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florencemtrash · 2 months

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The Shadowsinger and the Inkbird — Chapter 16 sneak peek

Lucien looked back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the wetness in your eyes and the thinly veiled adoration in Azriel’s face now that you were looking back at him. A sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him throughout dinner, but he’d repressed it. He couldn’t repress it any longer. No. Absolutely not. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. He let his shock flow through the bond and looked to Elain for confirmation. Please tell me I’m wrong. He begged silently. Anyone but him. Literally anyone but him. They’d yet to accept the bond, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t read each other like an open book. And right now Lucien was doing nothing to hide his seething temper. Elain bit her pale, pink lips and nodded, confirming what he already suspected. Then, in a move of silent permission, she slid her chair six inches away from Azriel’s until she was practically sharing a seat with Nesta.

Author's note: WHO THE FUCK IS READY FOR LUCIEN VANSERRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!!!!

Chapter 16 will be up tomorrow evening! And it's another long one! (7k words!)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

^^ how Lucien is about to be

#azriel x reader #azriel x reader slowburn #azriel x reader angst #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x lucien vanserra's sister #azriel x day court reader #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #y'all i had such a fun time writing this chapter i hope you like it!#lucien vanserra has my entire heart #literally the whole thing

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viperwhispered · 24 days

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Rest

Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all. You can also find this on ao3. No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.

At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner.

However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.

You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.

So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.

It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.

At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.

“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.

Of course.

It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.

You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.

“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.

“Yes.”

“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”

“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.

Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.

“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.

Really, when did he get so tired?

And how did you not notice it earlier?

You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.

Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.

You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.

Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.

Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.

“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.

Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.

“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”

“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.

Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.

But sometimes you really wish it would be.

Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.

Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.

“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”

You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.

“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”

Still, Jamil frowns.

You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?

“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.

And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.

“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.

It seems he has accepted his fate.

You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.

And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.

Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #woop it sure has been quite the burst of creative energy lately #especially since this has apparently been sitting in my drafts since last august #but now you have it #I certainly can’t promise to keep up with this rate of writing (in fact I can promise I won't) but hey let's enjoy it while it lasts #and yes I’m hopping on the “jamil using arabic terms of endearment” train #I’ve read so many fics doing that that at this point it feels more natural than english ngl #even if english would probably be more canonical #also is it a *good* way to go about it to just pretty much just force someone to rest like this? probably not #is it sometimes the only way to get stubborn people to stop for a bit? perhaps #and is it something I might do?#...possibly #also oh boy can you tell that I'm avoiding jamil's dialogue like the plague lately?#I really need to reread so much of his stuff to get a hang of his voice again #(also if you notice typos pls tell me because they always bug me)#(or other wonkiness because I'm not a native speaker and sometimes things just go silly)#anyways hope y'all enjoy!

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flowercrowngods · 5 months

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⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)

After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.

⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)

Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt.

Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not.

But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.

It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts.

Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest.

At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned.

And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so.

With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets.

~*~*~

It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom.

It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests.

Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors.

All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better.

And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.

Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family.

Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache.

Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead.

Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be.

And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy.

But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm.

His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.

Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.

Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?

The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand.

As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness.

He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering.

I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything.

In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over.

Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now.

Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him.

“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time.

Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her.

“And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.”

Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that.

“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.”

Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind.

“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?”

Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list.

“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.”

“But—“

“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.”

The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand.

“He sought you out, then.”

Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony.

“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.”

She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.”

Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand.

“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.”

Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him.

“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“

A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling.

“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.”

He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.

“I am not playing tonight.”

Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past.

“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.”

Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands.

“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.”

God, I hope so.

Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath.

It will be fine. I know it will.

Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.

It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is.

Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already.

But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence.

Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it.

He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave.

He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must.

On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose.

It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave.

As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving.

He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity.

But he can’t.

So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them.

Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike.

“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.”

The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue.

As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips.

“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.”

Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces.

And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words.

Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack.

Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver.

“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.”

Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in.

He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough.

Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence.

Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes.

“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.”

The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.

Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.”

The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said.

It makes Eddie weak in the knees.

And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation.

Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike?

Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him.

“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.”

Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words.

Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him.

And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness.

“Are you all right?”

Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin.

This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be.

The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.

And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him.

And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that…

Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does.

But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness.

“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”

Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.

“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it.

The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil.

“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.”

Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?”

The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself.

“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.”

He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing.

Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more.

“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.”

He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes.

And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.”

He stops.

And so does time.

But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again.

There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off.

“I…”

Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies.

He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before.

tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍

#steddie fic #steddie #bard/knight #steve harrington #eddie munson #knight!steve harrington #bardknight #bard!eddie munson #i feel like this is more of a 6k words intermission but hear me out the bard is pathetic and needs to stew a little bit #live with the consequences of his actions and realise just what he has done and how he feels about his knight and lord harrington #skjdfsk i hope this is okay i really really hope so i am so worried that it's gonna disappoint y'all who've been waiting #dio words

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sleepy-moons · 6 months

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gojo constantly tells you he'd die for you. at the start of your relationship, you would kind of roll your eyes at the comment. he's so dramatic, you'd think to yourself, though you'd appreciate the sentiment nonetheless. but as time went on, and as your relationship blossomed, you began to feel a pang in your heart every time he said it.

an ache so deep in your spirit, that you could cry whenever he'd go on a mission. because you knew, that while he was fighting for a better society, for the eradication of curses and corruption, there was a large part of him that was fighting solely for you. for your safety. and if that meant he had to die for that to happen, so be it.

i don't want you to die for me. words you never thought you'd have to say to the love of your life. you want to spend the rest of your life with this man. why must he insist on showing his love in death?

he'd always give you a little smile when you'd say that, because he knows tears will be following soon after.

i know. there wasn't much more to be said after that. just a mutual understanding that a devastating heartbreak is lingering somewhere down the line, inevitable. he just hopes that in his next life, he gets to spend more time with you.

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #I've been thinking a lot about gojo recently #I'm not the type of person to indulge in angst (does this classify as angst???)#or any type of sad media bc I'm delulu and like happy endings #but this has been floating around my noggin and I had to write it down #he is so so devoted to you. he doesn't care to throw his life away for you #anyways hello my friends long time no see !!#this is longer than I intended and it has hardly been proofread but I hope y'all enjoy !#.satoru

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hermywolf · 7 months

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ON THE SUBJECT OF LIONEL ANDRÉS MESSI CUCCITINI | thierry henry / luis enrique / carles puyol / jurgen klopp / antonio cassano / angel di maria / ray hudson / gianluigi buffon / sid lowe / josep maria minguella / javier mascherano / juan mata

#ended up putting it all in english so i wouldn't have to translate the ones that weren't in english or spanish at all #i just thieved ppl's translations online lol #also i had so many more quotes! some from neymar and pep and xavi! couldn't fit them all. ugh #anyway. this is messy (ha) and lowkey insane. but hope y'all like it #messi #lionel messi #hermy posts #futbol #football #leo messi #quotes

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firenati0n · 2 months

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each time we touch / i wanna take too much by firenati0n on ao3

M | 1.3k

tags: college au, roommate au, first kiss, finger sucking, pining, friends to lovers

a bit of a departure from the usual silly goose vibes around here...my fingers slipped and now you get a hazy alex putting his fingers in henry's mouth. wrote this in one sitting at 5am today. please forgive any egregious errors, i wrote it without my glasses on and running on no sleep just vibes lol. hope you like it. <3

xoxo roop

#rwrb fic #fics #rwrb #rwrb fanfiction #roop writes #fic: fingers in mouths #hope you love it xoxoxoxoxoxoxo #this came after weeks of no real words sooooooo I'm happy with it and decided to post on a whim because #fuck it we ball #this came after a dream i had a night or so ago #and then i woke up like. oh i gotta write it down #and here we are #it was either this dream or the dream where i was in a fwb relationship with batman #now THAT was a dream.#but i thought y'all would enjoy fingers in mouths more #so #HAVE FUN XOXO #i have been told it has a dreamy vibe which is. wow all i can ask for???? i love y'all #xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

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jazzyquarterblugs · 23 days

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𝐏𝐏𝐓𝐉: 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Time to show ya'll the Altercanons for The Smiling Critters!! :D

(I have already looong posted them on my twitter but again for the Tumblr peeps I will post them here! :3)

From Oldest to Youngest!

Enjoy!

Bubba Bubbaphant!

The smart and probably the most mentally stable one out of the bunch (more on that later-) being the oldest isn't really easy when you've got 7 younger friends most of which love to go on rowdy fun adventures, nonetheless he is always with them every step of the way whenever he can! (Mostly because he needs to keep them from accidentally getting themselves killed 💀)

His Talent

Bubba is capable of creating balls of light and is able to change the intesity of light sources around him, in combat he can create lightbulb shaped items and throw them at to flashbang opponents, disorienting them and giving him the advantage, though this uses up his own energy and so he needs to think carefully about how many he creates, or else he will likely pass out.

KickinChicken!

The self-proclaimed cool guy of the critters. An daredevil who's always put looking for ways to have a lil fun, all the while making Bubba slowly lose his patience 😅 even though he may come off as an arrogant jerk to others, Kickin actually cares a lot about his friends and others more than he likes to admit! Just don't get on his nerves or he will make your life a living hell whenever given the chance!

His Talent

He can whip out three items of his choosing, whether it'd be a simple screwdriver or a flat out atomic bomb, all of which seem to follow a common theme 💀 though he is only lmited to three wishes and after using them all up he'd have to wait for an one hour cooldown before he can create more items again.

CatNap!

Not a very talkative critter, neither is he really stable in ANY WAY to begin with, he went suddenly missing once for 3 whole weeks and came back never the same, for 9 whole months has he never ate, drank or even slept, and it's only a matter of time before one day he finally collapses in on himself...

His...Talent???...

He is able create sleep-inducing red smoke, making whoever is nearby inhale it and fall into a Deep Sleep... (it doesn't kill them dn)

DogDay!

The leader of The Smiling Critters! And CatNap's best friend! This lovely sunshine is always ready for an adventure and bring a smile to everyone's faces no matter who they are! He is always standing up for what's right, willing to put his friends before himself.

His Talent?

His body glows a range of red to yellow whenever experiencing intense emotions, the hue and the temperature of his body depending on how intense the feeling is, if it is too intense his body is capable of burning the skin off of anybody who attempts to touch him.

PickyPiggy!

The nature-loving and diet obsessed one of the group, she absolutely loves the wonders of mother nature, even owning an vegetable garden herself! She loves to eat but always makes sure she stays healthy when doing so! Though sometimes she is so entranced by eating food that she often forgets to keep up with the others and finds herself confused, she always feels like she has an reputation to uphold considering her father is a well-known cook in Critterville, to make things even less easy she has 12 younger brothers to take care of!

Her Talent

She is able to take and storage items within an infinite pocket dimension like a personal inventory in her pockets, though she needs to have actualy pockets for this to work, luckily she knows how to sew!

Hoppy Hopscotch!

The physically active one of the group! And DogDay's beloved little sister! This rambunctious lil rabbit is willing to take on a challenge if it means having fun! Though she is really accident prone so she often gets herself hurt! (Pretty frequently actually-) but even so she doesn't know how to back down! While impatient and loud, she is happy to protect her friends from danger!

CraftyCorn!

The shy and soft-spoken one! She's pretty timid but has an incredible creative side to her! She loves to create all kinds of art but most specifically loves to draw! Even though she may not have had the best first start of her life, but after moving into Bubba's home and becoming part of The Smiling Critters, she realizes she feels right at home.

Her Talent

She is able to mend and shape paint however and whatever she wants it to be! Whether it is colorful wings of freedom or another way to paint, she needs to have paint at her disposal though.

She is also capable of magic of her own! But due to her previous living conditions she was never able to tap into her gift and discover the wonders of unicorn magic all that much, though luckily Bubba has enrolled her to equestrian classes to help her with that problem! <)

Bobby Bearhug!

The sweetest and youngest one out of the group! She was found alone outside near the Critters' treehouse, ever since then Bubba has taken her under his wing and has been taking care of her since, it is unknown what happened to her parents it has been assumed that they had just abandoned her.

Her Talent

She is able to sense the true intentions of a person's heart, helping her know who is worthy of trust or not, she is also able to sense the emotions of an individual though this can be physically and even mentally exhausting, making her needing to take frequent naps to gain her energy back.

Aaaand that is all I have for today!

I hoped you enjoy these Altercanons and if you have any questions regarding them or this AU feel free to ask in my ask box! :3

(repeat users are okay btw!)

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime au #poppy playtime jealousy #poppy playtime jealousy au #jealousy au #pptj #smiling critters #smiling critters au #bubba bubbaphant #kickinchicken #catnap #dogday #picky piggy #hoppy hopscotch #craftycorn #bobby bearhug #Bobby is a baby in this AU yes #Why? Cause I can >:)#But it's also because it makes up for an funny dynamic between Bubba and Kickin plus for story purposes!#DogDay and Hoppy are siblings #Kickin is a trans man cause I said so 😘#Picky is always getting distracted by food so she forgets what is going on sometimes #She also has OCD #Crafty is a sweet unicorn who does not deserve to have a mother like hers #Bubba is literally the only one with the least amount of drama in his life #And CatNap is my comfort character! <3 #I hope this doesn't upset all of y'all- ;-;#REMEMBER THIS IS AN AU!!#altercanons #altercanon

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shinuko · 18 hours

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tw/cw: cursing (the one that rhymes with duck, x1), kissing (it's like the entire point actually, sorry), reader intended to be shorter, suggestive(!!!) + read tags for more info! (expect nonsense and mistakes lol it's like 12am okay i'm delirious ;-;)

you're peppering kisses all over his face, and he chuckles, his cheeks still squished in between the palms of your hands.

"missed me that much, huh?"

"isn't it obvious?" you roll your eyes but you smile, pressing a longer kiss on the tip of his nose. "now be quiet, i'm busy."

but he's not listening anymore. he falls back onto the bed, taking you with him. and you yelp, both of your hands outstretched on the mattress as support, caging him under you. you look down at him, glaring. to which he laughs but his gaze soon drops to your lips and his chin lifts slightly, and he appears unable to restrain himself any longer. his eyes return to yours, "give me one more?"

you huff but oblige, closing the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his softly—slowly—at first, his lips moving in tandem with yours, but you were beginning to get swept away in the ocean called geto suguru. he's kissing you greedily, with a hunger like that of a starved man seeing bread again. he slides a hand down to your lower back, steadying you as he hoists himself up again. you respond immediately, wrapping your legs around his waist and arms around his neck. his other hand is placed naturally at the nape of your neck as he gently sets you against the wall.

he groans into the kiss, moving a hand to angle your chin. breaking away, he trails kisses down your jaw and to your neck, stopping at your collarbone. you let out a shaky breath, eager with anticipation, your hands find their spots in his hair, brushing through and twirling the ends.

you whine and he lets you drop down, both of your feet standing at the tips of your toes as you lean in further into the kiss. his hands slide down again, feeling you and this time squeezing in places that made your knees weak. you bite down softly at his bottom lip, tugging at it, and you giggle at his confused expression.

"should i stop?" you whisper teasingly as you pull away just enough to break contact as you flick your gaze up to his.

"fuck no," his voice is hoarse and he pulls you closer to him, finding your mouth again with his, "come here."

koi's notes: i dropped 2 of my 2k+ (wc) wips for this because i was CRAVING physical intimacy and oh my god... please don't perceive me >.< (also sorry for the poorly placed cut and name drop, it was the most natural place to introduce the name to me and yeah ;-;)

#s.k.#sort: jjk #cw: cursing #cw: suggestive #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x reader #geto fluff #i think it's from business proposal?? this is the same energy as that kiss scene where that one guy is kissing his girl(?) and he has to-#-stop to take off his glasses before kissing her again #i never got around to watching the drama but i've seen that clip so many times it's been burned into my memory #anyways yeah it's that energy #there's a specific way i'm imagining this scene and the best way i can put it and i hope it came across that way is that he has the i wanna #-f you eyes #do y'all know what i'm talking about #those eyes #god those eyes would actually be the death of me i would fold IMMEDIATELY #thinking about this with almost any character (that i like) would have me spinning actually #this is the most self indulgent thing i've ever written and i'm terrified (for myself)

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kiwiana-writes · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday

I am full fucking steam ahead with the arranged marriage fic this week and having a blast. It's an absolute anachronism stew of, like: fantasy geography! but also a default assumption of sexuality in this world being bi/pan/mspec rather than straight! but also arranged marriages! but also internet!—world-building is my nemesis so we are one hundred percent just rolling with it, okay? Okay.

“Good afternoon, Queen Mary,” he says, rehearsed and careful. There’s a time and a place for his usual brand of irreverence, and even Alex knows this isn’t it. “Your kingdom has offered me such a warm welcome.” “Yes, they have.” Mary doesn’t exactly seem thrilled about that, which is rude. Alex is a fucking catch, actually. “It would appear that my people are excited for this wedding to go ahead. But are you? Does the prospect of finally being married to my grandson please you?” And how the fuck is Alex meant to answer such a direct question without kicking off a whole international incident? He can’t tell the truth, but neither can he bring himself to say what he knows she wants to hear. After a long, terrifying pause in which Alex is sure the entirety of both their families are staring at him, waiting for a response, he finally manages: “Our betrothal has been overlong, Your Majesty. I will be pleased to make Windsor my new home.” Mary purses her lips. “Indeed,” is all she says in reply, a clear dismissal and a sign for the receiving line to keep moving.

Forever feeling feral for whatever y'all are up to so tagging @affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @beautifulhigh @celaestis1 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @getmehighonmagic @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @hypnostheory @iboatedhere @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @myheartalivewrites @orchidscript @rmd-writes @roseapothecary @sherryvalli @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @stereopticons @suseagull04 @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

#wip wednesday #kiwiana-writes #wip: arranged marriage redux #also this fic has a title now #and a lil tumblr banner #and it's going to be three chapters!#telling myself to wait until it's all written and drop chapters daily rather than like yeeting ch1 into the void with a ? next update date #but it's hard cause i'm a chaos demon #basically I'm having a good time and I hope y'all do too #fic: a practical arrangement

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viperwhispered · 8 days

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Too Hard

Woop part 2 of the trip inside Jamil's head. Part 1 here.

The next time Jamil caught sight of you on campus, his first instinct was to turn around on his heel.

What a stupid thought to have because of you.

Besides, that would only make him more conspicuous, not less.

So, when your eyes met his, Jamil gave you a short nod in greeting. He would’ve left it at that and kept on his way, had you not walked up to him.

“Hi Jamil! How’s it going?” you said with that impossibly disarming smile of yours.

Why was it so difficult to look at you like he normally would? You had no right to make him feel so stiff, so unnatural.

On autopilot, Jamil exchanged a few pleasantries with you - those lessons from his parents had been instilled too deep in him for him to falter too badly in a simple exchange such as this. Still, Jamil quickly excused himself by telling you he still had to find Kalim before his next class.

Jamil didn’t miss the way your smile faltered. Had you hoped to get something out of him?

“Oh, okay. I’ll see you two later, then.”

Something about that irked him, though Jamil did not allow himself to dwell on it further.

His heart really had no business still racing as it did when he walked away, unaware of the frown on his face.

Just act normal. That’s all he needed to do.

After all, he had no time for dwelling in silly fancies.

If Jamil had been acutely aware of you before, it only seemed to worsen now that he was making a conscious effort to not act any differently with you. In fact, the harder he tried to keep you out, the more you invaded his thoughts, unsettling him.

The most innocuous words from you looped in his mind, and even the simplest actions caught his eye. For goodness's sake, he’d found himself staring at you while you were queueing up in the cafeteria the other day, not even doing anything other than standing around and looking bored!

For once, Jamil found himself grateful for all his duties. At least they provided him with something else to occupy himself with.

After all, if he was busy enough, it was difficult to think about those bright eyes of yours, your sweet laugh, or the way you bit your lip while thinking.

Still, sometimes it felt like no matter which way he turned, you were there, ready to throw him off-kilter. Not like it was his fault that often the most convenient route to class intersected with your daily routines. Or that your face seemed to jump out from any crowd, catching his attention.

Which certainly did not help his basketball performance. Jamil certainly did not recall you having such an interest in sports before, yet suddenly you were always there, distracting him. What had changed?

Could you possibly-

Jamil scoffed to himself, forcing his thoughts back on track for the nth time that day.

He picked up the tray of food and started taking it to Kalim. After dinner, he’d need to help Kalim with his homework, there were some housewarden tasks that would need dealing with, not to mention the preparations for the next-

Jamil froze in his tracks.

The voice he heard was quiet, but it was unmistakably you.

Really, it should not have come as such a surprise to him. You had become a rather frequent visitor to Scarabia, and Kalim often invited you to stay for meals. In fact, Jamil had started planning the dorm’s meal prep with your tastes and dietary restrictions in mind, just in case.

Jamil rounded the corner with strange exhilaration, his heart fluttering needlessly.

Yet, his mood evaporated when he saw you.

Why did you stop talking and look so guilty as soon as you caught sight of Jamil?

Jamil knew that look you gave to Kalim, had used it himself a thousand times. The one telling Kalim to keep quiet about something.

What could there possibly be that you would be comfortable sharing with Kalim, but not with him? That would give Kalim reason to sit so close to you, a comforting hand on your shoulder?

Jamil's mind raced with possibilities, yet could not settle for any single explanation.

He’d have to ask Kalim about it later.

Jamil gave you a short, polite greeting, his eyes lingering on you in an attempt to read what you were hiding.

“If I’d known you were coming over, I would’ve prepared something for you to eat as well,” Jamil said, already thinking about which parts of the dorm’s dinner to spruce up for you.

“Oh, no need, just figured I’d pop by. I’ll get out of your hair soon enough,” you said, something sheepish about your expression.

As expected, Kalim asked you to stay and dine with them, and with just a bit more persuasion you agreed - though not before telling Jamil that he should join you too and have himself a breather.

And since Kalim agreed with you, Jamil soon found himself sharing a meal with you and Kalim. Yet, even as he sat down with the food, his mind raced.

Had you been getting particularly close to Kalim lately? But surely Jamil would’ve noticed such a thing. Maybe someone from the dorm had been giving you trouble? But if that was the case, then surely you could let Jamil know about it, too. Unless for some reason you did not want to? But if it was something that concerned Kalim, then sooner or later it was bound to concern Jamil, too.

All the while, Kalim was talking to you about this and that, the latest topic being the animals kept on the Asim estate.

“I’ve got some pictures, let me show you!” Kalim said with an excited grin.

Only, a thorough patting of his pockets and a look around confirmed that Kalim’s phone was nowhere to be seen.

Jamil pinched the bridge of his nose. Where had Kalim left it this time?

Before Jamil even had the chance to say that he would handle it, Kalim sprinted off. Jamil hesitated for a moment, automatically halfway up from his seat, before he decided that leaving a guest unattended would be a worse offense than not helping out his master.

Jamil slumped back down with a sigh, mentally tracing the path Kalim took today, trying to recall the last time he saw Kalim handle his phone.

“Breathe. He’ll manage,” you said. There was the faintest of smiles on your lips, and Jamil could not decide if it was knowing or amused. Perhaps both.

Somehow, despite his frustration, Jamil’s own lips wanted to curl up too.

“Hmm. Maybe he will.”

Sure, Jamil could’ve called Kalim’s phone, to make it easier to find, but it was not that urgent, was it?

Jamil took another bite of his food, keeping an eye on you from the corner of his eye.

How was his mind so empty and so buzzing at the same time?

“You know-”

“So-”

You looked at each other, both just as surprised that the other had spoken up at the same time.

Even your surprised look was so-

“You first,” Jamil said. The way you bit your lip... Jamil had to raise a cup to his lips, slowly sipping his drink.

“Just… Feels like it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen you be still, you know. Or exchanged more than two words with you,” you said. You were attempting a light, joking tone, yet it was quite clear there was more to it.

“You say that like it would be unusual for me to be busy.”

He was not prepared for the way your soft sigh tugged at his heartstrings.

“No. It is not.”

You were both quiet after, poking at your meals. Normally, Jamil would’ve cherished such a moment of peace, yet this particular silence between you two was decidedly awkward.

Where was your usual chatter? Why weren’t you looking at him like you usually did?

“If you’re worried about me, don’t. I’m fine,” Jamil said, some softness creeping into his tone despite his best intentions.

“That's what Kalim said too,” you said. Yet the way you looked at Jamil made it clear you were still skeptical.

Wait.

Had you clammed up earlier because it had been Jamil you had been talking about with Kalim? That Kalim had comforted you about?

The thought twisted his stomach into knots.

Hasdhfsdf the way I fought with that last scene I swear. I don't even want to know how many versions I went through, trying to figure out how to say what I wanted without rubbing it into your face or making it too veiled. The joys of trying to convey things through a limited pov. Hopefully it came out reasonably balanced in the end. Rip to all those sentences that were lovely on their own but didn’t work for the whole. Hopefully I can rehome y’all one day. I do have thoughts for part 3 and part x (might be some chapters between those two as well, who knows at this point), so maybe we'll see those at some point, too. Tag list: @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know! (Just be aware that sometimes I do also write nsfw, though you can certainly ask to be tagged only for particular kinds of works.)

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper #twisted wonderland x reader #jamil viper x reader #ner writes #jamil definitely knows how to deal with his feels #also writing this is making me wonder how aware jamil is of his inner versus outer life #like he’s very aware of how he comes across because that’s what he’s been told to watch out for #but how well has he truly learned to understand himself and his own feelings wants etc?#(I mean as you can tell I’m assuming not very well)#originally this went to more of a “jamil hears just the wrong part of the conversation” route but #a) I kinda hate that trope especially when it’s dragged on beyond belief and #b) Kalim maybe doesn’t want to spill anyone’s secrets but he really is such an open book especially with Jamil so #also it’s not like jamil needs the extra help to catastrophize he already does that well enough on his own 🙃#tho then I went a little too far in the other direction and had to pull back #but let's just hope I didn't edit this to death by now #also also: since I seem to have a bit of a naming theme going on for this series #if I were to be the sort to go for the angst route what part would definitely be titled Too Late or something along those lines #also x3 but loved folks commenting on that part about reader being inoffensive in the first part #I certainly had fun writing that line #(and in general extra love to everyone who leaves comments on tags replies wherever always great to read those)#(and in general chat with y'all)

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ghouljams · 4 months

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You said that König is a misogynist, (I think the next part was you the one who said this, not 100% sure) and that he either sees women in like two categories: his coworkers who he kinda underestimates or delicate princesses that should be spoiled (mostly his darling).

So, my question is, what would happen if König met a woman that is a brutally efficient killer? Like John Wick or The Equalizer kind of style.

He was supervising an undercover mission, not his usual thing, but a man like him stands up too much. So, two of his least physically conspicuous operatives were sent to a restaurant. König was watching through the cameras when he saw a gorgeous little thing (everyone is little to him) go inside the russian gangster office on the second floor.

This scene in specific is the one I'm imagining (it starts at 5:35): https://youtu.be/wfNU6JfDN_c?si=gpaR3HG8KoEGnyvZ

He watched in silence, unable to react, it was too fast. In less than 30 seconds five men were dead, and then she disappeared.

My honest answer is that no amount of skill, strength, or resolve will ever convince a misogynist to see you as a person on equal level as them.

I've gone back and forth with answering this for a while and I still might delete it after I've posted it because I don't think it's a popular opinion. But I don't find these sorts of narratives interesting. I hate the "weak woman" trope, because it always feels reductive to me. The whole "oh this man thinks women are weak but you prove him wrong because you're actually really strong" always strikes me as saying "women are weak but I'm the exception" and... that also isn't good... The trope never seems to be proving that all women are capable of strength, but that this one person is better than other women.

Maybe it's the ghost of Mary Wollstonecraft possessing me, but don't you want to be taken seriously? Don't you want a vindication of your rights as a woman? Isn't that the appeal of fiction, the fantasy of it? Why would I want to deal with a misogynist in fiction when I deal with it in real life and don't find it particularly attractive in either situation?

I'm very careful with König's notions of gender equality. I want to keep him in character, or at least what I perceive that character to be, but I also don't want to undermine the reader. In my eyes, the fantasy is being taken seriously, being listened to, being respected. It's having the giant brute of a man tell you he believes you when you say you can do something. It's being able to chose not to prove yourself because you are already an equal in the partner character's eyes. König has fantasies about his darlings having his children, but not because that's their job, because he wants kids. König has a free use kink, not because he thinks women are objects, but because he... has that kink. He sets up scenes within kink, but once those scenes are over they're over.

Anyway, this is all just my way of saying. I would love if people stop sending me "reader is a weak uwu bean and the men all want to coddle her but wait she's actually really strong" requests. I understand the desire to be protected and cared for, but you came to the horny for strong reader characters blog...

#ghoul speaks #hmmmmm #I'm not trying to be mean I hope this doesn't come off as mean #also no shame to the people that do write fic like this #it has a definite audience but it is not my jam #Some of y'all write really amazing fic and I am a big dark fic fan #but yeah idk I don't want to write about misogynists

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nuwildcat · 2 months

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Chapters: 1/12 Fandom: KinnPorsche: The Series (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Porsche Pachara Kittisawat/Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun Characters: Porsche Pachara Kittisawat, Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Big (KinnPorsche: The Series), Tae Taechin Lerttravinont, Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat, Pete Phongsakorn Saengtham, Vegas Kornwit Theerapanyakun, Khun Tankhun Theerapanyakun, Korn Theerapanyakun, Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakun, Sugar Baby Porsche Pachara Kittisawat, Canon-Typical Violence, Slower burn kinda, but make no mistake team there is lots of sex, Emotional Slow Burn, they take a while to figure out their shit your honor, Background Relationships, background Kim/Chay, Yakuza, Explicit Language, Possessive Behavior, Explicit Sexual Content, Power Dynamics, Light Dom/sub, Daddy Kink, Anal Sex, Switching, Kinn's cannon big dick, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, They both get off on this dynamic real hard, Coming Untouched, Voyeuristic tendencies cause it's these two, Semi-Public Sex, Jewelry, Lingerie, Putting Porsche in a corset cause I can, I know it doesn't seem like it from the tags but there is definitely plot here Summary:

Porsche is what he considers a professional. He’s been sugaring full-time for two years now, and not much shakes him anymore. Enter one Kinn Anakinn Theerapanyakul, Bangkok’s very own mafia prince. He’s filthy rich, handsome, and dangerous. Porsche knows he should stay away, but life is never so simple.

It all starts with a glass of whiskey.

Dropping some new fic for you all to enjoy! Thank you @fairhairedkings for the beta on this fic and @luckydragon10 and @martynaxao3 for being early readers and keeping me sane as I wrote out the bulk of this fic.

#my fic #sugar daddy AU #beautiful and dirty rich #sugar daddy kinn #sugar baby porsche #kinnporsche #I've been waiting to share this since august and it has killed me team #I really just needed a Porsche is a confident sugar baby fic and so I wrote it #this is fabulously self indulgent but I hope y'all like it too #kinnporsche fanfic #kinnporsche the series #kinn theerapanyakul #kinn x porsche #porsche kittisawasd

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