadn’t surprised him with the silence. Knowing your stubborn ways, he figured you wouldn’t touched a crumb all day.

“Let me guess,” he started, “you didn’t eat anything today, did you?”

A faint “…no” escaped your lips.

Another sigh, another head shake. “You really don’t care of yourself at all,” he muttered, more to himself than anything. He paused, then added, a hint of suspicion creeping into his tone. “You didn’t drink any water either, did you?”

A long silence stretched between you. Finally, your voice came back, weak but strangely resolute. “You can leave me at the hospital and you can go.”

Lando gritted his teeth. “Shut up,” he growled. He hated how easily your words tempted him, the idea of leaving you simmering beneath the surface. “I’m serious,” you pressed, your voice barely a whisper.

“And im saying shut up, im not leaving a sick girl like you at the hospital by herself.”

Sensing your stubborn gaze on him, he met your eyed defiantly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he barked. “I’m not leaving, so get that in your damn head, will you?” He clenched his hand on the steering wheel, his jaw tight, then forced himself to relax. “Goddamn it,” he muttered under his breath,” your stubbornness is even worse when you’re sick”

A weak title escaped your lips, the sound shaky. You shook your head slightly, the effort seeming to take a monumental amount of energy.

Lando couldn’t help but let put a reluctant chuckle of his own. The sound rumbled deep in his chest, a surprising counterpoint to his earlier frutation. Seeing that flicker of your usual spirit, even dimmed by illness, warmed a place in his chest he hadn’t realized was cold.

“Stop giggling, you’re ill, for Christ’s sake…” he mumbled, his voice gruff but lacking its earlier bite. “You shouldn’t be laughing…”

“It’s your own stubbornness that makes me laugh,” you slurred, a playful glint return to your eyes for a fleeting moment. “So bossy”

“Shut up…” he growled gain playfully, the sound devoid of any real malice. The fierce independent y/n was subdued by illness, replaced by a fragile version that tugged at his heartstrings in a way the old y/n did.

A comfortable silence bottled between you, he stole another glance at you, God, even sick you looked so damn beautiful.

“We’ll be there soon,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual. The words were a promise, a reassurance that he’d be there for you.

“Fine” you muttered.

The hospital loomed ahead. As soon as Lando pulled into the emergency room entrance, he was out of the car in a flash, your arm grasped firmly in his. His movements, were brisk, almost desperate, as i he was on a mission to get you help before you could disappear or change your mind.

Inside, he marched you straight to the reception desk, his jaw set in a determined line. He narrowed his eyes at the recepcionist, his voice clipped when he spoke. “She’s here with a high fever - 40 degrees.”

The receptionist, simply nodded and directed them to wait a moment. Relief washed over Lando as a nurse materialized seemingly out of thin air, ready to usher you both inside.

He cast a worried glance at you as you began to walk, your steps slow and uneven. Your earlier defiance seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a concerning lethargy. He reached out, his grip tightening around your arm to steady you. “You can go, Lando,” you mumbled, your voice weak. Guilt gnawed at you for putting him though all this trouble.

“No, I’m not going anywhere, and that’s final,” he knew better than to trust your weak protests. Left to your own evinces, you’d probably try to downplay your illness and end up back in your apartment, ignoring your body’s pleas.

The wait in the emergency room was agonizingly slow. Every tick of the clock felt like an eternity. Finally, a doctor emerged, a weary smiled on his face. The news was better than Lando had dared to hope for - you were sick, yes, but nothing some medication and rest coulnd't cure.

A wave of relief washed over him, so strong is almost made his legs buckle. He couldn’t help but let out a sigh, the tension draining from his shoulders. Annoyance flickered back up at the edges of his mind, a low simmer directed at your stubborn refusal to take care of yourself.

He turned to you, his voice softer and softer by the time. “I’m not leaving here until you’re fully healed, got it?” He said, his gaze holing a steely glint.

“Lando, I’ll be fine with this ugly-ass medicine,” you slurred, a playful glint returning to you eyes for a fleeting moment. “I’ll just get a cab home.”

He growled, the sound erupting from his chest heavily. “You’re not taking a cab. Stop being stubborn again. Do you really want to end up passed out on some random corner? I’d rather avoid that scenario entirely.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge flickering in your eyes. “Didn’t want me to be sick?” You prodded, a hint of amusement dancing in your voice.

Lando scowled, the memory of his stupid grudge returning to haunt him. “Do I look like I wanted you to get sick?” He countered, his voice laced with exasperation. “Are you just trying to be irritating on purpose?”

“You sad to me ‘I hope you get a cold’” you reminded him, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

He groaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment. “I only said that because I was pissed,” he mumbled, his voice muffled. “I didn’t mean it! Why te hell would I want you to actually get sick?”

You chucked, the sound weak but genuine. “It’s okay, Norris,” you teased, using his last name with mock seriousness. “We don’t get along with each other, so its normal. I’ll get a cab, don’t worry.”

“No, you won’t get a damn cab, y/n.”

“You’re not the boss of me, Lando,” you countered. But he ignored your protest, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not going anywhere, got it?”

You sighed, the fight seeming to drain from you with each shallow breath. “Fine, then,” you conceded. “Just get me home.”

“No, goddamit, you’re staying at my-…” the words almost escaped his lips, a dangerous truth on the verge of being revealed. He caught himself just in time, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to calm down. “You’re saying at my place until you get better,” he finally said.

Author’s note: HELLO EVERYONE. ITS RACE WEEK. So part 5 finally posted, not really happy with this one chapter (I really thought It was going to be better T-T) but the next ones holy, they’re going to be good and I hope you prepare to read some nasty ass things (im sorry) ANYWAYS TSYM GUYS FOR READING. LOVE U ALL. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Tag list: @persiar9 @mia-rrrs @ssararuffoni @kapsylia @formulaal @sparklysharknerd-blog1 @f1fantasys @landosgirlxoxo @moonclaine @charlesgirl16 @ironmaiden1313 @chezmardybum

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 x you #fanfic #lando #lando norris #lando norris angst #lando norris imagine #lando norris mclaren #lando norris one shot #lando norris x y/n #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando x reader

152 notes · View notes

becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 1 year ago

Text

So I'm currently in my sister's 40th birthday, and one of the Fun Things she wanted to do was to make prompts for a photo frame. In the days to come she'll compile all the photos people took for each prompt and make collages. Fun idea!

Problem: she is not the sort of creative that allows her to make prompts, so she thought of "There's a puppy" and "child like glee" and "blue steel" (I didn't understand that one) but then ran out of ideas.

Solution: me

So I have made more

My favourite so far is the inventive murder methods. My mother strangled me with my own hair. One woman attempted to behead her husband with the actual frame. My sister keeps reminding me I was only supposed to write prompts describing emotions and expressions people could pull. I'm having a great time. My aunt just rolled up a spliff to relive her Woodstock days

#I'm also quite drunk tbh #tedious personal details

416 notes · View notes

a-dauntless-daffodil · 7 months ago

Note

HOW DARE YOU STAB ME IN THE GUT THE IDEA OF VAGGIE BEING MORTAL!

SO RUDE!

But at the same time just... thinking about vaggie wanting to grow old with charlie. that sort of show of *trust*, of being vulnerable with charlie in a way no one's been with her before.

and it probably takes some more conversations, but... I want to hope that charlie eventually understands just what vaggie means when she wants to spend the rest of her days with charlie. and how much meaning that carries when those days are *finite*...

MY POOR HEART HOW DARE YOU

well this almost turned into a fic now didn't it? hm. whoops

(had Reinaeiry's song "Left Behind" on repeat for this ^w^;)

.... a new sinner comes to the hotel, sometime After.

they came in past the giant golden Dazzle statue out front, creep through the foyer, tense and ready for a trap, spot Sir Pentious's portrait- and the matching one, hanging up next to it

(fresh flowers sitting in vases under them both)

it's a picture of a woman. Steel grey skin, faded angel wings, a missing eye- deep laugh lines at the corners of the eye she has left

she's leaning back in a chair, sitting casually in her hotel manager uniform, her thin smile a little crooked and a little sharp- definitely someone used to having problems and finding solutions. Not someone to mess with. The walking stick in one hand is held more like a weapon

there's a wedding band on her finger, on full display she reaches up to cover the hand resting on her shoulder

(rest of that person out of sight) (hand clawed and pale as porcelain, cuff of a red suit bleeding out of frame)

and it's odd to see someone else sharing a memorial picture-

(more than one person had died a little, that day)

-but more odd than that is the way looking at the picture makes the sinner frown.

they're still frowning when the hotel founder wanders over

(done arranging for a new room) (doing double duty as hotel manager) (laughed it off earlier- hasn't yet found the time to put up a job openings ad) (a bad liar)

and she's a lanky, tall demon in a red suit, looking more like a living doll than a princess of hell, proper demon image only hinted at with the claws and the fangs

she shows off the fangs when she smiles at the portrait of the woman- then, belatedly, at the new hotel guest

(still their hotel) (still their new guest) (even After...)

she asks,

"Like them?" and smiles a little wider (wider than a human could) (a little forced now) "They're, pretty cool pictures, huh?"

the new guest hums noncommittally. Still frowning

a laugh from the demon standing next to them, clasping her hands, spinning ring on one finger-

"I guess it's harder to know how good a picture it is, if you've never met the person in it." a hard swallow. "She would've.... really liked to have be here. To meet you."

"Not sure I'd want to meet her," a quip, thoughtless, not looking over. "Kinda a scary lady."

the demon's stricken look "-does she look scary?"

a casual shrug. "Just a feeling. Seems like she meant business."

"She did..." fangs biting into lips, smile gone, shoulders slumping, the demon caving inwards. "....but not like that. She, she was scary for people she loved- and kind. And thoughtful and-"

"What about him?" pointing at Sir Pentious in full battle gear, egg boyz everywhere.

the demon's very weak attempt at a smile. "Oh, you'll see him around eventually. He comes down to visit when he can, and likes calling a lot in between."

eyebrows lifting. Realizing. "He's the one who made it to heaven?"

"He is. He-"

"But not her?"

"...."

tall frame hunching, horns out now, dark marks bleeding down pale cheeks like burnt tears. A tail lashing silently behind her.

the demon breathes carefully. Gingerly.

"She... wasn't here to be saved. Not like- not like that."

"Huh."

a dubious, suspicious noise- the hotel is still a new idea even after all these years- a brand new addition to the fabric of creation with a lot of trust issues still to iron out.

"So what happened?" the sinner prods, watching carefully out of the corner of one eye. "Why's her picture up there with his?"

that gets a smile again, strangely.

a tearful one and a thickness in the demon's voice, but still a smile as she steps forward, reaching up to the portrait frame- touching it, lightly, with a pale, clawed hand that matches the one resting on the painted woman's shoulder.

"...they both gave their lives to their friends."

the demon whispers, still smiling.

"They made their home here, in the hotel, with us, and... and they'll always still be here. They'll never. Really leave-"

the words cut off and the sinner shuffles awkwardly in the silence

staring up at the portrait together, one frowning sinner-

-one hell princess slowly leaning against the woman's gilded frame, forehead butting it desperately, clearly trying hard not to cry in front of the first new guest

(that she's had to greet on her own)

finally the sinner speaks up (uncomfortable with pity) (a dangerous, weak thing to feel in hell) scowling hard at the woman's portrait, demanding-

"Where's her spear?"

the demon turns, wet faced, surprised. "Oh- she didn't want..." Blinks. "Her. Spear?"

"The cane thing looks stupid." crossed arms, a judgmental eye. head tilted to the left like bird, like the right eye was better at looking at things- "It's just a stick. How's she supposed to deal with stuff with just a flimsy piece of crap like that? The thing doesn't even have a blade."

"It had one." murmurs the demon, still shocked. Slowly straightening. "It had, hidden inside, there was a blade- Niffty made it for-"

the demon stops. Frowns.

"But. You didn't know her. The spear... How did you know about the-"

another shrug. "Just vibes."

"Vibes-?"

"She looks like a spear kinda girl."

a flex of the sinner's empty hand, gripping empty air, glaring up at the cane in the woman's hand-

"Just seems right, you know? Better than the stupid twig stick."

the demon eyes flicking down to watch, staring. "...she called her cane that, too."

a faint comment drifting up like the ghost of years gone by.

snorting, the sinner turns away. "I bet." eyes the rest of the hotel with hands on hips, critical and on edge with that stare still burning between tense shoulder blades. "So where's my turf in this place? I'm guessing I don't have to fight for it first, right?"

"Room 12, second floor." many times rehearsed words finally popping out without thought. "Key's on the front desk. I'll show you up-"

"Don't bother." sinner already striding off, clearly glad to get away. "I won't kill anyone on the way there, don't worry."

"I wasn't.... that's not why I..."

there's something. Something about that brisk, focused way of walking. Something in the set of those shoulders-

(like a military march) (like the shoulders are braced for wings that aren't there)

(like the sinner should be carrying a spear-)

Charlie lurches forward.

"-Vaggie?"

heart in her throat, fist in her chest, frozen as the sinner pauses at the foot of the main stairs and looks back.

something in that strange face softens. (pity?) (something else...?)

"... not my name, sweetie."

the sinner's smile is crooked. unscarred eyes understanding, and sad.

"She your wife?"

no past tense. just the gaping whole in Charlie- ripped open fresh, thundering and bleeding under her shirt as she stares and stares and tries to see- "Yes." seeing ghosts where there aren't any. "We. For, for so many wonderful years..."

the crooked smile soft as well as sad now, as the sinner thumbs the room key and takes a moment, looking back up at the portrait above Charlie.

"Good for her."

a touch bitter- a sigh, sharp. Pained.

"And, you. Some of us.. never even find who we were looking for, before we lose our chance at having a life with them."

turning and gone in the next second, before anything else slips out. The glint in suddenly exhausted eyes-

Charlie, standing under Vaggie's portrait, slowly starting to shake.

Not this-

"-no."

Slowly backing up against the wall. Claws reaching out, sinking in, ruining wallpaper as the world tilts and turns and Charlie braces her weak knees against the fall.

"-it's not. It's not."

It can't be. The side of the bed that wasn't Charlie's even when she woke up curled up in it- that was real. The dusty spear propped in a corner of their room that Charlie hadn't put there and didn't want there and couldn't bring herself to move- THAT was real.

The portrait behind her, painted when the limp and her balance first started getting bad, when Vaggie still called her cane a 'stupid twig stick' but wouldn't pretend she didn't need it, wouldn't swap it for her spear when Charlie had offered, carried proudly anyway and smirked about smacking ankles when people annoyed her... mostly just thumbed it thoughtfully, when she thought Charlie wasn't looking, smiling that crooked wondering smile- THAT had been- that was-

Charlie could turn around right now and see all of it memorialized behind her (always behind her now) (always in the past, being left further behind).

Charlie had NOT seen, anything else. Because nothing else could BE real.

nothing as real as long limbs folding in, crumping under that damn framed picture, ignoring Husk's worried look from the bar. Husk, glancing up after the new guest, also frowning now-

Charlie and the old habit of hugging herself tightly back together, something not even a lifetime with Vaggie had ever fully broke her out of.

(only ONE lifetime) (not hers)

(her stupid deal hadn't worked in the end) (promise broken for nothing) (Vaggie had died)

(she can't be-)

She can't do this again.

.....

exact words are a bitch sometimes

"Don't let me die without her." (never said- and make sure she doesn't have to live and die alone either, without me)

#hazbin hotel #charlie morningstar #vaggie #chaggie #fanfic #drabble idea #vaggie aging wings au #charlie is grieving and going on anyway #UNTIL #idk can we make this both sadder AND not break the chaggie up permanently????#hmmm

73 notes · View notes

flymmsy · 11 months ago

Note

For durgetash smut, how about anything involving rope play or shibari?

Gender Neutral Durge for this one (left very ambiguous)! Gortash needs a break and Durge knows how to deliver.

18+ Smut NSFW Word Count: 1.6k (lol again. Lied about these being “short”.) Tags: Bondage, rimming, nipple clamps, cock ring, anal fingering, blowjobs, handjobs, sub!gortash, dom!durge. Warnings: Dub Con, Durge-Typical Descriptions of Violence, Durge Chloroform Solutions ™

Gortash had been pouring over schematics for days – insisting he was on the edge of a breakthrough with the “Steel Watch” plans. Durge, on the other hand, insisted he was on the edge of a breakdown.

“Leave me be,” he’d grumble, and no amount of sweet whispers of flaying him alive could tear him from his desk. Having had enough of this situation, Durge was left to find a solution of their own design.

They stood on Gortash’s balcony, watching through the window as the lordling scribbled furiously at his desk on yet another late evening. Carefully, they picked the window lock before slithering inside, melting into the shadows. They approached Gortash with ginger steps, not wanting to alert him to their presence. When they were just a step or two away from the back of his chair, their hand went to reach into their pack, pulling out –

“I told you to leave me be, Durge.” Gortash’s voice was curt, and he didn’t look up from whatever he was working on. Durge froze for a moment before switching tactics, stepping from the shadows.

“What gave me away?” Durge’s voice was warm as they met the back of Gortash’s chair.

“If I give away all my secrets, I’ll never get any work done,” Gortash scoffed, still denying Durge his full attention. Durge rolled their eyes before leaning forward, running one of their hands down Gortash’s chest.

“You’ve been working too much, lately,” they cooed, masking the slight rustle of their other hand in their pack.

“I’m hardly in the mood for – “ Gortash’s words were cut off by a heavy hand pressing a thick cloth to his face, smothering his cry of alarm. Durge hummed, smiling while holding him in place through his short-lived struggle.

“You will be.”

Durge groaned in appreciation, looking down at their masterpiece. Gortash, still asleep, was laid on his back in his own bed and had been artfully tied up like the prettiest present Durge had ever seen. An intricate series of ropes and knots wrapped around the expanse of Gortash’s gorgeous chest. Durge had enjoyed framing his pecs – leaving his nipples deliciously exposed. Gortash’s arms and hands were beneath him, having been tied behind his back. Most importantly, Gortash’s legs had been frogtied – both thighs and calves perfectly pressed together by three tight circles of rope. To ensure they could really have some fun, Durge had connected the leg ties to the ropes across Gortash’s chest, leaving the lordling no choice but to be fully spread on display.

Practically giddy, Durge reached back into their pack to retrieve the final touches. They leaned over the tied-up tyrant, pressing a light kiss to each nipple before placing a small clamp on each one. They kissed their way down skin and rope before settling between Gortash’s legs, slipping a firm ring over the lord’s flacid cock and securing it around his balls.

Satisfied, Durge decided it was time for their toy to wake up. They took Gortash’s soft cock into their mouth and began to lightly suck until they could feel his body begin to stir. What began as small twitches across Gortash’s body grew into full jerks as he regained consciousness.

“Wha…” Gortash’s voice was soft at first, and at the sound of it, Durge gave his cock a harder suck. He was half hard now, before he even knew what was going on.

Gortash’s head shot down to look at Durge, straining his neck from his comprised position. His eyes then darted across his own body, growing wide when they realized what was happening. When he returned to meet Durge’s gaze, rage radiated off of him. Durge, on the other hand, looked up at the lord innocently, allowing their tongue to lap at the sides of his cock.

“Let. Me. Go.” Gortash commanded. To his credit, his voice carried that certain tone of authority granted to the Banite due to his position. However, its effect was severely limited. Durge theorized that perhaps the God of Tyranny was not as eager to grant powers to his Chosen while he was all tied up in such a compromising position. Durge only laughed in response and shook their head, allowing their lips to drag back and forth over Gortash’s cock.

“Damn it!” Gortash growled, “Guards!” At this, Durge laughed again, lifting their hand and wiggling their fingers to reveal the pocket of silence that encased the edges of the room.

Options dwindling, Gortash returned his attempts to Durge. “Stop this now. I have to –”

Durge’s hand came to rest on Gortash’s balls, giving his sack a tight squeeze. A choke escaped the tyrant’s throat in place of his words.

“You,” Durge began, continuing to lap up the sides of Gortash’s cock. He was now fully hard, and Durge smirked in satisfaction at the obvious strain of the cock ring around him, “do not have to do anything except enjoy this.”

“Durge – ” Gortash gave one final protest.

“Relax, Enver.” With that, Durge took Gortash’s cock back fully into their mouth, sucking hard. Gortash’s head fell back against the bed in both resignation and pleasure. In the back of Gortash’s mind, he hoped he had put up just enough of a fight to receive Bane’s eventual forgiveness for this indulgence.

Durge was relentless in their ministrations - sucking at his tip, leaving his cock weeping, allowing their lips to tease the ridge of his head just the way he liked. Every once in a while, they allowed their teeth to graze him lightly, which sent a shudder through Gortash’s body. They took his cock deep into their throat, allowing him to bottom out in their mouth, ripping a moan from him. Nose pressed against his stomach, Durge stretched their tongue out even further to swipe against Gortash’s balls, eliciting a delicious sob.

At that, Durge released Gortash’s cock from their mouth with a satisfying pop. “So needy today,” they taunted, “Have you even touched yourself this past week?”

Gortash remained silent, breathing heavily. Durge hummed, having their answer. They replaced their mouth with their hand, Gortash’s cock slick with their saliva which allowed them to pump him generously. Their mouth dipped to his balls, first kissing lightly, then licking, then sucking. Above them, Gortash had devolved into an erratic mess of noises.

They took each ball into their mouth, delighting in the taste of his skin against their tongue. The attention was driving Gortash absolutely mad, and Durge was sure he would have spilled by now were it not for the help of the cock ring. Before long, they allowed their tongue to wander to the underside of Gortash’s balls, the lord’s body jerking against his restraints in response. Durge smiled wickedly against his sack.

Then – finally – they allowed their tongue to dip lower, lapping at the tyrant’s exposed asshole.

Gortash’s head immediately shot back up off of the bed.

“Wait – ”

But Durge did not wait. They pressed their tongue harder against his hole, dragging it languidly along the puckering of his skin. Gortash’s cock twitched in Durge’s hand as his head fell back down against the bed with a groan.

Gortash had protested being rimmed out before, much to Durge’s dismay. They wanted to taste all of the lordling and knew that his reservations originated from some toxic Banite mentality. Durge would have none of it – if the tyrant was comfortable enough putting his cock into the mouth of a Bhaalspawn, then he could handle having his ass licked. Now, with Gortash at their mercy, Durge was determined to show him what he was missing.

Applying more pressure, Durge pressed the tip of their tongue past the threshold of Gortash’s ass, dipping inside him. At this, Durge could not hold back their own lewd moan, only distantly registering the mewls that were now escaping Gortash. Thrusting shallowly with their tongue, Durge drank in as much of Gortash as they could, their own breaths now coming quickly.

Durge could feel the first tingles of the Urge rising within them at the new taste of the tyrant, and forced themselves to pull away from Gortash’s ass with an annoyed groan. A pitiful sound escaped Gortash’s throat in question.

“Such a good boy for me,” Durge hummed, deflecting. Gortash moaned again, doing his best to move within his restraints to buck into Durge’s hand, desperation driven by the loss of Durge at his asshole.

“Told you you’d like it,” Durge taunted, sticking one of their own fingers into their mouth. When it was appropriately slick, they brought it to the rim of Gortash’s ass before pushing it in. A sharp cry, followed by another sob, escaped the lord.

Durge thrust their finger into Gortash’s asshole, adding a second finger before long. In their other hand, Gortash’s cock was straining painfully; his tip was red and raw and dripping pre cum. Durge leaned forward to lick the sweet liquid, before bringing their mouth back down to Gortash’s balls. They were insanely tight, and Durge almost found it difficult now to suck them into their mouth.

“Please,” a loud plea shot through the sounds of their fucking, Gortash losing all sense of tyranny.

Durge groaned, and with a few more thrusts, Gortash’s orgasm violently hit him. Cock in hand, Durge was sure to angle him so that the lord’s own cum decorated his bound body. Durge smirked as they guided Gortash through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“Covered in your own cum?” they laughed, “See what happens when you don’t take a break, lordling?”

Gortash didn’t respond, still frantically panting. Durge slowly made their way up his body, licking up each drop of cum along the way. When they reached his face, Durge captured his lips in a sloppy kiss, forcing Gortash to taste himself. When the pair finally broke apart, all Gortash could manage was a whisper against Durge’s lips.

“Maybe…we can do that again some time.”

#enver gortash #bg3 #durgetash #durge #the dark urge #flymmsy writes #flymmsy writes durgetash #durgetash smut

117 notes · View notes

correlance · 9 months ago

Text

Rewriting Vaggie's Character Arc and Backstory in Season 1 of 'Hazbin Hotel'

One of my biggest issues with Season 1 of Hazbin Hotel, and the Charlie/Vaggie relationship, was how Vaggie's character and arc for the season were written - or, specifically, the lack of solid, thoughtful writing, as well as character and relationship development for Vaggie.

First up are the two main songs in Season 1 that feature, or relate to, Vaggie specifically: "Whatever It Takes" in Episode 3 ("Scrambled Eggs"), and "Out For Love" in Episode 7 ("Hello Rosie"). Both notably feature Carmilla Carmine, who serves as a foil for Vaggie in the show.

I've seen "Whatever It Takes" compared to "Do It For Her" from Steven Universe, except the latter has several seasons and dozens of episodes' worth of character development for Pearl, as well as the exploration of her relationship with Rose Quartz. Meanwhile, "Whatever It Takes" comes in just Episode 3 of Season 1 of Hazbin Hotel, and the song feels really out-of-place. It sounds like a song that should be later in Season 1, or even in Season 2, and not Episode 3, which I feel made the song seem shoehorned in due to the fast pace of Season 1, and lessened its impact, for many fans and viewers.

We also have no prior character development for Vaggie that would explain how and why she is singing those particular lyrics, especially for first-time viewers who never watched the original pilot episode. This is a big problem for the song itself, and its notability, overall.

The way the song is written and framed also gives off the impression that Vaggie and Carmilla have some sort of prior connection, or that Vaggie may be one of Carmilla's daughters...only for this not to be the case in Episode 7. Even Carmilla's song, "Out For Love", in Episode 7 makes a lot more sense, if you consider the possibility that Vaggie may have been originally written to be one of Carmilla's daughters in early drafts of the show. Many also assumed as much from the song.

However, once Vaggie's backstory was changed, the songs were still kept in, which led to highly confusing lyrics which make no sense. This is because we're never told what Vaggie's motivations actually are, outside of her wanting to be a protector for Charlie in Episode 3. However, this is also a problem, because it reduces Vaggie's character to just being "Charlie's girlfriend", with no other attributes. I think Vaggie could've been written to be a more compelling person.

Here's what I think Vaggie's original character arc in Season 1 was, prior to rewrites due to a short episode count: Vaggie was one of Carmilla's daughters, and a moth sinner, as opposed to an angel. The angels went after Carmilla and her daughters, and Vaggie killed one of the exorcists to protect Carmilla and her sisters. However, Adam and Lute are now hunting for Vaggie, so Vaggie has to go into hiding.

The Hazbin Hotel provides the perfect opportunity for Vaggie to do so. Vaggie doesn't believe that sinners can be redeemed, though she does befriend and fall in love with Charlie, and helps her with her project.

Vaggie and Charlie bond over how much the exterminations suck, but Vaggie wants revenge on Heaven, and hates Heaven, for murdering so many sinners in cold blood, and is more militaristic - wanting to use Carmilla's angelic steel weapons to fight against Heaven - whereas Charlie is all "eat, pray, love" and "kumbaya", and wants to find a peaceful solution (redemption of sinners) with Heaven instead.

Things come to a head in Episode 6, when Vaggie has a fight with Charlie over where the Hotel is headed - as redemption isn't working - and how they should handle Adam, Lute, and the exterminations. Vaggie's hatred and self-loathing eventually lead her to Carmilla's doorstep, where Carmilla then sings "Out For Love" about how Vaggie should fight because she loves Charlie, and not hates Heaven.

There, I just wrote a better and more interesting character arc for Vaggie than just "hurr durr, let's just copy the most popular fan theory about Vaggie, something something, lazy and boring writing".

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel analysis #vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie #hazbin vaggie #vaggie hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel carmilla #carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critique #chaggie

86 notes · View notes

lightgaugesteelframing · 4 months ago

Text

How Market-Leading Steel Solutions Suppliers Boost Business ROI!

Renowned suppliers of construction steel solutions for stud framing provide long-lasting and fireproof steel products, widely used in construction projects since it does not stretch, bend, distort, decay, or become infested with vermin or insects.

Such features make construction steel frames and trusses more durable and save maintenance costs. Stainless steel roof trusses are well-known for their non-combustible qualities, which can improve building safety, meet strict fire requirements, and save insurance costs.

Steel is well-known for its ability to be recycled and modified for use in a variety of industrial applications, including buildings. Furthermore, high-quality steel is reliable for precision manufacturing, has lower downtime, and minimal project costs due to its simple and quick modification process.

These qualities promote using ecologically friendly building approaches for a variety of difficult architectural needs, as well as the project's structural integrity.

Importance of Purchasing Steel Fabrication from Renowned Manufacturers:

Construction builders and building developers buy industrial steel and fabricated roof trusses from recognised manufacturers nearby. Usually, regional producers ensure durability, design perfection, and timely delivery within the deadlines.

A well-known manufacturer with over a decade of expertise can provide personalised services to specific commercial or residential construction project requirements. They use high-quality components and advanced software to ensure superior quality control and precision during production.

Furthermore, their in-house plants ensure rigorous adherence to specifications through obligation-free bids and detailed project timelines.

Their entire quality assurance assures that they are committed to their consumers by providing individualised services as well as durable and long-lasting items.

Find a Construction Steel Supplies Provider Nearby:

Look for a manufacturer with years of industrial experience and a track record of delivering high-quality steel fabrication products, as well as certificates and accreditations that prove adherence to industry standards.

Determine whether the manufacturer allows customised items to meet specific project requirements based on client comments, testimonials, and past job reports.

Evaluate their customer service and support, including their ability to reply to enquiries and provide timely assistance.

Request precise pricing based on the requirements and compare it to the market.

Finally, use the aforementioned steps to locate a reputable steel fabrication manufacturer nearby.

Source

#steel solutions #steel frames and trusses

0 notes

duvetfawn · 7 days ago

Text

The Code

- Masterlist

INTRODUCTION: In a world of intellect and intrigue, no one challenges the brilliance of Sherlock Holmes—except you. A case steeped in mystery brings the two of you into a tense standoff, your playful defiance the one puzzle he can’t easily solve. As desire and wit collide, the line between hunter and hunted blurs, leaving Sherlock caught in a web he never saw coming. This is more than a battle of minds—it’s a test of will, passion, and surrender.

PAIRING: dom!Sherlock x sub!fem!reader

WARNINGS: SMUT, MDNI, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (reader receiving), degradation kink, eventual cursing etc.

WORD COUNT: 2k

A/N: Hello people, I've been thinking about writing something smut for a while and I had this idea since I started writing about Benedict. Sorry if there are any grammar mistakes! Enjoy your reading.

The dim light of the room cast long shadows across the walls as Sherlock Holmes paced back and forth, his sharp mind racing through possibilities. The case was maddening, a labyrinth of encrypted messages and dead ends. And then there were you. The one person who had the solution but refused to hand it over.

You lounged on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, a smirk playing on your lips.

“You’re going to burn a hole in the carpet if you keep pacing like that.”

Sherlock stopped, turning his piercing gaze on you. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Your smile widened. “I am. It’s not every day the great Sherlock Holmes is at someone else’s mercy.”

He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. “You said you have the code.”

“I do,” you replied, tilting your head. “And I’ll give it to you—on one condition.”

His jaw tightened. “Name it.”

You stood, closing the distance between you until you were mere inches apart. Your voice dropped to a whisper, your words a taunting caress. “I want you to make love to me. Here. Now.”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought he might laugh, dismiss you outright. Instead, his lips curved into a smirk. “That’s your price?”

“Yes.” You held his gaze, your pulse quickening under his scrutiny. “Take it or leave it.”

He studied you for a long moment, his sharp mind calculating, analysing. Then, without warning, he reached out, his fingers gripping your chin firmly but not unkindly. “You think you can manipulate me,” he said softly, his voice like silk over steel. “But I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong.”

Before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours, stealing the breath from your lungs. His kiss was demanding, dominating, leaving no room for hesitation. You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as he backed you toward the bed.

Sherlock broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes blazing. “You’ve thought about this, haven’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed, but you met his gaze boldly. “Yes.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pushed you onto the bed. He followed you down, his hands already working at the buttons of your blouse. “Then let me show you how foolish you were to think you could control this.”

His hands were everywhere—firm, confident, as they stripped you of your clothing. Each touch sent shivers racing through you, a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability. When you were bare beneath him, he paused, his gaze sweeping over you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then, leaning down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “And you’re going to beg for me by the time I’m done with you.”

His mouth trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp. He moved lower, his lips closing around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak. You arched into him, your breath hitching as his hands gripped your hips, pinning you in place.

“You’re so responsive,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “I wonder—how much more can you take?”

His lips continued their descent, leaving a trail of heat down your stomach. Sherlock settled between your legs, his broad hands firm on your thighs, spreading them wider with a deliberate, almost commanding motion. The air in the room felt heavy with anticipation, and you found yourself holding your breath as his blue eyes roved over you, taking in every exposed inch of you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“Do you even know how tempting you look right now?” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers through you. “I don’t think you do. But I’m about to show you.”

Without waiting for your reply, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. The first touch was light, a soft press of his mouth that made your hips twitch. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Eager already? We’ve only just begun.”

His kisses grew firmer, trailing higher until his breath ghosted over your centre. You squirmed beneath him, a soft moan escaping your lips as he lingered there, his warm breath a tantalising tease. Then, with an excruciating slowness, his tongue flicked out, tracing a single, deliberate stroke along your folds.

The sensation was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through you that made your hands clutch at the sheets. Sherlock hummed against you, his hands sliding to your hips to hold you steady. “Mmm,” he murmured, his voice rich with satisfaction. “You taste exquisite. Like you were made for this.”

He licked you again, this time slower, more intentional, as if savouring every reaction he drew from you. His tongue explored you with an almost scientific precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your most sensitive spot. Your breath hitched, and you let out a shaky moan, your fingers tangling in his dark curls to ground yourself.

“Such a good response,” Sherlock muttered, his lips curling into a smirk as he pressed a kiss to your swollen flesh. “So sensitive. I can feel you trembling.”

You gasped as he sucked gently, his mouth sealing around you in a way that sent heat pooling low in your belly. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper, but it was enough to spur him on. His tongue moved faster now, alternating between teasing flicks and firm, deliberate strokes that had you writhing beneath him.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, but his hands tightened their grip on your hips, holding you still. “Patience,” he said, his voice muffled but commanding. “Let me finish what I’ve started.”

The vibrations of his voice against you sent another wave of pleasure rolling through you, and you cried out, your back arching off the bed. Sherlock glanced up briefly, his eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you unravelling beneath him. “You like this, don’t you?” he said, his lips glistening. “You like it when I suck on your clit? Knowing how much I enjoy it.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your head falling back as his tongue circled your most sensitive spot, the pressure just enough to drive you closer to the edge. Your body trembled, your thighs tightening around his head as the tension coiled tighter and tighter within you.

Sherlock’s pace quickened, his mouth working you with a relentless focus that left you breathless. Every flick of his tongue, every soft, wet sound, sent you spiralling closer to your breaking point. Your moans grew louder, your fingers gripping his hair as your body tensed. “Sherlock, I’m—” you tried to warn him, but your words dissolved into a cry as the wave of release crashed over you.

He didn’t stop. He held you through it, his tongue gentler now but no less attentive, drawing out every last shudder and gasp until you collapsed against the bed, utterly spent. Only then did he pull back, his lips trailing soft kisses along your inner thighs as your breathing began to steady.

When he finally rose to meet you, his lips brushed yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. You tasted yourself on him, and the realisation sent a fresh wave of heat through you.

“You like tasting yourself on my lips, don’t you?” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You nodded, unable to form words.

“Say it,” he demanded, his hand gripping your thigh.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yes, I love it.”

“You’re remarkable,” Sherlock whispered, his voice soft but laced with a dark satisfaction.

“Your turn,” you whispered, your hands tugging at his belt.

He allowed you to undress him, his body taut and powerful as he settled between your thighs. “Look at me,” he said, his voice softer now. You did, and the vulnerability in his eyes took your breath away.

Sherlock moved above you, his body strong and sure as he positioned himself between your thighs. The intimacy of the moment hung thick in the air, your breaths mingling as you stared at each other. His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin, a rare tenderness softening his usually sharp expression.

“Are you ready for me?” he asked, his voice low and raw, the confidence in his tone undercut by a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your heels pressing into the small of his back, urging him closer.

Sherlock adjusted his hips, one hand guiding himself to your entrance. He paused there, his tip pressing against your warmth, teasing you in a way that made your toes curl. Your breath hitched, and your fingers dug into his shoulders, your body straining toward him.

“Don’t rush,” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. “I want you to feel every inch of me.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he began to push into you. The stretch was exquisite, your body yielding to him as he sank deeper, inch by inch. You gasped, your head falling back against the pillow as the sensation consumed you—a delicious mix of fullness and heat that left you trembling.

“God, you’re tight,” Sherlock muttered, his voice a guttural rasp. His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he buried himself to the hilt. He stilled for a moment, his body taut and trembling, as though he were barely holding himself back. “You feel incredible,” he said, his voice thick with awe.

You could barely form words, your body adjusting to the fullness of him, every nerve ending alive with sensation. “You… you’re perfect,” you managed, your voice breathless.

A flicker of pride crossed his face, and he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. His hips shifted, pulling back slightly before pressing forward again, the slow, deliberate movement sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.

He set a rhythm, each thrust deep and controlled, his body moving with a precision that spoke to both his intelligence and his intensity. Your hands roamed over his back, your nails raking lightly down his skin as he filled you again and again, each stroke igniting a fresh wave of heat between you.

“You’re taking me so well,” Sherlock murmured against your lips, his voice low and dark. “Every inch of you wrapped around me. It’s maddening.”

Your legs tightened around him, drawing him even deeper, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his rhythm faltered for a moment. “Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. “How perfectly we fit together?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. “I feel it. I feel you.”

His pace quickened, the restraint slipping as your bodies moved together in perfect sync. The wet, rhythmic sounds of your joining filled the room, mingling with your soft cries and his quiet groans. Sherlock’s head dropped to the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as his thrusts grew more urgent.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice rough with possession. “Every part of you—mine.”

“Yes,” you moaned, your hands sliding into his hair, holding him close. “I’m yours, Sherlock. Always.”

Your words seemed to ignite something in him, and he drove into you harder, the force of his movements pushing you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity, your body arching beneath him as you clung to him, your gasps turning into cries of his name.

“Look at me,” Sherlock demanded, his hand gripping your chin as he thrust into you again, deeper than before. You obeyed, your eyes meeting his, and the raw emotion in his gaze stole what little breath you had left.

“I want to watch you fall apart,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

With one final thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your release crashing over you in a tidal wave of sensation. You cried out, your body trembling violently as the pleasure consumed you, and Sherlock followed you a heartbeat later, his own release shuddering through him as he buried himself deep inside you.

For a moment, you stayed locked together, your bodies entwined, your breathing ragged. Sherlock’s forehead rested against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to steady himself.

“You’re remarkable,” he murmured, his voice softer now, the rough edges smoothed away by the intimacy of the moment.

“So are you,” you whispered, your hands tracing the lines of his face as a soft smile curved your lips.

“Ready for the code?” a satisfied smirk on your lips.

He raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “Sherlock.”

He froze, then pulled back to look at you, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. “You’re insufferable,” he said, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, pulling him down for another kiss.

This time, he didn’t argue.

#bbc sherlock #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch smut #benedict cumberbatch x reader #sherlock #sherlock fandom #smut #female reader #18+ mdni #mdni

11 notes · View notes

vedanshiindustries-blog · 1 year ago

Text

#primary framing solution #c purlin manufacturers #c purlin suppliers #multi storey steel building manufacturers #secondary members/cold formed members

0 notes

bestworstcase · 7 months ago

Note

Your thoughts about Remnant's kingdoms having imperialistic and expansionist tendencies that don't have anything to do with Salem or Ozma makes me wonder, at least based on what I vaguely remember of the game RWBY Arrowfell:

In Arrowfell, we learn about the existence of ruins outside of Atlas and Mantle with ancient historical artifacts, and that makes me question if Solitas really as empty as it seemed, or was there already indigenous people living there before the displaced settlers of whatever regions of Sanus showed up on their doorstep? Did THEY get destroyed by those settlers?

Did those people live alongside Solitas' Grimm with no issue, and shit only went down AFTER the emotionally repressed imperialists of Sanus came in and wiped out whatever culture they had, imposing their own "Grimm evil emotions bad must repress and subjugate" nonsense onto a culture that might have already figured out a better solution?

I keep thinking about this because of how the settlers of the local settlements there within the game have vastly different appearances, and strongly implied different cultures compared to the likes of Mantle and Atlas.

tumak!

i rotate those ruins in my mind a lot, because the only thing we really know about them is that they predate the great war and they’re a formally-designated “heritage site.” vine talks about artifacts taken from the site as though they’re very ancient, but his statements are framed pretty overtly as bullshit—he comes across more as a new age mumbo jumbo type of hobbyist than someone serious about history. older than the great war just means that the ruins are at least a century old.

so there’s definitely a layer here of atlas—which has probably not been around much longer than a century or two—culturally not having a very accurate sense of historical scale (a la US americans thinking anything older than a century or two is ‘ancient’) and exoticizing The Past. whereas beacon’s professor of history teaches teaches the great war and its aftermath as recent history, because vale is much older.

that said, tumak does look like it’s a few centuries old, because it’s all built of stone. in any other story i’d take it as a given that the people living there were conquered or displaced by mantelian settlers for… the same reasons i take it as a given that mistral being called an “empire” and having “territories” means what it sounds like.

what gives me pause with regard to tumak and mantle is—well, two things:

there were no grimm in western solitas when mantle’s first settlers arrived.

it’s heavily implied that the global industrial revolution began in mantle following the discovery of large dust deposits under the tundra.

now, the one thing we know for certain about grimm is that they eat people and they die in captivity, meaning that they do need to eat. the simplest explanation for there being no grimm in western solitas when the mantelian settlers turned up is that there weren’t any people there for grimm to eat.

the second point matters matters because the industrial revolution is a prerequisite for building anything with steel: before this confluence between practical necessity and a great abundance of underground dust deposits, every large structure on remnant would have been built with timber or stone or clay, or whatever material happened to be abundant in a given region.

(i am making a drastic oversimplification here but, in essence, the main reason we had our industrial revolution when and where we did is england ran out of trees and started digging for coal. coal mines have a lot of coal on site, making coal-powered machines a more cost-effective way to pump water out of deep shafts than manual labor, and then after a certain point these pumps become very efficient and it becomes cost-effective to employ mechanized rotational movement further away from the coal mines, and then you get automated spinning jennies and trains and it all snowballs from there. whether it’s on purpose or not, remnant’s industrial revolution occurred under precisely similar conditions and i think that’s neat.)

one presumes that mantelian settlers didn’t go from living in natural caves or snow shelters to steel-frame construction overnight. the technological innovation needed to build with steel in subzero temperatures would have been a long, iterative process. both tumak and the “ancient monument” built in the same architectural style are also situated on the continent’s western coast, while mantle is at least a few hundred miles inland (although it’s difficult to get an accurate sense of scale from the game map). if i’m right that these settlers were displaced from northeast sanus by valean expansion, the west coast of solitas is where they would have landed.

we also know that mantle itself is built on top of what seems to be an enormous dust mine.

in the WOR episode, the early settlement is represented like this, with people keeping watch over coastal cliffs and grimm being frozen solid by the cold:

the amity arena ice sabyr card indicates that the ice-encrusted solitan grimm adapted to the cold fairly quickly:

These Sabyrs seem to have somehow adapted to Mantle's environment. Gone are the days when the cold kept the Grimm at bay, and now we deal with the ice crusted versions of the Sabyr. Still, there is a burning question in our minds. Didn't these Sabyr… adjust a little too quickly?

(which, lol. it’s dust. solitan grimm incorporate dust into their bodies to give themselves a protective coating against the cold; we’ve seen the geist in the mine use dust to armor itself against attack. a lot of the amity arena grimm cards are fun; the one for seers is literally like “they’re super weird, we have no idea what they do because we’ve only ever found broken husks, but they’re floating crystal balls with tentacles so we assume they must be able to control people. probably.” grimm studies is pseudoscience!)

and then back to the WOR episode, the depicted distance between mantle and alsius is wildly exaggerated:

with mantle located on the southwestern peninsula and alsius being where mantle stands—or stood—in the present day. before playing arrowfell, i always took that to be just a stylistic choice to emphasize the economic separation between mantle and alsius, but:

again, nothing is to scale here, but mantle and the atlesian crater are in the right place, there’s an abandoned dust mine on that southwest peninsula, an outpost with a train on the western island, and tumak and the other ruin along the west coast. so the relocation depicted in the WOR episode—a migration inward from the coastal region to where mantle is today—actually seems to have been literal.

what makes the most sense to me is that these coastal ruins were built by the original settlers a few hundred years ago. both tumak and the “monument” are mainly underground, with these barrow-like stone caps over the entrances: this strikes me as a solidly defensible layout for fending off weakened, scattered packs of grimm, but not one that could withstand the increasing numbers of cold-hardy grimm as time went on.

in the SDC WOR episode, it’s noted that mantle’s existing dust mines were nearly depleted before nicholas schnee discovered new deposits in the mountains to the north. and in arrowfell, if memory serves, the old southwest mine was exhausted and abandoned long ago. taking this to its logical conclusion, the people living in tumak and other coastal settlements had to deal with a relatively fast spike in grimm populations at a time when dust was already becoming scarce, so they abandoned these sites and migrated to a more defensible area—the plain flanked by mountains—where they serendipitously found much larger and deeper dust deposits. and that became mantle and alsius/atlas.

meanwhile, over on the eastern side of the continent…

the geographic separation here is pretty striking! in between mantle and the free towns to the east we have a large inland sea and mountains. these towns are explicitly not part of the kingdom and, as you noted, have a pretty different culture. (including cultural attitudes toward the grimm: a huge megoliath wanders into essen early in the game and the townspeople just… clear out of the immediate area and keep an eye on it from afar, which is probably also how the unnamed village in v4 dealt with that geist. there is also a lady from dormir who goes into GRIMM-INFESTED CAVES, alone, to dig up dust. nothing bad happens to her.)

tellingly, bram thornmane seems to view these free towns as independent polities for the purpose of fueling his persecution complex by treating his residence in essen like a quasi-exile from atlas, but when it’s politically expedient to do so he acts as though these are satellite communities dependent on atlesian protection, hence his use of the grimm lures to attack them as well as atlas and mantle. i imagine that this is a common atlesian attitude.

one of the villagers—cerise claire, who fled from crossed to essen when the former was overwhelmed as a consequence of thornmane’s scheme—mentions having ancestors who fought during the great war; specifically she implies that her ancestors were involved in resistance to the mantelian regime’s prohibition against art and self-expression. the free towns don’t seem to be particularly young—wood and stone, again suggesting pre-industrial construction—so they must have existed before the war.

cerise is also a faunus (i think; it’s hard to tell if the wolfish ears are attached to her head or just to her hood and they’re not the same color as her hair, but they’re a prominent feature of her design and why do that if she’s not meant to be faunus) which certainly. carries a lot of unspoken weight in the remarks she makes about her ancestor bravely keeping a journal of their years fighting in the great war… and if her family lived in crossed back then, well.

gestures at vacuo’s side of the great war being a desperate bid for independence. gestures at the implication that the vytal accords were in large part a decolonial project; vacuo and menagerie became sovereign states, and a huge swath of eastern anima seems to have been freed from mistrali rule.

mantle and mistral formed an alliance during the conquest of northern anima; if if the towns in eastern solitas are older than the great war—which is quite plausible!—then they likely existed during this period of time and it seems reasonable to think that they might have been occupied as well, if not by mantle then by mistral. eastern solitas being under occupation prior to the war and liberated by the accords thanks in part to the efforts of a local rebellion tracks.

but an interesting thought occurs to me: this means the quasi-scientific modern narrative that the grimm “adapted” to the cold unnaturally fast might be baseless. there would have been cold-hardy grimm living east of the mountains already. perhaps the intense hardship and struggle of those early years simply drew an existing population of grimm over the mountains?

#also the implication of that windmill…#it’s why for tdt i put a monster thermal dust deposit under eastern solitas. for the polar farming. brgfjdvk

28 notes · View notes