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adulttrio-imagines · 5 years ago

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Yandere!Illumi x Reader Pt 1

A/N: This is going to be a 2-part series since I git a little carried away and didn’t want it to be too long. I’ll post part 2 soon. It’s also fairly dark, so please proceed with caution.

EDIT: I originally posted this answering an ask I was sent sometime back, but tumblr kept messing things up so I’m just going to re-post this

EDIT 2: Part 2 HERE

Prompt: “I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.”

The man in the suit is beautiful.

He’s beautiful in a raw, delicate way that mirrors the unbridled strength his long lashes frame. It’s an uncommon beauty, unique to strange lands far beyond the clutches of York New. Some might even call him odd, with his arrogant face and brittle nose, hunched over the small booth his weak chin and long neck gave him the appearance of an overgrown crane. But as you continued to push your legs to the limit, stretching them wider and wider as you contort your back around the smooth exterior of your pole, you couldn’t help but to tear your eyes away from your adoring fans and observe his demeanor.

This isn’t the first time he’s been to your shows, and based on the regularity he’s appeared at the past few months, you doubt it’ll be his last. He stares at you with impossibly large eyes that never blink (their starvation is pronounced, you feel their hunger even from here), lazily swirling a glass of whisky in one hand as he rests his chin in the other. You can’t see his legs from underneath the table at this distance, but from his posture you can tell they’re long and just as impossibly slender as the rest of his body. As you saunter around the stage, entertaining the roaring crowd that shower you with dollar bills, you note the silky texture of his suit (it’s expensive), the glint of his heavy-looking watch (possibly adorned with gold), and from the way he so effortlessly balances his glass in a well-manicured hand, you can tell he’s well-bred, wealthy, and sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other noisy hooligans at the bar.

The room spins in gaudy shades of pink and neon green as you twirl around some more, the rush of wind cooling your face. You make your way up the pole, taking extra effort to stretch your legs out and angling them just right to display the soft curves of your thigh, the heat from the room coloring your cheeks as you sneak another glance at the man. More than the money, you like the way his cheekbones arch and the pronounced slopes they produce, the way they shape his fine features when he curls his lips in pleasure and expose a set of perfectly straight teeth that makes your heart pound just a little too fast for it to be normal.

You wink at the crowd before you, making sure to tilt of your waist just right to sneak a peak of your ass, teasingly arching your leg forward as you slowly hitched your already short skirt up just a little more, relishing in their excitement. You reward their charity with a flourish of your own, flashing your brightest smile when their thunderous cheers applaud your performance.

Your eyes snap back at the man in the suit, who’s gaze has remained transfixed on you this whole time. He claps politely, but the amusement that your dance draws from your crowd isn’t reflected in his face as he returns your stare with an empty look of his own.

He’s beautiful yes, in a way that makes you want to twirl your fingers in his silky locks and tug then hard while you kiss into the early hours of the morning. A delicious shiver crawls its way up your spine and you blow a kiss to him. Groping hands reach out from underneath you, desperately reaching for your attention, but you keep your eyes on the strange man, who accepts your kiss with a curled fist.

You lick your lips, unsure if the tremors you felt were from the rush of excitement, the heat of the room, the swirling pools of intent in his eyes, or a combination of all three.

But you do know this.

You’re making him yours.

.....

Your darling’s name is Illumi, and he doesn’t speak much.

It's not as if you aren’t trying. But he’s still as a statue and unmoving as stone, his face kept carefully blank as you dance around him like butterflies, slowly trying to coax him our his shell, whispering sweet words that drip with honey as you brush a hand against cheek (his skin is ice, and the tips of your skin freeze upon contact). He holds your eyes with his pair of dark abysses, directing your attention towards his mouth as you continue to wrap yourself around him, all but crawling into his lap, the hard wood of the booth creaking under your weight when you plant feather-soft kisses all around his face, paying special care to tease the corner of his lips as you press your hips hard against his throbbing groin.

He doesn’t return your steaming confessions, preferring to grunt one syllable answers in response to your questions, but he receives your affection with barely restraint lust, grabbing your thighs with spider-like hands as he nudges them open, letting out a low groan when you stop rubbing yourself against him and made movement to unbuckle his belt.

“Let me-“ He tells you between breathless kisses, “Let me take you home.”

You can barely contain your own pleasure as he slides a hand against the dip of your hips, struggling to nod.

“Sure.” You feel him smile, and a faint prick nicks the back of your neck.

The room goes dark.

And everything you know changes.

......

The cellar Illumi keeps you in is better than most. There’s proper heating, a small equipped bathroom in the corner, and a warm nest of blankets for you to curl into whenever the coolness of the stone floor after a fit of misguided rage becomes too much and form sores on your delicate ankles.

There’re no windows here, so you make a game of counting the scratches on the wall, bathed in the comfort of the dark, to make time go faster, adding a collection of your own on the wall beside your bedding when the days slowly stretch into weeks, even when your nails are filed down to blunt tips and your fingers are raw and inflamed.

Sometimes the boredom of it all drives the final nail into your head and snaps your existence in half, and you would brokenly hum songs of distance past, following the buried memories of times long forgotten, dancing around the small room on delicate toes and graceful arches, so different from the bold movements you made from your stage at the bar, before the old pain from your left knee would force you crumpling to the ground and bury your screams into the blankets.

“Why won’t you eat the food I give you? Would you rather starve?” Illumi asks you calmly. You eye him warily and drop your gaze to the neatly arranged fruits that lined the plate. He visits twice a week, dressed in strange clothes dotted with circular yellow nubs of what you can only guess to be buttons, often bringing with him baskets filled with peace offerings of sweets and little trinkets, as if they will make you happy.

You nibble at a slice of apple, careful to keep your gaze on the ground as you fight down the urge to empty what little contents you had in your stomach, one part out of hunger, ninety-nine parts from the ache in your head when he slapped you into the stone wall and bashed your face into it with extra vigor for refusing to take a bite of the bread he brought down the week before.

“Good job!” And he’s empty, empty, empty. The hollowness in his joy almost scares you as much as when he leans down to pay the top of your head patronizingly, as if you were nothing more than a badly misbehaving puppy who finally learned to obey. His fingers dig into your scalp when he feels you flinch under them, and he rams you headfirst into the ground as you helplessly choke for air when he carefully applies pressure to your trachea, all but strangling you while staring down with sinking eyes that drown out everything else.

And you realize three things.

He’s neither human nor beast.

He’s a beautiful doll who carved his name into your flesh for no reason other than because he could do it.

And there’s nothing you can do to escape.

.....

“Dance for me.” Illumi demands one day during one of his many visits. You look up your cup of tea, and stare at the man sitting cross legged across from you on top of a checkered blanket, like some sort of demented underground picnic. Under the flickering light from his kerosene lamp, his skin looks especially pale, and the gaping holes that represent his eyes are especially haunting. His visits range in frequency, and you can’t tell if you like it more since his absence is peaceful, or hate it for how unpredictable he gets when he does see you.

Hesitantly, you get to your feet and walk into the center of the room where a lone pillar stands. You place a hand of it, inwardly grimacing from its roughness, and forcing your body to contort around it. But just as you start, he raises a hand and shakes his head.

“No, no, no, not that.” He says, hair shimmering like black waves out in the sea, as formless as his tone, “I want to see your other dance, the one you perform when I’m not here.” You blink, not surprised to learn that he keeps track of your movements frequently enough to see you dance on those rare occasions. Instead, you kneel down to his level and take a sip from your cup, smacking your lips loudly as you smile widely and say, “No.” He strikes you across the face, and breaks an arm for good measure. You can tell from how easily it crunches in his grasp that your nerves are destroyed, especially when it flop helpless next to you in the ground. It is the first time he inflicts permanent damage on you.. But it’s not the last.

.....

You learn that your Illumi’s last name is Zoldyck. It’s hard to miss since it’s painted and hung high in every room he brings you in.

His change in mood is astounding and you’re cautious not too upset him. You’re unsure what flipped the switch, but suddenly your above ground for the first time in months and the sun that shines through the large French windows that span from ceiling to floor hurts your eyes, but it feels painfully good to feel the warmth of natural light grace your face.

You look wistfully out into the garden, where acres of woods stretched endlessly before your eyes, and a range of mountain lines dot the far edges of your vision. And wonder if you would even be so lucky to feel grass press against the soles of your feet again.

The Zoldyck mansion is huge, lined with riches and elegance that screams of old money, and it’s easy to lose yourself in the passage of time as you wonder aimlessly through the elaborate halls, admiring each ancient artefact that tastefully decorates each room. But even its size and grandeur pales in comparison to the aura Illumi exudes that makes you feel so insignificant and small, as if the universe itself would split and swallow you whole. You dance around the mansion, often in the dead of night on weeks where Illumi disappears into the shadows that cut unnaturally into the walls, your feet guiding you through both the lavishly decorated rooms to the empty halls. It’s easy to pretend that you were in a haunted mansion as you sang from door to door; you never see anyone else, but the continuous presence of following eyes that track each leap you take reminds you of old ghosts lurking behind corners. “Where’s your favorite part of your house?” You ask Illumi one sunny afternoon, when you’re both lounging in his sunroom and lapping up what limited time you had left with the sun before autumn arrived and brought the chill with it.

He is surprised by your question, as if no one has ever asked for his opinion in his life, and blinks impossibly slow in response. Placing a finger to his lip, he quirks his head and hums. “Hmmm. I don’t know. I don’t really care much for this house.”

And just like almost everything else he does, it’s horribly empty, and succeeds in shutting out your efforts and extension of friendship.

You return to starring listlessly at the lush gardens below, and make a mental note to ask Illumi if you could one day explore those grounds as well. There were only so many halls you could pass before turning into one of the many ghosts that haunt the mansion.

.....

Zeno Zoldyck is the first and only family member you ever meet. How you ran into him was mere coincidence. You’ve never left Illumi’s wing of the house. But by sheer coincidence do you run into the old patriarch on one of his rare ventures into the family library.

“It’s not easy playing chess alone. You don’t grow at all as a player if you’re only exposed to techniques you are familiar with.” He slams a pawn over your queen, ignoring the shriek of shock you return over his sudden appearance, and takes a sit across you. Despite yourself, you calm what nerves you had left and nervously prod your own pawn forward. He spares you fleeting glance and switches your rook out for his bishop.

And just like that, in the gaping hole that was Illumi Zoldyck’s home, you made a friend.

Zeno is a peculiar old man. He drinks only jasmine tea and likes it so hot it scalds the skin of his lips (you eye the scars that travel down his neck, self-inflicted and not from battle); like Illumi is gaze is piercingly empty, but unlike Illumi he can talk for hours on end and never fails to brighten your mood on days you felt as if your head was full of cotton and your eyes only saw the deaths of stars. You decide you like his straightforward ways and cheeky words, and you can only guess he likes how you’re the only person willing to entertain him in this lonely home on the most boring of days. He’s sprightly for an old geezer, and his wit tempt the corners of your lips ever so slightly.

And so you both meet once a week for a game of chess.

You’ll drink poison and burn your tongue if it meant filling up the empty spaces of time that suffocated you whole.

“What was he like as a child?” You decide to ask one day. Zeno doesn’t take his eyes away from the board (you tried switching the pieces once, and now he knows better than to trust you).

“Stupid. And ugly, if you ask me. Who knows what his mother ate.” He moves his king away from your bishop.

“Like an ugly duckling.” You hum in agreement and move your knight over to his king instead. Grumbling incoherently, he retreats his king further.

“Nothing like that. He’s was never really there,” tapping his forehead, he gives you a pitying grin, “I’m sure you understand.” You shrug in response.

“He couldn’t have helped it.” His king narrowly misses your pawn, and you click your tongue in irritation. A comfortable silence draws on as you both analyzed the board.

“Why do you defend him?” Zeno finally speaks after he slides his knight over to your king, and you bring your knees up to your seat, hiding the lower half of your face behind them before finally shrugging.

“He was a child, there wasn’t much he could have done.” It’s difficult to ignore the bitter taste those words form, and you push them all away as you bring your surrounding pawn to his knight. Zeno frowns.

“But he is now a man, and you are his prisoner.”

You can’t help but sigh when his bishop finally corners your king,

“I know.”

.....

On the nights where Illumi was home, he would occasionally demand you perform for him. Creeping hands dragging you from corner you curled into on the bed you unwillingly shared with him, not caring that the force of his careless throws injures your back further and colors your body with more bruises than you could possibly care to count.

“Why won’t you dance for me?” He demands you once again. It’s different this time though, you realize from watering eyes, choking on the cloud of poison that radiates from him, weighing you down to the floor as you feel your feet slowly turn to stone and merge with the tiles. You do not understand this sudden burst of anger (you think it’s anger; grief, rage and bitterness all swirl around you in endless clouds that it becomes very hard to differentiate one from the next) and you cannot stop yourself from begging for relief as the temperature in the room plummets to dangerously low levels.

“I can’t.” Dark circles creep dangerous close to the edges of your vision. He drives his foot further into your stomach.

“You can.” He nudges you hard, and the blood you cough out stains his foot.

“I can’t.” You want to scream in his face, and somehow he hears the resistance in your voice and digs his foot deeper.

“Why can’t you do this, for me?” He lifts you by your hair, forcing you to look right at him. “Is it because you can’t? Or is it because you won’t?” The last syllable rolls off his tongue with such harshness you never thought him possible of.

“Please,” You plead instead, grabbing at his legs, “let me go.”

It’s only for a fraction of a second, but you see his eyes widen and the pure, unadulterated rage he spews strangles you, and it is so, so bitter that your heart stops and the world fades. He backhands you, and the stinging slap he gives hurts less than the searing pain that sets your chest aflame as holds your down and carves his name into your skin, right at where your collarbones dip and met, slowly and carefully etching something with needles he pulls seemingly out of his shirt. You put up a struggle, desperately screaming for someone, anyone to save you, but he just as easily pins you down and continues his task as if your screams were nothing (they probably weren’t).

“You are mine.” He says, after a long eternity, and your throat his hoarse and raw from all the begging. You can only stare at the name he forcefully carved into your skin with abject horror, shaking furiously, half from fear and half from grief, at how you would now be forever reminded of him.

He licks the blood off his needle, and whispers, “never forget that.”

#hunter x hunter #hxh #illumi #illumi x reader #yandere #angst #zeno zoldyck #zoldyck family #illumi is not a good bean in this #my writings #tumblr has been a real b lately

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aelaer · 4 years ago

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Let’s talk about chemical imbalances in malfunctioning brains

I haven’t made it exactly a secret that I’m not exactly neurotypical. I don’t talk about it much, but I don’t make it a secret, either, even if I won’t go into the full diagnosis of my stupid, wonderfully horribly stupid brain. One of those aspects of my non-neurotypical brain is what doctors call ‘general anxiety disorder’, and what I call ‘I know everyone absolutely loathes me because look at all this circumstantial evidence I have and nothing anyone says otherwise will convince me that this isn’t the case’.

This mood probably stems from childhood where functioning like a Normal Child was *incredibly difficult* and, as you can imagine, retaining friends was rough, despite the support I got from the adults in my life (oh thank god I did). And I lost a lottttt of friendships along the way in nasty blazes. Ironically, it made high school-- often the worst phase for people growing up-- my best time in my childhood, because holy crap, I knew how to retain friends! For more than 3 months at a time!

But fuck, you learn coping skills, you learn how to calm your brain, you learn this and that and this and that-- but it doesn’t actually go away.

Throughout the first half of the 2010s, these ‘general anxiety’ attacks were down to about twice a month, if I had to guess (which was a significant improvement over early childhood, which averaged one major attack a day. So maybe for three days I have no anxiety attacks, and then day four I have four attacks. And ‘attack’ is truly a good word for it, it just shuts down your ability to function. Kid me was an anxious ball). While kid me had anxiety over every topic you can possibly imagine, adult me still struggled with the one anxiety that spurred attacks again and again and again.

Making friends. Being accepted. Being liked.

The easiest way to go about this is to never go against the consensus, don’t have opinions that contradict the majority, always be *happy* and hide away any negative thoughts-- and yeah, that’s not me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being true to myself. What I craft online is pretty damn similar to what you’d get of my personality in RL. I don’t put on faces or play pretend. The most I do is avoid topics that I know will get messy, so you just--never hear my opinion on it, ever. Helps curb anxiety.

But while the last uh, 3 or so years the attacks have simmered down to somewhere between 6 to 12 a year, if I had to guess (and only a couple of those lasting for longer than half an hour when, again, childhood anxiety attacks could last for waaayyy over an hour), I still get them. And while I absolutely love Christmas and this time of year, during the week before Christmas I tend to always have one. I haven’t figured out why. My parents did my childhood Christmases real good, so it’s not related to anything like that.

That’s tonight.

My brain is *fritzing*. I’m scrolling through names on tags I like on tumblr, and the brain is going: ‘Oh, that person hates you, you angered them in May 2019 and they avoid *everything* you do despite similar interests, I bet *everyone* she talks with absolutely *despises* you’ and ‘Oh hey, another popular person, you’re in the same social circle and they’ve never interacted with you, I bet that they also think you’re a fucking awful human being’ and ‘That person follows you and is very active, but doesn’t actually reblog anything you post, and that’s because your content is absolute *trash*. Why the fuck are you trying to participate in this community? You’re not appealing to their interests, you’re *boring*. You may know the technicalities of the craft, but it doesn’t matter because you don’t have an audience. Delete your stuff and stop trying’.

The dialogue stems from the anxiety of not being accepted into the general... order of people in a similar interest group, whether it’s “smart people group” in HS, “art group” in college, “roleplay group” in a game I play, or “Stephen’s small group of fans” like the last two years. The worst part of the mood is that it doesn’t matter what evidence I have to contradict it in kind words, nice messages, and general appreciation. The brain has a counter for every single one of them: ‘That person likes the person who hates you better than you so it doesn’t matter’, ‘that person still reblogs the content of the person who attacked you with a sock puppet on your blog last year’, ‘that person just feels sorry for you because you’re so pathetic’.

It’s a vicious thought process. I’m thankful that it tends to go away by the next morning. But one thing I’ve found that sometimes helps calm it down so it eventually goes back to the hole it crawled out of is writing it out, and that’s why you got a post about the viciousness of a chemically imbalanced brain 3 days before Christmas.

#anxiety #i have a love-hate relationship with my brain #at times like this i quantify my worth with numbers #and as you can imagine #im never going to be the most popular #and my brain uses that for fuel to attack everything i create #because if you're not appealing to the wider community #why are you bothering?#you want to be accepted after all #yet you cant even create what people want #and so the cycle goes on and on #until the anxiety attack crawls back into the hole it came from

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thorne93 · 6 years ago

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Writing Interview

I was tagged by @illegalcerebral who is utterly amazing in every sense of the word

Q: What is your coffee order?

This totally depends. It’s not even related to weather either. I’ve been known to get hot lattes in summer, and blended iced drinks in the winter. Typically, I opt for something caramel, or hazelnut, or both. I like it to be sweet but not overly sweet, so long as the bitterness of the coffee is cut, I’m golden.

Q: What is the coolest thing you’ve ever done?

Depends, I’ve done lots of stuff. I have my own novel published and I’ve sold over 100 copies (not a lot, I know, but to a kid whose dream was “I just want 1 person I don’t know to buy it and like it” and it happened -- that’s perfect for me). I also wrote a short story that my professor insisted I get published - i’m in the process of that now.

Q: Who has been your biggest mentor?

Plenty of people. I’ve learned a lot from all my fellow writers here on Tumblr/Discord, some writing, and some general life. I learn a lot from my immediate family, and my best friend.

Q: What has been your most memorable writing project?

I’ve got several. My stories are my worlds. My original novel is pretty near and dear and I could probably recite some of the scenes to you because I’ve had to sit and edit and read them so much (it’s a trilogy, but only 1 is published). I also have a weird story that’s turned into two novels, but it’s like a HUGE crossover fic with tons of original characters, and it’s really memorable because it’s basically a long ass role play between one of my friends and myself and it’s evolved into this whole universe that I just love. As far as fics go -- Three’s Company - I dictated most of the story to my husband on one of our road trips. I talked, he wrote. It was my first ever fan fic, and it was poly which was pretty daunting. I love Closing Time and Hard Headed. I have an unfinished fic right now which is very long but it’s memorable. Curious Conundrum was great because I never thought I’d write Sherlock then I found myself wanting to crawl inside the universe. Decisions, Decisions was really fun and interesting to write.

Q: What does your writing path look like, from the earliest days until now?

Well, my first works were three novels, then I wrote that fanfic/crossover/original piece I was talking about, then I started fan fic. I miss novel writing. You can be more specific, and I don’t have to stick to a canon. I can toy with rules and the universe in that story. No matter what though, I feel like I always try to develop a full story -- where are these characters from, where are they headed, and how do they get there? I always try to hit every plot hole and angle. I frequently pace and talk aloud saying things like “okay, I can have them wind up here, and that’s how X would happen -- but, why wouldn’t they just call the person? why are they there?” it’s a lot of back and forth, with myself, lol Or i breakdown and consult Discord and the lovely folk that reside there

Q: What is your favorite part about writing?

Setting up the storyline. It’s so exciting to see how certain things can reconnect,t things i didn’t even plan on connecting. To watch a story unfold is great. Then, to write a scene I’ve been chomping at the bit to write.

Q: What does a typical day look like for you?

Well it’s constantly changing. I don’t have a set schedule and i never force myself to write. I know Stephanie Meyer said that she wrote every day, even if it was just one word, but I can always tell that when my writing feels forced, the content is lacking. If i’m not in the mood to write, I don’t. and if inspiration hits me, I try to record it -- if i’m in class, i jot it down on a notebook or whatever. So I don’t follow some strict schedule because my life just doesn’t allow for that. I’m a full time student who runs a family and household so I just can’t dedicate time to writing just to “do it”.

Q: What does your writing process look like?

1) I have to have an outline, or at least a start of one. i need to know where they will be going. How do we get from point A, to point B, to point C, etc. I prefer a full outline before writing, but sometimes I find if i have a loose outline and I just jump in, the rest of the story just builds itself

2) I only post once a story is finished

3) I ask someone to beta, at least one person I trust

4) I typically do better if I can focus. I usually write really well between 10-pm and 3 am. I used to write a work because my work was kind of slow and I could write between things, and no one was there to bother me

Q: What’s the best advice you’ve gotten?

Not sure... Other than maybe instead of saying, “He was angry” you say “His jaw clenched while his fist closed tightly, white knuckling.” So the whole explain what’s going on, rather than just telling them.

Q: What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned?

If you aren’t feeling it, don’t push it. forcing yourself to write when you have writers block doesn’t do anyone any good. If you’re stuck on a story, don’t push it. Think about it for a while, if nothing comes, let it go and see if random inspiration strikes while you’re off doing something else; dwelling on it pretty much never helps

Q: What advice would you give someone who wants to start writing?

Try to finish your stories before posting - otherwise you may face pressure or stress to finish a story from your readers, and it’s hard enough to face your own demands, let alone an audiences. Plus you may not finish it and now people are disappointed

Write for YOU. Not what you think people will like, not what you think they’ll accept, not what you think they want to read. Write what you would want to read.

Don’t ever be discouraged. It takes a LOT of time to build a “fan base”. Just keep writing for you and putting your work out there and someone will pick it up.

Reblog - not constantly, but once or twice a day at different times

Take breaks -- even if it’s been a month and you have writers block - that’s okay.

Consult with a beta, or 2 or 3. If you’re just starting out, find a writer whose work you like, and ask if they will beta. Or join Discord (with a writing channel) and ask for a beta there. If you’re just starting, get more than 1. People beta differently. Some just look for spelling and grammar. Some tell you if there are plot holes. Some will just come in and overhaul your grammar, syntax, word usage. Some can tell you if it’s too fast. Some can tell you if a scene or a sentence doesn’t make sense. Don’t be afraid of criticism from your beta. Chances are, they aren’t being an asshole or a dick, they’re telling you “this shit needs fixed” and it’s better to fix it with your beta/editor than for your audience to point it out, or get turned off and not read your work....

Make sure you have formatting down -- New paragraph when someone else is speaking ALWAYS. Comma in dialogue if there is a dialogue tag (For instance: “I watered the dog,” he said. VS. “I watered the dog.” He then walked into the bathroom.) The first one was a comma because it’s a whole statement and you’re explaining HOW they said something. The second one, his action of walking into the bathroom had NOTHING TO DO with the statement he made.

Tagging: @carryonmyswansong @arrow-guy @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @sorryimacrapwriter @thejemersoninferno @malfoysqueen14 @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

#writing interview

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yeollie-bells · 7 years ago

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Title: The Changing of Seasons Chapter: 1/1 Words: 3312 Relationship: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Rating: Gen. Summary: Nyx ferries Noct way from his world for a little while. (This is for the death by fluff week the wonderful @nyxnoctocalypse�� made! Im!!!!!! honestly terrified to post this!! its my first work for the fandom, at least publicly, and i totally feel like im not good enough AND encroaching on others territory!! BUT i promised myself id do this, i havent had time to do like, the WHOLE thing, like a prompt a day, so I just chose my favorite topic from each day and combined them all into this pitiful mess! Hopefully someone likes it! the prompts i chose are) Seasonal: Weather Animal: Pets Clothing: Wearing the other’s clothing Hobbies: Shared interests Events: Festival days/nights Dates: Surprise dates Written Word: Handwriting Favourites: Way to spend time Time: The years ahead Light / Dark: Candlelight Read on AO3 here! (please just read it here im not formatting for tumblr this is just so much better)

Noct loved the changing of seasons. He loved the way the heat ebbed and the cold crept in. He loved the frost on the window above his head. He loved feeling a warm body beside his own and strong arms wrapped around him. One would think that with the congested space of Insomnia it wouldn't get cold that there would be no weather that things wouldn't change, that it would always be rather warm and steamy-- sticky with the humidity and smoke. But the cold could always find a way. It crept in in the early mornings at the beginning of the shifting of seasons, it suffocated the heat clinging desperately to the streets. Fog replaced steam and smoke bringing a wet chill with it.

Noctis used to hate the cold. Used to hate the dark. Still hates the loneliness that accompanies both. Even with his friends there was always something villainous about the cold and the dark. Prompto’s light couldn't break through it nor could Gladio’s heat. Not the warm and colorful foods Ignis would present them with.

But Nyx.

Nyx.

He was a different animal altogether. There was something about him that cut through the biting loneliness the changing of seasons brought. His warmth and his light. It was almost funny, considering he was named after the darkness.

Noctis mused silently in the early morning light, soaking in the warmth of Nyx’s body behind him and the small body at their feet-- a small white fluffball they found months ago shivering in a cardboard box. She was a pathetic little sight, but she fits into their family quite well. She’ll let Prompto dress her up and take her picture with absolutely no complaint, she’ll “help” Nyx and Gladio with their respective trainings, she’ll even help Ignis with his cooking (Read: she’ll wait and beg for scraps- Ignis is weak for her bright green eyes) and best yet, she’ll lay in Noct’s lap whenever he needs company- when Nyx is beyond the wall and the others are home. When the loneliness sets in with the dark and cold her bells and bright fur bring Noctis a sense of love and safety he wouldn't have otherwise.

Carefully, Noct picks his way from the warm bodies on the bed, shivering when his bare feet touch the cold floor. Standing, he looks back as Ophelia crawls her way up the bed snuggling closer to Nyx, happily taking over the warm spot Noctis left behind. The prince smiles and shakes his head as he pads quietly through the room, grabbing the nearest warmest article of clothing he can find-- it just so happens to be one of Nyx’s sweaters. He gets dressed quickly, sparing one final glance Nyx’s way before leaving the warmth of the small apartment to face the chill of the day. To a meeting he couldn’t care less about, he already looking forward to the end of the day when he gets to see Nyx again.

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Nyx wakes up not long after Noctis leaves to a face full of fluffy white fur. He sputtered and sat up, spitting out fur and wiping his mouth. He stared down at the cat a moment who was happily stretched out on the bed taking up way more space than anyone would think a small cat could then realized Noct was nowhere to be seen.

“Noct..?”

He looked around the room, not seeing a single sign of his little love, and with a small sigh he pulled himself up to get ready for the day. It was for the best that Noct had left before he had woken, Nyx was a weak man that loved sleep and loved Noct, but it didn’t diminish the sadness of not being able to see his little Prince sleep soft and content. He knew his little love had Princely Duties to attend, but Nyx was a selfish man as well as weak- he wanted Noct all to himself.

Especially in the morning.

He’d get his lazy morning tomorrow though if he had any say in the matter. With Noct’s absence Nyx realized he had things to do, places to go and things to plan, and a quick glance to the clock showed he’d spent enough time distracted.

In the mad rush to get out after seeing just how late it truly was he almost missed the little note on his table-- held down by a strategically placed, teeny tiny pumpkin. Nyx laughed as he lifted the small pumpkin and tossed it in the air a couple times before shaking his head and replacing the pumpkin in his hand with the small note. He recognized Noct’s handwriting immediately but had no time to read it. He carefully pocketed the letter, making sure the house was in order and Ophelia would be fine until he got home before locking up and making his way out- he had surprises to plan.

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His plans were perfect.

His plans were always perfect.

Don’t listen to Crowe or Libertus.

Nyx’s plans were the best plans. He’s had this specific date planned for weeks. He knew Noct likeed autumn, he knew Noct likeed the festivities that took place around this time of year. He also knew Noctis had only seen them in passing, or through a screen. He’d almost gotten out to play-- once, a couple years ago with Prompto- but alas his little Prince’s stealthy skills were not yet developed enough to pass by undetected. But now, now he had Nyx.

And Nyx was great at plans.

His first stop was a nearby store. His favorite clothing store to be exact. He would never live it down if any of his friends knew what he was doing, but he didn’t care. It was for Noct, the damn clothes stealing hopeless romantic that he was. Nyx knew he liked his clothes, his sweaters and flannels and jackets in particular. Nyx liked seeing his slight frame in his larger clothes anyways. Noct just spent so much time at his apartment, he figured the little thief could do with a couple things of his own. Though Nyx doubted it would halt his thieving ways he bought a couple big warm fluffy sweaters. Sweaters that incidentally matched several of the ones Nyx already owned. Sweaters that he knew would compliment Noct’s complexion. Nyx was a simple man with simple likes. And he liked Noct.

While he was waiting to be rung up he remembered the note Noct had left him and pulled it from his pocket.Note in hand, he read it while the line progressed, his intended purchases under his arm.

Nyx,

I’m sorry I had to leave before you woke-- you know how meetings are. I wish I could have stayed, you know I do, but I’ll see you again soon enough! (Unless I die of boredom). You know, you were drooling in your sleep when I left. Were you able to make it out of bed without being glued to your pillow? I bet you’ve got Ophelia’s fur stuck to your cheek huh? She really likes to get in your face, and you, you sure as hell like to cling. I’m running late now but i’ll see you at home!

-Noctis

Nyx laughed as he read, subconsciously rubbing his other hand against his cheek to rid it of phantom fur and drool.

“Brat.”

He made his purchases and took them back to the apartment, setting the finely packaged bags on the table beside the little pumpkin. Ophelia trotted up to him and rubbed against his legs silently requesting his attention and marking him as hers so the entire world would see her white fur on his black pants. He let out a long suffering sigh and picked the little girl up before taking her to the kitchen. Absent mindedly rubbing his scruffy jaw against her head. Her purring so violent she could practically launch herself into space. He set her on the counter and got her some breakfast. Nyx watched the cat eat while he thought about the rest of the day ahead.

Ignis had already messaged him, letting him know that the days meetings were running a bit longer than anticipated, and gave an updated ETA for his Prince. It wasn’t too much longer than Nyx had planned for already, about an hour or so out. He finished watching the cat eat, cleaned her dish, pet her a few (dozen) times then made his leave once again- setting out towards the Citadel to pick up Noctis. To save his damsel from the belly of the beast that is Royal Politics.

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Noctis really hated these meetings, he had no idea why they were even a thing to begin with. It was just old men talking circles around each other for hours on end, getting nothing done and then setting time aside at a later date to do the same damn thing all over again. He wanted to rip his ears off, he really did. He just wanted this to be over with, he wanted to leave this hell hole behind and make his way back to his cat, back to Nyx-- back to his home. Another fifteen minutes, that’s all he had to deal with- just another fifteen minutes.

It was another thirty minutes on top of that before he got his reprieve.

“We will meet again in two days time to discuss this in more detail, that is all for today.”

Noct didn’t need to be told twice, he patiently made his Princely niceties and then politely bolted out the door-- only to be stopped by Ignis not ten feet from freedom.

Noct held back a very un-Prince like whine and listened to what Ignis had to say, though he retained next to nothing from the exchange.

“--And make sure to be careful.” Ignis had finished his report, or rant...or lecture (He wasn’t entirely sure) and Noct nodded sagely along.He doubted he fooled Ignis for one second,judging by the look in his eye, but he stepped backwards. Step by careful step. Maintaining eye contact with Ignis throughout his retreat. When finally released he turned and dove through the doors as fast as he could, glad to finally have escaped!

During his valiant escape he didn’t realize there was someone waiting outside the doors, and in his haste he ran right into the person.

The very Solid Person.

The very Solid, Familiar Person.

Noctis looked up at the owner of the hands that had steadied him to meet a steely blue gaze filled with a familiar loving warmth. The steely blue gaze he had missed seeing this morning.

A smile overtook his face as he registered Nyx while a sly grin spread on the older man’s as he took Noct in.

“Glad you didn’t die of boredom in there, I was beginning to think I wouldn’t see you again.”

Noct rolled his eyes and sighed, “It was a close one Hero, a minute longer and I would have been toast. Nothing left of me.”

Nyx laughed at Noct’s put upon tone as he wrapped an arm around his little loves slim waist and began leading him off and away from the Citadel.

Noct laughed with him and followed his lead easily, “What’re you doing here anyways? How’d you know i’d be released? I was gonna come right back to you, you didn’t have to come get me.”

“It’s a secret baby doll. I’ve got plans, you see? They’re real intricate, and step one involves kidnapping the Crown Prince.” Nyx grinned conspiratorially, ending the sentence with a wink at Noct’s surprised, yet slightly affronted expression. He shushed whatever retort his little raven was about to make and ushered him onto his motorcycle. “Keep all comments to yourself, I’m not telling you where we’re going, no hints no tips no persuasion. Just be patient, be quiet and trust me. You’ll be glad you did.”

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Noct did as he was told, unhappy as he may be. He stayed quiet, didn’t ask where they were going, how much longer they’d be, or anything of the sort pertaining to the topic. It was eating at him but he remained silent and pouted the entire way through, his cheek against Nyx’s leather clad back. Every once in awhile one of Nyx’s hands would come down to Noct’s and give it a little squeeze-- silently letting him know he was doing well. It took much longer than Noct was expecting, and even still he had no idea where they were going. All he knew was that Nyx kept driving, and they were moving further out of the congestion of the city and closer towards the rural areas, if you could call them that. Noct may have no idea where they’re going, but he was enjoying the changes he was seeing and feeling.

The air was sweeter, fresher and the colors were so vibrant. All the trees in different shades; browns and reds, oranges and yellows, even the ever persistent green remained. The smells were more nature, less machine-- though to be fair cows weren’t the most aromatic animal in the world. It was somehow quieter or at least more peaceful, less sounds of angry people, machinery and the city and more of the county life but there was something else to it too. But that something Noct couldn’t place until they had arrived to their destination.

The sun was just beginning to set when Nyx had begun to slow down. The amount of transport had significantly increased and Noct, curiosity piqued began looking around. Nyx carefully maneuvered through cars and bikes and past people, finding a small space perfectly fit for his motorcycle. He parked and removed their helmets, helping Noct off after him- steadying his stiff gait.

Noctis didn’t halt his wondered stares as Nyx fixed his hair and soon enough met Nyx’s bright eyes, “This….Nyx what is this?”

Nyx smiled gently at the pure wonder in his little Prince’s eyes and ran a thumb along his cheekbone, “It’s an autumn festival. I’ve figured you’d been cooped up most every time this time of year rolled around, could hardly persuade your dashing Knights to ferry you away here, and I know how much you love autumn and festivals so I thought I could spirit you away for a night to the festival you’ve been dreaming of. Don’t be too disappointed though, it’s more about the harvest and less about the partying.”

Noctis couldn’t believe it. This is what he had been dreaming about for years. Leave it to Nyx to snuff out one of the things he had desperately wanted to do. “Nyx, I could care less what the focus of the place was, just the fact you brought me here. You. That’s….That’s everything.”

Nyx smiled, soft and gentle as he hooked his arm with Noct’s, “Well then, what d'ya say we partake in the festivities?”

Noctis’s blinding grin was answer enough and Nyx led the way through the other festival goers. Keeping his little Prince close to him as they went.

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Hours had passed and the sun was well below the horizon. The cool day had brought about an icy chill to the night, and without the hustle, bustle and building of the city- it got cold.

Very cold.

Very cold very fast.

Nyx was used to the cold, was well prepared for it but Noct on the other hand wasn’t. Turns out his fancy clothes were more fashionable than practical. Noct was good at hiding discomfort, but Nyx could read him like an open book.

He took one of Noctis’ cold little hands in his own and brought him closer, “Cold?”

Noctis shook his head, but the chatter of his teeth was revealing a different truth. Nyx just shook his head fondly exacerbated and stepped back far enough to peel off his extra layer; a nice plaid flannel in greys and blues.

“What happened to that sweater you stole this morning?” He teased and Noct grew pink cheeked.

“I….may or may not have forgotten it in the meeting.” Noct looked away and Nyx laughed.

Classic Noctis.

“Well, good thing one of us is prepared.

“My Hero.”

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The two walked through the festival grounds hand in hand, enjoying the chill and the warmth the other brought. They saw exotic creatures with colorful plumage and drank warm apple cider and hot chocolate. It seemed to be some sort of apple festival with all the food and drink being sold tended to be made from them.Noctis never knew just how many different types of apple there actually were. There were a couple of games and shop stalls littered throughout as well. Nyx having stopped them to buy a little crown made of small delicate flowers and placed it upon his Prince’s head.

Noctis tried to be annoyed at his boyfriend’s foolishness but found it hard to even act peeved with the childish glee written clear all over his face. He found a similar crown, one that used more leaves and green and moss than flowers and placed it atop Nyx’s head. Nyx’s answering grin was more than enough to make up for the looks from passersby and the silliness of the situation.

The night got colder and darker, and before long the crowds thinned, the stalls closed and people were packing it away to go home. Noctis didn’t particularly want to leave, but followed Nyx back to their ride and got on. The two left as everyone else did, silently promising another visit sometime soon.

It was a silent ride home, Noctis holding tight to Nyx’s waist, pressed as close as he could get. The noise of the city barely reaching through to their little haven, even when they finally got home. Still in the bubble of their own little world.

They made their way back inside the apartment and showered together. No words were spoken and the warm water thawed the chill from their bones. Soft kisses and softer caresses were shared between them and Nyx carefully bundled his little raven love in a nice new warm sweater, dark blue to match his endless eyes. Noctis smiled as Nyx led him to the bed and had him sit, then made a point of going around and lighting candles. He had planned this, and like he said, he was the best at making plans. He crawled into bed after Noct after having lit several candles and held his Prince close.

“So how was it, Little Prince? Did you enjoy yourself?” His first words between them were spoken softly.

“You know I did, “ He responded, just as softly with a kiss to the tip of Nyx’s nose, “how could I not when I got to spend the day with you? You know it’s my favorite way to spend the time…”

“I thought this was your favorite way to spend the time?”

Noctis laughed softly at the ridiculous expression on his Hero’s face then pulled him into another kiss. “It’s one of my favorite ways.”

Nyx huffed a chuckle and kissed up Noct’s cheek, to the corner of his eye, then pressed a kiss against each eyelid.

“Nyx?”

“Yeah, little love?”

“Think we could go back? Soon?”

“Of course, Noct. Anything for you.”

#deathbyfluffweek #nyxnoctocalypse #nyxnoct #ffxv #noctis #nyx #Final Fantasy #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #nyx ulric #my writing #its shit but its mine #sorry yall i just feel i should be apologizing lol

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bashfulbastian · 7 years ago

Text

Getting back into the swing of things

I guess I should start off with an apology. I haven’t posted in forever. On tumblr or on Youtube. In addition to some personal drama going on, I’ve been feeling hella dysphoric lately and it’s been a chore to even go out in public. Let alone make a video or type a blog post about what I’m going through.

A few months ago my dose of testosterone was increased. I’m now taking twice the amount I started at. Which means the changes are happening a little quicker and more common with what you’d see in a boy going through puberty. You know, school is over for the year and they leave, then when they come back after the summer they have a full dang beard and their voice is like a lumberjack? Yeah, that quick.

I have started shaving my face and hoping it’s not too obvious. I’m glad my facial hair is blonde, otherwise people would be really confused. I’m not able to socially transition yet. Not by a long shot. I have to worry about issues with my daughter starting preschool and other things where I need to be seen as “female” in person. I don’t really care that much about changing my name on paper yet. It’s changing things in person that are starting to become more of a trouble than I thought they would.

You see, I’m an open book about my transition for the most part. When I can finally pass as a guy and I’m dealing with Alessa’s teachers and stuff, I have no problem saying “I’m trans, please call me Sebastian from now on, but on paper I’m still Sasha.” I don’t care about that. My problem is meeting these people, or going out in public in general, and people staring at me and not knowing what to make of me.

When I first started my transition I remember thinking “as long as I can go out in public and people will look at me and not be sure what gender I am, then I’ll be better than I am now.”

That’s not the case anymore. Being in the middle is hell. If I bind I’m gendered correctly about 50% of the time. If I don’t bind, I’m always misgendered. I wish I was at a point in my life where I could let the hair on my face grow in and just bind all the time, but it’s so hard and so exhausting. Girls, you think it’s hard having to deal with putting on a bra every day? HA! Try wearing the tightest, most uncomfortable thing you can imagine and not being able to leave the house without it for fear of being shot for being a disgusting subhuman.

Think I’m being overdramatic? Well, I was going to search for, and insert, a chart that shows the amount of hate crimes, harassment, and overall violence against transgender people, but there are too many. Just google it. It’s ridiculous the amount of hate we’re showered with, and for what? Someone please enlighten me. What’s the difference between me and you? Please put it into words to my FACE so I can educate you, you sorry excuse for a person. Bet you can’t do that. Bet you’ll hide behind the internet blindly throwing slurs and hateful words at someone you don’t even know.

But this isn’t where I wanted this post to go. I’m explaining my time away from Tumblr and Youtube.

After my daughter is settled into preschool, and after I’ve been able to adjust to wearing my binder every day for the rest of my foreseeable future, I’ll feel a little more comfortable finally trying to only appear masculine while in public.

But it’s so disheartening having to deal with putting my binder on for every little time leaving my apartment. I think that’s my biggest hang up right now. I want to just go out for 5 minutes and buy some milk? I have to put on my binder. I need to be out for an entire day? That means I can’t take my binder off. At all. It’s recommended to wear it for 8-10 hours MAX. And forget going to a gym. Exercise or anything physically demanding is highly advised against while binding. There are so many shirts I can’t wear because you’ll be able to tell I’m wearing a binder. Not to mention just the act of putting it on and taking it off...

What I’m getting as is I’ve been struggled really hard lately with my depression and anxiety. An if you’ve never dealt with depression, if basically makes you just want to crawl into a hole and never come out. Might as well take my phone, a box of tissues, a few bags of chips and a blanket and live in my closet for a while. I’ve been able to stay away from it for the most part, though. I’ve been taking things slow, day by day, trying to ignore negative comments I get. And hopefully, writing this is a turning point. I feel productive, as I have for about a week or so now. I’ve started working out at home, which always makes me feel better. I perfected my iced coffee, which helps keep me running.

I have a few posts planned for the coming days, most about being trans and getting through life and my thoughts on what cishet people who don’t actually have any trans friends think about me. Getting back into this swing has been difficult but I am planning on some videos as well. Thank you to those of you that do read my posts and watch my videos. You guys make me happy :)

#transgender #trans #transman #ftm #hate #donthate #binding #bastianandthebear #areyouaboyoragirl

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