#which shall also be the title of the first fic! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neysaadept · 17 days ago

Note

heyyyy,

I LOVE your Emily fics and only just saw you’re taking requests!! Congrats on the followers.💗 I was wondering if you could do an Emily/Reader fic maybe with the prompts “they didn’t deserve you” and “why are you doing this”, (early days in the relationship) where it’s Christmas time and Emily mentions in passing how she always spends Christmas alone cause it’s too much to go to her parents and reader decides to surprise her by making dinner and bringing it to her on Christmas Day! Emily is confused because she’s never had this kind of care or treatment and reader says she deserves it ( maybe first time saying ily?)

anyways just an idea and NO pressure if it’s stupid lmao! Ily

thanks

Please let me know what you think of this. It got really carried away and I really hope you liked what I did with this. *hides*

Take a Chance

Emily Prentiss x Female Nurse!Reader

Tags - No use of Y/N, swearing, angst, fluff, meet cute, first Christmas. Minors DNI

Summary - Please refer to the ask for summary!

AO3

Word Count: 4.4k

As a nurse, you had few rules for who were out of bounds in dating. Doctors are a big hell no. Yes, it seems romantic and dreamy to fall for some sexy, brilliant, doctor but there is too much overlapping and fucked up hours to connect that things can fizzle out so quickly once you realize there is no compatibility. And god forbid you end up having to work with one another? So, so awkward after a breakup.

And yes, you’ve been there and done that. Never, ever, again. You moved out of ICU to have less contact with the intensivist, Dr. Vanessa Hyland, and the ER has been headhunting you for a while now. You took the opportunity and ran. It is a change of pace, but it had the same adrenaline vice that you crave working and triaging the unknown that walk through MedStar Washington Memorial that was close to the VA*.

Your exclusion list also includes paramedics, firefighters, police officers, and anyone in your department. You didn’t want someone that had similar bizarre hours as you and that you might end up seeing at work if shit hit the fan. Healthcare was a small world, and you didn’t need your exes in your immediate orbit. You had enough drama at work and for the last year, the ER has become your work home and it has pushed you to pursue your license as a nurse practitioner. You had one year to go and were currently a resident.

You are career focused, intelligent and driven which currently made dating a low priority for you. Since the fling with Dr. Hyland fell through, you focus on yourself and enjoy being single since no one of genuine interest caught your fancy. And you stopped looking.

You didn’t realize your world was about to flip upside down when you knock on the window to Bay 3 in the ER and a deep voice said to come in.

That definitely didn’t sound like an Emily Prentiss to you. That must’ve been her partner speaking per the report given to you that he came along for the ambulance ride.

“Morgan, I can speak for myself …” came the snippy reply confirming your suspicions.

You pull the curtain back and take in the two feds in the room. The tall, dark, and muscular handsome fellow was hunched over the side rail before he saw you. “Hey, Doc. Mind telling princess here that she needs to behave?”

Your eyes dart to the woman on the cart who was squinting her best death glare at him. “I am behaving. I came here, didn’t I?”

With the concussion the female fed has, the bright lights of the room weren’t helping which made her glare pathetically cute. You turn the lights down, which the staff should have done in the first place.

“Better?” you say with an understanding smile.

She nods thankfully.

“Also, not a doctor. NP in training.” You walk in and introduce yourself. “So, shall I call you Emily or Agent Prentiss?”

She looks at you funny.

“Some feds have a stick up their ass about titles.”

“I definitely do not have a stick up my ass. Unless you count him?” She points a thumb at Morgan in all seriousness.

His face falls playfully with feign hurt, clutching at his chest. “Ouch, girl.”

“Hm,” you look thoughtfully between them and could feel the deeply rooted respect and love for these two partners. You decide to play along and return your attention to Emily. “Well, I’m sorry to say we don’t have a surgical consultant that specializes in that.” Then you wink. “I can always call security and throw him out if ya like.”

“Hey! Wait a second.” He lowers his hand accusingly. “You’re all not playing nice now.”

Emily chuckles. “I guess he can stay. He’s kinda my ride anyway.”

“Duly noted. Now, to business. May I?” You gesture to Emily’s head as you put on gloves. She nods and you start examining her scalp by gently running your fingers along her hair to smooth back to getting a better look. “The officer that was driving with you is doing OK. Same issue with head trauma after the T-bone. Do you remember hitting your head on anything before the airbags deployed?”

“Well, I was driving. Then we got the call on our suspect. Then we … we got the call on our suspect …” she shakes her head, wincing, trying to recall the memory before impact.

“Hey, if you don’t remember, it’s fine. I’m sure you know that. Doubt this is your first concussion?” You stop for a moment to make eye contact with Emily who rolls her eyes in affirmation. “Alright, well… you do have the start of a nice bruise here.”

You gently brush over the injury mid-scalp about halfway up from her left ear. “How’s the headache?”

“Pounding”, as she winces from your touch.

“Any nausea or vomiting?”

“No.”

“Dizziness or lightheadedness?”

“Nope.”

“Double or blurry vision?”

“A little. Tho it’s an improvement for Morgan’s looks.”

He whistles, shaking his head. “I’m letting that one slide since you’re suffering.”

You chuckle. “Alright, let me take a quick look at the rest of you. Anything else hurting that isn’t Morgan’s heart?”

That made her laugh as you pull the stethoscope over your head. “No. Nothing else hurts.

“Ladies, I’m starting to take offense now.” But he was all smiles.

You knew she suffered minor injuries from the ambulance report – contusions and small lacerations from shattered glass that didn’t require stitching. The officer on the passenger seat got cut worse being on the side of impact. You then listen to her heart, lungs and abdomen and palpate her stomach after making sure nothing was tender. Then did the same with her limbs testing neurological strength and any sore spots that may have been missed.

“Okay, Emily. Let’s get that CT done of your head.” You put the stethoscope back around your neck before placing your hands in your lab coat pockets. “If that comes back clean, I’ll release you home …” You see she’s about to ask a question you’re already anticipating. “… and no work until you’re medically cleared.”

She pouts rather prettily. You wish you didn’t notice. “And that also means no pretending to be cleared and going to work either.”

Morgan shakes his head and half smiles down at his partner. “Busted.”

“Had a feeling.” Morgan smirks between the two of you. “I’ll get those orders in.” You check your watch. “Should be done within the hour and we’ll go from there. If you need me, just call.”

Morgan steps around the bed to shake your hand. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” And you turn to look at Emily with a firm tone and playful eyes. “You behave.”

She huffs and settles back against the pillow, but Emily was fighting with a smile. To you it appears she was grumbling under her breath which was oh so common with law officials. When you leave the room, Morgan looks at Prentiss with a knowing look. In her state, she was genuinely confused. “What?”

“You’re making heart eyes with the nurse.”

“What? I … wasn’t. No way I was doing … whatever that thing you said I’m doing. It didn’t happen,” she says with a scowl.

“Heart eyes,” he reminds her.

“Whatever,” she snips. “Has to be the head injury.”

“Uh huh.” He looks back at the curtains then at his partner. “She’s your type too …”

“I’m not having this conversation right now,” she says, stopping Morgan from talking further about the nurse that was definitely her physical type. Plus, you were clearly smart and had a fun side at the bedside that made her smile.

Morgan smirks, seeing the dopey look. He knows she’s thinking about you. “When you’re better, then.”

“I’ll probably won’t remember this stupid conversation then either.” She ends the topic by crossing her arms and looking away from Derek. A perfect model of a petulant Prentiss.

Emily does hates that he was right. The question that remains is if she was going to do anything about it after Morgan’s teasing that would inevitably come at a later date.

Two weeks went by since you discharged Agent Emily Prentiss and life went on. You were working a double today in the ER.

“Let’s get a bag of O neg going on Bay 2 and prep endo for a scope.” You put the orders in and use the inter-hospital chat through the EMR* with Dr. Aorsen who is the GI specialist on call. Poor patient had a bleeding ulcer.

One of the techs calls your name and you answer without looking up, continuing to type up the H&P* on the patient so there will be no delays in the procedure. You answer with a pen dangling between your teeth. “Yeah?”

“An Agent Prentiss is here to see you.”

The pen drops from your lips as you swivel your chair around to look at the disheveled tech in surprise. “Uh, what?”

You couldn’t have heard that right.

He throws a thumb over his shoulder and nods in confirmation. “Fed named Prentiss is here to see you.”

Your eyes dart around the room trying to figure out why she is here and come up empty. “Is she here by herself?”

“Yep.”

“O … kay. Yeah. I’ll see what she needs. Tell her I need ten minutes to finish something before I can see her. Thanks, Marc.”

“Kay.” He wanders off and you finish your necessary charting. You weren’t going to drop everything to speak with her just yet when a patient needs your attention. Though your mind couldn’t grasp why she was here. You sent over the medical report on Agent Prentiss to the FBI the same week you discharged her. Nothing was out of the ordinary in your report. She suffered a typical concussion and filled out all the workers’ compensation documentation for the feds. It was way worse than filling out the damn metro police claims, and it took over an hour to finish.

Once you have all the necessary orders and documentation for your patient to go to endo, you meander through the nurses’ station and down the hall to where Emily is waiting. She currently has her hands behind her back which shows off the gun holstered to her hip. The white button down was under a black blazer that made her professionally beautiful and it was nice to see her be more casual from the waist down with jeans and black work boots.

And then there you are in your navy-blue scrubs, lab coat, hair up in a messy bun, and a stethoscope hanging around your neck. She definitely looks put together and was easy on your tired eyes.

Emily is distracting herself as she waits for you by taking in all the scenery around her from laundry bins to rolling medical equipment. But when she sees you, she visibly perks up and shifts on her feet.

You wonder if Emily is nervous but that is ridiculous. You push that thought out of your mind as you smile to greet her. “This is a surprise, Agent Prentiss.”

“Ah, Emily’s just fine. This isn’t anything official.” She says it a bit too quickly that makes your brows raise up in question.

“Well, that’s good. I was wondering.” You look her up and down and see that’s she’s recovered nicely, even if she isn’t relaxed speaking with you. Her hands are still behind her back. “You look well.”

“So, do you,” she says a bit too quickly when your eyes narrow in thought to her response. “I mean … for working long hours are the ER. It’s not easy.”

Your head moves to the left in curiosity as to where this was going. “Definitely not, but I love it. Wouldn’t be anywhere else. Though …” you bring your arm up and slowly gesture towards back down the hall “ … I’m sorry to be abrupt but with patients waiting … can you let me know how I can help you, Emily?”

You see her look mortified at keeping you waiting and that is when her arms swing around to her front, one crossing her abdomen. She was definitely nervous, but it is unclear why.

“Yes, I did want to thank you and see …” She nervously licks her lower lip, and your eyes are inevitably drawn to the motion.

You were hanging on her next words. The moment between you is filled with the sounds of electronic beeps, a patient moaning in confusion, and then the old Batman TV show theme goes off alerting your hospital that an ambulance was calling in a patient on the emergency line affectionately dubbed ‘The Bat Phone’ by the hospital. That seemingly jolts her back from looking at anything but you.

“ … well, see … you,” she says bashfully.

Your eyes widen. “See me?” You sound as confused as you appear.

“Yes,” Emily confirms with a hesitant nod.

Your eyes dart upwards in continued bewilderment before settling on her hopeful-looking brown orbs. “Look, I’m a complete idiot right now. Why did you need to see me?” You smile brightly with encouragement.

That seemingly provides the necessary motivation to be direct. “Yes. Socially. As in … dinner …?” Though Emily did end the last part awkwardly and began to flick at her thumbnail that was lying against her thigh.

Now with Emily’s intentions clear, you take a step back in wonder. “You’re asking me … out?”

Seeing that you took a step back makes Emily frown, thinking you weren’t interested. “Well, I was …”

“And you came here. To ask me out.” Your continuation of confusion is making her slowly back up towards the exit.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I …” she loosens the hold she has on her stomach and gracelessly swings her arms as she is about to turn, and hits the linen cart, causing a pile of towels and washcloths to tumble onto the floor. “Oh my god! I am so sorry!”

She crouches down to pick them up as you do the same but sliding to your knees. This wasn’t your first laundry pile up in the ER. “Hey, it’s okay!”

“No, it’s not.” Emily’s pale face was flushing prettily, and it makes you smile. “I made a mess.”

“Sweetie, this isn’t even close to a mess in my ER. Ever drop a commode?” That makes her laugh and diffuses the tension between you a little, but she was avoiding eye contact with you.

You both work at cleaning up when the two of you end up grabbing a towel at the same time. There was a quick game of tug of war and that finally brought her eyes up to see you. She was nervous and expectant, ready to run off in a heartbeat.

You give her your answer. “Yes.”

Her head leans in with disbelief. “Yes … what?” She asks hesitantly, needing confirmation.

“Yes, I’ll go out with you.” And just like that, you broke your rule about dating officers. There was something enigmatically irresistible about her and Emily mustered the courage to come down to your place of work to ask you out. How sweet is that?

Emily is too fucking adorable as her face works through the shock of what you said. “Oh … kay.” She nods. “Good. I mean …” She grins wide and bright. “Great.”

You both remain on the floor for a couple of beats before you lower your head, eyes studying Emily with a coy look. “Does this mean I can have the towel back?”

She busts out laughing and finally lets go.

That was a little over a month ago and you found out on your first date that it was her partner, Morgan, that helped talk Emily through her concerns. She explained how he was not just a good friend but was also like a brother to her. You were happy that Emily took this chance, and it was the happiest time of your life. You never thought that you’d find a partner that was able to understand the demands of your job and education by someone not in healthcare. Emily’s job is mentally, physically and emotionally draining like yours and despite the differences in careers, you understand the depts of humanity. Emily saw the worst of it and tried to bring the criminals to justice or at least provide closure for the victims and families. You do the same in your own way trying to save as many lives as you can as well as being the one to break bad news to people who loved your patients fiercely. You also saw the worst in a different way – shootings, stabbings, rapes, protests gone ugly. You and DC metro had a lot to talk about a lot of time. But the times you make a child smile when feeling terrible, or provide information that eases the mind of a patient that was so scared of why they were sick, or even the simple bedside talk to show you were a human being that truly cared, it was worth all the shit you dealt with.

But in between the long hours and when Emily was out of town, you make time for one another. Simple dinners, going out to the movies, long walks discussing nothing and everything, but the best was when Emily took you to the Smithsonian to see the staff carefully place a Santa hat on the life size brontosaurus display since Christmas was just around the corner. You didn’t even know they did that, and Emily was so pleased with herself at seeing your face light up in wonder. You of course took a selfie together after it was placed, but it ended up being at an awkward angle where you both were laughing as you were pointing to the dinosaur.

When you weren’t together, you had long talks over the phone and constant texts when Emily was on a case to make sure she was doing alright, which she did for you too! You both cared about your workaholic selves and kept reminding each other to take a break, eat and drink more than just beer when off the clock. Emily was able to keep work at work when in the moment with you but you could hear the weight of Emily’s job straining her voice. A hint of raw insight to her true feelings. You never push. Your relationship was still new, and you both were still learning one another.

When Christmas came, you were coming off a sixteen-hour shift that started right before 7am Christmas Eve. You were exhausted, the status quo for any resident, but you were also determined. This was your first Christmas with Emily, and you wanted to make it special. She admitted that the relationship she has with her mother is complicated and didn’t need, nor want, to show her face at one of her mother’s extravagant Christmas parties. Emily would just be shown off for propriety’s sake. It was easier being home alone with leftovers that Rossi made on Christmas Eve of pasta, seafood, and amazing Italian beef and sausages right after midnight. Between that, the homemade cookies gifted to her by Garcia, and a six pack of Stella bottled beer, Emily settled in for the day watching Die Hard because it is, and always we be, a Christmas movie. If you wanted to disagree with her, Emily was ready to fight.

By mid-afternoon, John McClane is crawling through the air vents and iconically complaining about ‘Come out to the coast, we’ll get together, have a few laughs…’ line when there’s a knock at Emily’s door. This confuses her because she wasn’t expecting anyone and you were at the hospital working. You told her that this morning over the phone during a break that, unsurprisingly, the hospital was short staffed, and they needed you. She put down Garcia’s festively colored frosted chocolate cookies and went to see who it was.

Which is why when she looks out through the peephole of the door, she gasps and quickly starts unlocking the door. She holds out her arms in surprise at the sight of you and speaks an octave higher in greeting. “What are you doing here?! You said you had to work tonight!”

She was all smiles seeing you … and you weren’t wearing your work clothes. You have on jeans, an ugly Christmas sweater that said ‘Fabulously Grinchy’ and arms full of bags. Emily was distinctively not festive on purpose with grey shorts and a baggy Yale sweatshirt. Even the black slippers were humdrum. It empowers you to see this and that you made the right decision to surprise her this way.

“Well, I lied,” you explain as she takes some of the bags from you. “Surprise!”

She steps aside to let you in and smells the familiar scents of pasta, sauce and bread. “What did you do?” she asks cautiously.

“I made Christmas dinner for us.” You beam, spinning around carefully in the living room with your arms out to display the bags. “Just need to warm it all up.

As you really did have to work long hours at the hospital, you enjoyed Skyping with your parents who lived of town while making homemade manicotti. It was your tradition to cook together, and it was nice to do it together this way. Thankfully you still had some frozen homemade pasta sauce that you could use and not be considered a heathen to your family because no daughter of theirs was going to serve their girlfriend pasta sauce from a jar.

“Oh my god,” she says your name and follows you quickly into the kitchen, trying to catch up. “You … you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble. And, really, why are you doing this? You’ve gotta be so tired after working a long shift. You should be relaxing.” Emily knew you did work today since she heard the intercom and all the various beeps, whirls and whistles of a hospital.

You left the bags on the island counter and start fiddling with the oven controls. “Eh, I’ve had worse.” You smirk over your shoulder. “So have you. Therefore, we deserve a nice Christmas not alone. Now. … ” you start looking for oven mitts and utensils by pulling out drawers and opening cabinets. You’ve been here once before and don’t have the lay of the land yet where Emily keeps everything.

What you didn’t know is that Emily is standing by the island counter with a firm grip on the edge because she is feeling a powerful rush of affection for you and a profound sense of guilt. She swallows hard and almost jerks with her movements in trying to find words to address you.

“Hey, Emily? Where’s the spatula? I don’t need to whisk anything, and you got like, three of them here.” With no answer, you turn around with the whisks in hand and a goofy smile which soon falls into a look of concern. Emily was staring at you with watery eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, quickly setting aside the whisks that roll around the counter. One drops and bounces off the floor, but you don’t care. You place your hands around Emily’s shoulders and rub soothing circles. “Talk to me, please.”

Her face scrunches to the side, still struggling with guilt. “You shouldn’t be doing this. You’re tired. You should be sleeping. Or resting. Or just –“

You cut her off by gently cupping her face. Your thumbs continue their gentle stroking along Emily’s cheeks. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.” You smile with sincerity. “Only place I wanna be.”

“Fucking sap,” she says, curling her hands around your forearms. You both naturally bring your foreheads together in that moment and feel Emily’s shaky inhalation of breath. “I don’t deserve this.” She feels the need to clarify. “You.”

You close your eyes and ask nonjudgmentally. “Why?”

“Because I’m gonna mess it up. I always find a way to do it. Even if it’s not exactly me.” She sighs. “Like work, or my mother…”

“Hey, don’t do that.” You bring your hands down while lifting your head to gaze into Emily’s eyes. “Anticipating. We just gotta take it day by day and right now, I feel, that this is a good one.”

“Yeah?” she says quietly, licking her dry lips.

“Yeah,” you confirm, bringing one of her hands up to gently kiss. What you’re about to say you feel in your heart and it has been growing for the last week. Perhaps it was too soon to say it, but Emily deserves to know how you feel and that despite this being new, this was a relationship you were determined to see where it takes the both of you. “Maybe if I give you one of your presents, it’ll help you feel better?”

Her eyes look along the ceiling while she chucks. “Maybe.”

You lean forward and cup her cheek, gently caressing it until you lock eyes. “I love you, Emily Prentiss.”

Her audible gasp at the admission is swallowed by your lips gently kissing hers. The kiss was soft, a silent signature of proof to the words already spoken. It is affirmation that you want to be here with Emily, and you feel her free hand slide around your waist as she steps closer. The press of her body forces a sigh from your lips which makes Emily smile against yours.

“I love you, too.” She confesses quietly, pulling your joined hands against her chest. “And it scares me.”

“Well, here’s the good news.” Emily pulls back to look at you, brown eyes equally fearful and exhilarated, as she waits for what you must share. Your smile helps to ground her. “We get to be scared together.”

She laughs as a couple of tears fall free and you reach up to wipe them away. As she leans into your touch, Emily asks you a question since she has doubts about this gift of yours, no matter how much she treasures it. “Was that really one of my gifts?”

“No,” you admit and kiss her forehead. “But it’s all true. Consider it a bonus.”

Emily looks up to you with a smile that lights up the entire room. “Mm, I do like the sound of that,” she says before capturing your lips once again.

*Vetarans Affairs

*EMR - Electronic Medical Record

*H&P - History and Physical

#emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss x female reader #emily x reader #emily x you #fic request #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you

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easy-there-leftovers · 1 year ago

Text

I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her.

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before.

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human.

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere.

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s.

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response.

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought.

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove.

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records.

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion.

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise.

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks.

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#aware!astarion #though I guess not so aware--#lol

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bella-rose29 · 4 months ago

Text

Breathe

Elrond x gn!reader (Rings of Power)

not me coming out of my cave to post an Elrond fic then leave again 👀

also not me not writing anything for over a month (probably, I haven't counted) and then coming out with a near 5k fic oops

the original title for this was 'is he dead or not??? who knows' but I think this one is good too

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: I think I killed someone writing this/made them need a lobotomy so consider that a warning to anyone who's gonna read (sorry), mentions of death, war, wounds, a child crying, the photo I'm gonna use is a warning in and of itself, I think that's it?

I feel I should add that this fic is actually happy (eventually) 😂 I reread the warnings and thought 'oh oops'

tagging @oblivious-idiot and @uku-lelevillain but if anyone else wants to be tagged in future Elrond works then let me know!

You could not breathe.

It would eat you alive, all this waiting, chewing on your insides until it worked its way outward and left you but a shell of the person you used to be, and you wouldn’t have any way of stopping it. Your lungs felt tight as you cradled the head of a sobbing child, his mother dead after birthing him and his father out in the fray with the rest of the soldiers of Middle-Earth. He was young, had barely seen his homeland, let alone the world, and he had never seen war before. You were not so lucky as he - war had been your upbringing. You could fight as well as any other of the elven soldiers, but somebody was needed to look after those who could not, and so you had volunteered along with a small band of others: retired fighters and those looking to start out and join the ranks but were not quite good enough yet. You had trained them over the last few days that you had all spent in the safe hold, taking them through the basics of how to grip a sword and the best way to gut an Orc should they break through and make it to the doors of the underground cavern serving as your shelter.

The child in your lap had stopped sobbing, his cries turned to sniffles, and you carefully lifted his body to nestle into your side. He was too young for war, you thought again, taking in the small points of his ears and the lack of angles on his face. You attempted a smile, hoping it would comfort him a little as you pushed a strand of his hair behind an ear, and whispered to him. “All will be well. They will return to us victorious, and we shall have no need of too many more tears.”

“But how do you know?” Children were inquisitive, which most of the time you adored, but when you are attempting to raise the spirits of a boy who does not know if he will ever see his father again, the questions become rather irritating.

“Because I have seen many things, and because our armies are strong. They will defeat the darkness and bring light to our lands once more.” It was the best you could do when you did not truly know the answer. You had learned the art of rhetoric years ago, when Elrond Peredhel had first come to Lindon and had quickly discovered that for the elves to see past his half-elven status he would need to become invaluable, or risk being an outcast in the race he had chosen to be counted among. You had been the first to greet him, intrigued by this visitor from the Havens of Sirion when you had been born in Lindon and raised there, and he had been grateful for your tour and kindness. He had spent many an hour sat with you, commenting on his meetings and the politics of Lindon, and how he carefully navigated clashing personalities and difficult conversations, and so you had learned.

You used it now, that knowledge that Elrond had provided in all those hours, to comfort this child. He had since taken to playing with a stick on the floor next to him, leaning further away from your side to entertain himself as he drew patterns in the dirt, and it gave your lungs the much needed space to breathe a little more.

It had been hours and hours since the army had left, heading out onto the battlefield to meet Sauron’s forces, and you were getting impatient. Elrond had gone with them, determined to provide what help he could no matter your protests to him entering the fray. You had trained him up, knowing that he could hold his own but wanting to be sure that he would be alright, and when you had suggested that you go with him while tightening the straps of his armour he had placed his hands over yours (his hands were too soft - far too soft for someone about to go into battle), gently coaxing them from where they had fretted with the leather and returning them to your side with a sad smile. “You must stay here, melethel, and protect those who cannot fight.” The term of endearment never failed to heat your cheeks, or send a warmth up your neck and through your chest. “For my peace of mind, please stay here.” He had let go of your hands at that point, moving them up to rest on your shoulders as he looked into your eyes. A lock of hair had fallen over his face, and before you could think you were pushing it back into place, wondering if you had imagined him leaning into your touch that lingered a moment too long for two elves who were only friends and nothing more, his eyes fluttering closed for the barest fraction of a second before he was looking at you again, or if it had truly happened. What you were certain was real was the soft kiss he placed on your forehead, lips brushing the skin with such care and tenderness while his hands on your arms squeezed like you would disappear that it made your eyes sting with tears you refused to shed. Elrond would not see you cry, not now, not when there was a chance it could be the last-

No. You would not think that way. He would come back alive, and if he was hurt then you would stay by his side until he was healed, and then you would continue your lives as you had before - content and in friendship.

It wasn’t how you wanted things to be with Elrond, which was why you could not breathe. What if he was one of the fallen, and you never saw him smile again, or gaze in wonder at the golden leaves of Lindon or cast a wry glance your way in a council session when somebody said something he thought was silly and knew you would be thinking it too, your eyes already seeking him out? What if you never heard him sing again, or write poems about trivial matters that seemed so important to him? What if you never got to challenge him to a duel again, laughing when your swords clashed and rang out in the clearing you always fled to, and calling him a cheat for tickling you after you pinned him to the floor?

And what if you never told him how you truly felt? That from the moment he had seen you try not to show your tears after climbing too high in a tree and falling, grazing your knee and cutting your calf, and had rushed to your aid because that was what Elrond did, you had loved him. He had been so calm, so gentle that night, the lights of others long gone out as they dwelt in near darkness while your lanterns stayed lit as you gritted your teeth and washed the cut of dirt and bark. You had barely heard him come in, his knock as quiet as your tears, but when his hands wrapped around your own and took the cloth from you, dipping it again in the bowl of water to your side, you barely startled. He had not been in Lindon long and yet already you knew him and his movements as though they were your own, and you trusted him enough to see you so vulnerable, and from the way he had looked at you that night he knew it. Your love for him was strong and true and the greatest thing you had ever felt, and for years you had passed it off as a friendship so powerful that the bond between you was unbreakable. You had friendships like that with others, so it would not have been out of the ordinary to have one more person whom you would love unconditionally until your light died, but when he had been kneeling by your side and cleaning the gash on your calf with a tenderness you had only read about, you had known it was different.

The child beside you now dropped his stick, the movement bringing you out of your thoughts as he scrambled instead to his feet and started to push through the gathered people to make for the doorway.

The doorway which was now opening, a messenger stepping through. You stood up, air catching in your throat and making you nearly choke on spit as you struggled to breathe again. Your hand flew to your opposite wrist, under the fabric of your sleeve and touching the chain that rested around the base of your hand - a gift from Elrond in the early hours of the morning before he had left for battle and after he had kissed you on the forehead. “To remember me by,” he had said, a sadness settling over his features that you hated. He unclasped it, gesturing for you to hold out your wrist, and when you complied he had linked the chains so carefully, fingers brushing the underside of your forearm so lightly it sent chills darting over your skin like minnows in a stream. His hold had lingered, and your breath had been held while time seemed to stretch on more than usual for your kind.

Elrond had that effect on you, it would appear. Making you breathless was a skill of his you weren’t sure he knew he possessed, and at this current moment you wished it was a skill he had never mastered. Your throat felt tight while the messenger caught his breath, tired from sprinting from the battlefield. The fight was over for now, the question was simply who had won.

“Sauron’s forces have been pushed back, and the majority slaughtered. We have won this battle!” the elf cried, and the first wave of relief washed over you and the crowd. The second would come when you knew who was alive out of those that had been sent away that morning, and who would not return this night.

The thundering of footsteps could just be heard over the cheers of the people gathered in the safe hold, and the first of the elven soldiers appeared in the chamber, tiredness being replaced by joy at seeing their loved ones again and embracing them with a fierceness that even Sauron could not comprehend. There were too many similar soldiers, their armour all the same and their faces all dirtied, and it was a long few minutes before you caught sight of the elf you were searching for. You were sure your face was blank and cold, and your eyebrows furrowed as you attempted to see past the hordes in front of you, but the moment a head of unruly curled hair glinted under the torchlight, clearly moving from soldier to soldier and asking if they were alright, you knew it was Elrond. He seemed to sense your gaze on him, turning his head to look over his shoulder and seek you out, finding you within seconds. He is alive. Elrond is alive. It was a mantra, playing over and over in your head as your feet numbly moved you forward while he did the same, pushing through people to reach you, and before you could truly register it you were in his arms, the coldness of your previous gaze melting and turning into warmth as you looked at him, tracing the small cuts on his face and wrapping your other arm around his waist. He was dirty, and bloodied, and shaking from the cold or from the fight or from something else entirely that you could not name, but he was alive. You squeezed his waist, pulling him closer to you, but didn’t miss the slight wince on his face as you did so. “Elrond, are you hurt?”

“I am fine, melethel. Just a scratch.”

“Do not lie to me, Elrond. Come, let’s get you cleaned up and out of your armour; it must be heavy on your shoulders.” He did not reply, only giving a tired smile in its place, and let you take him by the hand to the room you had commandeered for you both when you had arrived. There were two raised cots, not that Elrond had slept much, as he had been needed in meetings to discuss battle strategies and had, in his usual fashion, not stopped working until he was content that his plan would work. You closed the door behind you and pointed to one of the cots, not looking at him as you told him to sit. He did so in a daze, fingers picking at the leather straps that you had done up for him that morning. It was long past nightfall now, and Elrond likely had not rested since he woke up. You gathered your medicines and poured a dish of water, moving to sit on the stool that Elrond had pulled up for you and putting your supplies on the side table to help him with his armour. You worked in silence, removing piece after piece of metal until it sat on the floor in a neat pile and you had better access to his wound. Cautiously you pressed your fingers to the edge of the cut, trying to gauge how bad it was and immediately regretting it when he hissed in pain and tried to move away. You snatched your hand back, eyes snapping to his face to see it scrunched up in pain. “Elrond,” you spoke, voice quiet in the near-empty room as you placed your hand on his fist. “Elrond. It is alright. Here, help me get this off of you so I can clean it.” He softened, features settling back into a face you knew better than the wrinkled nose and squeezed-shut eyes, and smiled a little as you started tugging at his undershirts.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes off you could have said it earlier.” Had you been standing you were sure your knees would have given way and caused you to hold on to something for support. He must be delirious from the wound, or the amount of time spent on his feet fighting. Elrond never said things like that: not to you, not to anyone. You forced a glare onto your face in lieu of a response, hoping he hadn’t noticed how much he had affected you with one simple sentence, and started to gently pull the fabric up.

“Stop jesting, Elrond. I need to clean your wound. Unless you would prefer I left you here to get an infection and suffer?”

“You rather enjoy leaving me to suffer, melethel. You do it whenever we fight.”

“I always help you up off the floor after I wipe it with your backside,” you indignantly replied. You were glad he was talking - the silence had been strange. Normally you would not mind sitting in silence with Elrond, but that was when you were safe in Lindon, books in your hands and paper rustling as the pages turned, not when he had just fought a bloody battle and could have died.

“I recall that last time we fought it was I who helped you off of the floor,” he mused, and you swatted at his arm.

“Shush. I let you win that one. Now stop talking and help me; your limbs are gangly.” He let out a noise of disbelief at that but lifted his arms anyway, wincing when the shirt went over his head and pulled at the skin of his side. An Orc had found a gap in his armour, pushing its blade through and marking the side of his body with blood. You held your breath at the size of it, and when Elrond asked you how bad it was you answered with your eyes still on his side. “It is… it is nothing I cannot fix.” He seemed content enough with your response, nodding and leaning back on his hands to allow you more room to work. He grunted in pain when you raised the cloth to his skin and started cleaning away the blood and sweat that had stuck there, but otherwise was silent while you worked.

Time is a strange thing for elves: your lives are so much longer than those other races of Middle-Earth and so often you do not perceive it in the same way - twenty years for some may be the blink of an eye to an elf. You could not have been cleaning and stitching his wound (he had cried out more when the needle had pierced his flesh) for more than an hour or so, and yet it had felt like an eternity. When you were finally done, his wound covered in an elvish salve to stop infection and the spread of whatever evil was in Orcish weaponry and stitched up with a fine thread that would dissolve harmlessly into his skin over time, you brought out another cloth and poured fresh water to clean his face. He was caked in dirt and blood and grime, sticking to his fair skin from all of the sweat he had created in exertion, and if you did not know Elrond like the back of your own hand then you would not have recognised him at all.

“Let me,” he said, pushing up off of the cot and moving to where you stood by the basin. His hands covered yours, gently attempting to pull the cloth from your grasp and do the rest himself, but your grip was strong.

“No. I have been sat around doing nothing all day and I might just explode if I do not finish looking after you.” He smiled, the barest of things as the corner of his mouth pulled upwards a little, and his eyes softened. How he could be soft after everything he had seen today amazed you. It had taken you years to stop guarding yourself after you first fought in a battle, not letting anybody see any vulnerability in case they took advantage and thought you weak. It was part of the reason you stayed behind: you had not wanted to find out what would happen if you fought again, not when Elrond had come into your life and, piece by piece, dismantled your high walls.

“Alright, melethel. Alright.” He had always insisted on calling you that, saying that it didn’t matter that the pair of you were not courting, and who were you to refuse him when he spoke so sweetly? He settled back against the counter, letting his feet drift apart a little so you had room to stand between his legs. He closed his eyes, trusting you to take care of him, and for the first time since he had returned he looked at peace. He seemed unsure where to place his hands, hovering for a moment between your waist and the wood of the cabinet top he perched on before deciding on the latter. You worked away the dirt, revealing more clean skin with every swipe of your cloth, until eventually you were looking at the face of your friend as you remembered it. His hair still needed a wash, as did the rest of him, but Elrond was here, in front of you and more like himself than he had been since he had left in the morning.

“I think you had more soil on your face than the grounds of Middle-Earth,” you joked, rinsing out the cloth again before bringing it up to his face to wipe the remainder of the grime away. He opened his eyes, a childish grin appearing on his face at your words.

“Then you have done a fantastic job in removing it all.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes at you in playful suspicion. “At least I assume you have removed it all, and haven’t just smeared it all around my face?” He poked a dirty finger into your cheek, making you laugh and jerk backward to stop him spreading muck everywhere. Elrond stopped moving abruptly, catching your hand and studying a finger. “You’re bleeding.” He blinked at the dried blood on your pointer finger. “Or is that mine?”

“Oh. I had not even realised. I must have stabbed myself with the needle earlier. Really, it is nothing, Elrond.” He didn’t let go however, still looking concerned that you had hurt yourself while tending to him.

“But if you are hurt-”

“Which one of us was brutally stabbed by an Orc blade? And nearly died?”

“I did not nearly die, melethel, you are being dramatic.”

“As are you, Elrond. I barely even noticed the prick of the needle.” He had brought your hand close to his face, and somehow your body had gone with it. The hand that held the cloth was bracing your weight next to Elrond’s hand, your fingers just touching, and your face was so close to his that you could feel the soft brush of air that he let out every time he breathed. It was so typical of Elrond to be more concerned for others when he himself was the one that needed to be worried over, and it only made you love him more.

“If you say so,” he hummed, shifting his hold on your hand so that he could bring his lips to the tip of your finger where you had stuck yourself with the needle, pressing the smallest kiss to it. Your breath caught again, and he noticed the hitch. “Melethel? What is it, did I hurt you?” His eyes widened and he rushed to rectify the mistake he thought he had made. “I am so so sorry, I did not mean-”

“You did not hurt me, Elrond, for goodness’ sake!” You cut him off, exasperated and feeling very warm.

“Then why-” he broke off, eyes searching your face and studying the most likely very visible flush to your features. “Oh,” he said, softer than a leaf of one of the trees of Lindon falling to the earth. You swore his pupils dilated a little, and he tilted his head back ever so slightly as realisation dawned on him. “Oh.” He let go of your hand, fingers slowly moving to your jaw to turn your face back towards his after you had looked to the side in an attempt to hide from the intensity of his gaze.

“Elrond, what- what?” Your hand he had been holding was now on his shoulder, keeping you upright along with the arm he had somehow snaked around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

“Are you- do you…” he fumbled over his words, something he very rarely did, and through the haze of wondering how you had ended up in this situation, his fingers cupping your jaw while his other hand rested on your lower back and he stared into your eyes, flicking between them both to see if he could read you, you felt a swell of pride that you of all people had made Herald Elrond of Lindon speechless.

“Do I what?” you asked, as gently as you could. The hand you had rested on his shoulder was now toying with a strand of hair that curled under his ear against his neck, your other braced on his chest (which you were just now remembering was unclothed), and a small smile was on your face. You knew that he knew the truth now - how could he not? But he wanted to hear it, as did you, because the fear that he might be wrong was lingering and if he was wrong, he might hurt you, which was the last thing Elrond ever wanted to do.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, eyes similar to that of a wolf cub you had once seen, wide and innocent, but entirely Elrond in the blown out pupils and spark of knowing that he carried. His nose was brushing yours, breath fanning over your face, and now it was your turn to tilt your head back to meet him. “Do you feel that whenever we are apart… your heart aches for the space where I should be stood? That whenever we are together I am complete because you are there and you are so bright and wonderful that you take my breath away more often than I would care to admit - do you feel that too?”

“How could I not, Elrond? How could I not feel that?” You felt the tension dissipate from his shoulders, his body sagging forwards into yours just a little, the action causing his face to come even closer to yours, angled slightly upwards from where he was an inch lower than you sat on the cabinet.

You couldn’t breathe again, but this time it was because Elrond had pressed his lips to yours so cautiously that you thought you might melt into him. His fingers on your jaw were warm, not urging you one way or the other but just anchoring you, as he always had done from the moment you had met, letting you decide what happened next. You broke off first, resting your forehead against his and catching your breath, and he swallowed thickly, moving to place tiny kisses against your jawline and cheek, pausing only to murmur your name into your skin. Your hand buried itself in his hair, fingers tangling in the curls and knocking out the dust and dirt that had stuck there. It had long since dried of sweat, but the strands were greasy and needed washing, and that thought combined with the memory that he had a wound in his side were enough to make you pull back even further. “You should have a bath,” you said when he looked up at you with adoring but concerned eyes. He paused for a moment, frozen in place while he contemplated what you had said, and then he chuckled, the sound low in his throat.

“Are you saying I smell, melethel?”

“Yes. Come, I’ll get a bath ready for you.”

“And if I would rather stay here?” His fingers had started lightly stroking your jaw, and with the way he was looking at you it was becoming harder and harder to leave his embrace. You managed to wrinkle your nose and step back, a strength you hadn’t known you possessed taking over and making you move.

“I’m not kissing you again until you have bathed, Elrond.” He sighed dramatically, retracting his arms and standing up, wincing slightly and favouring his non-injured side while you started transporting water from over the fire.

“Truly? You really would leave me here?”

“If it gets you over here faster, then I shall get in with you.” You had never seen the elf move so quickly before, pulling off his boots and drawing out towels for when the bath was finished with. He hesitated with his trousers, then decided to keep them on, glancing at you to see what you were doing. You were already watching him, making a decision of your own before starting to pull at the strings holding your robes together.

“You don’t have to-”

“Oh I’m keeping my underclothes on, but I shall likely sink right to the bottom if I keep these thick robes on.” He looked relieved, and you stifled a laugh as you headed for the dresser where your clothes were kept, pulling out a pair of fresh trousers. “Here, get changed first if you’re keeping trousers on; you’ll dirty the water immediately.”

He complied, heading behind the partition in the corner of the room and re-emerging a few moments later to find you already in the bath, eyes closed in contentment at the feel of the warm water on your skin. Elrond lifted your head, pushing you forward gently so that he could clamber in behind you and settle back against the tub. You heard him grunt when his wound his the water, and turned to see his face scrunched in pain. “Are you alright?”

“I am alright. Just don’t lean on my side.” He helped you turn in the tub so that you were sideways against him, his wound kept out of the danger of being pressed down upon.

You stayed in the bath until it got cold and your fingers wrinkled, having washed the dirt off of each other with one of the towels Elrond had brought over, and then when you got out you dried each other off and redressed in fresh clothes, hanging up the wet fabric and making for the bed, curling up next to each other, your head on his chest. Sleep came easily to you, Elrond’s body creating a warmth under you that made up for the dying fire in the cold room, and at some point your breathing matched his.

For now, you could be content in peace. Another battle would come, the war not yet won, and Sauron’s armies would be at your doors again soon. But not yet. They would need time to gather strength again, to marshal and be ready, and so you had time too before Elrond had to leave again, and time to breathe before you would be sat waiting, and waiting, and take in air before it was stolen from you when he kissed you goodbye.

#elrond peredhel #elrond x reader #elrond rings of power #rop elrond

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mythrilthread · 9 months ago

Text

My magnum opus, the jewel of my Binderary round-up, the result of four months of hard work (that is to say, a lot of force applied over distance), the project affectionately known as The Motherfuckers (because it was rather unclear if I was going to finish these books or if they were going to be the end of me).

Force over Distance by cleanwhiteroom. It is currently also on AO3.

I was first introduced to this incredible story by a dear friend, who first sold me on actually watching SGU, and then said that they remember this fic since like 2011, which is always a promising sign. I went digging and found out I was in luck - the story was being rewritten and reuploaded on the author's blog. The next two weeks are described by the same friend as "one of the scariest moments in our cohabitation" as I'd spent literally every waking moment injecting the story directly into my eyeballs, and let me tell you, I'd not been doing a lot of sleeping at that time.

Then I gathered up my courage and reached out to CWR re: my burning desire to bind this story. And the rest, well. Let's dig into it, shall we?

This was my first time typesetting 540k words. Considering I tend to prefer larger font sizes for increased legibility, it was immediately obvious that this was going to be a multivolume project. I settled on three, as it's the relationship between three individuals that forms the core of the story.

I also knew I wanted to keep the typeset in black and white, but play around with light and dark a lot. So I did. One of the first design idea I actually had was the way I wanted to handle projected speech. Mental link between Young, Rush and Destiny is THE most vital part of the story, and I wanted to make it immediatly obvious. I also wanted to be able to take one glance at the page and tell how much of the action is actually just two guys staring each other down :) Hence the blackout effect of thoughts being represented as light over darkness.

I also wanted to preserve as much of my reading experience as possible. So I saved all the chapter quotes/summaries in the TOC, and hid the chapter content warnings in the frame of the gate that marks the beginning of each chapter. For most of the chapter the warnings stay the same, so after a while you stop really noticing them, but then you open a new chapter and see that the familiar shape of the words has changed, and get this UH-OH feeling. Which, I think is very much how it works in my design, because when the warnings change there's usually another line of text added.

For flashbacks and dream sequences I switched from italics to a lighter shade of gray. I woudn't say it's more legible per say, but it's in keeping with the overall light/dark theme.

There are instances of people using handwritten notes in the story. I collected more than a dozen of assorted handwriting fonts, with each character having their own "handwriting". So when, for example, someone begins writing in someone else's hand, you immediately know it.

The most insane, labor-intensive part of the typeset, however, was the way I decided to handle the Ancient translations. CWR's gone through the trouble of setting up hover-to-discover for it, which gives you a very different reading experience than, say, having the translations in the endnotes. So, naturally, I said to myself that I want to replicate that, and footnotes just won't do the trick. So. Every instance of Ancient in the text has an underlay of light gray Ancient script. And an OVERLAY of paper vellum with the translation printed in blue. Now, not to toot my own horn too much, but if looks SICK AS FUCK. You also MAYBE SHOULD NOT LIVE LIKE THIS. For the two copies of this work I had to cut up 10 sheets of vellum into strips, and then spent from 20 minutes to an hour per volume tipping the strips in their proper places. I then had to wear kinetic tape on both my hands to help with the joint pain. (It was worth it.)

Now for the title spread. It is also paper vellum that you see as soon as you turn the first page (the half-title), and see it covering the title of the book and author's name. And then you turn it. And the shields sing the matter wave of Destiny through the black. And yeah, I think that's very, very clever of me, actually.

Then, of course, were the endpapers. All 12 of them are unique abstract paintings done on black cardstock by hand with brush pens and correction tape, I scanned a sample of each set for posterity. All of them are my interpretations of characters' midscapes. For volume 1 I went with the fire wind of Rush's thoughts. Volume 2 was for Young, and I went for the reverse blackout poetry effect (because for all the mental talking they do, the unprojected thoughts are opaque to their counterparts) and all the loops, hairpins and blocks he does. Volume 3 is for the combination - Rush's fire wind, changing its color to match the circuitry pattern of Destiny's AI.

The rest, in comparison, is easy. All volumes are stitched with 3 strands of embroidery floss, a combination of black, blue and silvery-gray. The French double-core endbands are sewn in the same color scheme (though with a different shade of blue and gray switched for white for added contrast). The edges are painted and splattered to look like space.

The covers feature my (signature at this point, I guess) half-cloth river pattern, with the base being dark blue linen and the printed parts being Spitzer telescope images of the W51 star forge, Jack-O'-Lantern Nebula and the Eagle Nebula (courtesy of NASA), waxed by hand for added sheen. The spines are foiled in silver with a foil quill.

Each set is 5 pound of solid hand-crafted book, with one set being my personal copy, and the other sent as a gift to the author.

And that's it, folks! This has been an incredible project to work on, and I'm very proud of what I achieved with it.

#mythril thread books #bookbinding #ficbinding #fanbinding #binderary2024 #stargate universe #sgu #force over distance #stargate

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leighsartworks216 · 3 months ago

Text

All This And Heaven Too

Demon!Sylus x gn!Angel!Reader

Based on this post

Title from "All This And Heaven Too" by Florence and the Machine

This fic possessed me and would not let me go until I wrote it tonight (which is bad cuz I'm sick). Very very very vague spoilers for the end of Sylus's story

Also I'm not religious and I do not smoke but the vibes, y'all, I simply had to (I looked up a wikihow for smoking)

Warnings: heavy angst, angels + demons au, major character death, unhappy ending, hurt no comfort, blood, injury, crying, kissing, drugs + smoking, underage smoking, pet names, religious imagery + symbolism, swearing

Word Count: 2,557

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You sigh as you feel the oh so familiar sensation of a cigarette being shoved into your halo’s golden glow. There’s an inhale behind you, and the sensation is gone. Sure enough, when you turn around, the demon stands proudly, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“Thanks, angel,” the demon, Sylus, purrs. The smoke blows into your face and you fan it away with your hand. He chuckles. “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Well, it’s only been 3 centuries. How much was I supposed to change in that time?”

He studies you lazily, tilting his head and taking another drag. He settles down on a low stone wall, worn on the edges and covered in old paint. “Not interested in small talk today, angel?”

You cross your arms defensively over your chest. It’s been a long time since he’s seen you this on-edge around him. “I don’t know how you can think about anything else.” You look at the people passing by.

Teens in helmets and knee pads rolling past on boards or skates, others with no protective gear at all trying to pull off complicated flips and tricks. A couple sat under a curved wall, passing a blunt back and forth. Sylus had teased you relentlessly the first time he came across you in a place like this. Watching all these young souls take up vices so early in their lives, put their bodies on the line and break bones for a bit of fun. You didn’t notice the drugs and alcohol as much nowadays. You just saw the smiles.

“All of this will be gone in just a few days… Doesn’t that…” You glance at him. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

A kid walks up to Sylus, gesturing with his messily rolled up joint for a light. Sylus presses the end of his cigarette to the end without a word. The revolting stench of marijuana filled the air as the kid walked away. “Why should it?”

You glare at him and he chuckles.

“Oh, I’m sorry. What I meant to say was, ‘Heavens above, it’s a terrible tragedy! The horror of it all!’”

“I could smite you right now. One less demon for Hell’s army would be no loss to us.”

“But it would be to you.” He sighs, scanning the skatepark. A melancholy settles in his expression. “I suppose I will miss it. Humans know the best ways to have a good time.”

You hum. “I did always enjoy their weddings.”

“I was thinking something along the lines of lust, greed, and pride.”

“I know.”

You glance at the spot beside him. He holds the cigarette in the corner of his mouth as he takes off his leather jacket and lays it across the stone. You perch primly on it with a nod of thanks. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and holds it out to you. You stare at it with a grimace.

“This could be your last chance to try it,” he cajoles. “I promise you won’t get sent to Hell for a little thing like this.”

You glance at his face. Piercing red eyes stare at you, but you know he wouldn’t lie to you about something like this. Not anymore, anyway.

You begin to reach for it but he pulls it just out of your reach. He holds the butt end to your lips, but you look at him with that sweet little look of innocence, utterly helpless.

“Shall I demonstrate first?” He puts it between his lips, the corners curled up into a devilish grin. The ashes on the end trail a little further down the paper as he inhales the tobacco smoke. He takes it out of his mouth, pauses for a second, and blows it out, away from your face this time. He holds it back to your lips. “Don’t do too much. I want this to be a good experience for you.”

“Your temptations are hardly enticing,” you scold, but there’s no venom behind it. You carefully put your lips around the filter, where his were just seconds ago, and suck in. You can’t help watching his face as you do, searching for instructions through his expressions. He nods just slightly and you pull away, holding it in for a moment like he did, and exhaling.

He brings it back to his lips. “Well?”

You scowl as you try to get the taste out of your mouth. “How do you like that?”

“Oh, angel. People don’t like the taste - not really, anyway. It’s the chemicals that trick you into thinking you need it, pulling you to it over and over again.” He leans in. His eyes gleam. “Addiction.”

“Hmph. Should I try to find something pure for you to try now?”

He shakes his head. “I already know what the holy experience is like. I’m just fine not going back to it for a second.”

A drugged-up teenager with no protective gear goes down the old wooden half-pipe. It’s been in disrepair for years. The local governments don’t care at all about trying to keep anything here in good upkeep; they haven’t for decades. His wheel catches on a broken board and sends him flying. His body scrapes against splinters and bent nails, tearing at his clothing and flesh. To add insult to injury, his skateboard goes up the other side and comes right down on his head. You can tell even from a distance that he’s broken something. He lays there for a while, groaning.

Sylus isn’t surprised when an ambulance arrives a couple minutes later, despite nobody having called for their services.

“Do you know where you’ll be stationed?” you ask. You try to seem cool-headed about the thought of going into war, but there’s a waver in your voice that he catches as easily as recognizing a lie.

“Linkon City. On the frontlines.” He passes the nearly-gone cigarette back over when he sees your hands fidget restlessly with the hem of his jacket. “What about you?”

You take it from him with inexperienced fingers, but you don’t cough this time either as you take a slightly deeper draw from it. He could almost say he’s proud, if he ignored the omen of a smoking angel.

“The same for me.”

He takes the spent cigarette from you and puts it out against a spray painted yellow smile. “So I’ll see you there, then.”

You watch the ambulance pull away with the kid on a stretcher in the back.

Sylus stands up. It’s only when he gestures to his jacket that you follow, stepping away so he can retrieve it and put it on. It’s a hot summer day, but even dressed in all black and leather, he says it’s too cold. If Hell wins… you wonder if you’ll understand what he means, then.

“If we fight each other-”

“Why do you sound so upset about it, angel?”

You take a deep breath. Your golden eyes, blessed by the light of God, stare at him with a deep seriousness. “If we fight each other, we can’t hold back. You know that, right?”

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“I… I won’t hold back.”

He nods.

“Not even for you.”

He nods again. “I know, angel.”

You nod, settling that promise into your brain. Your frown hasn’t faltered at all.

“For what it’s worth…” Red eyes look at you with no waver in confidence, but that melancholy hasn’t faded yet. “Of all the angels I could have had the displeasure of knowing, I’m glad it was you.”

The city was a husk of its former self. Where once people walked to and fro, going to work or the movies or the arcade, demons and angels fought in a holy war. It was chaos at every turn. Armies donned in white and black, fighting tooth and nail to win.

You had your orders. They were easy to follow: kill any demon in sight. You prayed for God to end this war before it could begin. You prayed for the final days leading up to it for this to never come to pass. You prayed until someone ripped your hands apart and shoved a sword into them.

If your body functioned like a normal human’s, you would have been panting, gasping for air as you stole through a wrecked lobby and into a courtyard, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. Your body would have ached from exhaustion, and you think a normal human would have fallen unconscious by now.

Your body does not function that way.

Your breaths are even as you turn in a slow circle, watching for any intruders. The fight rages on mere feet away, but in here you can almost forget.

A tree stands proudly in the center. Its branches overhand a small, tiered garden. Flowers decorate the wooden boxes, spilling out over the sides from care and dedication. You gently lift one of the hanging blossoms and bend down to smell it.

Something sharp touches your neck.

You’re frozen in place. Caught off guard, staring at the flower, memorizing it so that when the killing blow comes, it is the last thing you see. The last meaningful reminder of the humans’ blessed existence.

“Hello, angel.”

You turn your head so sharply you almost cut yourself on his blade. Relief and dread swell in you all at once, a miasma of discontent. Sylus grins at you as relaxed as ever and lowers the black sword to his side.

A hollow breeze swishes his hair across his forehead. The longer strands catch in his eye, but he doesn’t brush them away. The horns on his head are sharper, crueller than usual; as dark as the deepest pit of Hell.

The golden glow of your halo highlights the planes of his face.

“Don’t hold back, remember?” he says. “Don’t lose that conviction on me now.”

Your hand shakes as you tighten your grip on your sword. You raise it in front of you. The sharpened point raised to the heavens, a symbol of your devotion. You swallow. “I won’t.”

He mirrors your position, the end of his sword aimed for the hells below. His hands are steady. He nods. That damned grin widens on his face. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “I know, angel.”

Sylus attacks first. He has to. You’re paralyzed, unable to make the first offensive move. You defend instead, blocking and parrying his every move. The tree stands watch. A silent aegis to your battle.

He cuts your right cheek, and you jump away to collect yourself. The pain feels too real. How is this the natural end of the world? How can your God sit idly by and witness you crossing blades with the one creature across the Heavens, Hells and Earth whom you called friend? What merciful God would want this?

Blood drips slowly down your jaw from the small wound. Sylus paces around you like a wolf hunting wounded prey. You know he will destroy you.

You take a breath and raise your sword again. Your hand does not shake.

You strike first, reigniting the fight he lit.

It’s grueling. Neither of you dares to give in now. Hesitating would be to die. And not only did neither of you want to die, neither of you wanted to kill the other. It’s a battle built to be a stalemate. A war never meant to be won.

At least, you wish it was.

Both hands grab the hilt of your sword, holding it steady. Sylus grabs the blade.

He chuckles. It’s weak. Strained. His eyes match the blood pouring from his chest as he looks up at you. He falls to his knees. You follow.

“Well done, angel.” He wheezes, eyes squeezed shut in pain as he hunches over your blade. The sides dig into his hand, slicing his palm and fingers. “You… You won.”

All at once, the reality of the situation hits you.

“No…” You support your sword with one hand as you scramble on your knees to be closer. You grab his shoulder, sitting him up so you can see where you’ve impaled him. You let go of the sword to rest both hands on his chest on either side of the wound. “No, no, no, no, don’t- You can’t-”

Golden light shines in your hands, but black and red tendrils block your healing. You try harder, until the light blinds you, but the demonic powers within him refuse to relent. Sylus watches you with soft eyes and a grin.

“Angel,” he mumbles. You grunt in frustration as you press harder against the wound. His hand slides off the blade and covers yours. You’re panting from exertion as you finally meet his eyes. “I think… I think I wanna try somethin’ holy now… You got anything in mind?”

The glow fades. The darkness fades. You cradle the back of his head with a blood-soaked hand. It stains his hair. Your other hand grips his like a lifeline, squeezing blood from the cuts there. He doesn’t stop you.

“Something holy?” You search his face, wracking your brain for any ideas. “Okay… Okay, I can do that.”

You begin stroking his hair tenderly, scratching at his scalp, scraping sweat, blood and oil under your nails. He sighs, head resting heavily into your care. His eyes are half closed. He forces them to stay open.

You scoot yourself closer, until your knees are touching his. You lift his head up and bring your lips to his forehead. This close, you listen to every breath he takes. Every rasp and groan he exhales. You pull away reluctantly, ducking your head down so your forehead rests over your lingering kiss.

“How’s-” You clear your throat after your voice cracks. “How’s that?”

“Isn’t kissing… a sin…?”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not.”

He hums quietly. “You ever… kiss anyone… angel?”

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head again. “No, I haven’t.”

“Shall I… demonstrate…?”

“I’d like that.”

He abandons his sword on the ground beside him. It clatters against the carefully laid brick of the courtyard. His hand is agonizingly slow to find your cheek. His palm is cold. His thumb strokes the cut he gave you.

“C’mere… angel.”

You follow his weak guidance as he tilts your chin, pulling your lips to his. His lips barely move. You press against them a little harder.

His hand slips from your cheek, knuckles scraping over the bricks and jostling his sword. You pull away.

His eyes are hollow. Red irises staring into nothingness.

“Sylus…?” His head lolls in your hand when you try to adjust. “Sylus, please-” Your eyes fill with water. “Please, it’s not funny. I don’t need your tricks right now. Please-”

You let go of his wounded hand to hold his face with both hands. Blood from your touch stains his cheeks. Hot tears slip down your cheeks.

��Please, I- I can’t do this without you… I don’t want to do this without you…”

He doesn’t respond.

You press your forehead to his again, leaning over his body as gravity stakes its claim on him. Your tears land on his face, falling down his cheekbones and jaw as if he was the one crying, not you.

“Please… Please…” You kiss his cold lips. “Please…”

Nobody hears your prayers.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #angst

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choism · 1 year ago

Text

Shameless | c.s

san solo, choi san

Genre: canon compliant, smut

Words: 1.8k

Summary: A month of sexual frustration and a pair of sweatpants can really bring out the animal in someone. In this case, that someone is San.

Warnings: Smut, masturbation, pillow humping, implied sexual tension, implied mxm pining, inappropriate use of a plushie, plushophilia, poor mokoko..., san masturbates basically

A/N: This is a request done for my beloved @kitten4sannie, ily bestie. It is also HEAVILY inspired by my beloved @parmesannie's fic on ao3 called Bring Me To Ruin. I say heavily, it's mostly the plushie part but we ball. I hope you enjoy! Cross posted to ao3! Will probably have a second part from Wooyoung's POV and end up becoming a woosan fic, we shall see...

The sound of shoes squeaking, music blaring, and people panting fills the practice room late at night..

San and Wooyoung had decided to do a last minute, late night practice session before their first comeback show for promotions. The choreo isn’t difficult by any means, but they felt like they had to show off more this comeback, hence why they are sweating their asses off at nearly eleven at night. The sound of their title track plays in the background as they move around fluidly, sweat dripping off their bodies and onto their shirts as they work hard to perfect every single move.

They finish up the chorus and Wooyoung moves to the computer to pause the music, “Wanna go again or take a small break, you look frustrated.” He says to San, jutting out his hip and putting all his weight onto that side, taking a swig from his water bottle as if he’s trying to seduce someone. San had been furrowing his eyebrows so hard Wooyoung thought they would fall off, or fly away.

“Yeah a break is fine, sorry.” San mutters and plops over to where his bag is, taking out his water and gulping it down furiously. San wipes the beads of water that dribble down his chin and Wooyoung’s eyes linger a bit too long until he snaps back into reality.

“What’s got your panties in a twist? Is it your part during the bridge? I think you look fine.” Wooyoung says trying to comfort his best friend even though he isn’t sure what’s bugging him. San lets out a huff and wriggles his hips a bit, probably just trying to adjust or get comfortable, Wooyoung assumes.

He takes another chug of his water before answering, “Nothing, I just think I’m tired all of a sudden and it’s getting to me, we can go another round.” Wooyoung quirks an eyebrow suspiciously but just mutters an ‘alright’ before restarting the part they had been working on. Both of them go and stand back in front of the wall mirror and wait for the counts to come so they can get their respective moves down.

San had only been slightly lying to Wooyoung about why he felt so frustrated. Yes, he is tired. They have been practicing non stop for this comeback and this final session is doing him in a bit, but it’s not the main reason.

The main reason is that San is wearing sweatpants.

Soft, comfortable, loose gray sweatpants.

‘What’s so frustrating about sweatpants?’ You may be wondering. Well it’s not just the sweatpants, he isn’t wearing any underwear either, which means he can feel the delicate and soft material rub against his soft cock, slightly springing it to life with each tight pull of his pants when he moves his legs. San hates underwear, they are uncomfortable and restricting, but he also loves sweatpants, so comfortable and freeing.

And sometimes, when he combines wearing sweatpants, with no underwear, he forgets just how pleasurable it makes him feel. This feeling, plus having not been able to jerk off in so long is really getting to him, clearly. They have been so preoccupied with promotions for this comeback that he hasn’t been able to properly touch himself in about a month, which is keeping him incredibly horny and frustrated. Sure he could have had time to rub one out if he hadn’t told Wooyoung he would practice with him, but he couldn’t say no to Wooyoung. Maybe this was a bad idea.

With each move he can feel the material move and strain against his now semi hard cock, when he was sitting on the floor earlier he tried to get a bit of relief by wriggling around a bit, but it just made his situation worse, and also made Wooyoung shoot him a weird look. He just needs to get off so bad, he needs it and it’s now clouding his brain. Clouding his brain so much that Wooyoung has to restart their part over, and over, and over.

“Alright maybe we should head to bed, you clearly aren’t focusing very well and you need sleep.” Wooyoung saunters back over to the computer once again to stop the music and San takes a second to catch his breath before responding.

“I’m sorry Youngie, I’m sure we’ll do great tomorrow anyway.” Wooyoung agrees and pats his back, shooting him a million dollar smile that shows he cares for the other man and his health more than some silly practice session. San sends back a more pained smile, but a smile nonetheless, and they head back to the new dorms.

***

San swears he’s never felt more relieved at having his own room before. As soon as they entered the apartment building San stormed off to his room, a disgruntled Jongho murmuring to Wooyoung, “What’s his deal?” And the other man shrugs in return.

The moment San is in his room he locks the door and looks into his full length mirror. His cock is very visibly hard against his sweats and there’s even a small stain of precum where his tip pushes against the soft material. “Fuck…” He whispers and hopes Wooyoung hadn’t noticed such an embarrassing thing. San immediately gets to work, rubbing his cock through his pants, the delicate material rubbing along the head of his dick making his belly swell with arousal. He sits on the ground and fucks up into his palm, trying to gain as much friction against the material as he can but it’s no longer enough, he wants, no, he needs more.

Hastily he clambers onto his bed and rids himself of his shirt, shoes and socks, his torso still sweaty from his practice session and his chest gleaming, nipples hardened. San takes a pillow from the head of his bed and places it underneath him. He finds an angle that works and lines himself onto it, shallowly thrusting onto the pillow to feel more friction. The front of his sweats are practically soaked, precum leaking all over them. He moans and grunts as he chases the feeling, the material of his sweats pulling forward along his cock with every grind onto the pillow, and the pillow adding a needed to pressure onto his longing cock.

It’s still not enough to get him anywhere, all it does is fill his belly with a small fire, but it doesn’t blaze to anything else. He needs more, he’s so desperate, he needs anything. Through his haze he looks around his bed to see if anything else will satisfy his needs until his eyes land on it, and he immediately has second thoughts.

His sweet, innocent mokoko plushie is right in his line of vision. It’s right there, beckoning him to use it. The small opening between where it’s holding a heart and it’s chest is perfect, a perfect spot to fuck into. Wait. No. He can’t fuck his plushies. He couldn’t dare soil his precious, special edition mokoko plushie….Could he?

He could.

In record time he finally peels off his sweatpants, his angry, throbbing cock springing out and hitting his stomach with a small slap sound. He discards the pillow underneath him onto the floor, it needs to be washed anyway, and with one last regretful look he turns back to his mokoko plushie and grabs it. “I’m so sorry Mokoko, I’ll make it up to you later.” He whispers and switches positions. He flips onto his side and props himself up onto his remaining pillows with his arm, and lines the plushies opening with his leaking cock. He says one final prayer before sliding his cock into the opening and he lets out the most groundbreaking moan he's ever moaned. It feels perfect. Nothing has felt so good before. Well, that’s debatable, but at this moment, after not having jerked off in nearly a month, the feeling could only compare to heaven itself.

He nearly comes right then and there, but he takes a second to compose himself. The soft, velvety material of the plushie brushes along the shaft of his cock so well, and while humble, he knows he’s well endowed and is reminded when the tip of his cock pushes into where mokoko’s mouth is. It’s kind of fucked up, but that’s just how the cards fall he guesses.

After gathering his bearings, he slowly starts to fuck into the plush, his lips falling into an ‘O’ shape at the feeling. He cants his hips up, making sure to appreciate every single detail of the way his cock feels fucking into the tight space, moans slipping from his mouth everytime the head of his cock pushes into the plush. San’s cock twitches with pleasure as he picks up his pace and while closer than ever it’s still not enough. The material is great but now it’s starting to rub. He needs lube.

Briefly, he gets up to reach into his nightstand for his lube and generously squirts some into his hand, warming it up and slicking up his cock soon after. He feels so bad, he’s about to ruin one of his favorite plushies, but his horniness is overtaking his sense of logic. He can just wash it after…right?

Removing the thoughts from his head, he switches positions, now laying the plushie underneath his hips so he can fuck into the plushie from the top. He aligns his cock once again, and slides into the opening once more. He nearly moans unbelievably loud but stops himself when he hears someone walk past his room. Once he thinks they’ve left he continues, fucking into the plushie again and, fuck, does it feel better than ever. He lets out small grunts and groans as he fucks into the opening harshly, feeling his orgasm finally building, and boy is it building fast. San has been practically edging himself this entire time, so it’s no surprise that once he finally figured out what he needed, he comes quickly. Three more thrust and he bites down on his lip to suppress his moans as he cums all over the plush, disgustingly coating its face and god there’s so much cum. It’s literally seeping into the material once he’s finished, and the ropes went so far some even landed on his sheets above where the plushie was, he guesses he really, really needed this.

After coming down from his high, he quickly realizes what he had just done. He ruined his favorite, one of a kind plushie. Jesus what has he done, how will he clean it, can he clean it? Should he throw it away? As he’s trying to come up with a solution to save his poor, poor mokoko he hears a knock at the door.

“Hey Sannie, can I come in?”

Fuck, It’s Wooyoung.

#choi san smut #san smut #k labels #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez smut #ateez x reader #woosan smut #wooyoung x san #san x wooyoung

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theriverbeyond · 1 year ago

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The Process Of Elimination, by zoicite/ @enechelon

The Emperor calls for eligible heirs to compete for a chance to marry his treasured progeny, Her Divine Highness, First Born of the First Reborn. Each week one House will be sent home until only one remains and the winning heir shall ascend to stand beside Her Divine Highness, hand in hand, with House replenished and legacy secured. Harrow does not intend to compete.

or: THE bachelor AU!! This has been a longtime favorite fic of mine and it was such an honor to be able to bind it!! Sending out a massive thank you to the Zoicite for writing and sharing it with the world

Fandom: The Locked Tomb

Pairing: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Title font: Neue Helvetica Bold Extended

Body font: Garamond

Pages: 471

Case: Arrestox Bookcloth White with hand-embossed gold foil

Endpapers: French Marble Pastel Goldenrod

Progress pictures/process under the cut!

For the cover/title I went directly to the Bachelor logo for inspiration, replacing the classic wedding band with, of course, the ring of keys used in the fic!

The cover is heat embossed by hand, in the same way as my previous bind of Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. For that bind I went pretty maximalist, and for THIS one I wanted to aim for a really clean looking, simple but elegant look. I think it turned out pretty good! I ended up going for the white and gold look to match First House Gideon vibes

I also tried rounding and backing here again, which turned out somewhat mixed. I'm still working on my technique for that, but peep the nice yellow headbands to match the endpapers!

Overall, this was SO fun to do, and a great excuse to revisit & spend good time with a fic I love.

#the locked tomb #fanbinding #fanbind #raxheim binds #griddlehark #YAYYYY #i actually finished this weeks if not months ago and have been LANGUISHING on posting abt it #but here it is!!! YAYY #UGH i miss fanbinding. have not been able to work on any of my WIP typesets recently......#but i have a whole to do list. maybe over thanksgiving

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you-remind-me-of-the-babe · 9 months ago

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Happy Wednesday! I’m on spring break and blissfully alone at a cafe writing for a few hours this morning. The weather is just starting to turn nice (though its supposed to rain tomorrow) but I can feel spring coming properly, which makes me happy. I hope y’all are getting some nicer weather soon, too.

I’m plugging away on my new WIP. I previously mentioned I’m tentatively titling it Back and Back and Back. I also quite like Start at the End, though I’m not sure if that description will end up strictly accurate, so might not work. We shall see.

I’m going to go ahead and share the premise now (or rather, the inspiration) because why not? I was reading through @carryonprompts and found this one and quite liked the idea. I started daydreaming about it in earnest right away. This was the first thing I wrote:

Past

BAZ age 6, 2003

When I get home from school, Vera always makes me a snack. After that, I’m supposed to do my homework before I’m allowed to go outside and play. There’s always pages and pages of it, and it’s horrid, because it’s so easy, it makes me want to rip it to pieces, or hide it under my bed. And if I have to read one more book about Dick and Jane, I think I might scream. (I’ve read every one of the books in my Beatrix Potter collections. Doesn’t my teacher know that if I can read words like presently, I shouldn’t need to read these baby primers?)

Even though I could do this stuff in my sleep, it’s going to have to wait because today he is here.

Or at least, I think he is. I only saw a flash of red out beyond the trees, but that’s as good a sign as any. I don’t want to make him wait, because I don’t know how long he’ll have to visit today, so I have to plan my escape quite quickly.

I don’t imagine this holding too closely to the book/movie. I’m taking inspiration from parts I liked (and can remember 15 years later lol) but shaping this to be a Watford-era, canon divergent fic with some time traveling/soul mate/destiny elements. It feels very ambitious for me to try writing time travel because it hurts my brain to even consume time travel media sometimes 🤣 and I am much more of a pantser than a planner when I write. Then again, the prospect of pulling off this sort of challenge intrigues me. Wish me luck!

Tags/hello/hope you are well 😘

@fatalfangirl @whatevertheweather @thewholelemon @cutestkilla @moodandmist @mooncello @aristocratic-otter @artsyunderstudy @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @valeffelees @shrekgogurt @iamamythologicalcreature @youarenevertooold @brilla-brilla-estrellita @forabeatofadrum @j-nipper-95 @larkral @leithillustration @messofthejess @captain-aralias @nightimedreamersworld @wellbelesbian @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @theimpossibledemon @theearlgreymage @whogaveyoupermission @monbons @noblecorgi @emeryhall @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife @that-disabled-princess @blackberrysummerblog @prettygoododds @ic3-que3n @hushed-chorus @orange-peony @alexalexinii @angelsfalling16 @arthurkko @letraspal @supercutedinosaurs

#Seriously wish me luck #i think this is going to be hard #I know I will hit a wall at some point and need to brainstorm and bounce ideas off of someone #so if figuring out the intricacies of a time travel relationship with different knowledge/experience with each other than the other person #sounds like your jam please hit me up #I’m sweating just typing that and wondering if it even makes sense 💀😅#snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #my writing #carry on fanfiction #back and back and back

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pengweng-quack · 11 months ago

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Being a Witch with Vampires

Carlisle Cullen x Witch!OC

Summary: Stella (A witch) and Carlisle (A vampire), and how they blossomed from roommates to friends(?) to partners

Chapter 1/7

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Notes:

This was inspired by this fanfic on tumblr by lis-likes-fics titled "In My Defense, I Was Left Unsupervised"

This is also on Ao3 under the same title and same username too if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/53448940)

Posting is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story

Word Count: 5095 words

TW for this chapter: vomitting, blood mentions

Masterlist

~1700~

Stella Allicere was out and about late at night. She'd just come out of a heated argument with her partner, in which the two of them were on the verge of casting terrible spells at each other had she not decided to just leave. With the dramatic rise in vampire assaults in Italy, which she knew that the Volturi was behind, she knew she shouldn't be out this late. But she'd rather battle vampires than deal with her demanding, controlling mate.

“Witch’s blood. Enticing.” A voice hissed behind her, getting her attention “Never thought I’d live to tell the tale of tasting one.”

“Now, now, we shall not be selfish in what could be shared.” Another voice scolded. She had a feeling there were four vampires around, but she was never good at guessing, so she braced herself for more.

“And she feels our presence.” A third voice taunted, and with their vampiric speed, there were at least five vampires in front of her

“You wouldn’t want this, I assure you.” Stella said, preparing herself for another battle

“And the witch speaks!” A feminine voice fake cheered, earning mocking laughs from the other

“I suggest you don’t attack her.” A tone that expresses nothing but superiority ordered from behind Stella “You do know the treaty that we have with witches, right?”

“And once we've drained every ounce of blood from her, that pact will still be honored.” The leader of the coven hissed at the guy “The treaty only asks to not attack them. It said nothing about not finishing the witch themselves.”

“I’m too tired to deal with anything today. Give me a break.” Stella sighed and motioned for the five vampires to be lifted into the air with her hands. Red cords were now all around them, barring any movement from the five vampires, thanks to another movement of her hands.

The red ropes caught fire in an instant. Thanks to additional manipulation from the witch's fingers, the wire was now on their neck, gently but steadily detaching their heads from their bodies. The heads of the vampires were detached and flung away with a single snap from her, while the body was left to burn.

“You looked to be having a bad day if you were killing vampires in this manner.” The guy earlier, who was watching in astonishment, pointed out, as he steps closer to Stella

“Don’t wonder too much. Curiosity kills the cat.” Stella growled, snapping her fingers and watching the decapitated vampires' bodies burn to ash

“Carlisle Cullen.” The guy, Carlisle, introduced himself “An honor to meet your kind.”

“Stella Allicere.” Stella introduced herself, just to be civil

“What got you so heated up in the first place?” Carlisle inquired as she turned around and began going in the opposite direction. He seemed to take that as an invitation to go around with her, so he did just that.

“My mate. Or so they say is my mate.” Stella replied, accepting the vampire's unannounced but not unwanted presence

“Do you witches just not know whether someone is their mate or not?” He asked curiously

“We just feel it, we don’t particularly just know.” She answered quickly “Why, do you get some sort of feeling when someone is your mate?”

“Wouldn’t know myself, I haven’t met my mate.” Carlisle answered with a shrug

“You work for the Volturi, right?” Stella asked, and he nodded without hesitation “Are you planning on drinking my blood?”

“Despite my colleagues' attempts to persuade me to drink human or witch blood, I have no desire to do so as we could survive just fine with animal blood as an alternative.” He answered earnestly

“Interesting.” Stella nodded “That explains your golden eyes in comparison to the red eyes I've seen on other vampires, doesn't it?”

“Exactly.” He answered her curiosity

Throughout the night, the two of them continued to talk and wander around the city. Only until the sunshine struck Carlisle's arm, where it began to gleam brightly, did they realize they'd spent the night together.

Stella was astounded by what she was witnessing; what she believed were legends was literally happening right in front of her eyes. The shimmer reminded Stella of diamonds being struck by light, but it was clear on Carlisle’s face that it wasn't something he wanted her to witness.

“Please accept my apologies; I believe the clock is signaling that it is time for me to return back to the castle.” Carlisle said sheepishly, pulling his arm away to the shadow areas

Stella turned the skies cloudy with a wave of her fingers, allowing Carlisle to walk around freely as they spent the last minutes before they had to part ways.

For eternity?

She hopes not.

“You didn’t have to—

“Well, good for you, because I wanted to.” Stella answered with a small smile just as they reach the Volturi castle

“Are you safe?” Carlisle asked “You know, from your mate?”

“I was deemed the blessed witch of today way back when my mother was still carrying me, therefore I should be able to defend myself enough.” Stella answered with a chuckle, sensing his genuine concern on her “And, you know, I have a certain vegetarian vampire on standby in case I can't handle him alone.”

“You already know who to seek.” Carlisle giggled, playfully winking at her

“I seem to have forgotten. You don’t mind reminding me, do you?” Stella teased, a smile slowly forming on the corners of her lips

Stella looked at Carlisle, his gold eyes showing nothing other than kindness and compassion. ‘He was different,’ she noted. If he ever offers her to be his everlasting mate, she would ponder before answering.

He’s different.

Carlisle's golden eyes flashed at that moment. He desired nothing more than to disappear into the witch's grey eyes. It perplexed him since he'd read a lot of books in his life, but none of them specifically mentioned a vampire-witch pairing. And, given that he had barely met Stella, he was cautious to claim her as his mate too. He did, however, desire her presence with him always.

Carlisle may deny it, but he has a sneaking suspicion that this certain confident witch will be his everlasting companion.

~1720~

“Who decided that knocking at night is acceptable?” Stella hissed as she opened the door, only to discover Carlisle, who appeared to have been in a fight. His once posh looking hair was messy, and he seemed to be rattled, and in a rush

“Join me.” He invited at once

“Join you in what?” Stella asked “And what happened to you?”

“I left the Volturi.” He answered “Aro didn’t take it well. He ordered the guards to try and stop me.”

“Carlisle!” Stella scolded “What were you thinking?!”

“Who’s in there?” Sam, Stella’s supposed mate, asked.

If Carlisle had a heart, it would have dropped in realization already. He was forcing her to leave her mate, whether declared or not. He was robbing her of a life of peace. But he needed her.

He’ll always need her.

“None of your concern.” Stella answered to him before he turned around and closed the door of his room

“Join me.” Carlisle invited again

Stella would not deny that the previous two decades he's spent with Carlisle had made her question whether a witch-vampire mate was feasible, despite the fact that no texts backed the theory.

Now that Carlisle is encouraging her to live a life other than that of a housewife, she realizes that it wasn't her desire to leave that lifestyle that prompted her to consider joining, but rather the simple fact that Carlisle was the one inviting her.

She would choose a life with Carlisle, no matter how rough the outcome will be.

“No pressure, dear Stella,” Carlisle said, looking warily behind him “But we have to move now if we want to be away quickly.”

“Give me a moment to prepare some stuff.” Stella argued before motioning her hands and allowing a number of her belongings to fly around and land in a neighboring trunk.

“How about Sam?” Carlisle asked

As Carlisle watched Stella scramble around the house for stuff that she thinks they’ll need while on the run, all he could think about was how much he wanted Stella to accompany him on his journey around the world. Forgetting that Stella has a partner with whom she has spent more time than they have.

He knew it was selfish of him to request Stella's presence

But he wanted nothing more than to be selfish of her.

“He’s not my mate.” Stella simply said, grabbing the trunk and walking out the house with Carlisle “You know he’s not my mate.”

“He deserves to know,” Carlisle argued

“And if he knew, I wouldn’t be able to accompany you. He’ll bring this to my family, his family. We wouldn’t even be able to step out of Italy.” Stella argued back “So much in asking me to join you.”

With what she stated, Carlisle remained silent. Stella clearly desired to reclaim the independence she had lost when Sam was announced as her partner. But now, as they walked to the outskirts of town, he was deep in contemplation, debating whether bringing her into the mess he had created was a good idea or a selfish gesture.

“Are you second-guessing?” Stella asked him

“You have till now to express your disinterest in joining me. I'll understand.” Carlisle realized that he needed to provide her with a choice. If he pulls her away from everything she's built, he'll feel extremely terrible

“Don't you think if I wasn’t truly interested in joining you, I would have notified you as soon as possible?” Stella asked him. Why was he second-guessing his decision when she was a self-assured witch who would speak out when she believed it was necessary?

“Are you sure?” Carlisle asked her again

“Yes,” Stella answered without hesitation

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily now, you know?” Carlisle asked her, lightening the mood the he ruined earlier

“Well, good for me. I’m not sure for you though.” Stella shrugged, before smiling widely at him

Carlisle realized that the punishments he would have from the Volturi was something he couldn't easily avoid but he was assured that he would be secure with the assistance of her confident witch. At least for the time being.

~1918~

“Stella?” Carlisle called, entering the home the two own. Carlisle was well aware that there were days when Stella was completely absorbed in her studies, and the mere sight of him after he stayed for a while helping in the hospitals surprised her. So much for being a witch who is mindful of her surroundings.

“Here!” Stella announced, stepping out of the kitchen

“Baking?” Carlisle asked, seeing the stray flour on her cheeks.

‘She looked so…human at that moment. And it was like I was her husband, getting home from work.’

‘Husband?’

‘Do I want her to be my wife?’

“Yeah, it got too messy seeing as— who is he?” Stella asked, cutting Carlisle’s pondering as she sees the new guy behind Carlisle, who was trying to sneak away

“Edward Cullen.” Carlisle introduced to the shy guy who stopped in his tracks once he was called out

“Carlisle—

“His mother begged me to keep him alive—

“Not for eternity!”

Carlisle was terrified at the prospect of Stella being outraged by his decision. He was terrified of offending her in any way after their first encounter. However, she just must understand this one.

“That’s why you were gone for a while, weren’t you?” Stella asked in and oddly calm manner “Because you were helping his thirst?”

“You know he won't be able to control himself if he was exposed to you too soon,” Carlisle explained “Because the smell of your blood is very alluring to us vampires.”

“You got him under control now, right?” Stella asked again in the same calm tone

“Yes, but in the meanwhile, I recommend that you share a room with me.” Carlisle offered, getting Stella to raise her eyebrows at him “You know, for your safety?”

“Sure.” Stella agreed, though not convinced that it was just the reason

“Please don’t think of things like that.” Edward asked in a barely audible tone

“You can read my mind?” Stella asked quietly

“I can hear both of your thoughts, yours a bit harder but I could still do so. Both are messy and all over the place.” He replied, answering her question “However, I chose to concentrate on only one. It wasn't really enjoyable.”

“Alright, I’ll keep note of your telepathy.” Stella frowned, knowing that she doesn’t have any sort of privacy now if it weren’t for her own mental abilities “Carlisle, mind if we have a talk?”

“Y-yeah.” Carlisle stuttered, and quickly followed her to their shared room in the mean time

“You owe me an explanation.” Stella hissed at him the moment the door of their room was shut

“And I’ll give it, just calm down pretty woman.” Carlisle said, sitting on the bed that he had in his room, for aesthetic purposes obviously

“Spanish Influenza, he was nearing death.” Carlisle started, staring at the witch, who was waiting for additional information, in front of him “His mother pleaded with me to save him and keep him alive; I know I have you, and that's more than enough; but he was alone in this world. His mother had died, his father had died, and he was alone. I couldn't abandon him, you understand that, right?”

“This won’t be the last time you’re doing that, are you?” Stella asked with raised eyebrows

Carlisle was at a loss for what to say in response to her desire for a commitment. He was a doctor who saved lives and was ready to convert people into vampires to save them, but was this ethical?

“It won’t be.” Stella answered to her own question “Look, let’s come down to an agreement.”

“I let you know if I’m turning someone into a vampire?” Carlisle asked her

“No. That’s too much work. And you need to help their thirst before you introduce them to me anyways.” Stella disagreed “You quickly explain to me if you’re taking another vampire home, no trying to hide them or anything.”

“That could be managed.” Carlisle said, standing up and hugging Stella, feeling the warmth of her skin in contrast to his cold ones

~1933~

“Carlisle— hello there.” Stella said, startled at the presence of another woman in their living room

“Rosalie Hale.” Edward introduced to the woman

“Are you alright?” Stella quickly asked, sensing how she was anxious

“Stella— and you’ve met her before I introduced her to you.” Carlisle said as he walked into the room before seeing that Stella has met Rosalie already, making him sigh lightly “I’m nearing me getting yelled at by you again, huh?”

“You’re terrible at hiding surprises.” Stella teased lightly before sitting next to Rosalie

“Are you also a vampire?” Rosalie asked her, ‘it seemed like she wasn’t enticed by her blood’ Stella noted

“No.” Stella answered, shaking her head “But, I'm a witch if you’re wondering, there's no need to be afraid of harming me so terribly. I'm almost as tough as all vampires. Can fend off myself.”

“Almost.” Carlisle gave emphasis to the word

“What happened to you anyways?” Stella asked her

“Monsters happened. They’re all monsters.” Rosalie said through gritted teeth “I’ll get them back. Slowly and brutally.”

“Who did this to you?” Stella asked again, feeling a sense of protecting the woman next to her right now

“Her fiancé and his friends.” Edward answered, probably seeing the answer to Stella’s question in Rosalie’s thoughts

“I’m getting you a gown to wear when murdering them.” Stella decided at once, standing up and walking to her room to prepare for getting the gown

“Stella.” Carlisle warned, close on her heel as they enter their room

“Are they together?” Rosalie asked Edward who could only shrug in response

“Been with them since the 1920’s, never had an answer if they were together.” Edward answered “So, much for being the mind reader, don’t you think?”

Carlisle could only watch as Stella used her magic to create the perfect wedding gown for Rosalie as they entered the chamber. He quickly saw how determined Stella was to assisting Rosalie with her vengeance, something that she was always so against with. And that changed his opinion on her.

He just realized how right he was with his suspicion all those decades ago.

~1935~

“Carlisle!” Rosalie’s desperate voice yelled from outside, startling the two who were having a lazy day

“Carlisle! Stella!” Edward now called out, getting the two to quickly stand up and see why both Rosalie and Edward were calling for them

Stella and Carlisle were both surprised to see a bleeding guy on Rosalie's arm as they walked out of the room. She was visibly upset, prompting Stella and Carlisle to act quickly.

“What happened?” Carlisle asked, seeing for any signs of survival on the man

“He was mauled and assaulted by a bear. I was going to personally change him, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it, his blood is enticing me so much. So, I brought him to you.” Rosalie sobbed, and it was clear that if tears could flow down her cheeks that she had already shed some.

“You have to help him Carlisle.” Edward, who was always so against with Carlisle changing people to vampires, begged him. Stella had a feeling that he saw how distressed Rosalie’s thoughts were, and that got him to help her in getting Carlisle to change the man

“Stella, can you prolong his existence for a little longer?” Carlisle asked

“I can’t.” Stella immediately responded, knowing that it was a different branch of magic, one that she had sworn she would never study in fear of being hooked to it and using it in exchange of accepting the consequences

“You have to do it now.” Stella urged him, sensing the life fading away from the man in Rosalie’s arm

With Stella’s urging, as well as Edward and Rosalie’s begging, Carlisle went and bit his neck. Starting the man’s transformation to a vampire. Soon, he was pulling away from the guy’s neck. Wiping his mouth and looking at the guy

“Stella?” Carlisle asked, seeing the sickened look on the witch’s face. In a quick act, Carlisle took Stella and carried her bridal style, taking her to the rest room where she just barely made it to the toilet. He patiently watched as she started puking her guts out in disgust from what she just witnessed

"I'm sorry, you didn't have to witness that." Stella murmured, just as Carlisle passed her a bundled-up tissue which she used to wipe her mouth

"Are you alright?" Carlisle asked, rubbing her back in an attempt to soothe her down

"It must have been all too much for me." Stella weakly answered, resting her figure on the bathroom walls and catching her breath

"It's alright. No need to feel bad just because you reached your limits." Carlisle assured her “Though, why’d you stay?”

"I was already feeling sick the moment Rosalie brought him in, you know, the blood and everything, but I wanted to stay. Because Rosalie was lost and didn't know what to do at that moment. I tried extremely hard to keep it together until it was all done, but it was just too much." Stella rambled, while Carlisle watched her with nothing but adoration on his face

Carlisle was well aware of Stella's willingness to make sacrifices for their new forming family; her being with them was already a huge risk for her. But the fact that she sat through something she didn't want to watch to console his adoptive daughter made his dead heart quiver. She was the reason he felt human again.

All those decades ago, it was just a feeling Stella was his match. But now, he knew Stella was his soul mate. He just needed to know if she felt the same way for him as well

‘Or if this was all a ploy for your demise’ a part of his brain taunted to him

Knowing about how her blood affects vampires from one of her books lightly scared him. Though it also proved his point that the witches have always been stronger than vampires. It’s just the vampires are more…full of themselves, as she says.

Would she really spend this long just for one vampire’s demise?

Everyone was looking forward to the newborn vampire's emergence a few days later. Rosalie is more jittery than normal due to her anxiety. Carlisle has ordered Stella to remain away for a time, to her dismay, but with the help of Rosalie and Edward, she has been able to get around the home. She's the only one who can make them feel better.

"Is he awake?" Rosalie asked Stella who was peaking. The guy was still changing, it was slow but Stella had some assurance that he was changing

"Carlisle's coming." Edward informed. Stella and Rosalie had one look at each other before Stella hugged her for assurance.

"I have to go. I'll see you soon." Stella said, rubbing her back one last time before sneaking out the nearby window

Stella heard Rosalie's call for help to Carlisle before she could fully escape. Stella realized that the newborn vampire was awake. She dashed back into the home, instantly understanding that she was the source of the problem. While Carlisle, Rosalie, and Edward fought to stop him, the man was trying all in his power to get to Stella.

"Stella!" Carlisle called as the three of them were thrown aside by the guy and quickly attacked Stella

He was quicker than Stella so she couldn't run. As a result, she made the decision to protect herself. With a rapid stroke of her fingers, the newborn had red ropes wrapped around his body and legs, tripping him up as he attempted what he could do to get free off the cords.

"I told you not be here!" Carlisle yelled, rushing to be in front of Stella in an attempt to protect her

"Let him free, we'll hunt with him." Edward said

"No!" Rosalie argued immediately "We have to take him out the house first! It's too dangerous for Stella if we free him now."

"Set him free once we step out the house. Then we'll quickly hunt." Carlisle ordered "Rosalie, stay with Stella."

As they walked out the door, Edward and Carlisle assisted the newborn in standing up. Stella swiftly removed the wires she had conjured up on him after the door was shut, and they went off to hunt.

"He's angry at you, isn't he?" Rosalie asked, guilt laced in her tone

"It'll pass." Stella coolly answered

"I'm sorry. You wouldn't do this if you didn't sense that we were anxious for him. Because of that, your life was just placed in danger." Rosalie apologized, sitting on the couch as she waits for the three

"Don't apologize." Stella assured, sitting next to her "I willingly helped you two out. I wouldn't do it if I didn't want to."

"Why'd you think he's mad at you?" Rosalie asked after a long silence between the two

"I don't particularly think that he's mad at me that way. He wouldn't specifically be that vocal if he's mad." Stella frowned "I think he's more hurt than mad."

"Hurt?" Rosalie asked

"It's easier to say why you're mad as to why you're hurt." Stella explained "He'll find it easier to explain that he was mad at me for not listening to him than explaining that he's hurt because of my actions."

"Does he believe that or that's what you've noticed on him?" Rosalie asked

"A bit of both, I guess." Stella shrugged

Edward, Carlisle, and the newborn, who had introduced himself as Emmett, returned from their hunting trip a little time later. Carlisle was the first to enter the home, rushing up to Stella to protect her.

“Hi.” Emmett greeted, waving his hand at the two that he just met

“Hi.” Carlisle said in a rush, before dragging Stella up to their room

“Are they together?” Emmett asked as both Edward and Rosalie shrugged in response

“Why were you there?” Carlisle hissed the moment that the door was shut, separating them from the outside world and leaving them on their own for a while, giving them the illusion of privacy in a house filled with vampires with vampiric senses

“Because they needed me.” Stella hissed back, ready to argue “Edward had no idea how to console others, and Rosie – poor Rosie – had no idea what to anticipate. I couldn’t leave them alone at that moment, you know I can’t.”

“What about me? Who needs you being alive and well just as much as they do? How will you have stayed with me if you – wishing to whatever deity there is that it never happens – didn’t make it out alive tonight?” Carlisle asked in a tone louder than how he usually would when they argued

What he said took Stella by surprise. They've been together for decades, but she was taken aback when he stated flatly that he relies on her for his desire to continue living. She was well aware that she, too, was reliant on him for the desire to continue living, but she would never confess it, particularly to him.

“Say something.” Carlisle said, startling Stella

“Witches are the most powerful supernatural beings that there is. A witch is exceptionally difficult to be killed, especially by vampires. They will only be severely harmed if attacked.” Stella explained to him, ignoring the strong heartbeats in her chest “You came across me when five vampires attempted to group up on me. I know you believe in me and my abilities, so why have you begun to mistrust me?”

“I don’t doubt you and your abilities. I never did.” Carlisle said, sitting down on his bed

“It’s just— you know what, never mind. Just don’t do something like that again.” Carlisle started to continue before changing his mind “Don’t be too reckless. I need you.”

Stella could have sworn with all her might that she felt human again when Carlisle told her that he needed her. The sensation of blood racing up her cheeks, turning them a pale scarlet, the sensation of butterflies in her stomach, and the desire to rush up to him and kiss him. He made her feel human again, a feeling that she missed

Stella realized at that instant that this particular vampire was her true mate. Now she just needed to know if he thought of her the same way.

~1950~

Rosalie, Emmett, Edward, and Carlisle were out hunting for the night and Stella was busy finishing a book when she heard a knock on the door

“Carlisle, you can enter without knocking in your own home!” Stella groaned, bothered that someone disrupted her reading

“I’m not Carlisle.” A sweet woman’s voice said from outside the door. Which confused Stella, they weren’t expecting any guests, especially this late. So, she did what any sane witches would do…

“Who are you and what are your intentions?” She loudly asked, preparing for a battle

“I’m Alice!” Alice sweetly introduced, and Stella was more intrigued than ever, because why is she introducing herself if she has plans to attack?

Stella approached the door, carefully opening it and peering outside to see who was speaking. She noticed two persons, one of them was a small female with pixie-like features and was exceedingly thin. Her glossy black hair was cropped short and pointed in every way. She was accompanied by a tall man with honey blond hair that dropped just below his collar. He is robust but not big in appearance.

Like the other Cullens, they both has pale, marble-like skin, otherworldly beauty, and bruise-like purple shadows under their eyes. If Stella had not spent multiple decades with the other Cullens, she was certain to have confused them as one as well.

“Stella?” Carlisle asked, seeing the two unknown vampires in their front porch interacting with his confident witch

“Carlisle Cullen!” Alice sweetly said, as if she was excited that she was finally meeting him

“How do you know us?” Carlisle asked, motioning Edward, Rosalie, and Emmett to stay behind as he steps closer

“Oh, we mean no harm!” Alice said in the sweet voice that she had earlier “I can see into the future, and I saw that we were gonna be joining the Cullens. I’m Alice and this is Jasper.”

“She’s not lying.” Edward backed her up “She also knows that we will move back to Forks once every Cullen has full control over their thirst.”

“It’s certain?” Rosalie asked

“The reason is because Forks is Stella’s favorite town.” Edward added, getting Stella to furrow her eyebrows

“Of course.” Emmett teased

“Who said that Carlisle is the man of the house when Stella is right there? Just one ‘pretty please’ from Carlisle, and suddenly, we’re doing said plead from her.” Emmett continued, getting Rosalie to laugh

“Okay, too much.” Carlisle said, stopping them from saying more about their future “I supposed these two are another addition to our growing family.”

“You’re still very terrible with surprises, you know that?” Stella teased Carlisle

“Oh, you’re in for more surprises though.” Edward said in a teasing tone before walking in the house and leaving them all dumbfounded

“Okay, all of you, to your rooms.” Carlisle said, urging the two “There’s a spare room in the house, but I have a feeling that you know that already?”

“Oh yes.” Alice answered, reaching for Jasper hand and walking into the house. Rosalie and Emmett following next who was side-eyeing each other after hearing what was in their future

“A mind reader, a drop-dead gorgeous woman, someone who could murder me in a flash, a future seer, and someone who might kill me in a flash again are adopted by a doctor and a witch.” Stella listed down, laughing as her and Carlisle entered the house and to their room “When you asked me to join you over a century ago, I didn’t think that it was to build a family.”

“To be fair, I didn’t think that it was gonna end this way too.” Carlisle agreed with her as he rested his arms on her shoulders, pulling her closer to him

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen #emmett cullen #alice cullen #rosalie hale #edward cullen #bella swan #jasper hale #twilight saga #no esme on this one (I love her though I promise)#the cullens #twilight renaissance #carlisle x reader #twilight x reader #twilight #carlisle cullen imagine #carlisle cullen fanfiction

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feralkwe · 4 months ago

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Ask and ye shall recieve- anyway, I'm thinking these might be fun prompts for you! Especially the "How am I supposed to sleep next to ypu knowing what you did?" Ish one

https://www.tumblr.com/forbodium/751308726972104704/the-person-watching-their-partner-become-a-villain?source=share

(On phone, so I'm approximating that prompt)

“how do you expect me to sleep next to you at night knowing what you did?”

oh you. oh you.

i had to do some bending to make this work. i'm not precisely sure that time exists for this to play out as it does here. also, i had to put kit in a pretty bad place at this point of shb. not a far leap, but definitely a darker, most self-loathing one. i'm also not sure this question she asks would ever be a consideration, but that's the beauty of an au, you can do almost anything if you try hard enough.

under a cut because... i suppose some of it is dodgy, considering their respective mental states and the fact that this is ardbert's stolen body. nothing is nsfw, but it's implied.

if you want more context, i did write an au fic i reference.

~*~

Kit stared across the room, bedding pulled around her. The chill of the floor beneath her feet was the only thing grounding her to the reality of the moment. To the gravity of what she’d done. No, not done, past tense. Of what she was doing. Present tense. Again.

The first time had been… a fluke. An indiscretion. Perhaps even a moment of weakness rooted in morbid curiosity. A poor decision born of loneliness and isolation. Elidibus’ confession at the lookout over Lakeland had sounded confused, irrational, and impossible. The words of a man who was no longer engaging with reality, mistaking her for another. But then he’d used her name—not a title bestowed upon her, but her actual name—and he was no longer the only one confused. What he claimed was impossible, and yet she needed to believe it so desperately that she indulged it.

She had no excuses after that first time. Or the second. Or the third. It was past time to admit that she was actively participating in something that she should not have been with someone she should not have. Someone who one moment was buried deep inside her, proclaiming how much he missed her, loved her, and the next reassuring her that he fully intended to end her very existence all the same. Angry at himself for weakness in the face of all which was at stake, and angry at her for… causing it. Apparently.

After she realized she could accidentally summon him to her, she quickly learned how to do it on purpose. And she did. She called him to her to see what would happen. To see how far his obsession went. And, were she honest, to see where her own ended.

He paced behind her. He always paced after, sinking into his rage and determination once more as their pulses settled and he focused on redressing. Though, anger wasn’t exactly what she would call it. It had morphed over the short time they repeated this mistake into what felt more akin to self-loathing. A feeling she knew too well, as it turned out. What froze her in place and trapped her in her thoughts compelled him to rail about her Pendants room for the duration of the brief time he ever remained.

“This changes nothing,” he repeated. Another familiar refrain, the reminder that for all his proclamations of love, she was still his enemy. The one with who fault for all his woes lie. The one whose death was the only path to his victory. His duty. The obstacle to, as he put it, saving the world. Both heroes from their perspectives, their purposes at an impasse, even this bizarre, mutual allure of what was forbidden could not resolve it. In fact, Kit was fairly certain it only worsened everything.

“I know.” She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t need to. He would still be naked, moving about the room in a stolen body and avoiding looking at her.

“Yet you continue to call me forth.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “You continue to answer.”

Silence, apart from the forced breath through his nose.

She closed her eyes again, waiting. Why he just did not carry out his plan when she was like this—unarmed, confused, and vulnerable—she could not say. Certainly it would be faster than whatever mutual misery they inflicted upon one another. Did he not want his vengeance? For what reason did he prolong the inevitable? In a few minutes he would roughly gather her to him again, crushing her against Ardbert’s chest and inhaling into her hair. Then he would grind out between his teeth a lament for what he could not remember. And she would welcome it.

Kit swallowed. “Next time—”

“There will be no next time,” he said. Cold. Defiant.

“Next time, maybe you could not… use that body.”

He spun about, a cruel smile touching the mouth. “I would be a fool to surrender my greatest weapon.”

“He was my friend,” she murmured. Another thing that did not exist in the past tense, yet something she could not be bothered to explain. “And you violated him. His memory. His legacy.”

He sniffed. “How the Warrior of Darkness spouts hypocrisy.”

She looked up at him, a useless feeling of longing continuing to spur her forward into foolishness. “How do you expect me to sleep next to you at night knowing what you did?” As close as she could come to an invitation. One she could not decide if she wanted him to accept or not.

“That,” he said, cold blue eyes boring into her even as grief hung over him, “will never be something about which you need worry.”

“Elidibus.” She stood, feeling small before him despite her height over him. “We could… stop this. All of it and—”

“No!” he shot. “No. This cannot be stopped. Do you not—” He clenched a hand into a fist. “Of course you do not. You could not understand. How could you ever understand?” He frowned, a conflict waging across his face. His mouth moved as if he would say more, then the more familiar vacancy took over his eyes, and it was lost. The air shifted, a rift opened, and he strode forward toward it. “Do not summon me again. I will not answer.”

“I won’t,” she growled.

They both knew it for a lie.

#from the annals of my askholebox #sunderedazem #ask prompts #ask games #fic prompts #kit hareington #and that's all the character tags you get #i deserved this tbh

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odyssean-flower · 1 year ago

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The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 5 - Spring: Long-Distance Observation

Masterpost Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: You move into Neuvillette’s (surprisingly modest) house Warnings: None except for restrictive gender roles, also for some reason Fontaine’s regency england (sort of) now? Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette hanging out in the place where they tried to prevent his birth (or something like that). Also I used him to kill his family member who was hanging out here :(

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"Good evening, Monsieur Neuvillette, I would like to ask some questions of you, if you don't mind."

Upon arriving home from work, Neuvillette found himself confronted by his new wife. She had been sitting in the armchair in the entryway as though lying in wait for him. There was a notebook and a pencil clutched in her hands. Her shoulders were tensed up, like she was squared up for a fight.

Worries crowded into Neuvillette's mind. Was the room not to her liking after all? He knew he should have consulted with her before hand. Or was it the food? He had assumed that she was the type of person with no particular preference, but perhaps that was too presumptuous of him as well. Once again, he dearly wished that he had done more preparations.

Having a wife, he realized, perhaps belatedly, was a surprisingly nerve-wracking endeavor.

Neuvillette cleared his throat and gestured towards the parlor. "Shall we discuss your questions in the parlor? I believe it will be a more conducive environment than standing in the entryway."

His wife blinked, then looked away to the side, as though embarrassed. "O-Of course. I apologize for, er, ambushing you when you just returned from work."

She followed him to the parlor. Neuvillette settled down into his usual chair. Next to it was a little table, on top of which a silver goblet was placed. The goblet was filled with spring water from Qingce Village, a soothing and refreshing balm for a long day of work. Today hadn't been grueling unlike some days, but he suddenly a strong craving for the water.

"Please, feel free to take a seat anywhere," he said.

His wife inspected the various couches and chairs with a cautious gaze. Then at last, she picked the couch that was next to his chair, perching herself right on the edge of the cushion. Neuvillette inwardly sighed. Making people feel comfortable wasn't his strong suit.

He took a sip of his water, feeling its coolness seep through his body. He felt his wife's gaze boring into him as he did so. Neuvillette had often been told that his eyes could unnerve people, something that he had never quite figured out how to fix. He now had an inkling of what those people meant.

"What are your questions, Madame?" Neuvillette said, after settling down his tense nerves. It was strange. He had never felt nervous at all the trials and official functions he had to preside over, but something about this woman, or perhaps this entire situation, made him overthink even the most mundane things.

"Yes, sir. Please tell me the names, titles, occupations, and other pertinent information about all the associates in your circle. Don't worry about talking too quickly. I'm good at taking notes."

"Pardon?" Neuvillette was completely caught off guard by the question.

"Please tell me--"

"No, I've already heard your question the first time. What I mean is, why do you wish to know?"

"Well, as your, you know, wife, it's expected that I would be accompany you to any functions you might attend, considering that you are the Chief Justice. I know we are keeping this marriage discreet, but secrets like these do have a way of spreading among the nobility, and in the case that you entertain visitors, which I am sure is relatively often, I have no desire of putting you in an awkward position with your close friends and associates. Which is why I want to prepare in any way that I can."

His wife's voice was steady, but Neuvillette noticed that her hands were tightly clenched around her notebook. He felt a terrible guilt for not putting her at ease sooner, and some awkwardness. She, like most people in Fontaine, had an impression of him that was very different from who he actually was.

"There is no need to worry about any of that, Madame. Once again, I will give you my word that as few people will know about our marriage as possible. I do not have many personal relationships with others, and as I rarely appear at public or private gatherings, nor entertain guests at home, you will never be pressured to be in any uncomfortable situations."

"Really?" she put down her notebook and stared at him in surprise. "You don't even go to any top-secret noble galas or anything like that?"

"I'm afraid I must disappoint you on that."

"I see..." his wife's expression seemed to relax just the slightest bit, and her shoulders slackened. She began writing down something in her notebook, though Neuvillette didn't have the slightest idea what she could be writing. "What about Lady Furina, then? Since she's the one who pushed you to get married, surely she'd want to meet me sooner or later?"

Neuvillette felt another headache coming on at the thought of Furina. He took another sip of water. "You need not worry about her. I will do everything in my power to prevent her from disrupting your peace. I doubt your paths will cross as well."

"But what if she makes an unannounced visit here?"

"That will never happen." His answer was curt.

"Okay then..." his wife wrote something else down. What is she writing? Neuvillette wondered, but didn't try to lean over to see. That would the height of rudeness, after all. "So, do you have any expectations for me at all as your wife?"

"Madame," he said, looking deep into her eyes. One aspect of human behavior that he learned over the years was that eye contact denoted sincerity, which he hoped was conveyed in his words. "I know that this arrangement isn't ideal or the most comfortable for you, and that I seem terribly high-handed to you, but I want you to trust me when I say that I only want for you to be at ease here so you can pursue your goals without any worry. That is all I want and expect from you. There is no need for you to change your behavior in any way."

His wife's eyes stared back into his own. He couldn't gauge what emotions they contained. "Very well, then, sir," she finally put down her notebook, but remained seated at the edge of the couch. "I'm sorry for coming off like I don't trust you. I just tend to get a bit worked up when I'm in an unfamiliar situation."

"No, the blame lies with me for leaving you in such an uncertain state," Neuvillette said, even as he felt a stirring in his heart upon hearing that she trusted him. Why was that? He was used to shouldering the trust and expectations of all Fontainians, but something about hearing it from her felt different.

She simply nodded, and her gaze wandered around the room. There was a brief silence before she asked another question.

"Who else knows about this marriage...and its circumstances?"

"The only people who know are Marie and the Melusines who work in the Court of Fontaine. Of course, the clerks who work at the marriage registration office also know, but they are sworn to secrecy."

The less people who knew, the less fuss there would be when the eventual divorce was finalized. Furina might pester him about it for a while, but she would forget all about it by the time of the next trial or scandal, neither of which were in short supply in Fontaine.

His wife nodded, looking relieved. She wrote down some more notes in her notebook. Neuvillette suppressed a smile as he gazed at her serious expression. She had said that she was good at taking notes--she must be the type to make meticulous notes about everything.

It was then that she looked up, and he averted his gaze. "Do you like your room?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, it's lovely," she said, fidgeting slightly. "The whole house is, really. And so is Marie."

Neuvillette let out a small sigh of relief. "I'm very glad to hear that."

There was another short silence. His wife fiddled with the spine of the notebook, staring at the low table in front of them, seemingly in deep thought. It suddenly occurred to Neuvillette that he should have offered her some of his water. He rarely entertained guests, so what seemed obvious for others didn't come so naturally to him at times. But still, he needed to make a better effort to make her feel at home, particularly as her husband. Would he ever see that relaxed smile again?

"Sir?" she suddenly spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. "Do you feel comfortable about this arrangement?"

He hadn't expected that. People rarely asked about his feelings on anything, and he had to admit he was glad for that. "To tell the truth, it will take some getting used to," he said after thinking about it for a while. "But it's not uncomfortable for me."

"I see," she said after staring at him for some time. "I will do my best to ensure that there is no disruption to your life as well."

There was a knock on the door, making them both jump. "Pardon me, dinner is ready," Marie said.

After a delicious but somewhat awkward dinner (in which you sat at the very end of the very long dining table), you excused yourself and returned to your room.

Lying on your bed, you mulled over Neuvillette’s words. He said that all he wanted for you was to be at ease here so you could fulfill your goal. Was he that invested in you becoming a governess? A woman who he barely knew, who he wasn’t even friends with? Perhaps it was just your deep-rooted cynicism, but you felt like there had to be something more to this.

However, Neuvillette didn’t seem to be giving up his hidden intentions, if he had any, any time soon. He seemed shockingly genuine, in fact. So there was no point in dwelling on it.

Fulfill my goals, huh...

Your goal was becoming a governess, which you had technically accomplished already, so what was there to do here? Study even more? Well, they did say that changing the environment one studies in was beneficial to retaining information. But in all honesty, you were somewhat sick of reading almost nothing but textbooks (history ones not included) for more than a year, so perhaps it was time to change course.

You passed all your exams of course, but there was room for improvement in some subjects, like music and drawing. You had a piano at home that you used to practice daily, but it was difficult to get access to one in the city. You hadn’t found one in the mansion either. Painting, then? Hmm, but I don’t know if I have the money for new paints and canvas, and I’d rather not spend too much of what little I have...

Once again, you had to laugh at the absurdity of this marriage. But in some ways, it was a relief to hear that there was no need to pretend.

You would of course keep your promise to make sure you didn’t create any disruptions to Neuvillette’s life. But, that didn’t mean you couldn’t indulge in your new trappings, did it?

Thinking about that big bathtub and that array of bath products, you got up and headed to the bathroom.

The days in Neuvillette’s house went by at a slow, peaceful, nearly idyllic pace. It was both something you longed for and something surprisingly chafing.

For one thing, you were used to hearing the bustle of activity when you woke up, whether it was back home or in the boarding house. You never realized how much you found those sounds comforting until the absence of them from your life. The house was too big for sound from downstairs to travel all the way upstairs, so you sometimes felt like you were the only one living in this house until you went downstairs.

The garden quickly became your favorite spot in the house. It wasn’t especially grand or lavish, but it had a little lookout that gave a great view of the sea. You liked to sit on the veranda seat and read or do embroidery occasionally.

Living with Neuvillette was a bit like having a roommate who you rarely saw. There were girls like that back at the boarding house who worked long hours. Like them, Neuvillette woke up in the early hours and got home late when you were already in bed. Though you were married in name only, you thought you should at least see him off and welcome him back home every day, but on the other hand, he had told you that there was no need to change your routine for him…

The days when Neuvillette did come home early were as quiet as the days without him. After you greeted him and asked about his day, he would answer and reciprocate the question, which you would respond in kind. After which there would be a lull of silence before both of you excused yourselves to separate rooms.

To outsiders, your interactions seemed cold. But personally, you thought that there was nothing wrong with being cordial and polite and nothing more. And Neuvillette seemed fine with it as well. Since he rarely associated with others outside of work, he probably didn't care much for meaningless small talk either. At least, that was what you told yourself.

So why did he keep looking at you like he wanted to say something more? And what was with that hollow feeling in your heart as you watched his back turn away with you?

Until that evening at the ball, you had never given the figure of the Chief Justice much thought. You knew what everyone knew, and you had done some brief readings on him as part of your governess training, but now that you were living with him for a year, you should make an effort to learn more about him, after he went out of his way to help you.

You decided to not spy, but simply observe him while maintaining a respectful distance.

He really liked his drinks. You didn’t know what kind of drink it was, but it seemed to be quite refreshing for him. You sniffed it once, but it had no discernible scent. It wasn’t stored in the kitchen either. Apparently, there were different varieties for each day, but you couldn’t tell the difference. Was there a wine cellar around here somewhere? You asked Marie about it, but she told you there wasn’t, and that Neuvillette wasn’t much of a drinker. Maybe some sort of special brew for immortal deities?

One time, late at night, you sneaked down into the kitchen to get some water. You noticed that the parlor door was cracked open and peeked in to see Neuvillette sitting in his chair, drinking from his silver goblet. Unlike before, he had taken off his long coat and cravat, lounging in his waistcoat and white shirt. His gloves were off as well, and you could see the glint of his wedding ring as he stroked it with his thumb. His legs were crossed, and there was gentle music coming from the gramophone. He seemed relaxed in a way you had never seen before, but also a bit...lonely.

You didn’t know how long you were there watching him, but he seemed to glance your way, so you hurried back upstairs as quietly as you could, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. He didn’t address it the next day, and you decided to bring a glass of water to your room before going to bed.

After spending a few weeks in Neuvillette’s house, you couldn't help but notice that the meals served here were generally...liquid based. There were a lot of stews, soups, meat covered in sauces, and other dishes with a lot of water-content. They were all delicious, of course, but you also craved something drier sometimes, like bacon. When you told Marie that you’d like that for breakfast sometimes, she looked like she was about to laugh and cry at the same time.

You mulled over his odd dietary choices and briefly hypothesized that perhaps Neuvillette didn’t have teeth. You had an elderly neighbor who had lost all his teeth, so his food had to be all mashed up so he could eat. You attempted to (discreetly) stare at his mouth during a rare dinner together to see if your hypothesis was correct (it was not), but you must not have been discreet enough, for he looked at you with a strange expression and asked if there was something wrong. “No, sir,” you said, then devoted your attention to your meal, trying to ignore his stare. He couldn’t read minds, right?

One time, when he got home and closed the door behind him, he suddenly grimaced, then opened the door again before quickly closing it. You then realized what had happened: his coat tail got stuck in the door. The same thing would happen with his hair at times. You also witnessed him almost trip on the stairs once when his spats got caught on something. His expression barely changed during these times, like he was used to it.

Being fashionable sure isn’t easy, you thought as you watched him adjust himself in his chair at the dining table after sitting on his hair again.

On the very rare occasions when Neuvillette came home during the day, he would go to the garden and stand at the lookout for long periods of time. Sometimes it would rain, but he would remain standing there. The first time that happened, you tried to run outside with an umbrella, but Marie stopped you. She explained that Neuvillette enjoyed being in the rain. You couldn’t really understand it, but accepted it as one of his quirks. You returned to your room and watched him from the window seat. You felt an urge to paint this gloomy, strange sight, which was strange as you weren’t particularly artistically inclined.

Then, he turned his head, as though sensing your gaze, and you fell from your seat in your panic to turn away.

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Taglist: @just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #my works #the winding path of fate

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i-am-creacheur · 2 months ago

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Hey...would anyone be cool with beta reading sm I wrote? It's a Red centric angst/light whump fic... I really leaned into the younger child/sibling vibes with it and pressure to not be weak and stuff like that.um for a bit more graphic content warning... I guess description of panic and altered states of mind (due to concussion, starvation, and dehydration), fighting back against people trying to save you. Mostly just emotional angst ngl. Current working title is "Et Cecidit Innocens" or "He Fell Innocent". Also there shall be a second chapter in which everything will be resolved.

Dm me if you are intrested- and if my dms are off I guess. Just let me know and I'll turn em on. This is also the first fic I've written for this fandom lmaooo of course it had to be hurting my sweet little buddy Red.

#beta reader #beta request #Beta reader call #avm fanfic #avm red #ava red #avm #animation vs minecraft #animation vs animator #animator vs animation #fanfiction

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parafic · 2 months ago

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SHALL WE GET STARTED ON KAGAMI DEMANDS RESCUING. (lol fantastic title!) Also! More Typhoon Island please? :D

He's too cute to say no to! Even if you are Tobirama, living nightmare of the entire Uchiha clan, apparently.

Also, holding out an interview microphone, So @domoz it appears that you've succeeded in training people to ask for Typhoon Island every time. How do you feel about this accomplishment?

Anyway I, uh, didn't strictly speaking get to Kagami yet, but since it's the first ask of the fic have the first 500 words:

Kagami demands rescuing:

Hikaku was sure two days ago that this mission was cursed. It was supposed to be a simple, albeit extended, training mission, which is why the team consists of Hikaku, fourteen-year-old Ruri, and nine-year-old Kagami. They were supposed to deliver a few scrolls of weapons to the border where the Hagoromo were in a fight with a clan from the Land of Hot Waters. Ruri ought to have been fine on her own; Hikaku had only decided to accompany her and bring Kagami along because it had been a slow month, and Ruri leading Kagami would be good experience for both of them. He’s regretting that decision now. Not that he’d prefer to have sent Ruri off to die alone, but it’s always better to lose one shinobi than three. First, they ran into a Senju team on the way out. Hikaku was able to deal with them, but it took most of his chakra, and his left leg still aches from what he’d thought was a bad bruise but is, several days later, probably actually a cracked femur. Then, by the time they reached the border, the Hagoromo had already abandoned their fight and fled south. Their enemies, on the other hand, were quite present, and immediately recognized Hikaku and his team as both Uchiha and Hagoromo allies—suspicious, such distant clans usually didn’t recognize the Uchiha so easily; they might be in contact with bloodline thieves—and they had been forced to run north to evade them, into the Land of Hot Waters where Ruri slipped into a pond that burned her skin despite not being more than warm, and… well, something happened to Kagami. Whatever it was, it had started out looking like insect bites scattered over his leg, a dozen red spots that he said were sensitive, especially to heat. Over the next few days, they’d developed into open sores. They haven’t gotten bigger since then, but also haven’t healed. And it probably won’t matter, because now they’ve managed to cross back into Fire Country, and run right into another Senju team. Even with a weak leg and his chakra only half recovered Hikaku might have been able to deal with the two he saw, until a water dragon formed, as far as he could tell, directly behind him, and slammed him face first into the nearest cliff. There’s blood dripping from his forehead and he’s probably cracked a few ribs and definitely broken a finger. But the real concern is that there’s only one shinobi Hikaku knows of that uses that jutsu. There’s only one that can—Izuna copied the handseals years ago and they’ve sold the information to every clan they can since, and no one has been able to get it to work. The mokuton might have found itself on a higher pedestal, but Senju Tobirama is no less dangerous. On a good day, if they were both alone, Hikaku would stand a reasonable chance at escaping alive. But Tobirama has allies, Hikaku has children he can’t protect, and this is a terrible day. He still has to try.

Typhoon Island:

From outside, the tunnel of the bloodline thieves’ base seemed slightly lower than the one Tobirama made. When they reach it, it’s clear that the tunnel is merely shorter. Tobirama has to duck, and even in the center of the tunnel, he can’t quite stand up straight. In other circumstances, the irritated look he gives the walls would be very funny. Tobirama raises a hand and places his hand flat against the ceiling. Dark lines spread out from his hand, then glow. It’s not quite as bright as daylight, but still casts sharp shadows on the floors. “Will a change in the light be a problem for you?” Tobirama asks.

#Kagami demands rescuing #typhoon island

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scribbling-dragon · 2 years ago

Note

for the fic requests: i’ve personally been kind of craving a grian & jimmy siblings fic that isn’t all like the “wholesome” or overprotectiveness that i see a lot in the tag, sibling relationships can be pretty nasty but still have that underlying affection or familarity to each other because of shared life experiences etc,, i think a dynamic like that (especially in any of the life series with the added stress of being in a death game, you can choose whatever setting tho because i think those two are just Inherently Fucked Up) would be cool to read about if you’re up for it

are you really siblings if you don't try and kill each other on the regular?

summary:

“Nah, most he’d do is scam you out everything valuable you own.”

“And leave me for dead.” He finishes.

“Well, I never said anything about you not dying to something stupid, just that Scar wouldn't kill you.”

“Wow,” he mutters, “what care and concern from my dearest older brother, truly, I have never felt more loved in my life.”

(ao3 link)

(2,080 words)

(reblogs are also appreciated <3)

The sand shifts beneath his feet as he steps onto it. The grains immediately worm their way into his shoes, through some strange impossibility that should mean that sand shouldn’t currently be in his shoes. There’s no way for sand to be in his shoes, yet he can find the grains itching at his feet almost immediately- within seconds of stepping foot onto the first patch of sand.

He grumbles under his breath, stepping further and further into the desert, squinting his eyes against the offensive sun that does its best to blind him the moment he looks up. The sand continues to sink around his feet, grains worming their way into his shoes and sticking to his feet.

It’s Grian’s stupid fault for choosing to live in such a hostile environment- seriously, there were so many better places for him to pick to live in and yet he chooses a desert? The man’s supposed to be smart, or something, and yet he chooses the biome that is potentially the most hostile to beings living in it (other than, maybe, an ocean. Choosing to live in the middle of the ocean is also a pretty stupid idea, but he’s also pretty sure Grian’s done that too). Maybe the man isn't so deserving of the clever title everyone gives him; maybe he’s just an idiot.

He glances up again, taking his chances with being blinded by the sun to see how much further he has to go. Monopoly Mountain still looms on the horizon, a seemingly insurmountable distance away. It feels as though he’s hardly made any progress with his journey across the desert, and the constantly shifting sand beneath his feet does nothing but add to the nightmarish trek.

He begins to curse Grian out beneath his breath.

“Now that’s just plain hurtful.” He startles, twisting to face the new arrival.

Grian’s perching on a nearby cactus, hand lightly resting on the top of it for balance. His talons curl around one of the arms of the cacti. It doesn't look at all comfortable, and Jimmy hopes he’s picking cacti spines out of his feet for the next week.

“You chose to live in a stupid place.” He complains. “Seriously? What’s wrong with a- a nice forest? Somewhere that’s not this hot or difficult to walk through!” He kicks at some of the sand, which only succeeds in shifting it slightly and adding to the slowly growing desert in the base of his boots.

“It’s for exactly that reason we chose to live here, Tim.” Grian cocks his head to the side. “Don't exactly want everyone wandering on past our base, especially not with so many red lives running around.”

“Hardly anyone’s going to be running past your base with Scar there.” He scoffs. He’s almost tempted to kick at the sand again, but that’d do nothing but make him more annoyed at the existence of a desert. He pledges to himself, then, that he shall never set foot in another desert unless it is with the sole purpose of eradicating every grain of sand from within it. Can't be a desert without any sand, can it?

“Or me.” Grian grins. “More than a few people are wary about me after that enchanting table trap.”

“You give yourself far too much credit.” He laughs. “I was the one that set that trap off- it didn't even work. Everyone overestimates how far you plan ahead.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds. This desert really is far too hot, he can feel the grains of sand beginning to collect between his feathers. Something which is going to be a pain to get out once he’s returned home and is safely away from this hellspawn of a biome. “You don't plan ahead at all.”

“Don't I?” Grian tries to sound surprised, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. It’s done with the sole intent of irritating him. And it works. Irritatingly. Grian just knows how to get under his skin, managing the feat with nothing more than a few expressions and carefully spoken words.

“No,” he can feel his feathers begin to fluff up a little, “you don't. Have you even thought about how this is going to end? About how all of this is going to end? Because I know you haven't, you never think that far ahead, never beyond the next trap or prank you're planning on pulling, hm? What happens when your contract with Scar runs out? What happens if he’s the one to kill you? What happens if you're the one to kill him?”

“It won't come to that.” Grian frowns at him, wings twitching. The hints at his annoyance are subtle. Everything about him is subtle, subtle up until the point where it is not, and you're left wondering where all of the sudden annoyance came from. “It won't.”

“But it might.” He shrugs. “What happens if you and Scar beat each other to death, hm?”

“The same thing that will happen if you and Scott beat each other to death, Tim,” Grian looks at him. “You die, and you move on. Game over, you go home.”

“And everyone else forgets this even happened in the first place.” He says, shoulders sagging. “Everyone goes home, none the wiser. As though they never disappeared in the first place, because it’s so easy for you to do that.”

“You make it sound like I enjoy that.”

Jimmy sighs. “I know you don't. But you don't think about these things. How are you meant to stop yourself from getting hurt if you don't think about it?”

“Isn't that what you're here for?” Grian asks. He hops down from the cacti, stretching his wings out as he lands. The wingspan is far larger than he normally has, tawny brown feathers so different from the usual bright reds and yellows of his wings.

His own are the same as they've always been. Unchanging. The bright yellow remains unaffected by whatever magic forces Grian to adapt- he’s not sure what he’d prefer; the unchanging warning of his own wings, or being forced to adapt with each different server, changing as he moves between them.

“And here I thought you actually appreciated my company.”

“Of course not,” Grian scoffs. “Now, what was it you needed? Unless you just felt like complaining at me.”

“Uh,” why was he in the desert in the first place? He hadn't done anything remarkable that day, certainly nothing that he would have decided to trudge out here to inform their allies of- “Oh! Scott wants more sand, says our supplies are running low.”

“And he sent you to do it for him?”

“He’s doing enchants,” he says. “You know I can't do those very well.”

“Oh I am aware.” Grian laughs. “Your attempts are still as messy as when you were ten, I take it?”

He grumbles in response, which only prompts Grian to laugh more even though it isn't really that funny.

“Sand?” He prompts, when he realises Grian’s just going to keep laughing at him. At this rate, he’s going to pass out from a lack of oxygen, or the heat getting to him, before Jimmy can even secure the goods and been on his merry way back to his distinctly not sand-filled home.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon,” Grian beckons him to follow, and he does, falling into step behind him. Grian moves with ease across the landscape, somehow managing not to sink into the sand as deeply as he does. Maybe it’s something to do with not wearing boots, though he’s certainly not about to risk burning his feet to test it- he’d rather Grian doesn't laugh at him anymore. “I don't see why you couldn't just dig up some of the edges, why come all this way to find me?”

“I'm not about to die because Scar found me digging up part of the desert.”

“He wouldn't kill you for it,” Grian sighs.

“Uh, yes he would. Have you met the man?”

“Nah, most he’d do is scam you out everything valuable you own.”

“And leave me for dead.” He finishes.

“Well, I never said anything about you not dying to something stupid, just that Scar wouldn't kill you.”

“Wow,” he mutters, “what care and concern from my dearest older brother, truly, I have never felt more loved in my life.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Grian nudges him far harder than necessary, pushing him into a small pile of sand that flies up as he kicks it, getting in his eyes and his mouth. He spits the sand out, feeling the grains catch in his teeth as he grimaces.

He stumbles after Grian, just to shove him back, watching him stumble slightly, teetering a little to the side. Grian shoves him back, as though Jimmy’s own shove wasn't revenge already.

He jabs an elbow into Grian’s ribs in return, digging into the spot he knows is especially sensitive after Grian cracked three ribs while attempting to fly for the first time. Grian shouts, loud and wordless, which is all the warning he gets before Grian leaps at him, shoving him down into the sand.

“Grian!” He cries. He can feel sand nestling amongst his hair, digging into his feathers. “Hey, hey!” He shoves at Grian, attempting to dislodge the avian. It doesn't work, and they simply end up rolling around.

Grian kicks at him, talons scratching down his trousers, no doubt ripping his jeans- something he’s going to have to explain to Scott later, no doubt. He kicks right back, shoving at Grian’s face as he goes to bite him, shoving him away until he’s at a safe enough distance that he won't - literally - go for the jugular.

Grian licks his hand.

He pulls it back with a shout of disgust, kicking at Grian hard enough to dislodge him, scrambling to his feet before Grian can lunge at him.

“What was that for!” He yells, hopping back a step when Grian still looks tempted to lunge for him.

“You jabbed me!” Grian yells back, gesturing wildly with his arms. His wings flap too, stirring up the sand and stinging at his eyes.

“And you tried to bite me!” He doesn't shriek- he doesn't. Grian is a known liar, so even if he does go around snitching on him, not that he shrieked in the first place, no one’s going to believe him. “How many times have I told you not to go for the throat!”

“How many times have I told you not to elbow me!” Grian shrieks back at him. “I wouldn't have to bite you if you didn't elbow me!”

“You shoved me first.” He crosses his arms. His wings twitch behind him, feathers ruffling as he tries to dislodge as much of the sand as he can.

“And? It’s my desert.”

“It’s not your desert.”

“Uh, yeah it is?” Grian tips his head to the side. “I live in it. It’s my desert.”

“Whatever,” he throws his hands up, turning around. “I give up! Keep your stupid sand!”

“What are you gonna tell Scott?” Grian yells after him. He ignores him, stalking across the sand, gritting his teeth every time it slips beneath his feet.

When he does arrive back at their base, Scott is still enchanting, nose deep in one of the books and glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose as he leans forward to read it, quill and ink set aside for the moment.

He looks up as Jimmy enters, eyes widening in surprise at the state of him.

“What happened to you? You look like you had a fight with a bucket of sand and lost.”

“Grian.”

“Ah,” Scott nods his head along sagely. “That certainly explains why you've come back dripping sand, yet seemingly lacking in it.”

“It just wasn't working out,” he waves Scott off. “I'm going for a lie down.”

“Alright,” he nods, watching his husband go. One of his trouser legs was torn, as though it had been ripped to shreds by a wild animal, or a particularly vicious bush. He has a feeling it was neither of those, though. He supposes he must give Grian credit where credit’s due, though he’s not sure what the man gets out of beating his brother up.

It simply makes him all the more glad to be a single child; he can't imagine the hassle of having a brother that seems hellbent on killing you at every turn.

#juno.writes #3rd life smp #third life smp #trafficblr #jimmy solidarity #grian #giving everyone the REAL sibling relationship these guys have #loosely based on an interaction i have had with my own sister (though we almost broke the tv stand in that fight)#solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming #life series #traffic smp #traffic series #scott smajor #(right at the end)#flower husbands

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