#they’re so comforting to draw and yet I barely draw them half the time :/
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After watching the new Spiderverse trailer, I realized I missed my little spider, so here’s some doodles ft. their mood ring hair
#my art#digital art#doodles#marvel#across the spiderverse#marvelsona#spidersona#rainbow spider#alex best#oc#artists on tumblr#I missed my little gay spider#they’re so comforting to draw and yet I barely draw them half the time :/#also for funsies I made the outline of each doodle the complementary color of one of the main colors of each doodle
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TW — Asylum/Hospital setting, mental disorders, medical malpractice
Inspired by Fran Bow, Sparklecare, Pure Trance, and other such things; I had an idea for a Dandy’s World AU that centers around a hospital setting
I feel like a lot of people don’t like asylum or hospital AUs because they are full of exaggerated or misinformed ideas of what mental illness is. I tried not to do that, though I’m not a professional so I still might be wrong about some things. I don’t want to take this idea too far in fear that it might be distasteful, but I do want to share this idea to see if others like it too.
Dandy’s Care is a separate world where, instead of a museum, Dandy and his friends were meant to be for a children’s hospital to treat the sick and ill. They were meant to be comfort characters to patients and were meant to support them during their stay. Like in Dandy’s World, the hospital shut down due to unspecified sanitation issues. Dandy, also known as Dr. Dandicus Dancifer, slowly became more and more starved for activity. He started targeting his friends, making the hospital into an asylum for them. He changed their characters, changing his friends into patients. The toons have no memory of their former self, only knowing their diseased and ill present self.
The staff is made up of the main toons. All of them are nurses and Dandy is the main doctor. They all act like their former selves, though they have no memory. I didn’t want to draw all of them so just imagine Astro and Vee in these uniforms.
Read more to see other toons (not all of them drawn or thought of yet, don’t attack me ;-;) ↓
Razzle and Dazzle, the only ones that I thought of completely because I already drew them before. They’re the reason why I made this entire thing anyway.
They are just experiments by Dandy, who wanted to see if the two could live together if they were attached. They used to love each other, now they don’t. Razzle is no longer looking for comedy, Dazzle is no longer looking for hope. Both are only set on the idea of revenge against Dandy for making them this way.
Life is hard when you can only feel the sensations on one half on your body, they can barely walk and can only stand or sit. They take many painkillers as their wounds take a long time to health properly. They wish they could escape this place and just die already, but they’re stuck and forced to live for as long as Dandy wants.
Razzle is a lot more violent now. He is prone to biting and scratching the staff. He hates doing all the lab tests and medical procedures, he hates being near Dazzle, he hates being stuck in this living hell. Razzle is the reason why they’re not allowed near sharp or blunt objects.
Dazzle became paranoid, scared of any noise that happens. He’s terrified of Razzle because of how violent he can get, he hates him too. Dazzle cries a lot, he cries until he can’t everyday. Dazzle wishes he could just die already, he thinks everything is scary and out to get him.
Shrimpo is thought to be a patient that had anger issues and aggressive tendencies. According to Dandy, he was admitted for being violent in public, although this is only part of the fake story that Dandy gave him. Shrimpo was forced to get a lobotomy, unethical but who cares. Dandy sure didn’t.
He’s still in the recovery phase, so he might be a bit loopy. Once those bandages are off, he’ll be as right as rain. Shrimpo is a wanderer around the hospital as he’s no longer a threat. He’s allowed to leave his room and go out in the play yard but only if a nurse is with him.
Shrimpo doesn’t really have much going for him. His thoughts are scrambled and he only cares for things in front of him. Although the lobotomy made him more passive, it doesn’t mean he’s any better in terms of motivation. Shrimpo certainly has no drive for anything anymore, he doesn’t mind but it gets in the way of his health as well. The staff needs to remind him to go to the dining room to eat or to go take a shower, because otherwise he’ll forget.
Boxten was made to believe that he has had problems with insomnia ever since he was little, of course it’s not true. He takes sleeping pills and melatonin, but it only seems to worsen his nightmares. This makes him skip his doses to avoid sleeping, repeating the cycle over and over.
Boxten is afraid of imaginary things that might get him. He thinks they’ve already in his head, eating away at his brain and giving him nightmares. Of course the only thing the nurses can see is his music box. Boxten has lost all trust in the staff since they couldn’t see or feel the things he can.
In my original notes, it said that Boxten might have psychosis.
Well that’s all the once I’ve drawn, I don’t really have the motivation to make every single toon. I have a couple of ideas though
— Goob somehow survived a terrible accident, but both his arms needed to be amputated making him armless. He suffers from brain damage and internal bleeding. He doesn’t seem to have any change in his personality, still as joyful as ever. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism
— Tisha has severe OCD which damages her mental health. She’s constantly worried about everything that happens around her, making her super aware of her surroundings. She could be a danger to herself and others as she sometimes has very aggressive thoughts but can’t control her actions. She unintentionally hurts herself because of her OCD, such as washing her hands so many times that they start to bleed.
Not for a toon, but I did have an idea for an added addition to the hospital. Maybe there’s a twisted reform center where the staff try and heal twisteds back to their normal self. They would clean the ichor from them but since the ichor is also inside of them their personalities don’t change as much. Twisteds such as Finn and R&D might be too far gone though, they would have to be disabled for life. I might draw this idea because I think it’s kind of cool, I definitely will if people also think this is interesting.
#Dandy’s World#Dandys World#Dandy’s World Shelly#Dandy’s World Sprout#Dandy’s World Razzle and Dazzle#Dandy’s World Shrimpo#Dandy’s World Boxten#TW Asylum
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Make You Feel Something
pairing: azriel x reader
warnings: sexual tension, some anxious themes, probably typos, some swearing, and two best friends—they might kiss
summary: You paint a certain Shadowsinger like one of those French girls
[ inspired by that quote “Art isn’t supposed to be perfect, it’s supposed to make you feel something.]
—
“Just stay still.”
“I don’t know—I feel like I’m not doing this right.”
You sigh, a soft smile stretching across your features watching Azriel attempt to stop his fidgeting. “You’re doing perfect, just get comfortable and lay there—I’ll do the rest.”
The paper was thick, a little yellowed but the charcoal in your hand seems to enjoy such conditions. Your back settles into the plush cushions on the couch, a throw pillow tucked against your thighs and every now and then you glance over the sketchbook to peer over at the partially bared body before you. “What’s this for anyway?”
“Practice,” You mumble, clearly distracted when roughly outlining the shape of him, the throne of a seat he was splayed over, shirtless with his fighting leathers hanging dangerously low on his hips and large wings shuffled behind him. “Why are you so nervous? You’ve been shirtless around me a million times.”
His left arm shifts again before you can draw the outline of it. “No one’s ever painted me before.”
“Technically, I haven’t gotten to the painting part yet. This will eventually become my reference photo for that.” The words don’t soothe him how you’d hoped and after a while Az is moving enough to have you settling down the charcoal, eyes sliding to his own. “What’s going on in your head?”
“I don’t know where to put my hands.” The shadowsinger sheepishly admits, looking more boyish than you’d seen him in centuries. Dark hair falls over his forehead and judging by the neat lines along the perimeter of his head, Az had recently gotten a haircut.
He attempts to hide his hands, tucking them behind his head or shoving them under pillow until you make a move to shuffle off the couch and finally it all makes sense. The fidgeting wasn’t because your best friend laid half-naked before you but the creeping insecurity of his scars ruining the final product. “Lay like this,” Azriel’s like putty in your grasp, malleable and easy to guide when you shift one leg to casually drape over the arm rest. He’s at a bit of an angle but the way you position him gives off attractive arrogance, effortless masculinity mixed with a boyish charm. “They’re beautiful,” Your voice is filled with uncapped love, lips soft when you take both of his hands in your own and press a kiss on the back of each. “Art isn’t supposed to be perfect—it’s supposed to make you feel something.”
Hazel eyes take you in, memorizing the slight furrow of your brow as you make a few final adjustments; his hands on full display while you mumble under your breath, something about the lighting and your nose scrunches a little when his shadows tickle at your cheeks. “What do they make you feel?”
There’s a brief pause and you can’t make eye contact for a few seconds, fearful that if you did your resolve would break and you’d be too busy trying to take his clothes off to worry about the poor beginnings of your drawing. “I couldn’t tell you honestly without ruining our friendship,” His brow quirks, throat bobbing with a gulp. “—but if I didn’t like them I wouldn’t have asked you to model for me.” Relief spreads when a smile tugs at his mouth, head dipping down to hide the warmth that blooms at his cheeks when you waggle your brows at him. He’s much more relaxed when you return to your seat, a slow breath releasing from you as you twist your neck, fingers gripping around the charcoal once more and Azriel can’t seem to take his sights away from you.
Painted toes wiggle softly at the edge of the cushions, bare knees drawn up and your hair is gathered in a ponytail. You hum when you focus, some song Azriel’s never heard of before seeming to aid in alleviating the self-consciousness and pleasantly distracting his brain. Five minutes turn into ten, then fifteen before Azriel breaks the silence, being sure to keep his body exactly as you’d placed it. “What’s that song?”
“Not sure,” His body was an artists dream, all hard lines and alarmingly perfect symmetry; the golden light casting through the room, scattering moody shadows along the angles of Az’s face and your thighs clench slightly when you’re forced to pay such close attention to the plush curve of his mouth. “My mom used to sing it when I was really little—can’t remember all of it but it calms me down.”
“You’ve seen me shirtless a million times, what’s there to be nervous about?” Your eyes roll at his harmless teasing, huffing at the way he’d thrown your words back at you and it’s become increasingly harder than you make it look to get a fucking grip on your body’s reaction to him.
The response is instinctual, fingers rubbing the page to soften edges and your brain wanders to what it would be like for real. “You’re not exactly hard on the eyes and I’m not used to having a reason for examining your body for this long.” The warmth of his skin beneath your hands. The free will to travel the contours of his muscles and kiss each and every scar, ripple and divot formed by countless hours of training and dedication. He’s easy to draw when you spend so much time oggling, bottom lip caught between your teeth when mimicking the lines of his abdomen, the inky trail of hair that disappeared beneath dark grey fabric. “It’s truly annoying how perfect you are—could probably get some sort of sexual gratification from how satisfying it is to draw you.”
There’s no room for embarrassment when Az is so easy-going, the same laugh you’d always yearned for pulling from his throat and you have to swat away a few creeping shadows from sneaking a peek before the final result. “I’ve never heard that one before.”
“It’s true,” The fireplace crackles behind you, a warm glow filling the room and kissing at the exposed skin of the model before you. Sharp jaw, soft smile; the hard line of his brows smoothed out by the light in his eyes—like sweet honey and sunshine. “I’ve never once drawn someone like you.”
“I’d hope not.” Azriel’s head tilts just a little, brows furrowed in thought. “Who else do you ask to get half-naked for the sake of practice?”
He’s fully aware of how it sounds—the jealousy lacing his tongue and you have to pull your hands away from the paper a moment before the slight tremble threatened to ruin the flow of the strands of hair you’d been steadily shaping around his head. “Not many seeing as I usually prefer painting models that are nude. I figured for the sake of our friendship I’d spare you.”
“Spare me?” He scoffs in a way that reminds you of Rhys, a little cocky and entirely too confident. “I’m not sure your heart would’ve taken seeing me nude. Certainly, it was me doing you the favor keeping the rest of my clothes on.”
Azriel’s skin goes hot at your lack of response, gaze sliding thoroughly over the length of his body from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes and a slow smile appears. “You sound awfully confident,” You shift in place, adjusting your legs and stretching out to see him better. “Take it off then.”
His mouth parts, words caught in his throat for a few beats of time before letting out a breath. His hands hesitate before untying the leathers and shimmying them down his thighs. There’s no hiding the desire that clouds your vision when taking in the simple black material that held snug against his cock. His thumbs hook in the waistband, shoving them down and tossing them aside.
It’s not the most simple task to tweak at the preexisting sketch, snuffing out dark lines and fading them into the background enough to make it easier to map out the thick lines of his thighs and calves—the generous length hanging confidently between it all. “I wasn’t sure you’d actually do it.”
“Should I not have? Are you uncomfortable?”
Your head shakes in denial, brows furrowed in focus and Azriel can’t place how it feels to be looked at as a specimen rather than a person. Your gaze is admirably respectful, quick glances with your tongue peeking through when perfecting soft lines and adding shading here and there. “Believe it or not, I couldn’t be more relaxed.”
He believes it too, your heartbeat is steady and controlled, limbs perfectly lax and Azriel is more than grateful for the view when you’re all laid out; sleep clothes shifting with each move and desire burns in his belly when you flick your ponytail off your shoulder, exposing the curve of your neck. “Where do you plan on putting this?”
“Nowhere, it’s private.” For viewing pleasure only, for those late nights when picking up a random male from Rita’s didn’t quite scratch the itch. “Once the painting is finished I’ll give it to you and keep the sketch for my portfolio.” You move on to his wings, tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth when you slide from the cushions, bare toes sinking into the throw rug when you stand before him. “Can you put those up higher?” Azriel complies with ease, craning his wings higher but the furrow of your brow doesn’t subside. “Spread them a little.” Your head shakes when he moves and you reach up, fingers millimeters away before glancing down at him. “May I touch?”
He should’ve said no—maintaining some sort of boundary because drawing him naked was one thing but standing before him asking to touch; all the resolve in the world wouldn’t be able to save him. Azriel’s mouth opens, intent on saying no but by some sick sense of self-indulgence he nods in agreement, eyes fluttering shut when the scent of your shampoo enters his space. Warm skin grazes his own and while the shadowsinger is a tense mess beneath you, you’re the picture of serinity, completely in your element when carefully adjusting the membranous wings how you pleased. He tries to hold it back but your hands are so soft and the rough groan that fills the silence has goosebumps raising.
“You can feel all of that?”
Azriel traces a finger up the outer side of your thigh, pausing at the hem of your shorts. “Can you feel that?”
“Right, stupid question.” Maybe you linger longer than necessary, tracing over a texture you’d never felt before; not leathery, softer than that but just as sturdy. Warm to the touch and they shudder when you smooth over the thin seam at top that fused everything together. “They’re beautiful.”
“I’m flattered, really,” His voice is strained, hands clenched in tight fists and when you glance down past inky strands, his cock is standing at attention against his stomach. “—but I think you’re overestimating my self-control.”
“You wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Not unless you asked me to.”
The swallow you force down is audible, hands shaky when you tuck them back at your sides but you don’t make a move to step away this time. Instead, you stand before him, fingers coated in charcoal and there’s a little smeared at your collarbone. His hand is up and touching before common sense can deter him; pure fire burns beneath each fleeting touch, knuckles grazing at the curve of your jaw and there’s no hiding the rising beat of your heart when he wipes your skin clean. “Thanks.”
“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” His head falls back, words low and barely contained. The hands he pulls away keep drawing back like a magnet, touching greedily at the sides of your thighs and stopping at your waist. “I’m supposed to be helping you and my thoughts are not very helpful.”
Years of denying himself the simple pleasure of touch and the powerhouse of a male on the battlefield is reduced to a simpering baby, grappling for more touch, more of your silky clothes shifting against his skin and the sweet smell of vanilla and cocoa, sugar cookies and warm milk filling his nose when he pulled you in closer. Better judgement makes you wonder if you should pull away, find a way to comfort him and keep it friendly but the more distance that closes between you the more of that hard length you begin to feel against you. “Az—“ He doesn’t let the warning fully come to life, hands twisting behind the back of your knees until you’re sat above him, resting on bare thighs and your hands brace at his shoulders.
“I know,” Azriel repeats it over and over under his breath, face buried in the dip of your throat, mouth grazing at the sensitive skin there and the little whimper he draws from you has that hard cock between you twitching against your stomach. “I thought I could handle it but you just feel so fucking good.”
It was wrong.
So fucking wrong.
Shit like this never ended well; mixing fucking and friendship but while you kept thinking no your body stubbornly arched into his touch. You bared more of your throat to him when he buries his nose there, taking in your smell while he memorized the feel of you. The slope of your shoulders, the flare of your ribs and the soft curve of your stomach. You grind onto him, searching for more friction when Azriel follows the length of your legs down then up to cup the fat of your ass. “Take it off.”
You feel weak; too captivated to acknowledge your backbone when you tug the shirt from your head and throw it somewhere behind you. His mouth is insatiable when pressing kisses to every inch of exposed flesh, holding you closer with each breathy moan and whispered plea for more, more, more. Nothing could’ve prepared you for his mouth finally slotting over your own.
Azriel’s careful now, slow and attentive, maintaining a pace as you got to know one another in ways you’d only thought about when you’d snuffed out the fire for the night and shuffled under the covers, fingers hiked up your nightgown for a few minutes of uninterrupted pleasure. He groans into your mouth when tongues touch, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.
You hand slides between the two of you, wrapping around the stiff length of him and the moan he lets out has him sinking back into the chair. Preening under the attention you continue, gaze locked on the half-lidded hazel eyes before you, his arms flexing at his sides, hands holding onto your thighs for stability because your hands were so soft, holding him so firmly and the steady drags up and down was enough to have his thoughts muddled and hips bucking up into your touch. Swears spill from his mouth like prayers, pleading and begging for you to keep going and watching him crumble beneath you was a greater high than any smokes or powders. “Feels so fucking good.”
“You look good under me,” Draped across a throne like some entitled High Lord finally receiving his birthweight as promised. “You close already?” Azriel’s cock throbs in your hands, pre-cum oozing from his slit and the thumb that curls to swipe over it is torturous. “Poor Illyrian baby—I’ve barely even touched you yet.” A cruel laugh accompanies the choppy breaths and hazel eyes kept falling victim to the backs of his lids. “The High Lords spymaster. The feared Shadowsinger. A great warrior with seven Syphons to hold onto all that power and here you are,” Your pace speeds up, pure feminine satisfaction building when watching such manly power submit beneath a woman. “—falling apart just for me.”
You feel his release coating your palm and you use it for better slip when you keep going, riding out his pleasure until he’s pulling your hands away, chest heaving.
He watches you slip from his lap while he catches his breath, catching a towel tossed his way for the mess. “Clean up for me, I need to finish this before the lanterns burn out.”
Azriel doesn’t listen though, rising from the throne and clearing the distance between you in no more than three steps and his mouth is right back on your own.
Fuck it, some of the best art was left unfinished anyway.
#a court of thorns and roses#acotar x reader#acotar x you#acotar#azriel#azriel x you#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger#acotar azriel#azriel acotar#acotar fic#acotar fanfiction#azriel fanfic#acowar#acosf#night court#art#sarah j maas
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We Can’t Be Friends
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!reader
Content: slight NSFW
Content Warnings: 18+, suggestive language, cursing, pet names (baby, princess, unestablished relationship -> established relationship, Gojo just being mad lovey dovey, marks (they smashed and Gojo dug his nails in like a cat), kissing
Word Count: 1.4k
Description: Gojo and Reader are pals who have never indulged in anything sexual until now. This first time between them changes the course of their friendship. Tadaaaa I don’t know how to write descriptions but it’s friends-loversss
Satoru couldn’t look away from you for a second. It was still mind blowing that you let your guard down for once and it was with him. You allowed him to touch you and confided your needs with him, and after all was said and done, you fell asleep on his bed.
The sheets were wrapped around your lower half, you bare chest against his bed. Satoru's nails traveled the expanse of your back and down the bumps of your spine, occasionally straying from the column to draw unrecognizable shapes on your skin. He gently brushed the magenta colored crescents that he left on your waist.
Satoru leaned back against the headboard of the bed, his eyes unmoving from your peaceful image. The little breaths that left your pretty lips made him happy, and he listened until the sound was controlled by your consciousness.
“Mm… why are you awake?” Your voice was slightly raspy, sleep embedded into it. You feel his hand retract from your back, the realization of you being naked hitting you like a train wreck. It didn’t matter anyway. He had already seen and touched every inch of you. There was nothing to hide from him anymore.
“No way I was gonna go to sleep while you were out. I had to make sure the princess was comfortable.” He grinned, boyishly.
You were still too dazed to get on him about calling you princess. Still, you didn’t want to lay there alone. You never thought you’d admit it, but you missed the skin-to-skin contact with him.
You brought the sheets higher up your body to cover your chest and sat up next to him.
“Lay with me.” Your tone is soft. You rest your chin on his shoulder, your body leaning against him.
“You’re being very affectionate. Is this a test?”
You kiss his shoulder, then move closer to his chest, slowly creeping towards his neck.
“Yeah, okay, i’ll lay with you.”
You smile as you adjust yourself onto your side, watching him as he slowly slides down the bed, turning onto his side to face you.
“How did we even get to this point?” You ask, your gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips.
“You have to admit, i’m very charming.” He winks, playfully.
You look away at his pillow, some sort of disappointment shown in your expression. Not at his response, but at what is unknown about the shift in your relationship with Gojo. He picks up on it and instantly tries to earn your attention back.
“We have a lot of trust in each other and this was another act of trust. I think that’s the best way we can put it.” He successfully gets your eyes back on his.
Your hand caresses his face, cupping his cheek and gently brushing your thumb across it. “Did it mean anything to you?”
He has wanted to be intimate with you this way for too long. There’s just never been a right moment, especially since you wouldn’t quit seeing him as just one of your guy friends.
“It did to me. What about you?”
He knew your answer just by the way you touched him so delicately.
“I think so.”
There’s a moment of silence, just longing stares from both of you. There is no distance, yet it feels like you’re across the room from each other. Just two people who walked up to the gates of hell and opened them. Walking in voluntarily, hand in hand.
“What will the others say?” You murmur.
His hand goes to your hip, squeezing comfortingly.
“It shouldn’t matter. They’re not the ones dying to kiss you all the time.”
You giggle, face going red at the admission. “You’re just saying that ‘cause I let you do things to me.”
“You let me fuck you,” he quickly corrects, “and pretty well by the looks of it.”
“God, you’re so vulgar. You ruined the moment.”
“No, no! I mean, you trusted me with your pleasure. We made love.”
You could see the way his eye twitched slightly with every coat of sugar he put on the sentence to refine it.
“If it’s not you, it’s not you.” You drop your hand onto his shoulder, patting it in comfort. “You wanna say we fucked, say we fucked. Don’t make yourself uncomfortable when you went out of your way to make sure I was fine.”
“Look at you trying to carve my heart out of my chest. Too bad it’s already been stolen,” he pauses, dramatically. “By you.”
“Oh. My. God.” He thinks you’re about to swoon over this word vomit. “You’re such a cornball!” You burst out laughing, uncontrollably. “H-How many people has this worked on?”
“Just you, and i’m pretty sure it’s working.” He takes in this image of you, engraving it into his mind. Things can never be so terrible when all he has to do is think about you. This is a core memory for him. Your eyes are watering from the nonstop laughter, no one else is there to witness it. It’s beautiful, and he’ll never forget it.
“God, that was a good laugh. I need to catch my breath.” You use the palm of your hand to wipe away any remaining wetness on your face.
Gojo pulls you closer to him, his hand still resting on your hip. The silence returns and the intimacy is raised.
“I want to make you laugh like that all the time.” Goosebumps rise over the skin beneath his hand, the contact feeling ticklish. “I want more time with you like this, away from our friends.” He stares at your lips, so tempting when he’s trying to pour his heart out to you. “I want privacy with you. I want to hold your hand in public and I want to be able run into your arms dramatically after the shortest amount of time of not seeing you.”
“What?” You blink, entranced by how open and sincere he’s being.
“It would not feel right to wake up tomorrow morning as your friend. Not after tonight.”
“Please be more clear about what you’re hinting at, Satoru.” You can read into everything he’s said to you for as long as you want but nothing will confirm what he means like a clear definition from him.
“I actually thought I was being crystal clear, but sure.” He chuckles. “I want to be your man.”
“You want to be my man?” You crack again, this time in surprise more than amusement.
“Sure do. Would you like to be my lady?”
You stayed quiet to build the suspense, but your heart had already made a decision.
“And you really don’t care about what others will say. What if people start whispering? Gossip derives from things like this.”
“We’ll be as open about our relationship as possible. Tell them we have sex, and kiss, and sleep in the same bed.”
Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief. “Actually?”
“No, not actually, pretty girl.” He flicks your forehead. “That’s for us to know, and for them to assume. All we have to do is just come clean about our relationship.” He smooths out the crease between your brows. “There’s no need for drama where there isn’t any, and I will have your back all the time, as usual. Anyone has a problem, they can catch these hands.”
You sigh, your mind put at ease due to his words.
“Fine, I’m your lady.” Curling into him feels a little more natural now. You feel secure, and you don’t have to worry about your affection being wasted.
“I now pronounce us the new Bonnie and Clyde.”
“They were criminals.” You laugh, enjoying the gleam in his eyes.
“I would commit so many crimes for you.” He presses his forehead against yours, eyes never leaving yours.
“I would never ask you to do something like that,” you murmur. “That’s asking to get you taken from me.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind, just say the word.”
You giggle, kissing all over his face, before planting a deep kiss on his lips. You lay on his chest, looking up into his eyes, in need of him.
“Those eyes are dangerous,“ he says. “Tell me what you want.” His thumb traces your lips.
“I want you all over me.” You bring his palm to your lips, kissing repeatedly. “Smother me, do anything. Just don’t let me go.”
He sits up and flips you over so that you are now on your back. “Anything for you.”
#fanfic#gojo fic#gojo fluff#gojo satoru#gojo smut#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojou satoru x reader#jjk#jjk smut#smut#jujutsu kaisen fic#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk satoru#jujutsu gojo#jjk fic#jjk gojo#jjk x reader#jujutsu satoru#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujustsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu sorcerer#satoru
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A Song of Ice & Shadow
Part 8
You can read previous chapters here.
Summary: The Inner Circle prepares for war. Y/n and Azriel grow closer, and a shocking revelation unfolds on the battlefield.
Word Count: 3K.
“I was wondering when you’d finally arrive” Rhys’s first words greeted Azriel and Y/n as they returned.
“What did we miss?” Y/n asked, half-jokingly.
“Azriel missed nothing. I kept him updated. You, on the other hand, missed a lot” Rhys taunted, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Y/n looked between the two males, her playful tone replaced by a serious one, before directing her question to Azriel “What happened? And why did you not tell me?”.
“You can argue later. Right now you need to get ready. We’re leaving for Graysen’s estate in an hour” Rhys informed her, his tone brisk.
“Graysen? As in Elain fia- ex fiancé?” Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise.
“The one and only” Rhys confirmed.
“The fuck happened while I was gone?” Y/n demanded, exasperation in her voice.
“As I said, a lot. Now get ready, we don’t have time to waste” Rhys ordered, and this time Y/n obeyed, though only because it involved one of her sisters.
—
“Where is everyone?” Y/n asked as she descended the stairs, her dress rustling with each step.
“Waiting at the camp. You’re the last to get dressed” Rhys remarked, barely hiding a smirk.
“Forgive me for just finding out about what’s going on, or at least part of it, like fifteen minutes ago. Besides, it took time to find something suitable for the occasion” she retorted.
“You could’ve just worn pants”.
“I prefer my dresses. Besides, this one is practical. I made sure to choose the right one” she twirled around, showing him the practicality of the dress. The top was supple leather that formed a snug bodice, molded to her curve, while the skirt was made of a rugged yet supple fabric that flowed around, reaching her ankles. Lace-up heeled combat boots completed the look.
“And the heels?” Rhys raised an eyebrow.
“They’re chunky and very comfortable. And if I were to kick someone, it’d hurt more”.
“And running?”.
“Bold of you to assume I’d be able to run even in normal boots. In that area, I’m hopeless”.
“Shall we?” he shook his head before winnowing them out to the Illyrian camp.
As soon as they arrived, Y/n went to stand where her sisters and Mor were, a step behind the males. Rhys proceeded to give instructions, and Cassian added a few of his own. Azriel just stared down at them, his eyes full of hatred and disgust for his own kind, which did not go unnoticed by Y/n.
“So these are the female-hating pricks?” Y/n asked no one in particular.
“Yes, unfortunately” Mor answered, her voice laced with disdain.
After some time, one of the lords, Devlon, whom the three Illyrian warriors usually dealt with, noticed Nesta and asked if she was a witch. He wanted her to stay away from the females and children for some reason.
“She’ll do no such thing” Y/n took a step forward, but Feyre held her hand, warning her not to do anything reckless.
“Another witch?” Devlon questioned, his tone mocking.
“The most wicked one. The one who’d haunt your dreams and-”.
“Y/n, please” Feyre pleaded, and Y/n stopped from finishing the sentence.
Devlon glared at her and was about to say something when Rhys found another topic to discuss, allowing Feyre to guide her sisters to the war tent. From the looks of it, he had told Feyre down the bond to take them away before Y/n or Nesta said something that would offend Devlon or make him lose his temper. As much as Rhys would’ve loved to see them getting on Devlon’s nerves, now was not the time.
When they got to the tent, Nesta asked what the difference between Fae and witches was, and Mor explained to her that witches draw power beyond their natural reserve and use spells to get more power than the Cauldron granted.
“I think I want to be a witch” Y/n expressed nonchalantly, causing all four females to cast worried glances in her direction, their brows furrowed.
“What? Fae are no better. They enslaved humans, and when they were done, they just left them to starve, die, and fend for themselves. At least, as a witch, I’d be able to provide food for everyone” Y/n shrugged.
“Those powers come with a cost” Mor informed her.
“Like what? Sacrificing people? I’m fine with that. There’s a whole army outside I wouldn’t mind sacrificing. Theoretically speaking, if I were, I mean if a witch were to sacrifice a High Lord, for example, would she gain even more power?”.
“I don’t know if you’re joking right now or not. It’s scary” Mor remarked “but I suppose it would make sense since they possess more power”.
“Good to know. We can sacrifice your hideous ex first” Y/n turned to face Feyre.
“We’re not sacrificing anyone” Feyre stated firmly.
Y/n shrugged “hmph, speak for yourself”.
“Nice outfit” Cassian snorted at Y/n as he and his brothers joined the females.
“Fuck you” she quipped.
“Later. We have a war to prepare for, and I have an army to command” he winked at her.
“Ew” she gave him a disgusted look and feigned gagging.
“Did we miss anything?” Rhys asked Feyre.
“Nothing, just Y/n wanting to become a witch and sacrifice every Fae” Mor informed him.
“That’s not true. I might spare a couple” Y/n retorted.
Azriel bit back a chuckle and Rhys said “I suppose I’m not on the list of the people you’ll spare?”.
“Hmm, haven’t decided yet, but so far, no” she teased.
—
After winnowing into the mortal lands, Feyre briefly explained what happened and the reason Elain was going to see her ex was to convince him to give sanctuary to the humans who couldn’t flee.
When they arrived, Rhys put a shield around them for protection and glamoured Elain to look human. One of the guards guided them to the guardhouse, the farthest they’d be allowed.
When Graysen and his father entered, Elain became nervous and stuttered, but Nesta intervened, informing them that the walls were gone. At the sight of her pointed ear, Graysen questioned how that happened, and Nesta explained. He asked why Elain was in the company of Fae, and she told him she’s safer with them. When Elain begged them to open their home to humans seeking refuge, he noticed she was glamoured.
Then Jurian appeared, the man who was at the King’s side when the sisters were turned. The man who put an arrow full of Faebane through Azriel’s chest. Y/n tensed at the sight of him but remained firmly standing, ready to jump on him at any minute.
He told them that he’d always been working for the humans and that he kept up the lies to gain more information on the King. He informed them that Tamlin went back to Hybern and that they plan to attack the Summer Court the next day. Azriel tapped Y/n’s shoulder, signaling her of his departure before disappearing to warn Cassian and tell them to move the legion.
Graysen was nothing but horrible to Elain the whole time they were there, and as much as Y/n wanted to interfere, she knew Elain wanted to sort this out herself. Their conversation wasn’t going well. Not only did he order her to take off her engagement ring, confirming that he wasn’t going to marry her, but he proceeded to insult her. When tears began streaming down Elain’s face, that’s when Y/n acted. She strode towards Graysen and slapped him across the face.
“You never deserved my sister, and if you ever speak to her like that again, I will kill you. The only reason you’re left breathing is because Elain cares about you, but insult her again and I will rip out your tongue” Y/n threatened, her eyes blazing with fury.
“You’re her eldest sister. I heard about you, about your hatred for Faekind, and now look at you, you’re one of them. Even threatening to kill humans” Graysen mocked.
“I was turned against my will, and my hatred still runs deep. It won’t change. But make no mistake, when it comes to my sisters, whether it’s Fae, human or any other kind of monster, I won’t hesitate” she turned away from him “I believe this concludes our business here”.
—
Unable to withstand seeing Elain crying any longer, Y/n left their tent and took a walk through the camp. It ate at her that there was nothing she could do to mend her sister’s broken heart, nothing she could do to help. She hated feeling helpless.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice Azriel joining her until he spoke “You shouldn’t wander out here alone, especially not when you’re absent-minded” his voice was gentle but firm.
“I don’t think they’d dare do anything, not with your High Lord being here” Y/n replied, trying to mask her distress.
“Still it’s better to be safe than sorry” he insisted, his eyes scanning the surroundings.
“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself… How are you feeling? Big day tomorrow” Y/n changed the subject, her voice tinged with concern.
“It’s not the first, and it won’t be the last battle I join” he responded, his tone neutral.
“Still, it must feel-”.
“Hard? It never gets easier, but I think about what and who I’m fighting for. It keeps me going” Azriel admitted, his eyes meeting hers.
“I never asked, but how are you feeling about being here? I know you don’t like your people. Today must have been difficult for you” Y/n observed, her brows furrowing in concern.
Azriel’s expression darkened “Dislike is an understatement. Honestly, it gets worse every time. To say I got used to it would be a lie”.
“It’s really a shame. You’d think as honorable warriors, they’d treat their females with respect at least… Are there others like you?”.
“Like me?” Azriel looked puzzled.
“Yes. Like you, your High Lord, and the General. You’re all Illyrians, yet you treat females like normal people… without discrimination. Are there other Illyrian warriors like that? Or are they all brutes?”.
“There are a few, but it’s very rare to see”.
“Back when we were at the Dawn Court, why didn’t you tell me about Elain and what they planned to do?”.
He seemed to contemplate before speaking again “You seemed happy. I didn’t want to ruin that, and it could wait. I knew if I told you, you’d have left immediately to be by Elain’s side. I knew what it meant to you to learn about how to make that powder, and I wanted you to do what you liked, what you enjoyed”.
“Why?” she genuinely did not understand why he was being considerate.
“War is coming and I thought you should be able to relax a bit before it got serious. We don’t know when things will get back to normal”.
“How very considerate of you” she said, half sarcastically, half seriously.
“You should get some sleep” he advised.
“I should be the one saying this to you. You’re the one fighting tomorrow”.
“I don’t get much sleep before a battle” Azriel informed her, his jaw tightening.
“I won’t argue with you, but just this once” a serene smile graced her face and he couldn’t help but stare at her.
They walked in silence for a while before he finally inquired “How’s Elain?”.
“As can be expected. She’s heartbroken, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it” Y/n sighed, her shoulders slumping.
“It will get better. Give her time” Azriel reassured her, and all she did was nod. She hoped that his words were true, that Elain would get over Greysen soon and be happy.
“Where are your shadows? I don’t see them” she managed to change the subject again.
“They’re around, here and there. Don’t tell me you miss them?” his lips curled into a soft smile.
“I have grown accustomed to them. It might sound weird, but I don’t know, they give me a sense of peace and security” she declared.
“Oh? That’s exactly how I feel” he raised a brow, his face lighting up with amusement.
“Is that why you always stand in the corners where the shadows are?”.
“You’re quite observant” he gave her a proud smile, his eyes brimming with admiration.
“You’re not the only one who notices things others don’t”.
As they walked through the camp, they almost forgot there was going to be a battle the next day. Being in each other’s presence often made them forget about the outside world, not that they often noticed.
It was getting late and Y/n was debating something, hesitant about. She opened her mouth to speak but then shut it again.
“Is something on your mind?” Azriel noticed her uneasiness.
“I- I got you something… when we were at the Dawn Court. This caught my eye and it reminded me of you. Something about it is just beautiful, and I didn’t want it to go to waste, so I got it for you” She opened her hand, revealing the black gemstone trinket. He reached out, his scarred fingers lightly touching hers as he took it. The smile on his face disappeared and was replaced by an unreadable expression.
“T- thank you. I don’t know what to say” his heart fluttered.
“You don’t have to say anything. The shop owner said it has protective properties, and while I don’t know if that’s true, just keep it on you tomorrow, will you?”.
“Are you worried about me?” he couldn’t hide his grin.
“Let’s just say I have a vast interest in keeping you alive”.
“And why is that?”.
“Well, for starters, to save me from your insufferable friends. You’re the only tolerable one. And to have someone to speak to occasionally while being locked up”.
He rolled his eyes at her last words “I’m not going to argue with you, but just this once” he repeated her earlier words to her.
“I should go now. Good night” she turned from him and started walking away before she halted and turned to face him again “and Shadowsinger? Good luck tomorrow”.
He kept watch on her until he made sure she arrived safely at her tent.
—
Y/n was pacing around in hers and her sisters’ tent when Feyre and Mor winnowed in. They informed them that they had won with little casualty before winnowing them to the battlefield. The place reeked of blood, and while the others waited for the tents to be rebuilt, Y/n went to offer assistance to the healers.
When Rhys and Cassian returned, they were surprised to see her bandaging some of the warriors, her hands and clothes stained with their blood. When she exhausted all her energy, she came to sit by the fire, near Feyre. Nesta was bandaging Cassian’s wrist when he spoke “Did someone put a knife to your throat? Is that why you were patching up the wounded?” Cassian quipped, a smirk playing on his lips.
“I don’t have the energy for you” Y/n sighed, rubbing her temples.
“It’s just I thought you hated our kind and now you’re volunteering to help”.
“It’s not out of the kindness of my heart, if that’s what you think. We still need every soldier for the war. The faster they’re healed, the better, and I happen to have some experience in that area”.
“As a healer?” Cassian raised his brow.
“Where I worked, there was an infirmary nearby. They were often short of healers, and I happened to have spare time on some days, so I learned the basics”.
“So you have a heart after all” his smirk grew wider, and she glared at him.
The days after went well, the soldiers were healing and resting up. On the fifth day, Azriel came panting and informed them that Hybern was planning to attack the Winter Court. That day they discussed for hours about what to do and ended up with deciding on marching north while remaining hidden but making Hybern think that they stayed here.
—
On the battlefield, both sides were exhausted, and casualties mounted on both sides. As heavy rain poured, more Hybern soldiers appeared and began slaughtering many of their forces. Their lines were breaking apart, and Cassian was trying to reform them as he was surrounded by the enemy. Azriel rushed to his aid but he had difficulty reaching him with all the soldiers. Both warriors were fighting relentlessly.
Y/n, Nesta, Feyre and Mor were watching from above. If this continued, they were going to lose, and many more warriors were going to die. Feyre decided to go find the Suriel to ask where Hybern’s true army was hiding.
Mor had left for the front lines and landed right next to Cassian, just in time to stop a soldier from driving a sword through his back. Cassian kept charging without waiting for the others to get to him, and Mor and Azriel took a few blows.
With each blow, Y/n’s anxiety and fear rose. It was building up to become something explosive. She paced around next to Nesta, one hand to her mouth as she nervously bit her nails. She hated watching helplessly from above as many soldiers were being slaughtered, as the people she grew used to were being attacked and barely managing to evade each blow.
Cassian engaged one of Hybern’s commanders, who managed to deliver a near-fatal blow, had Azriel not arrived in time to hold his guts in for him. Mor was fighting that commander when another one snuck up on Azriel and was about to lunge his sword into Azriel’s chest from behind.
At the sight, Y/n exploded “NO!” her eyes turned white, and with the heavy rain, lightning crackled and thunder boomed as if the very heavens had opened up. A power she hadn’t known she possessed surged forth in a wave of raw emotion and primal instinct.
The air crackled with electricity as bolts of lightning lashed out uncontrollably, striking down Hybern soldiers with blinding force. As the storm raged on, draining her of energy, she collapsed, unconscious, the toll of her unbridled power too much to bear.
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Feast and Folly || Chapter 1
Pairing: Gale x Tav/Reader Rating: M (to be safe–it's fairly tame, just a little bit of spice in a future chapter!) Tags/warnings: Gale's Netherese orb, chronic pain, hurt/comfort
Summary: You are a wild magic sorcerer, gifted with an innate connection to the Weave, yet it has caused you nothing but immense strife all your life. Gale is a wizard, plagued by a Netherese orb that must feed on shreds of the Weave, lest the worst come to pass. Is there anything you can do to help ease his pain?
Slow burn, Act I pre-relationship, Gale x f!Tav/Reader. This is intended to be 3 chapters.
Read on Ao3
NOTE: This is written in 2nd person, but reader/Tav is my tiefling wild magic sorcerer, Tiresia. Her story is integral to the fic, so this is not really a true blank slate “reader insert,” but I don’t describe her physical appearance much beyond race-specific details (having a tail and horns and claws), story-relevant details (burn scarring, blindness in one eye), and being shorter than Karlach (as most everyone is). But there are lots of bits of backstory peppered throughout. (my drawing of the Tav in question, if you are interested!)
Chapter 1: Arcane Hunger
“So, remind me again, who are these ‘paladins' and, why are they riding your tail?” you ask, a little bit out of breath.
Your newest—and tallest—companion, Karlach, leads your small scouting party up the dusty, bush-lined path where you first met her just days ago. You try to keep up while you chat, but she has a good foot and a half on you so what amounts to a brisk walk for her is nearing a jog for you, your tail bouncing rhythmically behind you with each step. The vampire and the wizard have both fallen several strides behind now, long since having given up on keeping the larger tiefling’s pace.
You slow to a stop as the rundown toll house comes into view up on the hill, allowing a moment for your other companions to catch up.
“Zariel’s bootlickers,” she spats. “Trying to drag me back to the hells. They’re not particularly bright, but those fuckers are relentless, I’ll give them that. But between us, they won’t know what hit ‘em.”
You hum in acknowledgement, deferring to Karlach for the plan of attack. “What d’you think’s the best way for us to approach this, then?”
Karlach pauses for a moment, hellfire in her eyes, before launching into an enthusiastic pitch for how to banish the ‘paladins’ back to Avernus. You watch her animated hand-talking with bemused reverence, until her monologue is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind you. Then—
An agonized groan,
followed by a heavy thump—
Something— someone— hits the ground, hard.
Time seems to slow as you spin around on your boot heel, your ears suddenly perked and alert. When you turn, you are half expecting to find yourself in the middle of an ambush—either the paladins had got the jump on you, or a roving band of goblins and Absolute cultists did.
But as the scene before you comes into focus, your eye is drawn to Gale’s cloaked form, doubled over in the dirt—his sweat-covered brow twisted up in pain, one hand clutching at the fabric of his collar, the tightness of his grip blanching the usually tanned skin of his knuckles.
Oh gods. What happened? Has he been shot?
Your mind reels, heart plummeting into your stomach at the thought.
Not him.
Something had drawn you to Gale nearly from the moment you pulled him from the portal he’d found himself stuck in. The wizard had landed right on top of you, knocking you into the dirt, his mortified blush and spluttering apology instantly endearing him to you. You found him handsome and charming, if a bit pompous, but still, Archmage Gale of Waterdeep felt deeply out of your league as an avoidant sorcerer with barely any mastery over her wild magic. There’s no way that he would be interested in you once he learned who you are, you reasoned. So you resigned yourself to admiring from afar.
But as the days went on, he started to seek you out in the evenings as a fellow magic user, expressing a keen interest in your innate abilities and connection to the Weave. You shared a few lighthearted stories of magical mishaps—like the time that a sneeze caused your skin to turn bright blue for a week, or when you accidentally flooded a small section of the Lower City because your mother refused to take you swimming—of course leaving out the more traumatic experiences. He offered up his own stories of mishaps and mischief in kind.
He was so genuine in his curiosity that you thought maybe you had misjudged him at first. But still, you felt guilty for the selective truths and the lies of omission. Even after he had partially revealed his own magical affliction, you still hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to share your own rather strained relationship with magic openly, nor the fact that you hadn’t intentionally cast a spell in nigh on a decade. This illithid nightmare you’d been thrust into left you with little choice but to rely on your magic again, so you made the decision to grin and bear it on your own.
Then, just a few evenings ago, one of these late night conversations bled into a more intimate moment, a warm embrace entangled in the very threads of the Weave as he told you of Mystra, his goddess and mother of all magic. A strange jealousy twinged in your gut at the reverent way he spoke of her, and your thoughts had wandered to your own longing, the shared connection laying bare your every repressed desire. You imagined what it would be like if you just pressed your lips to his, the soft scratch of his beard against your cheek, your tongue tracing the rampart of his teeth. His fingers trailing the seams of your robe, hooking under your belt, eagerly pulling you in closer—
“Soldier, get down !” Karlach hisses, snapping you back to the reality before you, shaking off your moment of reverie. You can’t afford any distraction if his life is in danger.
In your peripheral, you catch a glimpse of Karlach as she yanks the greataxe from her back and braces herself, eyes scanning wildly for assailants hidden in the brush. To your left, you hear Astarion let out a low growl, his lithe form swallowed up by your blindspot.
Without another thought, you rush to the wizard’s side and drop to your knees beside him. You take him firmly but gently by the shoulders and guide him into a seated position, allowing you to examine him closer.
Your eyes flit over his chest, scanning for any wounds, but you see no errant arrows, no bloom of blood staining his purple robe, nothing that would suggest grave physical injury. Your chest swells in relief, but it’s ever so brief. Something is still very wrong.
Gale lifts his head gingerly, and his wet, brown eyes flicker to yours. There’s an intensity to his gaze, an immense anguish that makes your breath hitch, and your world narrows until it is just you and the man sitting before you. You hold his gaze, searching for an answer. As your thoughts race, you try to suppress your rising panic so you can pinpoint the source of his pain.
“Please—,” his strangled voice dies in his throat, barely a hiss escaping through gritted teeth. He reaches up again and shakily pulls on his collar so that it dips just below the bruised purple outline etched into his chest.
Oh.
The hunger.
It isn’t the first time this arcane hunger has overtaken him since you began traveling together. You may not yet be privy to all the details of the wizard’s strange, magical affliction, but he’s told you enough for you to know more or less what is happening: his condition is worsening, yet again. The demon inside, as he had described it, had awoken to ravage him—clawing, tearing, teething from within.
He needs another magical artifact, immediately.
You start rifling through your pack, desperate to find anything you can part with—an enchanted amulet, a spare pair of boots, anything. Another pained whimper escapes Gale’s throat, and a knife twists in your own chest in sympathetic response.
You are no stranger to pain. The burn scars that pucker the left side of your face, neck, arms, and chest have caused you chronic, lingering pain for as long as you remember, ever since the day your magic ignited a fireball and set your childhood home ablaze. Though the burns have long since healed, the phantom prickles and incessant itching spells persist, and the restrictive tightness of the scar tissue itself causes you discomfort with even the simplest of movements.
Each time you laugh at a companion’s joke, each time you lift your arms to take off your tunic at the end of the day… hells, each time you look into a mirror, you are reminded of your stinging guilt, your hollow loss, the worst day of your life.
But among your companions, you keep that pain close to your chest. It is still difficult for you to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of them when you already feel like a liability because of your unpredictable magic. Some days are worse than others, but even on the bad days you find yourself pushing too far in order to prove yourself useful. You wonder idly if Gale has been doing the same this whole time, too.
“Come on, come on, come on, there’s got to be something in here,” you chastise yourself for hoarding so many useless baubles as your fingers graze past one too many pieces of pilfered silverware. You start tossing them on the ground next to you and they land with a metallic clatter. You make a mental note to clean out your pack later at camp—this level of clutter is clearly becoming a problem.
After another moment of digging, you produce the small golden locket that the little tiefling girl’s mother had given you after saving her from that wretched snake. You picture the looks of pure love and relief on her mother and father’s faces after being reunited with their daughter. You try to picture your own parents’ faces in your mind’s eye too, though with the passage of time, your visual memories of them have become less precise. The illuminating spell the locket is imbued with is not particularly useful to you, but still, it had been an incomprehensibly kind gesture to gift you with such an heirloom—especially when you know those tieflings had so little to their names. Their kindness will not be in vain.
You hold the locket out to Gale. He reaches for it, but recoils as another shudder wracks his body.
“Do you—” you pause, unsure of what it is you even want to ask. “Do you want me to do it?”
He nods.
The last time that Gale had to treat his worsening condition, you’d curiously observed how he held the artifact to his chest, touching it to bare skin so that the shred of Weave within could be absorbed into his body. It seemed simple enough.
You clutch the locket tight inside your palm and lean in to press it lightly to the bruised skin above Gale’s heart. Eyes closed, his hand settles on top of yours, thumb slowly rubbing back and forth across the back of your hand.
After a moment, a cool glow emanates from beneath your clawed fingertips, the outline of the strange orb on his chest now pulsing with magic. Bolts of indigo Weave crackle in the air around you and caress your entangled hands, the hairs on your arm standing on end, magic flowing from the locket and into Gale’s chest—through you.
The sensation is an altogether odd one, though certainly not unpleasant or unwelcome; it feels markedly different from the way that your wild magic usually does. You’ve tried so hard to keep the tides of chaos within you from spilling over for as long as you can remember, but it has always felt more like of a cycle of ever-building pressure, a mounting tension, rather than a pleasant ebb and flow of energy—rather like a bowstring being stretched ever more taut, yet never released, until finally it just snaps.
But this, this is something wholly different. This magic feels electric —a soft, buzzing energy, starting as a faint tingle in the tips of your fingers but radiating outward, to the crown of your head and the tip of your tail. Your nerves sing, a cold adrenaline flooding through you, and the frenetic vibrations that echo through your body push a nearly inaudible sound from your lips. You shiver. Has magic ever felt this good before?
Almost as quickly as it started, the tendrils of shimmering magic melt into the air.
The wizard groans, and you realize for the first time that your eyes had fluttered closed at some point, your lips still slightly parted. You open your eyes to find Gale gazing back at you from beneath hooded lids, closer than you remember him being—an unreadable emotion flickering across them for a fraction of a second. Your palm lingers on his chest as you relish in the soft electricity humming in your veins, his hand still resting atop yours.
Karlach’s soft cough from behind you snaps you out of it.
Suddenly hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment you have just shared and your companions’ stares boring a hole into your back, you are the first to move away. Your cheeks grow hot, flushing a deep red.
Your hands drop to your lap, opening your fist to observe the empty space where the little golden locket had been moments ago. You absent-mindedly fiddle with your mother’s tarnished ring on your middle finger, suddenly self-conscious and unsure of what else to do with your hands.
“You felt that too, didn’t you?” he whispers. Your eyes rise to meet his again. “It is a strange experience each time anew—like a lost soul is spelunking through the darkness that is me, only to be sacrificed on the dread altar of the heart.” You smile wide at the return of his usual grandiloquence—a sure sign that he’s feeling more himself again.
But the relief is gone in a moment. When Gale moves to stand, he winces, another deep pang ripping through his chest. You catch his elbow to steady him. His expression grows serious again, eyes darkening.
“Good gods, it’s hardly had any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all. Listen, I need to talk to you, all of you,” he finally looks past you to acknowledge Astarion and Karlach’s presence for the first time. Their expressions flicker between bewilderment and concern at what they had just witnessed.
“Tonight. I will make us supper, and we will speak then. You deserve to know the truth of who I was. Who I really am.”
You can’t imagine that anything he could say would change the way you feel about him. Not when you have your own secrets you’ve been keeping.
“Is there anything more I can do for you, Gale?” you implore him, voice barely above a whisper.
Gale shakes his head. “Oh, you do plenty for me already. More than you realize,” he pauses. “But this… this cannot be remedied. Please, I need some time to think. We will speak more tonight.”
You nod your head solemnly. “Do you want me to walk you back to camp? I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to convince Lae’zel to take your place if you need a rest.”
“Oh, I assure you, that will not be necessary, but I am grateful for your endless thoughtfulness. Let us carry on, I do believe we were about to parley with some paladins.”
#gale x tav#gale x reader#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#gale x f!tav#baldur's gate 3#bg3#my fanfic#my writing#my ocs#oc: tiresia allseer#wild magic sorcerer#gale fanfic#bg3 fanfiction#gale bg3
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Give me your headcanons about Kenma please?
here they are !!!! :3
Songs on his iPod: i think kenma really, really likes OST's mixed in with some mindless pop that can go on repeat in the background when he games alone.
Pokemon Sword and Shield OST - Gym Leader Battle All Time Low - Jon Bellion Amusement Park - Nier:Automata OST
The one place they fall asleep – where they’re not supposed to: ooooh kenma definitely has a terrible habit of doing this as a general quirk of his. IF and only IF there are people he is safe and comfortable around (you, his team, family, hinata) he won't have ANY qualms about snoozing for a second if there's a moment that calls for it. most chaotic moment was during his own hospital visit. he'd hosted a 48-hour livestream and passed the hell out because of course he also didnt eat properly during. the doctor popped out for a moment to check something from a chart, and when he came back, kenma was asleep. it worried the doctor to no end for a second, before he realized the cat-like barely-adult-adult was simply snoozing. you and kuroo apologizes profusely, but the doctor chalks it down to the weird thing he was doing online before he came. assigns rest as medication.
The game they’d destroy everyone else at: there's no doubt that kenma's a class A gamer in every game to exist. the most infuriating one - the one that kuroo HATES that he always wins - is ludo. its a game that runs on pure chance half the time, yet kenma's never lost a single game, not to you or anyone else. hinata's little sister came close one time, though. that made kenma's brow sweat a little.
The emoticon they’d use most often: 👍. its easy during streams, its easy if hes sleepy, its easy if hes busy. it confirms whatever people want from him in a second.
What they act like when they haven’t had enough sleep: practically non-verbal. eyes squinted and barely able to do things required of him. he gropes and grabs at random stuff in his cabinet or fridge to find something edible and his phone is all up in his face. you mostly talk aloud to yourself during those times.
Their preferred hot beverage on really cold nights or mornings: kenma doesn't advertise it a lot, but he loves a good, warm bubble tea with tapioca. it has to be a black tea or he isn't having it.
How they like to comfort/care for themselves in a slump: kenma calls kuroo. slumps are his arch nemesis, the boss battle he cannot handle alone. so back up and support characters are needed.
What they wanted to be when they grew up: im pretty sure kenma achieved exactly what he dreamt of: freedom to play his beloved video games in the capacity that he does.
Their favorite kind of weather: overcast, but not humid or rainy. it's a perfectly acceptable day to stay indoors.
Thoughts on their singing voice: i think kenma is a very nice tenor, but he doesnt have the confidence or skills to really sing from his stomach, so it comes out shallow and off.
How/what they like to draw or doodle: he likes to doodle weapons from his games. the master sword from legend of zelda, cloud's buster sword, and the keyblades from kingdom hearts. it's all a cute, non-detailed chibi style tho, only marking what makes the sword stand out. mostly, hes the only one who can name them all if hes sitting thru a long enough meeting to draw multiple.
send me a character and ill fill out these headcanons
#thank u for sending in dira !!!!!! <3333#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu headcanons#kozume kenma headcanons#kozume kenma fluff#on another note i just realized i have to go to the doctor tomorrow morning LMAAAAAO so ill fill a few more out and then the rest tomorrow#nohr.headcanons#nohr.writing#nohr.talks#lovenote: dira 🥰✨
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In the Shattering of Things, Ch. 74: Departures
Chapter Summary: With an alliance with Celene secured, Rose departs Halamshiral, hoping to turn her attention toward the Wardens and operations across southern Orlais. Unfortunately, there's a minor hiccup.
Fic Summary: Lady Rose Trevelyan's idle, aristocratic life blinks out in a haze of irrelevance when the breach destroys the Conclave. She may be soft and coddled when she joins the Inquisition, but there's a fierceness inside her she's yet to fully recognize. Armed with only a few relevant skills and the mark that makes her a legend, she is thrust onto a path delivering hope where it’s long been scorched away and finds comfort in the grumpy, handsome stick in the mud charged with her protection and training. As she stumbles her way across southern Thedas, she begins to realize she's tangled at the center of machinations she barely understands, and she's not alone in that. Enter Hawke.
Excerpt under the cut 👇
The remnants of frothing waves wash past my feet, hollowing out the space beneath them until they sink comfortably into the sand. It’s a colorless day, banks of fog mostly swallowing the Waking Sea, the gloom of the sky and the murk of the sea mingling in a sort of lost horizon. The shore to my left is littered with limp clumps of black seaweed and white slivers of bleached shells in want of collection. A tall sandy escarpment, half-devoured by the whims of the sea, runs the length, hiding my home up above. It’s all gray, but it holds me like sunshine.
The pull of the sand around my feet firms up, each step sinking deeper.
And then it doesn’t let go.
I laugh at first and then begin to dig, but the sand just fills back in. My feet won’t budge. A flutter of panic becomes beating wings inside my chest. I’m trapped. Caught. Just like the avalanche.
And then the water creeps higher. Foam streams past my shins and then sloshes at my knees as I continue to claw the sand away from my feet. The water deepens until I have to draw a breath before plunging beneath the surface to fruitlessly scrape away the tenacious sediment. When I surface again he’s there.
A mist dulled red fox staring at me with golden eyes safe above the tide line. I’d dug myself free the last time he’d been so close. I draw another breath and plunge in, shuddering sobs tugging at my lungs as I try to free myself. Standing again, the waves splashing up at my waist, I wipe saltwater from my face and blink. Solas stands on the shore beside Jaime. Staring.
When I look down I’m bleeding from two open stab wounds, brilliant red wicking in the sodden weave of my dove gray dress. But I was healed .
“Solas!” I choke, but I already know that he won’t help me.
He only leans on his staff watching with grave interest, his gray unblinking eyes fixed to mine. The fox sits, settling in for this show.
The water inundates the bleeding wounds but the salt doesn’t sting. It’s a dream . Merciful Maker. It’s only a dream.
Down the beach the air ripples, a figure made of light pierces the landscape, the world wobbling all around them and then leaves a trail as everything sloshes back together behind them. They approach, walking straight for me into the grasping sand, cutting into the lacey surface of the sea, their radiance far too intense to make out much of anything.
But I know them.
I just do.
My fear settles even as the water laps at my chin when they stand before me, the sea and air shimmering and warping around the edges of them. They’re in this dream but they’re not of it. And as a wave crests past my mouth, they reach out and brush my forehead with a gentle finger. And I don’t hear it but I feel it, the same way I’ve felt it before.
Rose. Wake up.
DAFF Tag List @warpedlegacy | @rakshadow | @rosella-writes | @effelants | @bluewren |
@breninarthur | @ar-lath-ma-cully | @dreadfutures | @plisuu | @ir0n-angel |
@inquisimer | @crackinglamb | @nirikeehan | @oxygenforthewicked | @about2dance |
@exalted-dawn-drabbles | @blarrghe | @delicatefade | @leggywillow
#dragon age fan fiction#in the shattering of things#rose trevelyan#cullen x trevelyan#hawke x trevelyan#my writing#theluckywizard#my art#cullen rutherford#garrett hawke#perseverance#halamshiral
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A microfic series inspired by @jilymicrofics July Prompt List. All the times they touched...
Lay All Your Love On Me | Rating: M
Chapter Three | Beginning
Prompt: firm Summary: The first time Lily kisses James, he doesn’t even know.
Midnight patrol is Lily's least favourite shift. The wind outside rivals the mournful howls of Moaning Myrtle and the cold, a silent thief, relentlessly pursues her, determined to rob her of every ounce of warmth she contains. A frustrated huff escapes her lips as she casts yet another warming charm, seeking respite from the chilly air. Hands thrust deep in her pockets, she quickens her pace. This year's patrols are better yet somehow worse than before (for the very same reasons, nonetheless) and serve as a cruel reminder of their friendship —charming, lovely, endearing, yet unattainable. Nothing sucks joy from her very existence quite like the reminder of being friends . At least they weren’t fucking professionals.
Lily is so lost in thought, James’ commanding tone jolts her from her daze and she glares at a portrait that has the gall to laugh. She pauses at the corner, fingers grazing the comforting weight of her wand. How should she proceed? She briefly peers around the corner, careful not to be seen. She sees James’ (broad and delicious) back as he faces down three Ravenclaw upperclassmen, who stare stonily at the floor. Two wide-eyed first years – barely visible behind his towering figure – look on in awe as James thunders like an angry sea. Lily can’t blame them; if she had less control over her face, she'd spend the day gawking at him too.
A surge of admiration washes over her, sparked by James's protective stance against the injustice of older students tormenting younger ones. He’s undeniably attractive like this and she finds herself wanting him. It's neither new nor surprising, but she still finds herself annoyed. His authoritative voice only enhances her admiration (and her arousal). If it isn't for the expectation of her presence – he’ll worry himself silly if she disappears – she'd retreat, draw a bath and submerge herself in relief .
Sweeping her thoughts aside like fallen autumn leaves, she composes herself and makes her way over to him. The Ravenclaws are gone. "Alright?" she asks softly.
James's eyes, now devastatingly soft, meet hers. "Yeah, we're just going to walk these two back to their common room."
One of the young girls smiles shyly at Lily, and she sends a warm grin back. "What brings you two out so late?"
"Following in your footsteps," James teases before either of them can answer her.
"My footsteps?" Lily laughs as the first-years watch wide-eyed. "Isn't wandering around after midnight more your territory?"
"Not since they were in the library," James whispers conspiratorially, winking at the children. "Keep it up, and you'll become almost as brilliant as our Head Girl here."
When wide eyes find Lily, she blushes like a rose in full bloom. She hopes he perceives her reaction as embarrassment rather than deciphering the true reasons for her flush. Blushing at the attention of first years is appropriate. Her thoughts on James are not.
James carries the conversation effortlessly, his words as smooth as a gentle river, and Lily lets herself sink into the rhythm of his voice, humming in agreement on occasion, but only half-aware of the exchange.
"You alright?" James mutters, bumping his hip against hers, grounding her wandering mind. Don't shiver . They’re well on their way back now, having ascended two flights of stairs while she’s been stuck in her thoughts (fantasies, really, but that’s just semantics). I’m far from fine . I am completely and utterly taken with you and I’m too late . "Yeah, just thinking—"
James freezes at her pause and his gaze follows hers to the end of the hallway. Mrs Norris emitted a menacing, drawn-out meow, fixing them with her piercing stare.
"Shit!" James curses, gripping Lily's hand and yanking her— rather ungracefully—around a corner and behind a tapestry. The world outside the tapestry fades to a distant hum, echoes of footsteps and a muffled voice carrying on the wind like whispers of ghosts.
"Why are we hiding, James?" Lily murmurs, once she’s (somewhat) regained control over her wild heart. "We're allowed to be patrolling."
"Right! Shit!" James curses again , his voice strained. "Old habits die hard, I suppose." Discomfort radiates from his large frame. He doesn’t want to be this close to her. "Should we...?" He gestures towards the door.
"Not with Filch right there!" Lily hisses. "Then we'll definitely look like we're up to something."
They’re flush against each other in the confined space – breath ragged, hearts pounding – and Lily can feel every contour of his body. Her flushed face radiates warmth; his presence is exhilarating. James' warm exhale on her ear ignites a familiar heat between her legs. Surely, he must feel it—the rapid cadence of her heartbeat. They remain pressed tightly together, a tangle of limbs and she takes a moment to marvel at his proximity. Their bodies meld together like molten metal. They fit perfectly. And then she shifts again and feels it: he’s rock hard against her belly and twitches as she moves. Her cheeks burn as she steals a glance at him, but his gaze isn’t fixed on her. Instead, his head is tilted back, his lips moving silently, and Lily suddenly yearns to trace the line of his throat with her tongue.
Don’t read into it Lily chides herself. It's just a physiological response to being pressed against another body. It would happen to anyone. James pulses against her again, eliciting a responsive throb between her legs. She wants to kiss him. She can’t. Perhaps he's experiencing a random boner —guys get those all the time, right?"
He must notice her stillness, her abnormal breathing, her racing heart. He must mistake her internal tumult for something entirely different; a strained apology falls from his lips as he attempts to shift away from her (he only succeeds in brushing against her again). Lily doesn’t want his apology. She yearns for him to press against her more firmly, to trace the shape of him through his trousers. She longs to feel the heat, the softness, the hardness beneath her fingertips. She wants to guide him inside her and discover what it feels like to be consumed by him. Yet, she remains frozen, immobile. She can’t move; she can’t speak. All she can do is stand there, silently gazing at him as he composes himself. His face is tight and red in embarrassment and Lily wishes she could make him flush for entirely different reasons.
"It's fine," Lily squeaks before he could say anything. She holds her finger up, urging him to maintain his silence as she strains her ears. "He's gone, I think we're in the clear."
The first time James is pressed hard against her, Lily can’t even fucking appreciate it.
#jily#jily microfic#lily pov#james x lily#jple#james potter#lily evans#marauder era#lay all your love on me#athenasparrow
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Prism (Alhaitham x Kaveh) ✦ smut, 2k
archive of our own ✦ twitter ✦ masterlist
kaveh decides to try on his pre-transition clothes before giving them away. both are trans men (he/him pronouns, afab genitals)
the dress that kaveh is wearing here is this one
cw: penetration (strap-on), light gender dysphoria
writer's note: explicit +18 content, please view at your own risk. thank you, have fun !
Top Alhaitham x Bottom Kaveh
Kaveh crosses his arms in front of the mirror with a sigh. The bedroom is overtaken by piles of dresses, skirts and blouses of every color.
Lace, cotton, velvet, leather.
Bows and gowns, summer dresses and stockings.
Kaveh’s past is laid out over the bed and along the floors. Mere pieces of fabric that witnessed every single day of his life. Dates, parties, graduation ceremonies, birthdays and funerals.
Days where he couldn’t collect himself off the floor and nights he spent drawing with aching eyes.
Undergarments that were no longer useful to him.
Reminders of the times he felt too broken to even figure out what was wrong with himself.
Like flipping through a photo album, Kaveh can watch a confused child grow into one wreck of a teenager.
It’s hard to spend your life pretending to be something you’re not.
It’s even harder to find people that care for you along the way, fearing their rejection at every step.
Fond memories that will always be shadowed, because no one even knew who you were on the inside.
Kaveh studies his image in the mirror.
It doesn’t look wrong.
It’s not how a man looks, but it is how this man looks. Kaveh is at peace with that.
Still, it’s not something he can wear on a night out with Nilou, for instance. Not like he can wear it to an anniversary dinner with Alhaitham like he did the first time.
He remembers scouring every shop in Sumeru for this dress.
“What’s the occasion, Miss?”
“Oh! First anniversary with my girlfriend, nothing extravagant. Something simple, though I’d still like to look stunning.”
“Ah, congratulations! I understand. Could I interest you in this velvet piece, maybe?”
Kaveh strokes the fabric, soft and fluid, it still hugs his body perfectly. Ruby red, just like his eyes, it sits on his shoulders and reveals his back in a V-shaped opening, all the way down to his waist.
Kaveh remembers vividly how Alhaitham had palmed over his back when they had met for the date. A gentle kiss on his cheek before they walked to the restaurant, hand in hand.
The necklace Alhaitham gifted to him on that date is the only thing he still uses among his old clothes and accessories.
It's a stunning piece, decorated with ruby stones as if Alhaitham had known what he was going to wear.
He can’t help but smile, yet the look on his face turns to terror soon as he hears keys turning at the lock. He steps into the entrance and holds onto the door’s handle.
“Kaveh?”
“Stay out!” he gasps.
Alhaitham doesn’t force the door to open and instead leaves it ajar, barely getting a glimpse of the hall. “Why?” he asks, puzzled.
“I’m—uh…” Kaveh struggles to come up with an excuse—
“Naked.”
“So?”
Kaveh scoffs, “Just—give me a minute!”
“Are you painting the walls without asking me again?”
Alhaitham knows how comfortable he is when they’re alone, so when Kaveh wants him to keep out, usually he’s up to no good.
Kaveh’s brows furrow, “No, that was a one time thing. But, I still think they would look better in—ugh—nevermind. Just... close the door and give me a minute.”
Alhaitham leans on the doorframe, “You know I can see you, right?”
A moment of silence passes as Kaveh notices. Half of Alhaitham’s face is reflecting on the small mirror that hangs in the entrance.
He locks eyes with the scribe through the reflection, frozen in shock. Alhaitham can’t see below his neck, but it’s enough for him to recognize that this isn’t a part of Kaveh’s daily clothing.
“What are you wearing?”
The calmness of his voice contrasts the racing thoughts that corrupt Kaveh’s mind.
He takes a deep breath and leans on the wall, “I’m trying on my old clothes before giving them away.”
Alhaitham hums, his face disappears from the mirror as he steps back.
“I see. Call me when you’re done.”
Kaveh holds his breath, “You can come in.”
He makes his way into the bedroom again and stands by the dresser’s mirror. The door closes, footsteps follow him into the room. Kaveh places his hands on his waist nervously, refusing to turn around, “What do you think?”
Somehow, it’s easier to talk to Alhaitham through the mirror. It feels less real, like a dream he could wake up from if he wanted to.
“It’s the one you wore on our first anniversary.”
Alhaitham makes his way toward him until there is nothing but a mere inch between them.
“There was a button hidden…” his fingers roam Kaveh’s waist until they stumble upon a hard object right above his ass, “...here.”
It’s buried strategically under the fabric, blending in seamlessly.
“I remember looking for it for 15 minutes since you were passed out.”
Kaveh realizes he had forgotten about the other half of their night. Well, there wasn’t much to remember on his part anyways, nothing but faint glimpses of Alhaitham carrying him home and laying him on the bed, how he meddled with the dress and wiped off his make-up.
The only thing that’s crystal clear among the hazy memories is what Alhaitham had said to him right before they fell asleep.
I hope we can celebrate it forever.
Kaveh remembers, because he thinks about it often. He finds it odd. Alhaitham would never say forever. Forever was out of reach for mortals like them. It wasn’t attainable, and Alhaitham wasn’t one to attempt it anyways.
Whenever Kaveh feels like he could lose him, he remembers.
He makes Alhaitham believe in forever.
Kaveh chuckles, “Hey! It wasn’t my fault the cocktails had too much sugar.”
“Maybe it was because you had seven of them.” Alhaitham teases, smiling at him from the mirror.
Kaveh’s chuckle fades away.
“I’d like to keep this one but… it’s just going to rot away in the closet.”
Alhaitham’s hands grip him tighter, outlining his hips and waist, “You could keep wearing it.”
Kaveh feels his heart skip a beat as the fabric crumples under his grasp.
“Would you?” he asks, genuinely curious. Alhaitham shakes his head to the sides, Kaveh can see how he examines the back of the dress diligently.
“No. But that’s because I never liked dresses.”
“People would be… confused.”
“Certainly.” Alhaitham raises his head to meet Kaveh’s gaze in the mirror, “Let them.”
He finally pulls the blonde closer. Kaveh’s bare back meets his chest. He brushes the messy strands of hair to the side over Kaveh’s shoulder and presses a kiss on his nape.
“You look as handsome as ever.”
It’s strange yet beautiful, watching Alhaitham touch him.
How his hands travel up to cup his breasts, fingers teasing his nipples over the fabric.
Tender and loving, affection drips from his gaze. Alhaitham handles him with care as Kaveh’s breathing gets heavier.
He feels blood rush to his cheeks, matching the color of the dress and his hairpins. Alhaitham kisses at his shoulders and his neck and eventually slips his hand inside the back window of the dress.
Kaveh hisses at the cooling touch, a hand that lingers on his stomach, a bulge forming under the fabric. He watches from the mirror how the outline of Alhaitham’s fingers move up and down along his skin.
He feels them on his hip bones and his ass, drawing circles on his torso and stroking his breasts gently. Though he’s slow and steady, Kaveh can already feel his underwear dampen, a flame bright enough to warm his thighs.
He grows weaker with every drag of Alhaitham’s nails digging into his back, until he can’t help but moan—
“Haytham…”
His eyes peel away from Kaveh’s body, only then recognizing what a flushed mess his face is.
“Yes, dear?” he coos.
“Could you—”
Kaveh feels light-headed, he places his palms over the dresser and leans forward, bending at the waist slightly. His face falls forward, no longer within Alhaitham’s vision.
Even though he can’t finish his sentence, Alhaitham’s hand travels downward to brush against his groin.
“Is that it?” he unties the knot holding the two sides of the dress intact with his other hand. Kaveh nods. He shivers as the dress slides off his shoulders and exposes his upper body fully.
Alhaitham hums, slipping his hand inside Kaveh’s underwear to find him soaking wet. A low groan vibrates over Kaveh’s back. He collapses even more over the dresser, practically bent over with his legs spread out.
Alhaitham circles his hardening clit with gentle motions as he hisses.
Kaveh can’t help but push his hips back, grinding in desperation. Alhaitham knows how to touch him, how to play with him just the way he likes it. Spreading his lips and sliding a digit inside, knowing that Kaveh yearns to be stretched out.
Kaveh’s hips twitch, shaky at the intrusion.
“M—my legs—” he pants in worry.
Alhaitham wraps an arm around his waist, “I’ve got you.”
Kaveh trusts his hold, it’s hard to focus on standing up when Alhaitham’s fingers roam his walls and curl up inside him. Every thrust elicits a squelch from Kaveh’s sopping wet cunt, warm and inviting.
Alhaitham fixes Kaveh against the dresser with his own body and releases the arm wrapped around his waist. He holds the golden strands that fall onto his face and props his head up gently. They lock eyes, lust and slight embarrassment cloud Kaveh’s gaze.
He wants to lower his head, and Alhaitham knows that he will do so no matter what. Even if he yanks on his hair, Kaveh will keep forcing his neck until he’s sobbing in pain.
So, Alhaitham decides to let go.
Instead he leans over Kaveh, holding him even closer.
“Why won’t you look at me?” he asks with a tone that lacks judgment.
He wants to, he really does. But there is no way that Kaveh can watch their reflection for more than ten seconds without releasing on the spot.
Watching what Alhaitham does to him, it flusters him even more than the act itself. Kaveh whimpers every time he catches a glimpse of his twitching hips and Alhaitham’s muscles that flex and release with every flick of his wrist.
Kaveh finds himself beautiful on most days, but this is the first time he actually feels like he can get off by watching his own image.
Regardless, he lacks the conviction and the steady breathing to articulate any of that. He attempts to look up but immediately squirms inside the strong arms that hold him in place, which confirms Alhaitham’s suspicion.
“You like the mirror?” he asks, though it comes off as more of a statement.
Kaveh gasps, “Shut up.”
Alhaitham can’t help but chuckle.
“I was planning on carrying you to the bed, but maybe you’d rather I fuck you right here?”
Kaveh’s heart skips a beat. He looks up daringly—
“Do it.”
Alhaitham’s brows raise, surprised at the sudden surge of confidence. He retracts his fingers and kneels down to the bottom drawer.
The strap circles around his waist as he adjusts himself and lines up behind Kaveh.
Alhaitham looks exquisite, even better when he’s fucking him. Focused yet euphoric, the veins on his neck throbbing with the strain deliciously.
And now, a different angle where Kaveh can watch his body from afar, drinking up the sight of his beloved.
Alhaitham enters him with ease, pushing all the way into his wall with one smooth thrust as Kaveh lets out a deep moan.
More slow thrusts follow, passionate, working him out slowly. Moans and grunts spill from Kaveh’s lips with each one.
Alhaitham slowly picks up the pace and attains a rhythm, nails digging into Kaveh’s hips. He feels overwhelmed by pleasure, failing to track his orgasms.
“Watch yourself. Look how well you’re taking it.” Alhaitham whispers against his neck.
He is. He looks mesmerizing, breasts swaying with every thrust, his back arched perfectly while his warm breath fogs up the mirror. Kaveh finally musters up the courage to look into his own eyes.
It feels foreign and familiar at the same time.
“Beautiful.” Alhaitham pulls him out of his thoughts and presses a kiss between his shoulder blades, “My sunshine.”
Tears pool around Kaveh’s eyes. His gaze turns towards Alhaitham, thrusting into him rhythmically and gazing down in adoration.
Alhaitham is just like him. Surely, built compared to himself, but he’s soft. Kaveh loves napping on his chest. He loves warming his hands inside Alhaitham’s shirt in the winter, he loves kissing up at his thighs and how Alhaitham squeezes his fingers tight deep within himself.
All that he resented in his youth, he adores when it’s on Alhaitham.
Femininity that has nothing to do with flesh.
It manifests itself as sheer will and courage within him. Power and creation. Intelligence and beauty. Sharp edges that only smoothen out for Kaveh.
He turns towards Alhaitham as he undoes the button on the back without looking. The dress slides off fully, pooling around Kaveh’s ankles while he holds onto Alhaitham’s shoulders.
Kaveh is too mellowed out to even rise to his tiptoes.
“Kiss me.” he demands, and Alhaitham doesn’t waste another second before leaning down to claim his lips.
#genshin impact#genshin fic#genshin fanfic#genshin smut#genshin fluff#alhaitham x kaveh#genshin alhaitham#genshin kaveh#kaveh smut#alhaitham smut#mlm#genshin mlm#trans kaveh#trans alhaitham
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Rouge - Taikoura one-shot for Shades of Red
For @taioraweek 2023 Day 8
[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]
A/N: Shades of Red is a very precious little story I wrote for digiweek 2021 about Taichi falling for not only Sora, but for Koushiro as well. A story about the wonders of polyamorous relationships and that it takes self-knowledge to take that one courageous step towards a life full of love. So have a new shade of red <3
Based on a little Taiora-scenario I wrote in early 2021 which @seventeenlovesthree made sure to provide with beautiful art which I'm still so in love with :3 You can find it here: [x].
Day 8: Rogue or Blush | Characters: Koushiro Izumi (POV) x Sora Takenouchi x Taichi Yagami | Genre: Romance, some sort of hurt/comfort | Rating: T | Wordcount: 1.293
A yawn escaped him as he stretched his slender frame, the office chair rolling slightly to the back. Koushiro was still up, the different monitors on his desk lined up and on. After much complaining from Sora, who was according to him unnecessarily way too worried about his health, he had installed a filter on the screens. That way he could protect his eyes, but still work during night time.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t work in the day time, no, he had grown fond of working with both Taichi and Sora around. However, they had the tendency to distract them and so, being the night owl of the three, he decided to catch up on work during the night. Koushiro liked the quiet, the only sound interfering his endless thoughts the sound of keys clicking.
Time had already gone way past midnight when the sound of his fingers flying over the keyboard was interrupted with bare feet entering their shared office. Koushiro peeked over his computer screens, his eyes picking up on red-colored messy sleep hair, his nose smelling Taichi’s perfume she was bringing with her into the room.
“Sora-san, shouldn’t you be asleep?”
His fingers left the keys as he decided to check up on her. He watched her closely and concluded she looked stress. It wasn’t a surprise with the big deadline that was luring from behind a bush called Friday. Koushiro remembered all of her speedy talking which wasn’t very Sora-like, her calm demeanor sliding off.
“I couldn’t,” Sora answered sounding sleepy yet stressed. “Tomorrow’s the first draft for the collection and it feels like I missed a few details. I have to check it.”
Not for one second did she look at him. As if pulled to her drawing table, she walked towards it, her right hand frantically searching for the right pencil underneath the pile of designs. To Koushiro they were all equally wonderful and knowing Sora, he knew she didn’t miss any details. He also knew she was stubborn, perhaps even more so than Taichi, and so he didn’t ask further. Instead he kept a close eye on her while he kept working, thinking it would only be a few minutes before she would return to bed.
But a few minutes turned into over half an hour and Koushiro grew worried. Without saying anything, he stood up to grab the both of them some tea.
“Thanks.” Was all Sora said as he carefully placed the cup on the only empty spot on her drawing table. Her eyes were wide, completely focused on her work. Koushiro looked over all the colors and lines dancing on the papers forming beautiful designs for modernized kimonos.
“I truly admire your skills and ambition, Sora-san. The designs look unquestionably stunning, I’m convinced that they’re enough for a first draft. I’d like to escort you to bed so you can sleep some more.”
“Tell that to yourself, you always stay up late,” Sora snapped back, but immediately realized how mean that was. She finally looked at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m aware. You must be tired, hence why I wanted to bring you back to bed,” Koushiro explained calmly.
Sora smiled in return, her tiredness didn’t allow her to keep her lips curled up for too long. “And I appreciate your worry over me. But I just can’t sleep yet.”
Koushiro nodded in response. She gave off a tired look, the determination however made her glow all the same.
A little bit defeated, Koushiro headed back to his seat behind his desk. He sighed before his fingers went back to the keyboard, then started typing once more, the room filled with the tapping sound again. Per usual, it made him loose track of time.
Eventually from the corner of his eye Koushiro could see Taichi’s sleeping body dragging himself into the office. The brown haired man rubbed his eyes and a yawn escaped him as he placed himself next to Koushiro, looking over the computer screens in Sora’s direction. A worried expression emerged on his face and Koushiro looked up to Taichi.
“How long has she been up an working?” Taichi asked with a hoarse sleepy tone followed by another yawn.
Koushiro checked the time.
“It could easily be over an hour now.”
Taichi sighed. It was all he needed to know. He kept standing there, watching her work, worried yet the fondness in his eyes easily outdid the worry.
Even though Koushiro was well aware of Taichi’s adoration and admiration for both him and Sora, he could never get enough of Taichi staring so intensely to especially Sora. It was something he could observe day in and out, it would never grow old.
“What?” Came Sora’s voice. Clearly she had been taking notice of Taichi’s staring. It made Koushiro snap out of his thoughts, however, Taichi only intensified the eye contact he now had with her. “Do I have something on my face?”
“No.” He replied. The features in Taichi’s face changed from intensity to softness accompanied by a cheeky grin.
“Then what is it?” Sora asked, the annoyance in her voice returning.
In a way, even though Taichi meant it well, these little exchanges of words between his two partners made Koushiro feel uncomfortable. Simply because it could go two ways. They would either start bickering, or…
“I just think you’re beautiful.”
Or they would jump each other in a more sexually physical way.
Yes, Koushiro loved them both very much, but their intensity could sometimes be a tad too much. Making him blush in frustration or ecstasy. Often it was both though.
He looked from Taichi to Sora and back in anticipation. Because with Sora being stressed and tired, you could never predict how exactly she would respond.
Koushiro had not expected the cherry red blush on her cheeks radiating warmth and surprise.
“Go back to bed, Taichi,” she stumbled, failing to hide how that one compliment had gotten to her.
“Well, you’ve heard the boss,” Taichi said to Koushiro, taking Sora’s words as his cue to go. “Can you tell her I’d like to see her back in bed soon? And you too by the way.”
Taichi winked and gave Koushiro a sweet small peck on the top of his head before he turned his heel to return back to bed. Alone.
Or so Taichi thought.
Right before he would have left the office, Taichi was stopped by Sora hugging him from behind. Her graceful arms embraced his athletic body, her one hand just able to hold the wrist from her other hand. She pressed her head to Taichi’s back and rubbed her nose into the fabric of Taichi’s sleep shirt, a genuine smile happily dancing on her lips before she spoke.
“Thank you, I needed that.”
Koushiro looked at the both of them, standing in the door way exchanging love in a to him beautiful way. It was tender and fragile, grand in its simplicity.
Where Sora’s blush turned into a warm and grateful pinkish one, Taichi showed a knowing one. Accepting the love he felt for her. For them. And all Koushiro could do was take in the little loving still he was treated to.
He recalled how their love wasn’t self-evident from the beginning, especially to Taichi. But the road he had followed together with Sora and Koushiro had led him to being his happy and cheesy self again. Where his blush first was one of confusion and shame, it now showed his pride and a genuine love.
Koushiro smiled, a shared blush like rouge now complimenting his own face. Happy he was here with them, being able to see the love unfold in front of him over and over again.
#taioraweek2023#taioraweek#taikoura#digimon fanfiction#taiora#koura#taishiro#taichi x koushiro x sora#taichi yagami#sora takenouchi#koushiro izumi#digimon#taichi#sora#koushiro#tai kamiya#tai#izzy izumi#izzy
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Kaleidoscope | Yellow
↳ Musician!Namjoon x Artist!Reader ⤜ Neighbors, Mutual Pining, Artist Muse ⤜ Rating: MA | fluff, eventual smut ⤜ WC: 1,550 ⚠️ Crass language, secret personal pining, intimate personal thoughts about a stranger, flirting, endearingly awkward exchange
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Your arms ache as you wait for the elevator. If it weren’t for the thirty pounds of art supplies you have haphazardly stacked in your arms, you’d have ventured to take the stairs, considering the damned elevator is taking its sweet time today. You can hear the whine of the lift system, the hum that comes before the car arrives.
Finally, it rumbles to a stop on the lobby floor, and you sigh in relief. You can barely see the dented metal of the doors over your swaying stack of supplies, but move closer when you see them begin to slide open at the top. The dingy light inside draws you in, a comforting reminder that you’ll only have a few more minutes until you can drop the load in your arms and stretch your back.
Stepping forward, you see something shift in the shaft of warm light a second before your world begins to topple. A solid mass thumps into the other side of your towering stack, sending your feet shuffling backward in an attempt to correct. However, fate would see to it that your feet catch on each other, and you land hard on your ass. All your papers, paints, and folders become a fountain of art supplies cascading onto the ancient linoleum floor outside the elevator.
“Shit!” a deep baritone echoes from inside the car. “Oh, no! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. I should have looked up before trying to walk out. Dammit, are you okay? Here, let me help you.”
You know he’s talking to you. They’re the first words he’s ever uttered that weren’t below-the-breath whispers about music he surely thought you were oblivious to. It’s always been hard to ignore it when you’ve caught him doing that, the fact you wanted to know the timbre of his voice making it too hard to pass up.
His voice is far more pleasant now that you hear it at full pitch and clarity. You blink, clearing away your errant thoughts and remembering you’re sprawled out on your ass, probably coming off rude with the stretching silence.
“No—I mean, yes, I am okay. Thank you, but no, you don’t have to help. If anything, this is my fault,” you ramble, shaking your head vehemently. “Please, I’m sorry. I should have been more careful and not been standing right in front of the doors.”
“How about we both agree we could have been more careful?” he asks, a quirked smile tugging up the side of his full mouth.
That thick-tongued feeling is back. You swallow against the cottony sensation, trying to work moisture into your mouth so you can respond, but all you can manage is an unintelligible sound. He works quickly, a smile still on his face even as he helps you corral all your supplies back into a chaotic yet functioning stack.
“T-thank you,” you squeeze out the words, cringing inside at how airy and breathless they sound.
“Do you need some help?” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder at the now-closed elevator doors. “I have a few minutes. I can take them up for you so you don’t accidentally drop them between here and there. I’d hate for you to have to clean it all up again alone.”
Either your mind is playing tricks on you, or there is a hopeful sparkling looking back at you from his eyes. Your voice comes out a bit stronger this time, “You truly don’t have to…but, sure, thank you.”
“It would be my pleasure,” he says, promptly taking over half of the stack of supplies and using his elbow to press the button on the wall. The doors slide open, and he nods for you to proceed first.
Carrying a fraction of what you were before makes navigating more manageable. You can clearly see where you’re going and even press the seventh-floor indicator once he’s safely inside next to you. You know you should probably try to fill the silence now that the social barrier has been breached between the two of you. But, every time you go to open your mouth, nothing comes out.
There is one thing, though, something that you desperately need to know. If only for the sake of your sanity. Anxious laughter titters up your throat until you clear it. “Crazy that we’ve lived across from each other for so long, and I don’t think I even know your name.”
His answering laugh is warm, making you instantly glad you decided to push past the awkwardness that was strangling your vocal cords. “Yeah. I always meant to say something, but I thought it would’ve been awkward by the time I mustered up the courage. Six months after what’s generally the social norm, ‘Oh, by the way, I’m Namjoon, your neighbor that’s been avoiding you’…” he trails off, and you glance at him just in time to see his bottom lip caught between his teeth and a beautiful tone filling his cheeks.
“Avoiding me?” you ask, mirth coloring your tone as you watch the heat spread down his neck. The golden hue of his skin, highlighted with the blush, complements his inky hair. The strands are shiny, even in the dull light of the bulbs overhead.
“In a sense, maybe. But it’s not that I was avoiding you because you’re not cool or anything. That’s to say, I think you’re very cool. Or, well, I think that I think you are. Damn, this isn’t coming out how I want it to at all.” Namjoon—you now know his name—puffs out his cheeks like he’s trying to blow away the heat still covering them. “I wanted to say hi to you at first and introduce myself, but I was worried about making a fool of myself around a pretty woman. By the time I was comfortable, it seemed like it would just be awkward and drive you away. Silly, I know, now that I think about it.”
“I don’t think it’s silly at all,” you assure him, hoping he can read into the genuine smile on your face. The elevator lurches to a halt, but you barely feel the jerk this time, too focused on the sparkling smile Namjoon is giving you back.
You don’t feel the need to fill the silence now, content just to enjoy finally feeling a connection to Apartment A—Namjoon. Pulling your keys from your pocket nearly sends the little bundle of supplies you’re holding to the floor, but Namjoon steps in beside you and uses the stack in his arms to catch it before it lists to the side completely. His elbow brushes yours, sending electric tingles along your arm.
“So, um, you know my name now…Can I know yours?” Namjoon asks after setting the mess in his arms on the small console table by your door. He gives your apartment a quick look, but you can tell he’s not openly perusing it out of respect.
Embarrassment doesn’t flood your system as you thought it might, having forgotten to offer your name to him, too—instead, satisfaction whirls and blossoms in your chest. It seems he’s just as curious about you as you are about him. You hadn’t simply misinterpreted his words in the elevator.
You give him your name, and he repeats as if wanting to taste how it forms on his tongue. “Beautiful name. Oh—you got something,” he murmurs, bringing a hand up and gently swiping at a spot on your neck, just under your chin, with his thumb. “Yellow.”
Your hand instinctively goes to your throat. Wetness greets your fingers. When you look down, they’re covered in yellow gouache. “What the heck?” you whisper. “A tube must have popped or something.” Your eyes land on Namjoon, giving him a cursory sweep in search of any bright patches that shouldn’t be there.
“Here,” he says, indicating to the small pile of supplies you set down next to his. A few papers have yellow smears on them. He shuffles them, lifting up a small paint tube with a popped corner. “Hazards of the job?”
The yellow covering his fingers matches the sweet, soft feeling bubbling up and the laughter now spilling from your lips. “Oops,” you can’t help but laugh, Namjoon joining you as you take the ruined tube from his fingers. “Thank you.”
As the laughter tapers off, the silence that follows is yet again comfortable; it’s easy being around him. “Well, um, I should be going. I’ll see you around?”
You nibble your bottom lip to suppress the cheesy grin that wants to come out and play and give him another nod. It’s not lost on you that he correlated the paint to a job. Either he’s guessing, or maybe he’s been as equally observant of you as you have of him.
The moment your apartment door closes behind him, you sag a little with disappointment until inspiration stirs and sparks. With yellow gouache still covering your hand, you toe off your sneakers and skip across your living room to the waiting canvas.
With lines and flicks of your fingers that mirror the easy and warm feelings that now remind you of Namjoon, you add to the surface, surrounding the red and orange in a bubble of sweet, delightful yellow.
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◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2023-09-09 ColorMePurplex2
#kim namjoon#namjoon fanfic#namjoon fluff#namjoon smut#namjoon x reader#namjoon imagines#bts fanfic#bts namjoon#musician namjoon#bangtanwhq
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Hades klaus and Persephone reader, he’s the gentle giant and their the chaotic gremlin. A damned soul is trying to beg for their life to the reader thinking they’re the merciful one. Only for them to whisper that the soul was begging to the wrong person.
Love the aesthetic, but we both know Klaus would never steal anyone... ever. At the Throne
The Underworld felt so much emptier without his beloved Persephone, but Klaus knew you'd be back in a few months' time. Despite having lost track of said time, he continued about his duties tending to the lost and forgotten souls. Whether that be the long-lost plants, unfortunate animals, or the wayward human souls he had to judge for their lives on Earth. Klaus had plenty to occupy his time whilst he waited for his love.
Stepping out of a cloud of rose petals, you set a small suitcase down in the shared bedroom. It might be a few days early, but you needed to get your mind off things quickly. Lest Ares' latest attempt to steal you from Hades became more of something Zeus would pull.
"[Name]?" Klaus stood in the doorway, "Aren't you early? I could have sworn you weren't due to return for a few more--"
"Days?" You were a little surprised by the solemn head shaking, "It's roughly time for my visit Klaus. I know I'm a little early, but..."
Stopping to figure out how you wanted to say this, if you wanted to say this at all.
"I just needed to arrive a little early. Things were getting too hectic at Olympus."
Approaching slowly, Klaus raised both arms. A subtle gesture, offering you comfort in his arms. Comfort and solace you desperately wanted, burying your face against his silken robes as his arms tightened around your back.
"It's quite alright Liebling." His voice surrounding you like this made everything fade like a distant memory, "I'm delighted to have you back."
Slowly nuzzling against one another, it didn't take long for both of you to ease backward toward the bed. Klaus's hands slid down your back, careful as ever trying to position you on the bed. Whether you two would simply cuddle, or get more intimate was yet to be seen.
Not that you were going to remain subtle in your intentions.
Slow, tender kisses numbing Klaus to how eagerly you were pulling open the front of his robes. Even with the obvious hands running all over his chest, Klaus couldn't help himself. Pulling you closer in a tight hug, his large hands rubbing your back in soothing circles.
You all but melted under his gentle grasp. Being overtaken by your massive husband, just barely. Klaus was more or less following your lead after all, giving into your desires as he swung up over top of you.
That loving gaze never failed to make you blush, his bright emerald eyes scanning your half-nude form. One slow hand slipped under your robe, gently tugging the article away. With the first sudden movement, Klaus pressed a firm kiss against the taunt muscle of your neck. Every motion of his mouth felt as if he were attempting to massage your neck, moving across your skin.
Trying to return his affections was becoming increasingly difficult, the weight of how he missed you fully setting in. Gentle shivers raced along your spine, and your skin with every slight brush of his fingertips and lips. As embarrassing as Klaus found it, his fully erect member was starting to press against your thigh. Driving you mad with longing and desire.
You barely managed to pull away, "Klaus, please..."
Studying your flushed face, he knew he couldn't draw his ministrations out any longer. Though he still wanted to make sure he wouldn't hurt you in the throws of passion, taking his time to ensure your comfort. Almost ignoring your hips bucking up, the desperate attempts to get Klaus to hurry up.
Not for very long however, as Klaus didn't want to torment his beloved. Sheathing himself as deeply inside you as he could, pausing for a moment so you could adjust under him.
Every slow thrust was dizzying, soft grunts and groans filled the air. The bed creaked under both of you as Klaus sped up little by little. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you could feel just how warm Klaus was getting. The simple gesture in the midst of intimacy turned him on in ways you'd never fully understand.
Silently spurring him on as you were cradled against his chest, not helping in the slightest as you kissed along those large muscles. Every motion became more erratic, lustful thrusts and deep-throated groans echoed in the air.
The feeling of soft throbbing as the two of you panted heavily was its own brand of ecstasy. Feathery soft kisses pressed across your shoulders as Klaus continued to gently rub your waist and legs. With your attempts to massage his body being much weaker as Klaus was simply too large to do more than just cling. Rubbing his shoulders and chest was the best you could muster in your happy exhaustion.
"I missed you..."
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January 24, 2023
Got my itinerary for my first interview event. A few things to note.
I will be interviewing with faculty for four hours straight. Like, talking with individual professors in half-hour stints for an entire afternoon. I mean I’m sure most of the conversations will be very similar to one another and are really meant to assess fit overall, but that is a lot.
I believe I am being recruited by the prof dude I really didn’t want (because other women have had negative experiences). Now, this is interesting because I barely mentioned him in my app except where I was required to list more than one potential advisor while I spent an entire paragraph discussing why I’d want to work under a different lady. Like... it’s not terribly uncommon to switch advisors during a phd program, but I would have to give a reason beyond “I heard a rumor...” you know? And even then, I think I might prefer going to a substantially lower-ranked school but feeling comfortable with my advisor. Even knowing that doing so will ultimately make it more difficult to obtain an academic position because an easily-recognizable name brand uni draws people’s attentions. Every uni wants to be able to say “oh look at all our faculty from Yale, from Stanford, from MIT” because those names carry cultural weight.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m looking way too deep into it all.
I’m going to do the interviews. It might be a grueling marathon, or it might feel like speed-friending. Who knows. I hope the other shortlisted applicants are nice. I hope I learn a lot. About the program, about how to handle events like these, and maybe even about myself.
Anyway because I’ve gotten an informal offer, I’ve kind of been going buckwild in these forums (I need to stop myself) and have learned about the past application timeline for my “top” (read: “most prestigious”) choice (I keep going back and forth between that one and the other one I haven’t yet heard from bc they both seem like fantastic programs ahhh). If I don’t hear back this week or next week to set up an interview, then chances are I will be rejected. Which would be fine, I guess. I’m not really expecting to get in because I don’t feel like I’m able to think as profoundly as they’re looking for in their top applicants (asking good questions is a skill (unless this is imposter syndrome adjacent and my level of questioning is actually perfectly acceptable for where I’m at in my career)), but I do think I have a fighting chance based on some of my letters of recommendation (and maybe that’s selling myself too short, but the people who are applying to a program like this are self-selected highest-tier students with publications and years of relevant research experience... TAing and good grades and a couple posters feels like the barest of minimums). Alright, I’ll admit it. I���m hopeful. Maybe deliriously so. Hopeful but also dreadfully realistic. Or perhaps the word is pessimistic. You know, to save myself from the crushing feeling of disappointment.
Today I just want to step back and be thankful for all of the grad school communications I’ve received to this point. The.. validation that these interview offers have brought is a little intoxicating, I won’t lie. And that’s why I seem to be clamoring for more of them. It’s why I don’t seem satisfied with what I’ve already achieved. And yeah, maybe I’m not quite satisfied just yet. Maybe I do want more. But I am immensely thankful. I am, truly. Partly because of straight-up validation but more deeply because of the assurance that I’m doin alright. It’s given me peace. Not fully, but I feel a little bit more relaxed with each one.
First time I’m going to be missing the first day of school... lil wild.
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Hyroh. “Very well.” Easy enough to commit to memory; Theron used names. It was… human of him. And the Jedi’s name was plastered just about everywhere the Republic could place it; he’d barely had to spend any time at all digging through the holonet for that much.
Yes, Lana had asked him for a profile on each of their potential allies. He might’ve even made it as far as Carrick Station, but what the SIS spy didn’t know about how he’d gotten Lana and him connected on Manaan wasn’t going to hurt him so long as they moved on. It still felt better than Lana admitting the Republic spy’s mental defenses were impressive. The idea of anyone probing around up there still sent an unsettling crawl down Nine’s spine. Hard glares when he’d first started working with the Sith seemed to have been enough to discourage her from trying to glean anything from him that wasn’t proffered to her in his records.
So, yes, Nine was quite content to leave Force-order titles well behind them. It’d make him feel less like he was back on Dromund Kaas playing a constantly-shifting game of Dejarik with unpredictable Dark Lords to forego titles.
Idly, the former Cipher wondered what that said of his own clinging to one. Idle musings for another time. Lokin would surely have some analysis on the matter, the old bastard.
Anyway, if Theron trusted this Jedi, Tyr was willing to, for now.
“Precisely,” Nine gave to his assessment. “And from what little we’ve managed to glean thus far, the Blades are more of a proxy. They’ll make a convenient scapegoat if anything blows up in their face. The locals won’t think anything of it.” And the Revanites needed their supplies from somewhere.
“The Blades essentially run Raider’s Cove and their leader has the ego to match.” Nine’s smile widened and he shrugged one shoulder in way of modest apology. “Not my idea, mind. Feels a little overdone, but… It will make a good story for a crew looking to expand their territory. And one with enough brass to take the fight to Margok’s doorstep - their leader.”
They wouldn’t quite be rushing directly to the top, even if Nine could’ve taken out the bastard with a sniper shot even in the Cove, given the chance. It’d draw the wrong kind of attention. They needed a story that would stick as much as the Revanites did.
He frowned thoughtfully as he listened to Hyroh through the door. “Theron’s hoping to make a run on their data eventually, see what we can get direct from the source. If nothing else, I imagine it keeps everyone distracted.” He drew a hand across his jaw, fingers dragging against stubble that was slightly longer than he generally preferred. The close shave, clean-cut look was too starkly military out here. It turned too many eyes even with a convincing Mid-Rim drawl. “And they’ve been after both sides, according to our reports. Normally, I’d say it takes brass to harass the Imperial Navy so directly, but… they’re the top dogs here. They take the largest cuts. Whatever Revan’s plans are, they’re certainly no homegrown-level scare. It could be resources, it could be a distraction to disguise where he really wants to strike…” And there was a lot of cover here, yet. Plenty of places the Revanites could’ve slipped into the trees and remained hidden.
He’d run into some of Revan’s remnants before - the early incarnation of these Revanites in the Kaasian jungles and, supposedly, some of the existing technology on Nar Shadaa. He couldn’t claim to be half a history expert as much as he supposed most Sith were on their Force-related matters, but it seemed Revan never had done things by halves by a couple thousand parsecs.
Nine passed the time in silence going over concealed weapons. The blaster at his hip was loud and obvious enough - more people in Raider’s Cove carried than didn’t, and as a to-be enforcer for the Red Hulls, subtlety wasn’t the exact goal. But a Cipher never relied on just one weapon. A set of throwing knives and a backup blaster hid comfortably underneath the leather jacket hung over a fit dark shirt - a bit killer in the heat, but better for not showing stains. He’d swindled a few poor sods at the cantina out of their credit allowances with the former. Outlaw covers were always a bit refreshing like that.
He pushed off from the wall as he heard the lock slip back open to Hyroh’s room. The Jedi had just shy of half a foot on him, so it’s rather by accident that Tyr’s eyes land on chest before all else as he stepped back out of the room.
He’d certainly understood the assignment though. Nine’s critical eye kicked back in, head tilting slightly to the side as he took in the man as a whole. A touch of extravagance in the buckles, power in the hug of the boots, free-fit to accommodate for the Rishi heat… It framed him well.
A smile flickered back across the Cipher’s lips as he gave an approving nod. “Like a powerful captain that’s ready to boast of single-handedly besting the best Raider’s Cove has to offer,” he said.
“What say drinks are on me for the evening, Captain? Considering you’ve already made a fine showing at the Blaster’s Path, I reckon we might need to find another bolthole to ease you in. I think letting the locals talk for a day or two before we start enacting plans will only bolster your reputation. And it gives me time to give you a lay of the land around here.”
RISHI ;; closed rp tag for @jupitcrising
There’s a lot of traffic in and out of the outlaw haven: ranging from smaller shuttles to larger cargo frigates transporting any number of illicit goods - everything from people to spice and probably a few things even the former Cipher hadn’t considered. Tyr wiped an arm across his brow and took up his canteen again, taking a long drink before throwing some of the barely-cool water back over his neck, dampening the bandana loosely draped around it.
He’d been eyeing traffic for roughly the past three days. After several months in careful exile, evading Imperial and Republic eyes while putting their noses to the trail of the Revanites, the trio had finally agreed it was time to move. Tyr suspected they wouldn’t much longer have the luxury of time - as illusionary as it’d been from the start.
But the roar of engines overhead dragged him back out of his thoughts. Shading his eyes from the glare of the sun with a hand, a different silhouette, finally, caught his attention. Not nearly as sleek as the Phantom - then again, few things were. His eyes narrowed slightly and he raised the macrobinoculars at his side to zone in on the incoming ship.
“Theron?” Tyr touched a hand to his commlink. The ship was coming in for a landing down at one of the free local docks across the bridge.
“Go ahead.”
“Defender-class Light Corvette?”
“Should be the one, yeah.”
“Good. I’ve got a visual.” Tyr lowered the macrobinoculars, stashing them away and making ready to abandon his perch in a quiet old shopfront in Rishi’s upper levels. “Tell Lana to make ready. It’s time.”
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I love your Yuu is Autistic series! I was hoping if you can do one with the NRC staff please?
Yuu is Autistic! Pt 4
✨Feat. NRC Faculty; Dire Crowley, Divus Crewel, Mozus Trein, Ashton Vargas and Sam✨
They/Them pronouns for reader. Reader is referred to as Yuu.
Let’s be honest, he doesn’t care.
Half this campus is autistic, that’s not his problem. Plus, if he’s not doing anything about the traumatized kids Overblotting he’s definitely not doing anything about this. Anytime Yuu brings up something related to their autism like needing fidget toys or struggling with school, Crowley just skirts around the subject and blah blah blahs about how he’s still very busy trying to find them a way home. How selfish to ask for more of him when he’s doing his best!
And then he gets a smack on the head and a very stern scolding from Crewel to do better. So now Crowley will, begrudgingly, try to be more accommodating for Yuu and other autistic students by doing the bare minimum. How minimum? Wearing a rainbow infinity button and letting the public know he cares about his “mentally challenged” students. How kind of him.
One day he got guilted by Crewel into taking Yuu shopping for clothes. He happened to notice a big, fluffy stuffed yellow teddy bear in a store. Yuu likes soft things right? Something about good sensory? Eh, why not. He bought it for Yuu and the way they squealed and rubbed their face into the soft fuzz was actually rather cute… What a nice thing he did! How humble and kind he is!
“Prefect! I have purchased you an abundance of trinkets for your mental stimulation. Am I not the kindest for tending to your needs? … No I did not buy it because of Professor Crewel! And I would appreciate if you didn’t complain to him about me when you don’t get your way! … HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THE DIVOR—“
Crewel catches on pretty quick. Yuu flinches and covers their ears whenever he cracks his whip and when they’re frustrated they suck their thumb or their fingers twitch. Sometimes he witnesses the more destructive behaviors like lip biting or scratching.
He knows some of their stress comes from a certain birdbrain neglecting them so Crewel takes matters into his own hands. Yuu doesn’t like how their uniform feels? No problem, he will personally tailor a uniform that they’re comfortable in. Oh and no more twitchy fingers. He gives them little toys they can stim quietly with, like clay or a squishy ball. If he needs to get the attention of bad pups in class with his whip, Crewel gives Yuu a warning so they can cover their ears and not be startled.
On days Yuu comes to class looking like they’re in a bad mood or on the verge of tears, Crewel makes quick work getting the rest of the class started on the lesson for the day then sits with Yuu to make sure they’re alright before helping them get started too.
Not everyone knows this, but whenever Yuu is having a panic attack around him, Crewel will take them somewhere quiet, wrap them in his coat and give them a tight hug to help them calm down. If Yuu isn’t into hugs, he’ll just hold their hands. Crowley failed to be a good guardian for this child that has nobody to depend on. Crewel cares about his pup and he’ll always be there for them.
“Sorry for the wait, pup. Are you alright? … Ok, no tears. Here, play with this. Take a breather and we’ll get started once you calm down. And don’t worry, I’ll have a word with headmage about shrugging his responsibilities off on you… Would you like to come by and play with the dogs after school? It’s been a while since they’ve seen you.”
He had a feeling there was something… wrong with Yuu but didn’t understand what. There are times Trein sees Yuu drawing in their notebook instead of paying attention yet when he calls them out they immediately repeat what he said in his lecture almost word for word. Their bad posture is distracting too, it feels like no matter how many times he tells them to straighten up they just can’t remember it.
It’s not until Trein asks Crewel what’s going on with Yuu, since he really is the closest thing to their legal guardian at this point, that he understands they have a neurological disorder. That’s why their memory is so strange. Trein may be old, but he’s willing to learn how to support Yuu. He managed to raise his daughters mostly on his own after all. Crewel does show him some of Cater’s Autism Awareness posts just in case.
Trein doesn’t like when Yuu gets loud with their stimming because it can be disruptive. So, if they get too loud, he’ll just casually put Lucius in their lap and continue with class like it’s nothing. Yuu gets a soft, cuddly friend to help them focus and Lucius gets free pets! It’s a win for everyone! Except Idia, he wants to pet the kitty too but Trein said he’s too dirty.
Honestly, with what Trein knows now he’s starting to notice more autistic tendencies in his other students too cough ace & deuce cough.
“Child, please try and quiet down a little. Are you overstimulated? Here, you and Lucius sit outside for a minute and come back in once you’ve calmed down, alright? Do me a favor and give his tail a brush while you’re at it. Silence, all of you, pay no mind to them, eyes on me!”
As far as Vargas is concerned, there’s nothing physically wrong with Yuu so there’s no reason for them to be struggling with Physical Ed.
He tends to single Yuu out a lot. Yelling at them for putting headphones on during class, scolding them for their bluntness, it’s a huge mess. Until one day where Vargas lost his patience and literally snatched Yuu’s headphones off their ears to blow his whistle and scold them. Yuu screamed out loud, covered their ears and dropped on the ground crying. Ace almost started a fight with Vargas over it but luckily Deuce broke it up and explained the situation while Trey comforted Yuu.
It’s not music they’re listening to? The headphones are meant to muffle loud noises because they have sensitive ears? Seeing how distressed Yuu is, crying while Trey is hugging them tightly, Vargas starts to feel terrible. He feels even worse once Crewel gives him more details. He vows from then on to do better.
Now Vargas checks if Yuu has their headphones on before blowing the whistle. If there’s a work out/exercise they don’t want to do, he’ll talk with them to see if they can come to a compromise.
“Got a second, kiddo? I never got the chance to apologize for my behavior towards you. I can’t say I 100% get what’s wrong with your brain but I’ll do my best to understand it. Now go on and do your laps! A-At your own pace of course! You’ve got this, I believe in you!”
Yeah, he knows. Every time Yuu comes into the shop they stare at and touch everything that looks shiny or interesting for almost an hour, buy a sugary treat and then leave. They do this a couple times a week.
Sam actually helped Deuce select a pair of headphones for Yuu. Specifically, a pair he already knew they would love. It was their favorite color and they could listen to music with them too. Sam was so pleased to see Yuu wearing the headphones the next time they visited the store.
The first time he saw Yuu, nervously biting their thumb and struggling to ask what snacks they could buy for cheap his heart just about shattered. Needless to say, Sam will be joining Crewel in beating up scolding Crowley for his negligence. But first, he’s cooking this baby a meal, Yuu’s not going hungry on his watch, damnit! Now Sam makes Yuu lunchboxes every day with their favorite safe meals along with some candy for sugar cravings.
If Yuu is black/poc Sam does their hair for them. He styles it in ways that’ll look nice and won’t bother or irritate them. If Yuu stims with their hair, Sam will leave some strands out they can play with. He loves hair care days with Yuu more than anything.
“Hello, my little imp! Oh dear, have you been biting your fingers again? C’mere, let me wrap those up. Did you enjoy lunch today? … Cher, there’s no need to thank me! I adore cooking for you! By the way, I’ve got your favorite sweets back in stock! You get a special family discount!”
#twisted wonderland#twst#twst yuu#nrc staff#twst staff#dire crowley#divus crewel#mozus trein#ashton vargas#twst sam#twst headcanons#ren writes#autistic!yuu
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