#unfortunately its like nowhere near done | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silkjade-archived · 5 months

Text

OF GOSSAMER THREADS

wriothesley x reader ⤀ synopsis: all this for a new set of clothes, wriothesley never imagined he’d be this sensitive while having his measurements taken… and so you offer a way to help him relax ⤀ cw: fem!reader, pet names (princess + girl), blowjob / oral (m. receiving), deepthroating, little bit of dacryphilia + corruption — mdni || ꒰ 2.5k wc ꒱ a/n: finally the fic version of this little thing i posted, that has actually been in my drafts for months

“don’t tell me the duke’s never had his measurements taken before.” your eyes flicker up from beneath thick lashes, a brow raised at the peculiarity of the situation: wriothesley, the infamous warden who just about radiates confidence, stiff at the prospect of a simple fitting.

“unfortunately, there aren't many special occasions that call for your services here at palais meropide.”

you hum in agreement, nonchalantly giving him a sharp tap tap to his toned bicep, as you circle around him, ducking out of his line of sight. he's right of course; the fortress doesn't often call for the services of a seamstress such as yourself, but it seems even its great duke must adhere to the rules of society events, whenever his nation so demands.

“arms up,” you instruct, when he fails to respond to your simple gesture.

from behind, he feels the bite of cold air run through his self for the first time in a long while, as he flinches from the way your fingers dance like ice at the bared nape of his neck. your tape measure stretches down the length of his spine until a perfectly manicured nail marks a hatch into the fabric ruler, pressing just the slightest bit into the dip at his back. he arches away from your touch, all but jolting in response.

it isn't you, per say, nor is it the process itself, but rather that dangerous combination of both. how you're so casually intimate with your ministrations, walking the line between close and closer, with nowhere else to stray. touching him in places he had never imagined would be sensitive, and doing so without ever batting an eye.

of course, as an employee of chioriya boutique, it's nothing new to you — nor is it anything out of the ordinary to the men and women you dress over at the court of fontaine. but you cannot help but find amusement in how this rugged wolf of a man squirms beneath the lightest of touches.

wriothesley stretches, rolling his shoulders to alleviate the unfamiliar soreness in his arms. boxing, fighting—all of that he can do, easily and proficiently—yet his arms have never felt heavier than they do now, as he holds them out, so as not to obstruct your path. a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but you refocus onto the matter at hand, trading your tape for a pen as you quickly jot down the length of his back. cute, you think.

he almost breathes a sigh of relief when you finally allow him to rest his arms, that is, until he sees you down on your knees, near-hugging his frame in order to grasp the measure of his hips.

“I've always heard the duke was a skilled boxer — didn't think this little session would be enough to do you in,” you say, in an attempt to lighten the mood, because it'd be near impossible to get accurate measurements the way he's tensing up all his muscles.

you glance up to check his reaction when he doesn't respond. not that he isn't listening, but it's difficult to focus, difficult to breathe, when the sweet scent of your perfume—marcotte, he notes—sends him into overdrive, his brain directing all his senses to congregate at his crotch.

“hey, relax,” you remind him, but his mind as already decided to wander astray. how can it not when you look up at him with those eyes, large and wide, and how he'd like to see them brimming with tears, perhaps with his cock in your—

he forcibly drags the thought out of his head, setting an iron foot down as he shakes away the apnea, exhaling with a low puff to his breath, and a light tint to his cheeks. “it's a bit easier said than done.”

he laughs it off, yet despite his smart remarks, wriothesley clears his throat as if his voice hadn't near cracked at how your knuckles had brushed against the inside of his thigh while you were garnering its circumference; your phantom touch sending shivers to his skin, even through the fibers of his clothes. you hear him swallow down a grunt, and from the corner of your eye, you see the real issue now.

“would it be easier if I helped with... this?” manicured nails graze across the fabric covering his crotch, cheekily avoiding the obvious outline of his cock.

wriothesley lets out a small chuckle, wondering if he's perhaps hallucinating at this stroke of luck? fate? whatever it is, who was he to deny what's come knocking at his door, especially as you're already taking steps to smooth back any loose hair from your face. he backs into his own desk and sits at the edge before gesturing with a wave of his hand and a lilt to his voice.

“by all means... ” so you undo the buckles at his belt — his pants and briefs quickly following suit, as you tug both remaining garments down, one after the other, before greeting his bulbous tip with a quick kiss hello.

your thumb glosses over his slit, collecting beads of pre, as you run long strokes up and down his shaft. strained, wriothesley exhales through gritted teeth; you can feel him pulsing in your hands, throbbing with need. your touch is searing — it burns like ice, crawling up his veins until his scattered thoughts are frozen in place, stuck on the ever persisting need to buck forward.

“easy there, your grace,” you tease, heat accompanying your tongue with every lave around the underside of his cock. from his thick base to his leaking tip, the flat of your tongue traverses a wet path along the upward curve, before finally, you take him in the warm engulf of your mouth.

wriothesley stifles a breath, tossing his head back as he leans into his desk, exhaling a soft grunt at the way you suckle on just his tip, tongue swirling as you wrap the head in a sweet caress, and take him just a little deeper. from your peripherals, you easily catch on to how his grip tightens around the edge of his desk — a reluctant companion to the slight, yet ever present tremble in his hips, daring him to break at the growing pleasure between his legs.

sucking in your cheeks, you hollow them in until there’s nothing left to feel except the angry pulse of his cock in the wet maw of your mouth. you drag your lips slowy—tantalizingly so—off his cock, as if imprinting the feel of his veins onto your tongue, savoring the taste of his arousal before suctioning off with a nasty pop.

the air is immediately striking, an onslaught of sudden cold that sends his wet cock twitching in impatience. if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were toying with him, but a single glance down only confirms the duke’s suspicions in that you absolutely are. because oh how you so sweetly bat your doe eyes, looking up at him with anything but innocence, as delicate strands of saliva still connect your lips to his leaking cockhead, snapping as you force yourself to hold back the haughty little smile threatening to appear at how you’ve left the man equally flushed in face and cock.

carefully, you rub along his slit until your fingers are curled around his girth, pumping his fat cock in a mix of spit and pre, kissing down his length while your free hand presses against his sensitive hipbone, your breath tickling his skin, as you take one of his balls in your mouth, suckling as if it were the sweetest of confections.

he grunts, bucking into your fist. duke wriothesley who has never had his measurements taken. duke wriothesley who perhaps has never been teased as so. duke wriothesley whose hand snakes its way to your chin, and with a slight jerk, tilts your gaze to the ice in his half-hearted glare.

“hey,” he chides, “enough of that.” but his air of authority is tainted by the rasp in his voice, undermined by his own traitorous eyes that drift to the residue surrounding your lips. oh, how terribly he'd like to see such a pretty, pristine thing tainted and stained by his touch... and so he runs his thumb over your bottom lip, dipping into the wet heat of your mouth, and subconsciously guiding you back onto his cock.

any resolve left in the duke crumbles as you part those sinful lips, throat opening as you attempt to swallow him whole, and he sucks in a sharp breath, head thrown back as his fist races to smother his groans, teeth clinging to the skin of his knuckles.

you nurse his cock just a little bit deeper with every bob of your head, your palms—still slick with spit—pumping the length of all you cannot fit. his impressive size no doubt adds to the weight, your jaw falling slack just to fit his girth, but you persist, tongue swirling and painting and lapping up sloppy strokes all around. he rocks his hips, irregular and shallow, but it nonetheless has tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. you quickly blink them away, opting to refocus on holding down your gag reflex, rubbing your thighs together as a distraction and nurturing your own wetness that accumulates in between.

a moan rises from the back of your throat, the vibrations pulsing and weaving around him like silk threads, cocooning him in a pleasure that you can so clearly feel from the way he throbs on your tongue, which so desperately tries to maneuver around his shaft until he caves to the tightness—too warm, too welcoming, for him to resist any further.

and so by no will of his own, his hips jerk.

the impact makes you choke, convulsing around him as the force of his thrust sneaks him a little further down your throat. spittle leaks from the corners of your mouth while you do your best to swallow all you can, but the sting of tears immediately returns to haunt your visage, this time successfully leaving a number of streaky trails in its wake.

you send him a weak half-glare, but wriothesley only stutters out a weak apology before his sharp eyes are drawn to the subtle movement of your hips and thighs, and of how your knees readjust in search of any friction that might serve as an alleviant to the cock knocking at the back of your throat. even so, the whine vibrating around his cock begs for attention back to your pretty face.

beneath gossamer lashes, your eyes glisten with the promise of more tears; playful embers now vaporized by the saturated lull of lust, that he hates to admit thrills him. you, who had arrived at the fortress like an overworld princess; so prim and pretty, with the heels of your shoes click-clacking throughout his metal abode. your fashionable attire, so perfectly ironed and flouncing along with every step…

but where is your composure now, as you kneel before him, with his dick in your mouth?

he smoothes a hand along the top of your head before stopping at the crown. you can feel the tangible twitch of his cockhead, and you whimper in nervous anticipation, because you already know what's to come.

“you can take more than that,” he rasps, challenging you, all the while tilting your head down just a little further. “almost there, princess... relax. just a little more...”

his sweet words loosen your nerves, opening your throat to the realization that somehow, you must have relinquished control over to the duke, handing him the reigns as you let him pull you down, down over that last stretch of his length, bit by bit until the tip of your nose finally presses into the thatch of dark curls at his hilt. you flutter and squeeze around him, drool trickling down your chin as you splutter and gag.

and gracious as he is, wriothesley grants you a moment to breathe, through your nose, of course, if the large hand still weighing atop your head was any indication. he stretches a thumb over, gently brushing away a piece of hair fallen loose onto your face.

you really are so pretty — resting parallel to his balls, looking up at him with dew on your lashes and water in your eyes, lips pooling with spit at where you’re stretched around his base. he pulls out a little, throbbing with the desire to fuck and ruin… but slowly, he grinds himself back in, tapping the back of your sputtering throat every time he runs a pass along the palate of your tongue.

wriothesley throws his head back, groaning loud and raw through his teeth. you feel so good; so hot it makes his blood run cold, so tight it has him coming undone. and he’s so close. you can both feel it.

you moan again, despite the struggle to do so while his tip remains busy fucking your throat. behind his thighs, you dig your fingers into his bare flesh, bobbing along, hugging him even closer because after all, it was you who had offered to help with his problem, and it’ll be you who sees him through to the end.

“dirty girl,” he breathes, wholly impressed at how you take him like a sleeve, rolling along with his movements, and leaving him to shudder so close to completion. his face twists with pleasure, fingers tightening in your hair when he feels that pleasantly familiar barrage of tremors bubbling from your throat.

the wet sound of skin and spit rings in your ears. dirty. yes, that’s exactly what this was. to think you’ve never felt so sloppy and messy, gagging on cock, much less one like his… and yet… you think you love this. that, or you must be dizzy off delirium because his words have heat rushing to your cheeks and your cunt, stifling another choked moan that reverberates through the entirety of his shaft.

when he cums, he cums in your mouth, spilling in spurts with no restraint — and you swallow as best you can, as much as you can, really. still, he continues to rock his softening cock 'til the end of this high, savoring the last remnants of your sweet lips before you slowly pull off.

that first breath of real air is sweet, even amidst the iron-tainted walls of meropide, though you're apt to remember that even too harsh a breath would send your battered throat into a fit of coughs. you slump down to your heels, panting softly, entirely too aware of your current predicament, as you run a thumb across the tip of your chin, slimy with your combined fluids. it's sloppy, dirty, and oh how you're forced to swallow your own spit, when your clit pulses in rebellion.

above you, wriothesley chuckles, kneeling down to your level, yet still broad enough for his back to cover the dim light of his office, tall enough that he must tilt your head to catch those lovely eyes in his wolfish gaze again. he pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wipes the mess from your lips until you're prim and pretty and perfect, ready to be unravelled once again.

“shall I return the favor?”

a/n2: my first (and probably last) time writing a blowjob so i hope it was ok lolz this is so embarrassing so i’m posting n fleeing anywayz tysm for reading as always, and reblogs+feedback are very much appreciated ♡

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader smut #genshin x reader #genshin x reader smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin thirsts #wriothesley x you #genshin x you

839 notes · View notes

yan-critter · 3 months

Text

Yan!Toji x GN!Reader (Smut, Dubcon, Overstimulation, Dacryphilia, No gendered terms but reader is receiving)

Service top!Toji who can't get enough of seeing you come apart underneath him. Afterall, you're at your most docile when he's got you drooling into the mattress.

Be it toys, his finger, tongue, or his dick, just be sure that Toji will use absolutely everything and anything at his disposal to turn you into the pliant little lover he adores.

It drives him wild to see you go completely braindead while he fucks you within an inch of your life. Legs thrown over his shoulder and locked in place with a single muscled arm as his free hand makes itself useful between your thighs. The added stimulation leaving you reeling until you're blubbering and sobbing pathetically beneath him.

Thrashing and beating your fists weakly against his hold as you hiccup, you cling to your last bits of resolve. But none of it is helping ground you, and you can feel your composure slipping with every resounding smack of his hips against yours. He's practically bouncing you on his cock at this point, and you can't help the hot tears that slip down your face from sheer arousal. Your eyes roll back and tremors rack your body at the onslaught of pleasure hitting you all at once. Your mind is buzzing, and red hot aches form in the aftermath as the soreness begins to ebb away at your core.

You're really the cutest when you're like this, shaking in his bed like some lost fawn, curling in on yourself as if to hide from him. He grins at this, letting his sadistic streak rear its head as he gives a particularly harsh thrust while you ride out your high. You shriek, skin burning in the wake of your nth orgasm, exacerbated by Tojis sudden movement. All you can muster is a pout in your exhaustion, eyes watering once more, and his chest swells with pride at your state.

Though, he does feel a slight bit of guilt prick at his heart seeing you so worn out, having cum for him god knows how many times at this point. Even he was getting sensitive, and he's not sure he can take much more.

But that's never stopped him.

And as much as he wants to baby you and pamper you to an embarrassing degree, he simply hasn't had his fill yet. Any man worth his salt would do all he could to make sure his lover was fully satisfied, and unfortunately for you, Toji was as arrogant as they come.

Even if you had never actually agreed to this.

You whine as he pulls out, body going slack in what he assumes is relief. Your relaxation is short lived, however, and soon enough Toji is pulling you onto his thigh, beginning to rock you gently as you choke on a moan. His lips quickly find that sweet spot on your neck that makes you melt in a half-hearted attempt to soothe you, but all you can do is wail in protest. Your nerves are fried at this point and you're sure you'll die if he keeps going. Not that he cares when you tell him as much.

Silly thing, he's nowhere near done with you.

#yandere male #yandere x reader #gn reader #yandere smut #yandere toji #yandere toji x reader #yandere toji smut #toji smut #yandere jjk #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #dubc0n

349 notes · View notes

s10127470 · 1 year

Text

My Ideal Revival of the Disney Heroes Franchise

What you’re looking at is the official logo for a now defunct franchise known as Disney Heroes.

Disney Heroes was basically meant to serve as the sister…..or more appropriately, the brother franchise of the Disney Princesses, with the focus being placed on the male heroes of the Disney pantheon.

The franchise initially started back in 1999, but under the name of Disney Adventurers. Not only that, but the line-up was rather small, consisting of the titular protagonists of Hercules, Aladdin, Peter Pan, and their most recent film at the time, Tarzan.

The franchise mainly existed through toys, with some notable merchandising besides that here and there.

The franchise remained this way until about 2003, when it got a notable revamp.

The franchise would get its current name and it would expand the roster quite a bit. The new members included Merlin and Arthur from The Sword in the Stone, Robin Hood, Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty, and Li Shang from Mulan.

I also think Simba from The Lion King was a part of the roster as well, I think I remember seeing him on a backpack done for the franchise.

But in 2005, the Disney Heroes franchise had a another revamp…this one notably different from the previous ones.

Although the franchise mainly existed through toys and play-sets that more or less stayed faithful to their respective films, these however…..

Your eyes are not deceiving you….these were actual action figures created and designed by Disney for the Disney Heroes franchise…..and I couldn’t be anymore happier.

Hercules looks like an ancient Greek warrior with the golden armor, plus he’s carrying a big xiphos and a golden shield with the face of a lion.

Peter Pan is now sporting some tan gloves, boots, and ever a mask, carrying a bow and quiver of arrows alongside his trusty dagger.

And Captain Hook has a more swashbuckling look, and his rapier has been replaced with a big ass cutlass!

Prince Phillip and Maleficent were also apart of this line-up of action figures as well.

Phillip had a more knight-like appearance, even having a helmet with a golden falcon on top.

And Maleficent…well, she was in her dragon form.

Sadly, only five action figures were made in this style….

And it’s a shame, given that there were plans to revamp the franchise with a more action-oriented style.

These designs by Disney animator Ruben Procopio for planned future figures for the franchise really highlight this…

Aladdin was gonna look like an Arabian Knight, complete with a dagger and a huge ass scimitar that would make Cloud Strife impressed.

Tarzan was gonna go for a Conan the Barbarian-esque look, complete with a headband, a vest, a tooth necklace, boots, and even a quiver filled with spears, knives, and arrows.

And as you could see, they were even gonna introduce The Beast from Beauty and the Beast as a new member of a roster, with the appearance of a warrior prince and a mace as his weapon.

Unfortunately, these figures never came to be....

Although Disney Heroes franchise was doing decently fine, it was nowhere near the level of success of the Disney Princesses.

As a result of that, Disney slowly but surely phased out the franchise over the next three years.

By 2008, the Disney Heroes franchise silently ended, only merchandising through coloring books and their only new addition since 2003 being....of all characters....Milo Thatch from Atlantis: The Lost Empire.

So yeah....that's pretty much the story of the Disney Heroes franchise.

It's honestly a shame because I could totally see this franchise being pretty successful today.

And given the rise of nostalgia and crossovers in media over the last decade, I could see this being an absolute goldmine for all parties involved.

And today, I'm gonna share on how I think a revival of the Disney Heroes franchise should play out.

.It would aim more towards a older audience, mostly teenagers, similar to the Disney Villains franchise. It wouldn't really focus all that much on toys like the Disney Princesses, though there would be some figurines here and there, instead focusing on media that's more accessible with a older crowd like novels, comic books, video games, and even animation.

.Unlike it's previous iteration, and to that extension the Disney Princesses, it would be more gender-neutral, featuring male and female representatives of most of the represented films as members of the roster.

.Also unlike the Princesses, this franchise has its own backstory. Various Disney villains have joined forces in other to further their respective goals. In retaliation, a group of various Disney heroes, led by Merlin, have united to fight against the villainous alliance and protect their respective realms. I know it's a pretty simple premise, but I think it's the perfect that way.

.The franchise will have a major focus on action and adventure....which for a franchise like this, should be expected.

.Many of the characters will be receiving redesigns in the veins of the ones done for the franchise back in 2005, which give off a fantasy warrior, almost Dungeons n' Dragons vibe. While these wouldn't be to the extent as say, Disney Mirrorverse, they would clearly by different from the characters' usual attire and makes them come off as more like warriors ready for adventure and battle.

.The series will essentially expand on the worlds of the films and bring in elements from their original source materials, official continuations like the TV shows, and even the cultures they represent.

Okay, now that we got the major elements out of the way, I'm gonna briefly share who would be apart of the roster for this new franchise, and list them in chronological order of movie release.

.Alice

.Peter Pan

.Princess Aurora and Prince Phillip

.Merlin and Arthur

.Mowgli

.Robin Hood

.Ariel and Eric

.Belle and Beast

.Aladdin and Jasmine

.Simba

.Pocahontas and John Smith

.Quasimodo

.Hercules and Megara

.Fa Mulan and Li Shang

.Tarzan and Jane Porter

.Milo Thatch and Kida Nedakh

.Jim Hawkins

.Tiana and Naveen

.Rapunzel and Eugene Fitzherbert

.Merida

.Anna and Elsa

.Moana and Maui

Just imagine.....seeing this iconic heroes going on various adventures, from the hottest deserts to the deepest jungles. Fighting against mythical monsters, thieves, wild beasts, villainous knights, deadly invaders, mysterious spirits and swashbuckling pirates!

Anyway, that's all for now. I'm planning to go more in-depth on this idea, fleshing out the characters and their worlds.

If you have any ideas for this franchise, let me know.

1K notes · View notes

solarmorrigan · 4 months

Note

69 + 27 for steddie :)

I got really stuck on this one for a bit, but it ended up being one of my favorites. Thank you for the prompt!

From the Fanfiction Trope Mash-Up list: 69. Flirting Under Fire + 27. Sick/Injured Fic

cw: canon-typical violence, mentions of injury

It’s a little bit like date night, really.

Like, in a twisted sort of way.

They get some time away from everyone else, they’re doing something together, they get to appreciate each other’s skills and competency – so what if the activity in question is patrolling Hawkins’ cracked and monster-infested streets? Times are tough, they take what they can get.

In any case, Steve has found he very much appreciates the chance to watch Eddie snipe demobats out of the sky, or take demodogs out with a well-aimed shot to what could dubiously be called the head (curly-haired brunets with guns; apparently Steve has a very specific type. Go figure). Eddie, in turn, has made no secret of how he enjoys seeing the power and strength in Steve’s swings when he takes on all manner of beasts with his trusty nailbat (Mark 2. Nailbat Mark 1 had unfortunately splintered some time ago, may it rest in peace).

And if they decide to go to bed immediately after showering off the muck and ash once they’ve gotten home, it’s because they’re tired from patrol. Obviously.

It’s possible, though, that they’ve gotten a little too complacent. They’ve had a string of easy patrols, picking off single demobeasts or taking out small groups with the ease that comes with practice. There haven’t been any surprises or mishaps, almost like the monsters have fallen into an easy pattern of their own.

Or maybe thinking like that is where Steve slips up.

Eddie whistles as Steve follows through on a swing that crushes the ribcage of the final demodog in the small pack, effectively taking it out of commission.

“Nice form, Harrington.”

“Right,” Steve drawls, turning a warm smile on Eddie that takes any of the sting out of his teasing, “because you know so much about baseball.”

Eddie’s smile turns wolfish. “Who’s talking about baseball?”

Steve snorts, shaking his head, still smiling. He’s never had someone lay it on so thick with him – he’s never had the blatant flirting and the silly nicknames and the entirely unsubtle once-over glances, and he kind of loves it. He loves Eddie, really, but even in the midst of a mini apocalypse, it’s probably too soon to go around declaring that.

Instead, he glances around at the monsters strewn on the ground, and then at his watch. It’s nearly midnight; they’ve been out for hours, and this is the only encounter they’ve had.

“Think we’re done for the night?” he asks

To his credit, Eddie does a quick check of the area before stepping in close to Steve. “I’m nowhere near done with you for the night, sweetheart,” he purrs, and a shiver runs down Steve’s spine.

“No?” he asks, gaze flicking down to see the way Eddie’s lips curl into a smirk.

“Nope. Let’s go home and I can show you what else I have in mind.”

Steve is so distracted by the idea, by the thoughts Eddie’s words conjure up, by Eddie himself, that he almost misses it – the movement right in the periphery of his vision.

Almost, but not quite.

As it is, he barely has time to bark out, “MOVE,” at Eddie and give him a hard shove, getting him out of harm’s way. He doesn’t have time to follow.

The pain of the demodog’s claws raking across his side is so sharp that it burns cold, and the force behind the blow winds Steve and knocks his bat from his hands. He can see it drawing back for another swing—it’s the one he thought he’d killed first with a solid blow to its gaping maw—but he can’t move, can’t force his body to cooperate, and he’s about to die–

The sharp report of Eddie’s shotgun rings out, and the demodog jerks. Its head is gone, black ooze splattered all over everything (probably up to and including Steve’s wound, Steve realizes with a shivery sort of distaste), and then Eddie is at Steve’s side.

“Shit, shit, baby, sit down, you look like you’re about to–” Even as Eddie’s saying it, Steve’s legs start to shake hard enough that they practically go out from under him, and Eddie just manages to catch him before his knees hit the pavement.

Looking back on it later, Steve really only remembers snatches of what happens next: using Steve’s jacket as a compress (it’s ruined anyway), Eddie speaking frantically into the walkie to call for a pickup, Eddie talking to him low and soothing until Hopper’s truck pulls up, Hopper’s many varied and colorful swears as he helps bundle Steve into the back. Steve definitely remembers that he passes out sometime around when they dump the heavy-duty, Upside Down-grade disinfectant over the slashes in his side, and he’s grateful he does.

Eddie is there, sitting by the bed when Steve wakes up, looking like he’s aged about ten years in the grey light of what could either be dawn or dusk.

“Hey,” Steve rasps, aiming a tiny smile at Eddie.

“Steve, what the fuck,” Eddie demands, and it only makes Steve’s smile grow.

It isn’t exactly the first thing he’d wanted to hear, but it’s a very Eddie thing to say all the same.

“Wasn’t gonna–” Steve breaks off with a hiss as he tries to sit up a little further against the headboard, and Eddie darts forward to help support him, to rearrange the pillows and get him a little more upright. “Wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”

“Steve–”

Actually, fuck ‘too soon.’ Fuck waiting.

“I love you,” Steve says, and Eddie falls silent.

Steve doesn’t regret saying it—he could never, he’s pretty sure—but Eddie is quiet just long enough for Steve to get nervous before he’s pressing forward and kissing Steve, hard and full and insistent.

“I love you, too,” Eddie murmurs, the words almost lost inside Steve’s mouth, like he can’t even wait long enough to get them out before taking another kiss. “Never do that again.”

Steve kisses back, matching the passion as well as he can with what little energy he has, and makes no such promise.

He loves Eddie, after all. He could never lie to him.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #eddiesteve #they're in love and probably should not go out without a chaperone #but like. for safety reasons instead of propriety reasons #solar wrote #answers from solar #anonymous

108 notes · View notes

brabblesblog · 6 months

Text

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 9: No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban host her parents for dinner.

Professionally edited and collaborated on by my dearest friend <3 @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art from @emy-san

“My mother will pry into everything,” Ban mumbled quietly, “including why we haven’t had any children yet. My father will probably ask about our assets - income, investments, connections, all that drivel.” She wasn’t looking forward to seeing them at all, tonight looming large in her mind, but she knew this would be it - one last time, for closure, and then never again.

They were roaming the grounds; Ban needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the palace as the staff readied it for guests. It was nowhere near as involved as even their smallest ball - a very small soirée, by comparison; she wasn’t sure if it could even be considered a soirée with only five people in attendance. Regardless, it didn’t require much in the way of preparation, and she knew their staff were capable and well practiced. This was the most nervous she’d been for any event they’d held, however, quadruple-checking every single thing until Astarion had finally dragged her out.

“Gods. Don’t they sound delightful,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Connections? Is it not enough to have the artisan guilds, including his own, in our pocket? Under our very roof?” He paused, rubbing his chin. “On second thought, Roderich would not necessarily be aware of that. He seemed to have rather woefully failed to keep abreast of current events.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The shop.” He looked at her, thoughtful. “It was worn, dusty and quite unlike how I’d expect someone of his proclivities to treat their ‘pride and joy’.”

This much was true. She’d seen the dilapidated exterior, the dinginess inside, neither of which would’ve been tolerated before she’d left.

“And what of your brother? Any snide remarks I should expect from him?” Astarion huffed a little, glancing up at the sky; it looked rather dull for midday, an unfortunate sign of possible rain.

“He’s likely to hate me for leaving the family,” Ban remarked, “more accurately, he’ll be jealous that I left and he didn’t, but you won’t hear him say that in front of Roderich and Arlette. He’s never had the strength to defy them.”

There would be little snark from her brother; he’d always been the least horrible member of their family. Adrien, her parents’ favorite, who could do no wrong, who was fated for more, to inherit and marry and pass down the most esteemed Glasscraft name. But he’d also been her only friend in the family, the only one compassionate enough to help her treat her wounds, to comfort her, whenever her father was done with whatever method of punishment he’d chosen that day. She wished he could have done more, could have stood up to their parents alongside her, but that was where their paths had diverged.

Astarion snorted. “I will do my utmost to be the picture-perfect rich, powerful, aristocratic husband they so desired you to have. However, if my patience fails me, and their necks come a little too close…”

“Try not to, will you?” Ban said, a sigh escaping her lips. “Be good - for me. I just need tonight to go well and then… with any luck we’ll never have to see them ever again.”

“Seeing as I’m the one who instigated all this in the first place…” Astarion exhaled, “I’m inclined to let you have it your way.” He held his hands up, playful. “No biting, I promise. Well, maybe a little, but…”

“Fangs to yourself, handsome.”

A dramatic, long-suffering sigh preceded the playful smirk on his face. “Of course, love.”

Ban couldn’t help the small smile that crept up at the sight of that. “Look. We cleared today for this. No meetings with the patriars, no haggling with Nine-Fingers - wouldn’t you consider that a win?”

“It would be, were I able to…” His hands rose, resting on either side of her waist, pulling her close for a quick, heated kiss. “… do certain things; alas we both know you are too preoccupied.” When they separated his eyes were tender, but the heat in them was unmistakable.

“Astarion,” she began, a little guiltily, “I’m sorry. My mind just isn’t on-”

“But of course! Besides, the staff are still at work. They’ve insisted on cleaning every room - there’s little privacy to be had today.” A mock sigh, and he let her go.

“And whose fault is that? I seem to remember it being your idea to host them.”

He snorted, but didn’t deign to answer.

“It’ll rain soon,” Astarion mused awhile later, glancing up at the sky again. “We ought to head inside. I’m aware it’s not the most comfortable place for you to be right now, but…” he shrugged. They were both dressed comfortably, but he’d very much rather not get his new loafers dirty on rain-wet soil.

She faced him, dark circles under her eyes prominent in the dull sunlight, nodding. “I mean, of course. I can get back to work with the caterers, pick out plating for tonight and the table napkins and-”

“Ban,” He tangled his fingers in hers, leading her back into the house. “A suggestion from your husband, if you’ll indulge me. Let’s head to bed - I can hold you, knead out all those knots in your back - nothing more, of course.” It would be good for her to unwind, he knew; the looming dinner had caused her no small amount of stress. She’d barely slept in days.

She followed him to their bedroom and Astarion sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, patting the spot beside him. The moment she was there he pushed away her ponytail, pressing a kiss to her neck, wrapping an arm around her. He laid down, pulling her down with him.

He purposefully shifted his tone lower, softer, seeking to soothe. “You’re alright; it will all be fine, and if it isn’t, say the word and I will make it fine. I’ve got you.”

She was silent for a few moments, then leaned on him, her head tucked in his warm neck, nuzzling between jaw and collarbone. She mumbled something against his skin; it was spoken so softly that it took him a few moments to completely understand it.

“It’s not just that I didn’t trust you,” she said.

His hand paused and he peered down at her. “Are you saying there’s more you’ve yet to tell me, or…”

She shook her head. “What I’ve said is about the sum of it. There were specific instances, of course, which I will tell you when we have time, but what I mean is… not telling you wasn’t only because of our issues.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m surprised,” Astarion mused; Ban’s eyes snapped up to his, evidently not expecting this response. He huffed out a sad laugh. “Love. I ate whatever little pride I had left to tell you all of what I am, where I came from. What I went through.” He saw shame in her eyes and aimed to soothe. “No need to be ashamed, love. It merely slipped your mind.”

“It shouldn’t have,” she countered, “I should have known; of course you’d understand. But it isn’t the only thing, or even the main thing. I…” she hesitated a moment, then continued. “I did not relish you knowing I’m weak. That I could, and did, allow those things to happen to me. That I gave in and let it happen, when I’d always been the one to help you, the one helping everyone. I want to be your rock, not your burden.”

A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead; Astarion huffed out a small, exasperated laugh. “I don’t think myself capable of seeing you or loving you any less, no matter the circumstances, and neither is your strength the reason for that love.” He turned somber, holding her tighter, as if doing so would fully convey the depth of his affection. “Grant me the privilege of being where your heart finds peace, Ban. I would love nothing more.”

Tears filled her eyes and she gave him a small nod. “That I can do. Will do.” She looked away, huddling against his chest. “But then… they made me what I am, for better or for worse. Talking about it also feels like acknowledging they did do something right, at some point.”

“No.” That he wouldn’t abide. He placed an elegant finger under her chin, tilting it so she’d meet his eyes again. “Do not ever say that, because it isn’t true, and by no means will it ever be.”

“But they-”

“They what? Shaped you? You are you in spite of what they’ve done to you, not because of it.” His voice had risen, insistent on driving the thought away from her mind. He saw her open her mouth, about to argue, and he immediately interrupted her again.

“Before you say anything else, do you think what Cazador did made me who I am?”

“In some ways,” Ban said, and he found a measure of joy in the fact that she did so seemingly without fear of his anger.

Astarion nodded. “I don’t disagree. But I am also more than that - more than what he made me. And so are you. You, Ban…” He took a breath, trying to find the words to fully express himself and falling utterly short.

“You are strong. You are kind, compassionate. You tried, when trying was only for the foolish and the brave. You gave me a chance. You loved me when that was - and is - an objectively stupid thing to do. You held onto yourself and onto me when I was unable to, chose our love and-”

He heard her whimper as she hid herself against his chest yet again. He gently rocked her, wanting nothing more than to hold her close and shield her from everything. Her trust was intoxicating, so new and yet so achingly familiar; a haunting reminder of what he had almost lost forever. She kept her head tucked against his heart, her breathing slowly matching his as she melted against his body.

“Are you listening?” he asked, and at her nod he made it a point to take slower breaths, slowing his pulse down so that it soothed her further. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Only for you,” he reminded her, staring up at the ceiling.

There wasn’t any reply, but there needn’t be. The silence stretched, and Astarion closed his eyes.

“This is really nice,” Ban eventually murmured, her eyes half-closed. It occurred to Astarion that she was utterly exhausted; the fact that she hadn’t complained about them wearing their clothes to bed should have clued him in immediately. He decided not to remind her about the massage and stayed mostly unmoving, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He considered speaking, to say candy-sweet words, but he knew they were unnecessary; they’d long moved past those early days, when his voice was all he could offer her. Instead he closed his own eyes, fingers idly tracing patterns on her head.

Sleep, love.

When she finally stirred, Astarion was still in trance. Soft, light snores wafted down to her from somewhere above her head. Ban gingerly moved his hand from her head, then carefully sat up. The sun told her it was almost sunset. A small wince crossed her features at the realization; she was a little surprised the noise of the preparations hadn’t interrupted their rest. They’d have to prepare themselves soon, but she didn’t want to wake him just yet, figuring she could bathe before he awakened.

She turned to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed - unneeded, but habitual, comforting. His hand closed, then opened again, as if searching for something; his eyes moved beneath closed lids. Dreaming. She planted a soft kiss against his brow, received a soft mm of contentment in reply, then left the bed, steps as silent as possible so as not to disturb him.

The bath was warm and fragrant and Ban sank into it, eyes closing despite her rising anxiety. Seeing her father was one thing, but her mother was different; there was little doubt she would pry into every aspect of their lives and ask Ban about everything that had transpired since the last time they’d seen her. She wondered what they’d heard of the group who’d fought the Netherbrain, but her parents rarely bothered with events that did not concern the business, and the fight had left the area around the shop mostly unscathed. It was unlikely they knew anything more than what the broadsheets had reported in the days after the city was saved.

Then there were also Astarion’s remarks about Roderich, and the state of the shop. What could have caused her father to let it fall into such disrepair?

“Love.”

Her eyes flew open to see Astarion standing by the tub, nude, a small smile ghosting across his lips. He stepped over the rim of the tub to sink into the water opposite her. The moment he was in he reached for the scented soap and the sponge. “You didn’t wake me,” he complained impishly, working the soap into a lather and starting to scrub himself. “Worse, I wasn’t invited to this bath. I’m hurt.”

She sighed. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, and I figured you’d need the rest.”

A wry chuckle answered her as he took her arm, bathing her as well. “I’m not the one waking up in the middle of the night.” He didn’t shy from her sharp glare, meeting it head-on. “And what of it? You can’t sleep. You think of them and dream of them - I can hear it.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ban.”

Astarion paused his ministrations, the sponge stilling against her collarbone. “You have to let me in,” he finally said, the sponge pressed down against her as the hand emphasized his point. “You are trying and making great strides, but you have to realize this isn’t… embarrassing, or weak. And even if it is, what of it?”

“I don’t think it’s…” she began, the lie forming automatically; Astarion merely fixed her with a pointed look and she sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I understand what you’ve said, but it isn’t that easy to overcome years of thinking that way. My mother prided herself on being a strong, stoic woman. She insisted that being emotional, needing comfort was… frivolous, unneeded, and for the weak; that she did not need anyone else other than herself.”

“An obvious lie, considering she wasn’t even strong enough to stand up for her own children.” The sponge resumed its path, scrubbing Ban’s chest and neck, traveling to the other arm.

She scooted closer, allowing him better reach. “She thought the strong thing to do was to let her husband do what he pleased, to require nothing of him.” She paused briefly to rinse off some of the soap. “They were betrothed at a young age, as is the custom. She loved him, at least at first. He… saw her as a broodmare, to birth his heirs. They had trouble getting pregnant, and she prayed to all the gods for a child, to give him what he so wished for. To give him what he’d begun looking for outside the marriage; without her permission, of course.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Pathetic,” he sneered, gesturing for Ban to turn around so he could scrub her back, “to step outside the marriage for heirs is one of the oldest and least imaginative excuses I could think of.”

“I doubt he cared.” The feel of the sponge against her skin, of Astarion’s hand grasping her shoulder, was soothing. Facing away from him provided her with a little more privacy, allowing her more ease in opening up. “My mother knew, much as he tried to hide it, yet she wouldn’t leave because she thought herself stronger than that. Because that’s what good wives do - listen to their husbands and give them children.”

Astarion’s hand stilled yet again and she heard a pinched, aborted grunt. “Again. Like I did you,” he said, tone acerbic. “And you stayed, like your mother did.”

“I left,” Ban reminded, and to her surprise she heard a relieved exhale.

“I am ever so glad you did, Ban,” he murmured.

Her head whipped around to look at him. Her hair splattered water everywhere, Astarion blinked away the droplets that landed on his eyelashes. He draped her hair over her shoulder to continue soaping the smooth expanse of her back, meeting her gaze.

“You thought I was incapable of reflection?” he teased, “Had you not left, we wouldn’t be here, I think.” The silence stretched as he continued working down her back. “I needed that push, and push you did. I can only be grateful.”

“I thought I broke your heart.”

He finished scrubbing and she leaned against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, fingers interlacing on her belly. He exhaled, thinking, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I prefer to think I broke my own heart.” Astarion wondered if he should say more, if more apologies would be required; loath as he was to do it, he would willingly prostrate himself before her if she required it.

“That time, perhaps; however I do feel like I’ve been breaking it again recently,” she admitted.

Astarion stiffened, realizing what she meant. “You have. You give a little, luring me in with a baited hook, and when I’ve bitten, you simply…” Dexterous fingers moved, miming a yanking motion, inspecting a fish, and discarding it. “...pull me in, only to push me away the moment I do something unpleasant or something that reminds you of Roderich or of my past behavior.” It’s not fair, he thought.

“I punish and reward, is what you’re saying,” she clarified, looking up at him. He could see guilt swimming in those eyes.

“Yes and no - I can appreciate that a lot of it comes from your family, and some of it comes from me,” Astarion began; he could feel her tensing and his hands slid to her shoulders to massage them. “However at times you make me feel like your feelings for me are contingent on how well I behave, and it’s…”

…just like Cazador. A comparison that he was loath to make, but one that was true nevertheless. He recognized the way her wavering affection made him feel - the shame, the fear, the pain - and he couldn’t continue shying away from it. Acknowledging it himself, however, was nowhere near the same as articulating it to her, and the idea of doing so filled him with dread.

He searched instead for the right word, and settled on “...painful.”

“I know you need time, and you deserve time,” Astarion finally said, “But please don’t withhold affection from me. Don’t leave me out in the cold, with silence my only company.”

Gods. She rubbed her face, frustrated. Of course she’d been hurting him; in her focus on not risking herself again she’d been too unwilling to trust his progress, too cautious - to the extent that he thought her love conditional.

“I’m so sorry,” Ban choked out, fighting back tears, “I’ve been doing to you what my parents did to me. I know. I… I’ll do better, I swear. This isn’t an excuse, love, but it’s hard; after having all this drilled in by them, and then… well, shielding myself from you - it’s not easy to unlearn.”

“Don’t you think that I, of all people, would know that, my love?” Astarion sighed, but he was mostly filled with relief and elation. That she acknowledged it, recognized it for what it was - unkind, unfair - and swore to change… it was enough for now, especially in light of the past tenday.

“Apology accepted,” he allowed, adding a little pompousness to color his voice, hoping it would lighten the mood, “I’m nothing if not gracious, after all.” But he also reached to her with his mind, suffusing her with his feelings - his gratitude, acceptance, and understanding.

She laughed a little; it came out broken, an odd mix of sadness and relief. “Too gracious,” she choked out.

“No such thing,” came his answer, quick and reassuring. “Just as you’ve forgiven me, so have I you. There’s little need to measure who did what, as long as we both…” he gestured, unsure of the specific verbiage he needed, “as long as we’re both happy, I suppose.”

She couldn’t contest that, turning to kiss a trail from his jawbone down his neck. Her lips ghosted over the old bite marks, setting off a wave of pleasant shivers throughout his body.

“Then we are in agreement?” he asked, simply to ensure the air was clear.

Ban made a small mhm of assent but didn’t say more. He was relieved, but found himself wanting to introduce more levity. He shifted, untangling his fingers to playfully cup a breast. “Much as forgiveness has been dispensed, darling, my heart still feels broken,” he drawled, “A kiss would be most welcome in soothing it.”

“You’re sure you only want a kiss?” she said, and he huffed out a small laugh.

“Most definitely not. Still, a kiss would be very welcome.” He played with her breast, pinching the nipple between index finger and thumb. Scooting back, she pressed against his cock. He bit his lip, appreciating her teasing, but forced his hips to keep still.

Tilting her head back, Astarion met her lips with his own, a soft caress without urgency. He nibbled at her lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan. Hands reached for his head, grasping still-dry curls to pull him closer. He allowed it, but he felt her fingers begin to move towards his ear; he quickly pulled her hand away.

“There isn’t enough time, you’re preoccupied, and as much as I’d like to take the edge off,” he scolded, “there are far more pressing matters we ought to attend to. I would prefer to make love when you’re wholly here, and not plagued by the spectre of your family.”

“So you’re saying you’re not hard right now? What do I feel back there, then?” she teased, hand sinking beneath the water.

Astarion tried to snatch the hand before it reached him, but she wasn’t really making a play for his cock; he was easily able to wrap his fingers around her wrist. He brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss before sinking his fangs in, drinking languidly.

“That’s for being a tease and for being too godsdamned attractive for your own good,” he murmured, licking the last rivulets of blood before they fell.

Ban laughed, rolling her hips back, rubbing against him lightly. “You are hard.”

“Painfully so,” came the reply, huffed in exasperation.

“I doubt drinking helped you any,” she added, very much amused.

He groaned as she rubbed her ass on him again. “No,” he admitted, “but I needed something.” Astarion was mere seconds away from lifting her and sitting her on his cock, but she thankfully - regretfully, if he was being honest - pulled away.

He grumbled, glaring at her; he felt around the tub for the sponge he’d dropped when he’d reached for her hand. Instead he found a muscled thigh and pinched, just enough to elicit a yelp and a little jump; she splashed his face.

“Ass!”

Astarion chuckled, “And yet you love me.” He’d never said it with such lightness of heart, he thought; it was far too fraught, too sensitive a topic for him until recently. There was a certainty there now, of her love for him, that he was grateful for. However he couldn’t fully suppress the lingering question, the question that plagued him even in these calm, happy moments:

Will she ever love me as deeply and completely as I do her?

A question that shouldn’t haunt him; there was no tangible way to measure love, after all. To attempt to do so would likely only end in heartache, but he couldn’t seem to prevent it from cropping up each time.

His silence as he contemplated this train of thought did not go unnoticed.

“Astarion?”

Her hand touched his cheek, and he blinked twice as he refocused on her. She’d turned to face him while he was lost in his reverie. He saw concern writ large on her features.

“I didn’t mean to taunt you; I wasn’t actually going to grab you, if that’s…” she trailed off, “I’m sorry.”

Realization dawned on him and he vehemently shook his head. “Ban, no. It was perfectly fine; welcomed, even. I was merely lost in some tangent of thought - one of little import.”

True - not the whole of it, but now was not the right time for it.

“Then do you want to…?” Ban ventured; he quickly shook his head.

“Tempting, as you always are, but no. I’d rather focus on tonight’s events; there’s little doubt that it will be complicated, at the very least. You will need all your energy for it.”

Ban nodded. “A very good point.” She turned to face away again, leaning forwards in a silent request; Astarion wistfully raked his eyes over her back before he began to soap it again.

Astarion watched Ban fidget in front of him, tugging at the skirt of her dress.

“This does fit well, right?” Her voice was tentative, anxious as she spun around for his assessment. He’d been her mirror since she’d lost the ability to see her reflection. Sometimes he helped her see herself with the mental link, but right now he merely pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin.

“I think it fits perfectly,” he managed to say. The way it clung to her ass was delightfully distracting and he considered saying so, but he could tell she was nervous. Instead he walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder to still her movements. “You look beautiful; you always do, but especially so tonight.”

“Thank you, but are you sure the hem’s not too short? Fath- I mean, Roderich would no doubt comment on it, he would complain and say ‘have you no modesty?’ and-”

He tightened his grip on her shoulder and placed himself in front of her. “Look at me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks; if he so much as utters one word that offends you - that even irritates you - you merely have to say the word and he’s out.” His throat tightened as he spoke. How much had Roderich hurt her, in the small span of years a human child had, for her to be such a stuttering mess right now?

Ban took a few gulping breaths, nodding at him. “Yes, of course. You… thank you.” Another sharp breath took her and she rushed him, burying her face against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, rocking her gently in his embrace.

“I shall go ahead to greet them,” he offered, “You can meet us in the dining room whenever you wish.” He slowly began to pull away, but she gripped the lapels of his suit coat.

“Stay with me,” she begged, unwilling to lift her head from where it was pressed against him. “Please. A little longer.”

Wordlessly he nodded, enveloping her in his arms yet again.

He could only hope it helped.

Astarion lounged on the throne as he waited. He heard the front doors opening, the thump of footsteps, the muffled voice of their chamberlain wafting through to him. He stayed in place, watching as the ballroom doors opened and figures began to enter. He’d carefully arranged himself, legs crossed and head resting on his hand, the picture of insolence and lordly power, exuding what he hoped was an aura of indifference.

He let them approach, making no move to rise or greet them; he counted four - no, three - figures. Their chamberlain, Roderich, and a woman.

Where’s the brother?

“My lord,” the chamberlain began, “Master Glasscraft and his missus are here.” Astarion didn’t deign to rise, eyes raking coldly over Ban’s mother. He could sense her deference to her husband; she hadn’t even looked up yet. A short, plump woman, she all but hid behind Roderich as the man prepared to greet Astarion.

Roderich cleared his throat and at that, Arlette’s eyes rose, raking over Astarion, traveling from the top of his curls to the bottom of his shoes. Her eyes widened and her lips parted a fraction of an inch. He knew that look all too well, remembered seeing it on countless faces, every single time Cazador loaned him out. It made his lip curl in disgust.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich began, hesitating for a moment. “Astarion.” The Glasscrafts bowed, obviously rather nervous and unsure.

Astarion fought the urge to snap; that he dared address him so informally without permission rankled. He let it pass, however, sitting up, elbows on his knees. “Roderich,” he nodded. He then turned to Arlette, and also gave her a small nod. “You must be Arlette. Ban has told me so much about you both.”

He finally stood, hands casually smoothening his trousers as he did, relishing the look of discomfort on their faces at his words. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he still towered over the pair, something he found immensely satisfying. “Pleased to have you here. How did you find the grounds, Arlette?”

She tittered. “It’s nice, I suppose. Roses were never something I desired for our garden; they’re thorny.”

“They require care and loving attention. Not things everyone is capable of giving.”

Satisfied with the raised eyebrows his comment caused, he decided to take them to the dining room; at least then he could have some wine to take the edge off their blathering. He descended the dais, gesturing for them to follow him. Before he could summon the chamberlain, however, Ban’s mother decided to get started on her prying.

“If you don’t mind me asking - how long have you and Ban been together?” Arlette’s voice made him turn and he crossed his arms, considering the question.

“A year and a half, if not slightly more,” he answered, mind flicking back to the day they first met. He noticed her frown; she opened her mouth as if to ask something more, but her husband gave her a curt shake of the head, ending her interrogation.

Interesting, Astarion thought to himself. He waved a hand at the chamberlain. “Please tell my wife that her family has arrived. She is free to join us at her leisure.” As he did, he led Ban’s parents out of the ballroom.

Roderich cleared his throat. “Astarion-” he began, wincing when Astarion fixed him with a glare over his shoulder. “You would really let Ban… your wife… hole up in her room while you have guests?”

The moment the words were out, Astarion rounded on him, rage written all over his face. His crimson eyes glittered dangerously, lip curling in a sneer. “I do not presume to tell Ban what to do, Roderich. Do you truly have the gall to attempt to command my wife under our roof?”

The smaller man spluttered, a sound Astarion relished. “I- my lord- I do not! I merely say it as fatherly advice. Ban is-”

“Is what?” he interjected, crossing his arms. He saw Arlette open her mouth as if to speak, but she first looked to her husband for permission. As Roderich nodded, she began.

“My lord, forgive me. In fact, may I call you Astarion? You are, after all, my daughter’s… husband… although I notice you do not wear rings.” Arlette straightened up, bracing herself. “What Roderich means to say is that our daughter can be willful. She is prone to behaviors that are unbecoming of a wife, behaviors especially unbecoming of her stature as your spouse, of a lady.”

“Unbecoming-” Astarion bit back the curse forming on his lips, scoffing instead. “For one, no. I am to be addressed as Lord Ancunín, not Astarion. If I hear that one more time from either of your lips’…” The pair before him recoiled, his words obviously effective.

He let the threat hang, satisfied at their reaction, and pushed on. “Ban is willful. She does things that are unbecoming of your idea of a lady, yes.” Those were in fact the things that made him love her so, but he considered that truth something Roderich and Arlette did not deserve to know. “Those are the things that make her her, and you will not disparage my wife in front of me. Is that understood?”

Small, hurried murmurs of assent answered him. Satisfied, he turned away from them. “Let’s head to the dining room before we all reconsider this reunion, shall we?”

The doors were held open for Ban as she entered the dining room. She did not see Adrien, only Roderich and Arlette, seated in stony, awkward silence across from Astarion. She noticed her mother’s eyes, the way they drifted down to her belly, as expected. Sorry mother, no grandchildren here. She quickly scanned the rest of the room - there was no sign of her brother - then landed on her husband. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, but he placed them flat on the table as he turned to her. His eyes flicked to her and for a moment she saw the steely anger in them, but it quickly melted into tenderness. He rose, crossing the room to take her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, low enough that her parents did not hear. He kept her hand in his as he led her to her seat, only releasing her to pull her chair out. As she sat, so too did he, shooting one last warning glare at Roderich and Arlette before he waved a servant over to request dinner be served.

Ban looked Astarion over, noting the furrowed brows and tense shoulders, feeling a surge of relief that he was here. She reached out, snaking her hand around his, holding it in a tight grip. He made no outward sign he’d registered her touch, but his hand squeezed hers back. Satisfied, she turned to her parents.

Arlette was the first to speak, evidently unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. “Ban!” she exclaimed, “I know the last time we saw each other wasn’t… the best, but your father and I are so glad to see you again. You seem to have done well enough, haven’t you?” she asked, shooting Astarion an appreciative glance, “And I’m very proud. We taught you everything you needed to know, and look how far you’ve gone!”

Ban sighed. “I… I have done well for myself.”

She glanced over at her husband and saw his face harden further. Concerned, she reached into his mind. Not yet, love. I need to talk to them. He visibly swallowed down his pique, jaw reluctantly unclenching.

That they’re alive at all, Ban, is merely because you wish it.

She couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped her. Keeping their bond open, she continued addressing her mother. “Done well, but not because of you, or what you two have taught me. Where’s Adrien?”

Arlette took this in stride, smiling to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth that still occasionally haunted Ban’s nightmares. “We shouldn’t argue about that. Have you forgotten? It’s uncouth to be arguing at the table.” She paused, and her gaze slipped away from Ban, settling on the empty plate before her. “Your brother had a prior commitment, and we thought it rude to ask your husband to postpone.”

Ban watched her mother rake her eyes over her belly yet again. “Any plans for children, Ban? You’re not getting any younger. I’m sure your husband wants an heir,” Arlette pressed.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her father interjected. “A little darling boy, Ban, would be a wonderful gift. For you two, and for us as well. He would be a treasure to us all.” He nodded at Arlette.

Ban sighed. “Do you harass Adrien for grandchildren as well, or is this reserved solely for your female child…?”

“Besides,” Astarion chimed in, a devilish grin on his face, “I must confess we have been trying as often and as enthusiastically as possible, but alas…”

Before he could continue, the servant returned with soup, halting any further prying for a few moments. Astarion automatically opened his mind further, sharing his sense of taste with her.

As they began to eat, Roderich spoke up. “As your mother mentioned little beauty, it is indeed uncouth to argue, or discuss such… marital activities, at the table, just as it is uncouth to leave your guests waiting.”

Ban could feel Astarion bristle, a vision flitting to her unwittingly: fangs, glittering in the light of the chandelier, sinking into that repulsive neck so that he’d never call her that again.

“It’s also uncouth to beat your children, as I understand it,” she snipped, and was rewarded by the blush that crept up her father’s face. Astarion barked out a laugh beside her but said nothing, his thoughts conveying amusement and warm affection.

“That, I did for your wellbeing,” Roderich protested, although his voice was weak. “So you’d end up somewhere in life. Successful. As you indeed became.” Ban saw her mother nod vehemently at these words.

Astarion could no longer help himself. “She is not successful because of your frankly atrocious parenting, she is successful in spite of you,” he growled, “And did I not warn you not to disparage my wife?”

Ban saw his lip curling again and hurried to interject before fangs were bared. To Astarion she sent a small plea, asking him to wait and let her get what she needed before he did anything rash. He blinked at her, the curled lip trembling in fury before it lowered.

“Be glad she bids me to be merciful and stay my hand,” he drawled, turning to them, “Else you would be in far more unpleasant circumstances than this.”

Ban cleared her throat. “Mother. Father. It… doesn’t matter what you think. What you did to me and Adrien is unforgivable, and if you think this success was because of you, you’re wrong.”

“How could it not be?” Arlette interjected. “You married someone so attractive. Someone rich. Someone powerful. All these things I taught you how to navigate. How to be a good wife. A good woman. How to know your place, to be strong and to honor your husband. Don’t you see? You married a hero, from wh-”

Her words died off as Astarion slammed a fist down onto the table, absolutely livid. “A hero?”

Roderich attempted to explain, “We asked around, my lord. We heard of your rise to power, of your efforts in saving the city from the Netherbrain.”

“Me. You think I’m the hero of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion laughed, a deep, full laugh filled with levity - but also incredulity. Ban sampled the flavor of his emotions as they flooded through their connection; there was genuine amusement, but there were also much heavier emotions - his profound admiration for her, and his love. More than anything else, that.

It took him a long moment to recover, his features shifting from mirth to a deep, seething rage. He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table, leering at them. “Ban is the hero of Baldur’s Gate. She was the best of us - and nowhere were any of those insipid ‘lessons’ you subjected her to of any use. She picked us up, one by one, led us through the wilderness, all the way to the city. She burdened herself with every decision and every sacrifice that had to be made. She helped each and every one of us wretched fools,” he growled, his hands tightening on the table until it creaked, “and somehow still managed to save your sorry hides along with everyone else in this godsforsaken city.” He glanced at her, his expression softened briefly, the last part of his tirade saved for her and her alone.

You gave me everything, saved me from slavery and death alike. Loved me.

She offered him a soft smile before he turned back to Roderich and Arlette, the anger firmly back in his features. “You have pushed my patience far beyond the point I’d normally tolerate. The only thing keeping you alive is her - I strongly encourage you to quit while you’re ahead.”

This final warning, with Astarion looming angrily towards them, sufficed to convince the pair to back off. His tirade may have inadvertently revealed his fangs, Ban realized; she was tempted to ask him to back off again, worried.

The thought passed to him and he turned to her, wanting to tell her to let him handle it, when he realized. He leveled his gaze back onto her parents, brushing at his suit coat before sitting back down.

“What prior commitment was so important that Adrien would choose it over being reunited with his long-lost sister?” The cold tone had crept back into his voice, his wrath receding behind an icy veneer. Astarion fingered the stem of his wineglass, the other hand idly tapping the table. “Rather rude, when I invited everyone. Does he not miss his sister?”

That is what you wanted to know, is it not?

He’d read the thought as soon as it came into her mind. She’d felt Adrien would be guaranteed to show up; for one he would have wanted to see Ban. The other reason was purely pragmatic - Roderich would have wanted to introduce him to his powerful brother-in-law, establish connections early. His absence was perplexing.

“How is he, anyway?” Ban interjected before Astarion felt compelled to push further. Adrien was the only one she had a smidgen of concern about, the only one she thought she’d have an honest conversation with tonight; and yet he wasn’t here. Did he resent her? Had he run away, just as she had done?

She noticed Roderich’s jaw clench at the mention of her brother. Curious.

“Adrien, well… he had other commitments, as your mother said,'' Roderich stammered out, eyes darting from Ban to Astarion nervously. It was a lie, Ban was sure, but she couldn’t exactly place why. In her mind Astarion whispered his agreement.

She shook her head. “He didn’t, father. Don’t lie. You never were good at it. Does he not want to see me?”

Arlette let out a loud tch of disdain. “Of course he doesn’t want to see his ungrateful sister. I birthed you. We raised you. Loved you. And what do you do, the first moment we need you to do something in return? You run. You selfish, ungrateful child. After you left, your brother’s betrothal became much more difficult for us to secure. ‘Little beauty’,” she scoffed, “You aren’t even beautiful. All you have is what I taught you, no matter what your poncey husband here says. You know that.”

Ban tried not to let those words seep into her heart, but they hit their mark anyway. She felt herself tremble, felt tears threatening to form. No. Don’t. She’s just riling you up, Ban. Don’t.

It didn’t work. Her eyes blurred as her tears welled up, her breathing became fast and began to hitch. She gripped the edges of her chair, trying to ground herself because no, they can’t see me cry again, they can’t win-

“OUT!”

Astarion’s thunderous voice broke through to her, strong and brave and so, so needed. Her home and her salvation. She watched as he stood, index finger pointed towards the door.

“Out. Before I end your miserable, worthless lives. Get. Out.”

Ban wanted to tell him she hadn’t gotten the truth yet, but she was in no condition to. Astarion snapped a finger, summoning the chamberlain.

“Get them out of my palace, and they are not to be allowed back in under any circumstances.”

The chamberlain hurried to Roderich’s side and gestured politely towards the door. Roderich shot out of his chair and shoved the chamberlain away, glaring at Astarion.

“You may be the man of the house here, but mark my words: you are nothing. I do not know what you are, but I know enough to know you are unholy. A monster,” he spat out.

Astarion laughed at this, gleefully baring his fangs. They glinted in the candlelight; Roderich and Arlette flinched and went pale.

“Then you know how easily I can kill you, drain all your putrid blood and bathe in your innards,” he hissed. “And who would believe you? I walk in the sun. My heart beats. I am warm. I am a patron of the arts. I am well-respected throughout the entire city. I am a lord. And you? A sniveling, washed-out guildsman, bitter over some argument over a commissioned mirror. Any more attempts to approach my wife, to even speak to her without her express permission, and I will crush your reputation.” Astarion smiled, all teeth and danger, the predator on full display. “And if I ever hear any whispers about what lives in this palace, I will assume it has come from you. I will find you where you sleep and I will kill you - and I need no invitation to enter your home, trust me.”

Arlette, finally making the connection, took in her daughter’s features. “No. You…”

Ban smiled with feigned shyness, a smile she’d been taught to perform in polite company. But she let her lips stretch further, baring her own fangs. There was a low thrum of satisfaction in her belly as she watched her parents recoil in horror.

“Go on,” Ban said. “My husband has told you to get out. Be polite and do as my lord bids, hm?”

They seemed to hesitate, and Astarion released another hiss for good measure. Roderich finally conceded, his shoulders sagging slightly. He fixed Astarion with one last, terrified glare, then led Arlette out, the chamberlain guiding them out of the palace.

“That didn’t quite go the way I’d hoped,” she said, turning to Astarion. To her surprise he was right next to her, arms already halfway encircling her. He gave her a long, tight embrace, his nose pressed tightly against her temple, breathing in her scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The rancor was gone, and so was the smooth veneer in his voice. All that remained were his worry and his concern, her wellbeing his primary focus.

Ban held him just as tightly, hands fisting into his suit coat. It crumpled within her grasp, the smooth silk and the embroidery providing a texture she found comforting.

“I’m fine, I think. Perhaps I won’t be in a little bit, but right now I’m more concerned about Adrien.”

Astarion peered at her, studying her for a moment. Seemingly satisfied she wasn’t lying, he nodded.

“We’ll have to reconsider our approach, but I agree with you.”

“So you saw it too.” She stood, but her husband was always a step ahead; the chair was pulled out, his hands wrapping around hers before she could even reach for him.

It’s as if you can read my mind, she jested.

There was tender amusement there, mixed in with the clouds of still-roiling anger and worry. He tugged at her arm.

We can discuss everything another time. For now I would like you to rest.

She acquiesced, allowing him to lead her to their room.

That night she fell asleep, body enveloped in his arms, her mind embraced by his.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @@vinegarjello @the0ldman @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

91 notes · View notes

dj-of-the-coven · 11 days

Text

So, I've been thinking for a long time about why Beat is the most mischaracterized guy in the main cast of twewy, and last night I finally had a breakthrough. It's not only because he's not as popular as the others (though that's a part of it, and the two kinda feed into each other). It's baked into the game. More specifically, it's built into Neku's perspective as the main character.

Twewy has a lot of complex personalities interacting with each other, and for the most part it does very well at walking the players through their thought processes--obviously done the best with Neku, since we can see many of his thoughts word-for-word, but the other characters get similar treatment too. Joshua gets fleshed out in secret reports as well as his interactions on-screen, and Shiki's story doesn't require a ton of meta-textual explanation since envy is a common experience for teenagers. Beat's the only one of the main cast whose character needs a lot of connected dots to make sense, and the game trains you from the beginning not to look too closely at him because at first you're supposed to be empathizing with Neku.

When Neku starts out being rude to Shiki, the player already gets that he's being a dickhead. Everybody knows somebody like Shiki in real life, and if you don't know her, you probably are her: she's sweet, passionate about her hobbies, and extends her compassion to the people around her with basically no prompting. She has relatable self-image issues. You don't need your hand held to understand that Neku is the one in the wrong. On the other hand, what about Beat? We know that Neku has issues to work out by the time he shows up, but the game takes Neku's side on some of his harsher criticisms. He's not the only one who comments on Beat being "stupid" and impulsive. Most of the characters he interacts with have a line or two making fun of him. The player is generally expected to laugh at him alongside the others--he's nowhere near as easy for the average player to relate to.

The teens playing twewy probably know what it's like to feel better than everybody else, like Neku and Joshua, or worse than everybody else, like Shiki, but I'll bet that most of them don't have the same rebellious spirit that Beat does. Statistically, it's just not that likely that everybody playing the game was a delinquent with shitty parents. I was; some people were, but not everybody. It's a feature of Neku's character arc that the game gets you to see Beat the way that he does originally, just to break down the facade by showing you his compassionate side. Beat couldn't help but save Neku even though it would get in the way of his goals. He's just that kind of guy, and doesn't that mean more than anything his intellect could provide? Beat's character arc helps you understand Neku better by design, because it gets you to see how somebody with a judgy leaning could end up being such an asshole with only a little encouragement. The game presents its players with someone easy to make fun of, goads them into making fun of him, and then shows them why that was wrong.

Unfortunately, while this is really good storytelling, it doesn't make for an easily-digestible character to make art and fics about. The player has to look past what the game (and Neku, Konishi, and Uzuki) thinks about Beat in order to find his depth. I could be talking out of my ass, but honestly I think that this, along with more than a decade of fans getting him wrong in fics, comics, and meme posts is the reason why players of the original game don't tend to appreciate him as much as the other main characters, even though Beat collectively has the most screen time in the series besides Neku. It originates with dickhead teenage Neku himself--the players just didn't learn to look past his initial perception.

#twewy #daisukenojo bito #neku sakuraba #wow I haven't done a twewy post in ages #I have no idea what possessed me to write this now

50 notes · View notes

rottenpumpkin13 · 5 months

Note

Just wanted to say ur posts always make me cackle 😂. Forget them haters!

Thoughts on how AGSZC would react at the dentist??

(thank you ❤️ 😂 )

Angeal: SOLDIER has a dedicated team of dentists who provide dental care for its operatives, and Angeal is eternally grateful for it. Because his family didn't have much money, he rarely had the opportunity to visit the dentist. While Hollander did offer dental treatments on multiple occasions, Angeal's mother was always wary of Hollander being near her son. So when Angeal joins the army and SOLDIER and gets ready access to dental care, he's determined to follow the dentist's instructions. Too determined, really. He thinks it's a competition.

Angeal: So what's my grade? Dentist: You don't get graded on your oral hygiene. Angeal: But how are my teeth? Dentist: They're in perfect condition⏤ Angeal: Perfect I got an A. Dentist: Angeal: Take that, Genesis. Dentist: Angeal: He got an F didn't he?

Sephiroth: His experiences with dentists have been limited to Hojo either performing his dental work himself or closely monitoring professionals during surgeries and unnecessary procedures (like pulling out teeth to observe how fast they grow). Needless to say, he was hesitant about visiting a regular dentist until Angeal suggested it to show him that not all dentist experiences are uncomfortable.

Sephiroth is pleasantly surprised by the dentist's office he visits in Sector 8.

*During his appointment* Dentist: How are you finding things? Sephiroth: Excellent. The waiting area was stocked with books and magazines, there was calming music, the receptionist offered me coffee. Now there's a TV on the ceiling, which I'm so distracted by that I barely notice the treatment being done. You're also being very gentle. Thank you. Dentist: I'm flattered⏤ Sephiroth: It's nice not having to worry about one of my teeth being extracted against my will. Dentist:

Genesis: "He hates the dentist" is what he tells people, when in reality he lives in constant fear that he'll randomly black out one day and wake up strapped to a dentist chair. No one knows why, not even Genesis himself understands why the dentist makes him so uncomfortable. He doesn't like sitting with his mouth open while someone pokes around in there, he doesn't like how sterile the dentist office feels, he doesn't like the prospect of having a cavity or something he'll have to be treated for, so he combats this by simply not going to the dentist. Done. "If you don't know about it, it doesn't exist."

Unfortunately this backfires horribly the day Genesis won't stop complaining about a toothache⏤and refuses to get it checked⏤so Angeal and Sephiroth take matters into their own hands.

*Lazard sees Angeal and Sephiroth carrying an unconscious Genesis into the elevator* Lazard: Please tell me he's still alive. Sephiroth: No, not murder. We cast sleep on him. Angeal: We're taking him to the dentist. Lazard: And what will you do once he wakes up screaming? *Sephiroth produces a hammer out of nowhere* Lazard: ...............

Zack: Loves the dentist. LOVES it. If Zack could go to the dentist every week, he would.

Angeal: Hey buddy, how was the dentist?

Zack, with his face full of stickers and sucking a lollipop: It was great! They got a new gaming setup for the waiting room. And I watched a movie while the dentist worked, plus he was suuuper proud of how white and healthy my teeth are. He praised me, and I even got a gold star. Oh! And on my way out, he gave me a goody bag. *Zack lifts a bag filled with toothbrushes, toy cars and crayons* Sephiroth: Does the sign outside your dentist's office say 'Pediatric' before it? Zack: Yes, why?

Cloud: Cloud doesn't fear the dentist. The dentist fears Cloud. His dental records come with a warning for every new dentist at the barracks: "WARNING: BITER." He's not doing it on purpose, in fact, he'd rather not have the reflexes that make his jaw clamp shut tightly around foreign objects. His habits are also every dentists worst nightmare. Chewing ice, nail biting, using his teeth as a tool to open things, and drinking a blend of black coffee with soda "because it tastes nice."

Zack: How'd the dentist go? Cloud: He went to the E.R. Zack:

#headcanons #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #sephiroth #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #genesis rhapsodos #ff7 crisis core #angeal hewley #zack fair #crisis core

92 notes · View notes

pomogando · 8 months

Note

darkheart x reader fluff

pelase PLEASE

Melatonin

A Darkheart x reader

Darkheart wants to try sleeping, but you're busy.

No content warnings, comfort and fluff. Not much to say here. Sappy warning !!!!!!!

1300+ words, oneshot, romantic

Rain tapped the glass in a soothing lullaby. You yawned, the computer screen a harsh contrast to the beautiful night. You have been working on this report since the morning. It was dark now. Winter always made the days feel shorter, or maybe it's just that you didn't have as much time as you thought.

You let out a cry of annoyance as you stared at your unfinished draft. Causing your shadow to chuckle as it wrapped its hands around you, a gentleness you wouldn't have thought possible for Darkheart. He was careful, clawed hands that treated you like porcelain. As if one scratch was just too much to risk.

He laid his head on top of yours, and you sighed as you felt yourself start to relax. The chaos deity had a calming presence unlike any other.

You got used to him appearing out of seemingly nowhere.

A frail but stubborn wing wrapped around you, Darkheart had been awfully clingy recently, not leaving your side for a second. You knew the reason, of course. He disappeared for a month on short notice. It wasn't the first time he had done that, and it's not something you could hold against him. Darkheart never told you exactly what he did, and that was fine. You just wish he stayed with you longer.

You were good at pretending his infrequent visits that had unfortunately become common didn't bother you.

You stared blankly at the meaningless words on your screen. A finger playfully poking your nose snapped you out of your boredom induced trance. His hands were cold.

"I'm busy, love." You mumbled, absent-minded, exhausted, bored. "Can't you wait till after I'm done to mess around?"

He giggled, and his laugh had a threatening aura to it. You remember it used to make you feel unnerved, but not anymore. It was charming in its own right despite the way it made others shiver.

"Why wait? Time is fleeting for you." They moved their free hand to pull on your cheek, making you groan in annoyance. He had been getting more touchy, as if he didn't want to be apart from you for one second. "Mortals are so curious.. spending your little life on menial, boring, repetitive tasks." He looked over your shoulder at your computer, studying the screen.

"It's not... well." You cut yourself off with a huff. You felt the need to explain how journalism wasn't boring, but at this time, you couldn't help but agree. You wrapped your hand around his, squeezing it gently before, hesitantly, letting go. It was comforting for the small moment it lasted.

"We don't think you mind as much as you're saying, anyhow." Darkheart hummed, cutting off your thoughts. You felt his hand brush against yours for a moment, but you moved it away to type. His firm smile seemed to falter, but only slightly. You might've not even noticed if you weren't paying attention.

"I needed this done by yesterday." You yawned, clearly uninterested in the gossip piece assigned to you. If you were, you would've had it done already.

"It is quite late for you, don't you think?" He pouted. "When was the last time you slept? We recall it wasn't yesterday."

"If I don't complete this, my boss will probably yell at me. I can't lose this job." You mumbled, you had almost forgotten, darkheart wanted to sleep with you. He had become curious about sleeping after you had fallen asleep near him way more than once. He wasn't even sure if he could sleep in the first place. He never tried. He didn't need to. You looked back at the screen, feeling a bit guilty for a reason you didn't understand.

"We will stay by your side until you're finished." It wasn't really a proposal more than it was him stating his intentions. You felt his arms wrap back around you, and his wing fluttered softly. He was anything if not stubborn, probably making sure you don't stay up all night.

Darkheart was practically attached to your hip. You appreciated his gesture, more than he would ever understand, but it was hard to work when he was watching your every click. He had an aura that always made you want to ignore your responsibilities and just lay in his arms. That was something he encouraged, unfortunately for your productivity.

To Darkheart, the work you were doing seemed like meaningless garble. Garble that he did not care to understand. "Maybe when I'm done, we can lay down together." You say nonchalantly, still looking at your screen. "I'm almost done anyways." You lied, but it was more for yourself than Darkheart. He seemed pleased by your lie, humming as his wing fluttered in delight. His grin widened.

You had to admit that you were stalling at this point, not wanting to look at the open word document. You hesitantly looked away from Darkheart.

So, for an excruciatingly long time, you sat at your desk. You stared at your screen. You typed meaningless text.

Your fingers are against the keyboard. You started to feel fatigue setting in at full force. At some point, you weren't sure if you were typing actual words at this point. You weren't sure what you were even writing about. It was about an actor, right? One whose name you didn't care to remember the name of. You wonder if Darkheart had thought about you while he was gone. Whatever it was that he went to do.

Your fingers were against the keyboard. Your eyelids got heavy as your keyboard clicked. The sound almost became like a lullaby. You weren't writing actual words anymore. You weren't writing at all, actually. Just staring at the screen. It looked like a blur of black and white. You could still hear the lullaby. It wasn't the computer

Your head started to lean against the keyboard. You heard Darkheart say something you didn't entirely understand. The lullaby paused. It felt like your fatigue from the last few days had completely overwhelmed you all at once. The keyboard had started to feel as soft as a pillow. "I'll just rest for a second before continuing.." you said, half asleep.

You heard an annoyed huff right before cold hands gently picked you up. Your exhausted body relaxed almost immediately. You should've finished the paper, but a part of you didn't care enough to. Not that he would've let you go in the first place, nor would you have typed anything.

"We were getting a bit impatient." Darkheart sighed. "We waited quite a while to see you, just let us be with you." You were half asleep, only seeing the sharp green glow of his eyes as he laid you on the bed. The bed felt the same as it always had, but when he pulled you into his arms, it felt like you were floating on a cloud. He held onto you tightly as if you hadn't seen each other in years. A clawed hand reaching to move a strand of hair out of your eyes.

He pulled you closer to him. He loved you. He wasn't like you in any way, but he loved you. Everything you did down to your breathing. Enamored by your laugh and smile. You were mortal, easily hurt. He wanted you to be by his side for eternity. How could someone like you be only mortal when you were so much more?

"I love you, I'm sorry." You mumbled, relaxing in his arms, neither of you were sure what you were apologizing for.

"We're sorry too."

You felt a pleasant rumble come from Darkhearts chest, similar to a cat purring. It felt nice. His embrace was all you wanted. Your warmth was all he wanted. You felt your eyes close, hearing the lullaby again.

The paper could wait, or maybe you'd just never do it. It didn't matter, you had eternity.

#legal woes || phighting #legal woes || writings #phighting x reader #phighting #phighting!#darkheart #darkheart x reader #creds to cafekitsune for banners!! very nice ones ^^

124 notes · View notes

glassica · 2 months

Text

The Love Rival

Notes: wlw, toxic yuri, transmigration, magic, obsessiveness, possessiveness, accidental kid-napping, one-sided love, drugging

Gina barely finished the book before seeing herself getting shoved into it to play the role of the female lead. It wasn’t bad, she told herself. The novel was romcom, and for the most part it was full of tooth-rottening sweetness and little banters between Holly, the female lead, with her lover Julian. All Gina needed to do was replicating all the scenes and dialogues happening insides the book and she was good to go. There were trials and obstacles testing the love of the young lovebirds, but Gina concluded only the love rival Elise was worth watching out.

Elise, the love rival in question, was an embodiment of that stereotypical mean girl getting in the way of the main couple. Initially Holly’s best friend, their relationship soon fell apart after the heroine started getting more and more involved with the male lead, which some believed to be Elise’s target. She was a particularly irritating character, always interrupted the couple’s private moments with her childish antics. One time she deliberately fake an illness so Holly had to postponed the date with Julian. Another time she convinced Holly’s parents to let her daughter be escorted everyday by Elise’s carriage, thus preventing the late night trysts her best friend often go with that gentleman. But Gina was confident she could handle this. If anything, she had it easier than other unfortunate transmigrators who were forced to play the roles of villains, her biggest obstacle was only dealing with a petty love rival… or so she thought.

“Lady Elise… Why would you do this to me?... What have I done wrong?”

Gina kneeled down, her head spinning like crazy and eyes started getting blurry. Besides her was a cup of some saccharine-smelled purple liquid spilling all over the altar. When the heart within thumping louder and faster and her breathing began to feel like a chore, Gina could vaguely sense this was the end for her.

Elise’s chuckle was cold, the kind of laughter of a ruthless villain lavished in the madness of their scheme unfolding just as their wish. Well, of course she would, the villainess’s revenge was nearing its final stage.

“Oh, you sure did. You’ve done me wrong. Very, very wrong. Something unforgivable.”

The noblewoman gritted teeth furiously. Her azure eyes normally compared to calming waves of ocean, now resembled the endless raging tsunami determined to swallow whole that defenseless figure into its pit bottom. Gina couldn’t believe the cold-blooded monster right in front of her, whom there was a time, had been the dearest friend to the owner of this body. Was jealousy really that nasty of an emotion to completely erased all those years of good rapport between two young ladies?

Silence downinng the empty church’s atmosphere. Lurking underneath was a sense of dread and bloodlust emanating from the crazy antagonist just served to suffocate further the tormented heroine. Gina hadn’t uttered a single word back, her only goal at this moment was to try catching breath.

“Stop that half-hearted act, will you? I’m getting nauseous already from seeing you imitating my precious friend.”

Gina’s mind, which had been clouded and hazy from the drink, miraculously clear again from the shock. How did she know? Was Lady Elise all this time aware about another soul possessing her old friend’s body? So all this time the one Her Ladyship desire wasn’t the male lead but Holly herself?

“You’re a fraud. A poser. You tried clumsily to mimick the manners and attitude of my dear friend, but you could never be her. Yes, no one. Absolutely no one could ever replace my Holly. Absolutely no one could take her away from me.”

“Those annoying geezers were right. I should’ve consulted a proper wizard instead of hastily attempted a spell when having no experience with sorcery. Now not only I still haven’t own Holly’s heart, some stupid wench out of nowhere possessinng and ruining her body.”

“So you’re the reason behind my situation!” - Gina hissed. “How could you put the blame on me when all of this mess was all from your own misdeed!?”

“Oh sweetheart, do not worry. That’s exactly why I brought you here today! To right all my wrong.”

Elise kneeled down, taking the final look at the trembling figure in front of her. Deep down, she did feel sorry for the unassuming soul who was unfairly involved in this tumultuous one-sided love, but soon Her Ladyship snapped right back. No, she needed to look out for her beloved only, this dummy wasn’t worth getting swayed over.

“Soon enough, your soul will exit this body to make room for the rightful owner’s back. I’ll have Holly all to myself and you get see your old world again. Isn’t that a great deal? Considering this as my apology for making you suffer unjustly, Gina.”

#yandere #female yandere #yandere fanfic #female yandere fanfic #toxic yuri #female yandere x oc #yandere x oc #yandere oc #yandere obsession #yancore #yandere yuri

20 notes · View notes

hastalavistabyebye · 2 months

Text

Last ficlet of the day. After the first Fox angst this morning, let's have more Fox angst but in the opposite direction.

Inspired by this @mamuzzy's post.

Trigger warning : several deaths including a child's, basically a terrorist attack, the clones don't have chips but Fox is having a good time for once.

----------

Fox followed his first target through the visor of his rifle. He was perched in a long since abandoned building, barrel just pointing from a crack in the old, cheap durasteel. Completely invisible.

A few hundred meters down, his target was strolling from stand to stand in the busy market, rhythmically disappearing behind taller beings and unfortunately placed poles or other ornamental infrastructures. Fox waited, finger on the trigger. He had all the time in the world. But it only took a few couple of minutes for the target to reach its mark, deep into the crowd. Fox waited a little bit more, both for a clearer sight and for the secondary targets to come closer.

Then he squeezed the trigger, breath as calm as ever.

The little togruta girl fell first. The blotch of red blood visible even from his high perch.

The Pantoran man followed a few breaths and meters away.

The panic only started to propagate. The screams could barely reach him, just like he wanted when he chose this hideout. They started running in all directions, like small insects in distress. So disorganized, so pathetic. It would make a wonderful tale for the media.

The Rodian Senatorial Aide crumbled with his shot soon after, right between those big, bulging eyes. It wasn't some panic that was going to bother Fox. Just for maximal impact, he also put down its sweet grandmother that it was accompanying for a nice outing in the market. Well, that was the plan for them at first, Fox was sure.

Thire didn't like when he was talking about them like that. But if Fox was going to be addressed as an ‘it’ by those shabuire, then he was going to give them the same treatment with interests.

The Twi'lek, near-human and Zabrak followed next. The panic and chaos were at their peak. It was quite beautiful frankly, especially from this high. All those colorful little dolls running and crying, trying to escape an invisible enemy, without knowing where to go to be safe. So naive. Nowhere was safe, after all.

Fox aimed next at a window of an adjacent building, many floors down from where he was. He smiled while pressing the trigger and moving to the next building. The targets were small and gave a very good show of his talents. He hadn't won the best marks back on Kamino for nothing, and only became better since then.

The CIS-produced bombs he shot exploded one after the other, in a beautiful outburst of durasteel, fire and screams.

This little massacre would freshen up the insecurity feeling and fear of the Core like a match in bantha fur. The Chancellor will be relieved to learn that his next bill to re-enforce military power won't be subject to much opposition. Especially once the CSF would find the convenient evidence that it was Cad Bane who did it, freshly out of prison and hired by Dooku’s sbires.

Fox retracted his rifle, sat back and stretched with the laziness of a work well done, before retrieving his comm.

“Orders 23 and 57 successfully completed, my Lord.”

#commander fox #sw #tcw #writing #ficlet #three ficlets in one day #what a busy day!#angst #hi tumblr void #palpatine #darth sidious

30 notes · View notes

erisenyo · 1 year

Note

idk if you’ve done this already bc it fits so well but if you haven’t: “you were dead, i saw you die” for jetko?

For this prompt game! (And also this one!)

The attack when it comes descends on Zuko’s carriage from both sides with near-perfect coordination. And from above, judging by the weight landing on the carriage roof, a distinct thump amid the sudden clamor of shouting and weaponry as Zuko whips his dao from beneath the carriage seat, silently cursing the current fashion for floating, flowing layers as he gets his swords into his hands, the familiar hilts welcome and nearly foreign in his grip after so long wielding inkbrush and paper instead and Agni’s tits, has it really been that long since his last real vacation?

Zuko strains his ears, tracking the rapid sounds of the fight, his instinct to hurl himself into battle biting up against Captain Rin Mai’s constant admonishment for Zuko to please stay in one place, Your Majesty, so we can protect you.

Though judging by noise suddenly replacing the woodland quiet of the North Omashu-Chu road—

“Great hit!”

“Get ‘em, Hands!”

—it’s not Zuko who might need protecting today.

Zuko breathes up his inner flame, letting it shiver in his veins and pool in his hands as he hears Private Wang let out a low grunt and drop to the ground. He eyes the carriage door and its flimsy lock, mind flicking between a fire blast or just launching himself bodily through it and holding his fire in reserve, estimating just how much force he could barrel out with if he—

“Aw, fuck,” a clear, high voice suddenly says, “Look at ‘em, these aren’t the right guys!”

“Shit, what?”

“No!”

“The uniforms are all wrong,” the voice grumbles, disgusted. “We’re gonna have to cut them loose and hope they don’t cockroach rat.”

“Are you sure?” someone else asks, doubtful. “It could be a ruse.”

“We can't be positive without an interro—”

“We are not,” a new voice cuts in, low and exasperated like he says it often and tickling the back of Zuko's brain, “Going to interrogate—”

“Because this,” the woman snaps over top as she rips open the carriage door, skipping back when Zuko whips his dao into a ready position and keeping a wary eye on him as she shouts to her companions and Agni's balls this is a girl, Zuko reazlies, looking beneath the dirt and bright streaks of paint, “Is definitely the wrong target.”

“Oh yeah?” that new voice drawls, even more familiar now in a way that has Zuko's adrenaline wanting to spike against well-worn thoughts like ‘betrayal ’ and ‘assassination' even though the context— “What makes you so sure, Greenie. I believe you, but lay it out for the rest of us.”

“Well,” the girl—Greenie?—says, sarcastic, “He is Fire, for start.”

“Oh, well then,” Jet says, stepping around the open carriage door, “You know what we do with Fire around these parts,” he continues, eyes landing on Zuko and flaring wide a bare second before his expression closes into something aloof and watchful and deceptively amused.

Zuko can only gape back, stunned, barely keeping the tips of his dao from sagging and aware his usual court-trained neutrality is nowhere to be found as Jet slowly drags his eyes over Zuko from head to toe. Maybe, Zuko thinks wildly as he takes in the slashing eyebrows and shaggy hair and age-sharpened face, the attack was actually successful and this is all some kind of dream, his mind struggling its way back to consciousness. Or maybe Zuko actually did get assassinated this time, which is going to make things unfortunately difficult for a number of people, but Zuko doesn’t know how to explain the fact that he's seeing a ghost.

“You’re not going to ask?” Jet finally prods, tone low, dangerous, hook swords dangerously easy in his hands, "What we do?"

And Zuko doesn't know that he does want to ask, that he wants to know, but even if he did he doesn't have the words, couldn't speak if he did with how dry his mouth is as his eyes bounce across the familiar breadth of filled-out-now shoulders and the hodge-podge of armor that actually fits and that knowing, would-know-it-anywhere smirk that tils Jet's lips at the silence.

“Tell ‘im, Greenie,” Jet orders, soft, eyes half-lidded and intent and so familiar, too, never wavering from Zuko’s face in a way that makes Zuko's heart trip in his throat and that’s familiar, too, and—

“We tell ‘em,” Greenie says, drawing herself up and clearly imitating Jet’s drawl and slouching ease and somehow managing the bravado to pull it off in her small frame, “That we’ll get a Fire Nation audit set on their ass unless they clear out.”

Zuko jolts, blinking over at her in surprise, knocked out of his stupor with pure shock and gaping for an entirely different reason now as he stares at the girl, then finally back at Jet.

“We hear around here," Jet says like he was waiting for Zuko's attention, "That the Fire Lord is very strict when it comes to audits and impropriety among his ‘citizens living under Earth Kingdom jurisdiction’ these days." Jet's tone is sarcastic and mocking and laughing, his eyes sharp as they slide pointedly to Zuko’s headpiece.

“You were dead,” Zuko finally manages, shock sending the words tripping out of him, the only ones that currently matter. “I saw you die, you were dead.”

“What?” Jet frowns, taken aback enough to actually show it before he pulls his smirk back into place. “When, you weren’t there,” he says, nearly accusing.

“It was in a play,” Zuko says, numb, struggling with the wherewithal to explain right now that he was there, kind of, just early, or maybe late, depending on how you’re measuring it, “You—you got brainwashed and crushed and—” Zuko cuts off hard, gulping back the rest of the words at the way Jet’s hands tighten around his swords, corded muscle shifting along his forearms, Zuko's eyes flicking down and then catching at the faint patchwork of lines against tan skin, an array that could just be dust and dirt and the scars of living or could be—

“So the Fire Lord is getting his information from musical theater, in the new administration?” Jet finally asks, mockery back in his tone like Zuko can’t see the guarded wariness in his eyes, the ready anger, Jet’s gaze still staying fixed on Zuko even as Greenie jolts, her eyes flying wide, mouth forming a nearly comical oh of realization. "Is that an official policy? Part of the 'new era of peace and cooperation?'"

“It wasn’t—” Zuko snaps, hot and feeling himself flushing as he immediately cuts off, because…there might have been a song or two, actually. And Zuko wouldn’t say that puts the entire work into the musical theater category, but he knows that Earth Kingdom plays are generally so low on lyrical music that Jet might consider—

Jet raises his eyebrows, amused, and Zuko corrals his wayward thoughts as Jet crosses his arms, swords loose again in his hands. “Was I at least hot in it?”

“…Uh,” Zuko says, no part of him prepared to articulate ‘yes but not as hot as the actual you.’

But apparently he doesn’t have to articulate it with the way Jet’s smirk curls wide again, with the way Jet gives Zuko a smoldering, lazy once over that’s exactly the same as nine years ago on that boat in Serpent’s Pass, and Zuko swallows hard as his stomach swoops and flutters in answer like he’s sixteen again with that, too.

“We’re heading to rob a corrupt tax official, you know,” Jet suddenly says, tilting his head toward the line of curious eyes peeking around the carriage door, his eyes laughing when Zuko startles like he knows Zuko is only just noticing them. “Not Fire,” Jet smirks, amused and completely insincere as he adds with a casual wave toward Zuko’s unconscious guards, “Sorry.”

“Oh,” Zuko says, blank, rote. “Okay.” If the official isn’t Fire then Zuko can just…not care about it, for now. It’s Bumi’s problem, or—no, this far north it’s probably Lady Tang’s problem, actually, which under the treaty agreements eventually would make it Zuko's but either way, it’s not Zuko’s right now, and that’s what matters. His mind is currently otherwise occupied.

Mostly with the way Jet is watching him, eyes laughing and familiar and here.

“I hear,” Jet says, tucking a stalk of wheatgrass into his mouth and Agni, the way Zuko's stomach swoops seeing it, like in the nine years since he hasn't— “That the guy’s eating like a king, while the rest of his province has to feed off his scraps.”

Zuko stills. His breath catches, inner flame flaring into the gap in anticipation and then in answer as Jet smirks like he knows it, both of them locking eyes and ignoring the whispering behind the carriage door of, "Wait, I thought it was a lady, not—" "Shut up, idiot, do you want them to—"

“That doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Jet drawls, gazee half-lidded and intent, and Zuko licks his lips, hesitating, because the next line isn’t his. Except Jet seems to know it, too, and also the girls, because Jet nudges her without looking and she obediently, immediately pipes up, “What sort of king is sh—he eating like?”

“The fat, happy kind,” Jet purrs, like an invitation, like a seduction, like a challenge, and Zuko is suddenly too impatient to wait for the question, exhilaration and a fuck-the-consequences kind of thrill he hasn’t been able to indulge in years flaring in his chest as he grabs the headpiece out of his hair, tucking it into his belt as he shrugs off his impractical outer robes to reveal the black, utilitarian, close-fitting garments underneath.

“I’m in,” Zuko rasps, familiar words and familiar excitement in his chest, and the feral smile on his lips familiar, too, and just like the one curling Jet’s lips in answer.

(If you'd like to imagine a grown-up Jet, my I direct you to this marvel)

#asks and answers #ask game #fic writing #my writing #This was a fun one I do love some Jetko egging each other on into idiocy #And also some Jet who cannot stop himself from adopting strays #Zuko #Jet #Jetko

93 notes · View notes