#The advisors are heated in the background i just know it

[backpackingspace]

Okay but it must have been a political disaster for xie lian to have ascended. Like he was the only heir wasn't he? Only child that he was. Who inherited next? Was it qi rong? Can you imagine

#heaven official's blessing #Ygcf #Xie lian #qi rong #The political disaster of having your only heir ascend to godhood before they could secure the line #The advisors are heated in the background i just know it #The debate they're having is who would be worse to work with as a king #On one hand the crown prince is refined and had the education for ruling on the other he *shudders* has morals #Always going off on how they should redirect their money to other people the horror #On the other hand there is qi rongs everything #Or I guess secret third option where xie lian comes back home to visit and finds out he's now an older brother #As always the unspoken politics are my favorite part of world building

[thosewickedlovelies]

Messenger Bird  |  Oberyn Martell x afab!Reader x Ellaria Sand

Rating: E for Explicit

Summary: Your flight path finally brings you to the bedchamber of the Prince of Dorne

Tags: SMUT: oral (f recieving), unprotected PiV sex, mention of bondage; Ellaria is in bed with yous but I wouldn’t necessarily call this a threesome; reader vaguely describes themself as being less experienced than Oberyn but I don’t think that should exclude many people lol

Word count: 5,991

Note: This fic is inspired solely by a scene in @radiowallet‘s fabulous Oberyn fic, to which I responded "10/10 would be the person who ends up in bed with Oberyn because he answers the door with his dick out 🤷🏻‍♀️”

This is like, a roughly canon au where Oberyn and Ellaria are married and the regents of Dorne. It's also mostly PWP, so. enjoy lmao <3

Masterlist

“There are few good reasons to be disturbing a prince this early-”

The door opens-

“-but there is one reason I am generally inclined to forgive.”

-and the first thing you see is Prince Oberyn’s hand, wrapped around his cock.

You gape, stupefied. Though cast in bronze, not iron, the wholly naked body of the Prince of Dorne seizes your attention like a magnet. All of your good sense screams at you to avert your gaze, but how can you? 

His hand, and the length it grips, are both shiny, smudged with damp. Is it the same fluid beading at the tip of his cock? 

Or has it a different source? In the background you hear sheets rustling, and a familiar feminine voice drawling.

“Oberyn darling, you know what your advisors say about answering the door in your skin.”

The prince’s eyes had widened infinitesimally upon seeing you, surprise and delight flaring for a split second. That hand moved- up and down, ever so slightly. The faintest motion, just enough to convey that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Something secretive sparkled in Oberyn’s eyes, just barely curled the corners of his full mouth. “What my advisors say, and what our little raven’s face says are two very different things, my love.”

“Oh?”

You wrench your gaze back up to Oberyn’s face, eyes wide. Heat prickles and swarms over your skin. Your tongue has dried up in your mouth, leaving you quite unable to address Princess Ellaria even had you retained the wits to.

“What are you doing up so early, my little messenger bird? Surely there cannot be any urgent demands of me with the day barely dawned?” 

Emboldened, Oberyn leans more comfortably against the door frame, titling his head as he awaits your response. He continues to tug on his cock, an almost idle motion- except his pace is decidedly deliberate. His dark eyes gleam.

Oh, gods, what could you say? That you’d been driven mad by your own need? That there was an itch under your skin which nothing could satisfy, one that had only grown stronger since the bloom of summer and the carelessly revealing fashions Dorne and its prince preferred?

The truth was that you’d barely finished your tea this morn, anticipating that indeed, there should be no important messages for the prince this early, when the Maester’s bark had startled you to wakefulness. Now the small scroll he’d given you was all but crushed in your fist, and doubtless sweat-stained besides.

Mutely, you lift your hand. Small mercies- the tiny seal closing the parchment hadn’t cracked in your grip.

Oberyn measures you for another long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. Scoffing, he takes the scroll from you, releasing his cock with clear displeasure.

A faint breeze blows past you through the open door. It carries the distant murmur of waves crashing, and the ever-present scents of salt and oleander. Silk hangings above the bed sway, glimmering in the rich, fiery colors of the Martell family, tassels fluttering.

Oberyn’s fingers are still wet. They leave fingerprint smudges where he adjusts his grip on the paper. His cock bobs with the faint shifting of his body, his eyes narrowing as he reads. Taking advantage of his distraction, you risk a longer look at the utterly bare body of Oberyn Martell.

Stripped of his usual flowing robes, the prince somehow appears taller. Every part of him is long and lean, rangy muscles stretched along his shapely frame. Despite his frequent act as the long-suffering hedonist forced to rule, there is a sharp intelligence about him- a calculating mind turning beneath hair often mussed by sleep, sex, or spearwork.

His cock is as long and sturdy as he is. As bronze, too. A trim thatch of hair curls neatly around the base, climbing up and stopping teasingly short of his navel. You wonder if the prince sunbathes nude, to achieve such uniformly sun-dipped skin. The moisture coating the hair and skin of his groin shimmers and winks, scattering your thoughts, and you swallow thickly.

You look up again, but you’d lingered too long- Oberyn is watching you already, his mouth curved up the slightest bit. 

He drops the parchment carelessly to the floor. “Tell me true, now, messenger bird. It is only unfortunate happenstance that has kept us from meeting in my bedchamber before now, yes?”

If before there was mischief in his eyes, now it is tempered by a clear, hard demand for truth. Of all the whispers throughout the palace of the prince’s exploits, one unquestionable feature was always present: Oberyn didn’t take unwilling lovers. One entered his bed out of desire, not obligation.

You allow your professional façade to thaw, shaking yourself free of the shock and focusing on the other feelings that the prince always inspired. Delight. Desire. Hunger.

“Yes, my prince.” You dip your head coyly, lashes fluttering.

Oberyn’s smile is that of one who has just learned his long-laid plans have come to fruition- and he intends to savor the results.

“Would you like to come in now? I hope you will not mind my wife’s presence- it is the princess’s bed too, you understand.”

Oberyn steps back in invitation, opening the door wider for you. That hardness has not completely left his eyes- there is flint to it, an almost-challenge sparking.

But your attention is no longer on the prince.

His movement has revealed the princess, still abed behind him. Ellaria has turned on her side toward the door, supported by a cushion pulled to her chest. The fact that it covers the delicate parts of her otherwise bare torso is plainly more by accident than design- the outer curve of her right breast is clearly visible, tan skin an obvious contrast against the orchid-purple silk of the pillow. Her slim frame is barely a ripple in the sheets of the enormous bed, yet her presence commands- no eye could resist her allure. Your lips part.

Ellaria smiles lazily, hooded eyes shimmering with laughter at the knowledge between you.

“I can think of little I would mind less, my lord.” Ellaria’s reaction warms you, inspires a bit more confidence, and you manage to stand a little straighter as you enter the room.

Oberyn glances between you and his wife. “Have I missed something?” he inquires. 

The door closes, and then you’re aware of Oberyn behind you, so close you can feel the heat radiating from all of his bare flesh.

Your mouth goes dry again. If Ellaria was the encouraging warmth of an arm around the shoulders, Oberyn was heat- mercurial as a desert wind. A temperature vacillating on the cusp of dangerous.

Thankfully, Ellaria seems immune to Oberyn’s effect. “I’m afraid our sweet messenger bird made a rather…special delivery to me last week, while you were otherwise occupied, my prince.”

“My heart! You did not tell me?” You can feel Oberyn puffing up behind you, his tone full of indignance.

The princess presses her lips together, clearly stifling amusement. “It was entirely too brief an affair, in honesty. Everything was busy during that period- it must have simply slipped my mind. Truly, I’m sorry, my love.” Her dark eyes shine, but the apology is sincere. Sweet and simple as sugared almonds.

“Hmmm.” Oberyn’s considering hum rumbles through you, like the purr of a great cat. “This morn is my turn, then. After that we will be even.”

You jump at the brush of his hands on your waist. The prince was out of sight behind your back, and his touch was a surprise that sent gooseflesh rippling over you.

“How does that sound, sweet bird? Will you let me ravish you like such a one as lovely as you deserves to be ravished? Will you share a morning of pleasure with your prince?” Oberyn lowers his voice to a deep rasp in your ear; he toys with the raven-black sash of your messenger’s uniform, but does not loosen it. 

Your body tightens and warms from top to toe. Ellaria has not taken her eyes off you; her gaze scorches like a fresh coal in a warming pan.

“I would be honored, my prince.” 

It would be a lie to say you weren’t nervous. There were rumors, of course, of the prince’s inclinations in the bedchamber. If nothing else, his experience far surpassed your own; he liked things to go his way, but this, at least, would suit you fine.

Finally, Oberyn pulls free the tie of your sash. He draws it off your shoulders, but then, still holding it, comes to stand in front of you. The gather of fabric is just enough to block your view of his sex.

“You must promise me one thing, Bird. You will tell me, if we veer too close to anything you do not want. Any activity, any place on that lovely body. I do not force things on my companions.

“I am a man of many desires, but among them will never be thus. I am your prince, not your master.” Oberyn holds your gaze.

A fragment of uncertainty still holding tight in your chest dissipates. “I understand. I promise, my prince.”

Those obsidian eyes soften slightly. “You may use my name.”

You hesitate. Even your fantasies had not dared to dream of such familiarities. “I promise…Prince Oberyn.”

Oberyn smiles then, a wide, pleased expression. He tosses your sash to the side, revealing his cock still proud and alert. He moves closer, and you’re reminded of the great cats that stalk the mountains in the north of Dorne- all sleek, bunching muscles and a singular focus on the object of their hunt. In this moment, you suppose that would make you the prey. It’s a dizzying, thrilling  thought: that the prince of Dorne, the Viper himself, seeks you.

As his hands seek your jaw now, sliding along your skin with the slowness of one who knows well the effect his touch has. Oberyn cradles your face in his hands, lifting your chin, your mouth- a cup from which he intends to drink deep. His breath brushes your lips, syrupy with the taste of wine. 

Oberyn’s dark eyes bore into your face. “Sweet bird,” he murmurs. His rasp is the last thing you hear before his mouth touches yours, and then your head fills with wind. Blood rushing and roaring in your ears, blotting out all other sensation but Oberyn’s mouth, full and soft and confident, urging you to follow his motions, guiding you into his world of sensual wonder.

And you follow willingly. You part your lips to the prince’s tongue, and relish the confidence with which he slips inside, weaving layers of sensation into the kiss.

Oberyn still holds your face to his. His hands span the entire length of your jaw, and they are not idle: his fingertips stroke and massage in small motions, sending tingles down your neck, pleasure rippling through you like wind through tall grass. You become aware, suddenly, of Oberyn’s body- it’s easing gradually closer to your own, the entire burning mass of it sending heat through your clothes, like leaning against the chimney of a great hearthfire. You inhale sharply. 

The prince withdraws from your kiss. He studies your wide, dreamstruck eyes, your lips, now appropriately kiss-swollen. Smirking, he looks to Ellaria for approval. His wife’s gaze travels down your body.

“I didn’t get to see her last time.” The princess pouts. “Undress her for me, darling?”

“Anything for you, my love.”

Oberyn returns his attention to you. “Yes?” His hands skate meaningfully down your back, to the laces of your dress.

“Yes,” you answer, and his hands are already working. “-to both.”

Oberyn laughs once, loud and bright with surprise. “Careful, sweet bird, or I will think you are here only to steal my wife from me.”

Ellaria’s eyes sparkle. “Sweet words from a sweet bird, indeed.” She shifts to lie more comfortably, relocating her long fall of curls with the sweep of a practiced hand. The cushion is carelessly adjusted, and then her right breast is fully visible, as pert and lovely as you only briefly glimpsed during your meeting. 

Ellaria faintly smirks at your expression, but a moment later you are both distracted. Your gown sags in the familiar shapelessness of undone laces, and Oberyn is quick to take advantage. He traces the exposed skin up your spine, and you arch at his touch, your lungs filling. You move to help him remove the gown, but he stops you.

“Slowly, now,” Oberyn whispers in your ear. “Give the princess something to long for.”

He draws your dress slowly down your shoulders, and you mark the speed. As slow and languorous as a drizzle of honey pools on a cake. Your heart beats fast. You have never made a performance of undressing for a lover- surely the lovemaking itself ought to be the show?

But as you grip the bodice of your dress, lowering it with exaggerated slowness, pulling the fabric tight to emphasize your breasts about to spill free- you think you understand. Ellaria’s gaze rivets to your chest, growing hungrier the longer you and Oberyn take to bare you. What is a main act, after all, without the opening scenes?

Your own hunger rises as you witness Ellaria’s. You finally lower the gown to bare your breasts entirely, but Oberyn’s hands immediately cover them. You gasp. His movement was unexpected…and very distracting. A small sound of pleasure breaks from you as the prince’s callused hands massage the tender flesh in a way that feels entirely deliberate. Knowledgeable. Like he knows exactly what this will do- this squeeze, this twist of your nipple, this-

“Keep going,” Oberyn purrs.

-this command, given in his sensual rasp.

Between the prince at your back and the princess to your front, you have nowhere to hide. No way to. Everywhere you are confronted with something that stokes the flame of desire steadily growing within you.

Oberyn had told you to keep going. One by one, you free your arms from their sleeves, letting the morning sun play on your skin, the sea breeze raise the fine hairs. The prince’s hands continue to massage your breasts, exploring every dip and curve of your torso as your gown drops further. Finally it’s at your hips, and without any extra encouragement you push it down to pool around your feet.

Wearing nothing but the morning light, you stand before the regents of Dorne. 

Or you try to- Oberyn has molded himself to your back, mouthing at your neck, and suddenly your knees struggle to hold you upright.

Any self-consciousness you thought you’d feel fades away as you turn in Oberyn’s arms to kiss him, and are welcomed eagerly. The prince rewards your initiative with an approving groan, hauling you to him, encouraging you to get as close as you wish. Every inch of him is firm with muscle, standing sturdy against your desperate grasping. You can’t decide what to reach for first- you want to touch all of him.

Especially the burning length trapped between your hips. You reach for it, and Oberyn lets out another low sound of pleasure, breaking your kiss as you tip your head down to watch yourself touch him.

Oberyn wraps his hand around yours, stilling your motions. “Patience, Bird.” His eyes dance, warm and amused. “We have plenty of time. I think the princess is getting lonely, yes?”

He herds you gently toward the bed, where Ellaria is indeed waiting, with something like envy on her face.

What could she possibly have to be envious of? The princess had no reason to suffer such an emotion. She could end this, remove you from her husband’s arms, with but a word.

What you don’t see, as Oberyn's handful of your rear interferes with your tentative climb into the bed, is that Ellaria’s gaze is not on the prince, but on you.

Your elbows buckle and you squeak. 

“Hurry up, or I will assume you wish to be kept in this position,” Oberyn growls from behind you- from over you. He has clambered over your back, draping himself over you and planting his hands on your wrists.

His tone is light with jest, but you have no doubt he means it. This is a common theme in many of the oft-whispered stories- if the prince and princess like someone enough, they might keep them a whole day, or night, or any length of time, really. For their use and pleasure alone. Even restrained, if the guest wishes- and from what you’ve heard, enough have wished it to make you wonder.

The thought makes you shiver. As does Oberyn’s grip, dragging your hands gently upward, forcing your face and chest flat against the silk sheets. Your breathing quickens. Oberyn’s hips press into your rear, his cock rubbing between your cheeks, and with your knees spread the way they are, you can feel the wetness of your own arousal smeared cool against your inner thighs. 

Heat flares in your cheeks. Is Oberyn going to fuck you already?

“Mmm,” he rumbles into your neck. “That is very tempting, but I shall take my own advice, I think. Patience.”

And Oberyn demonstrates a great store of patience, indeed. You lie, belly down in slippery silk, for an immeasurable length of time as the prince drags his mouth along every inch of your skin. You squirm and pant and moan under the delicious assault, fresh slick welling when he lingers where your thighs meet. His weight lifts off you as Oberyn finally descends, imprinting new damp patches down your left leg.

You take the opportunity to shift, half turning on your side toward Ellaria. She’s watching you, eyes slumberous and knowing. Her fingers trace light paths across your arms and chest- the first time she’s touched so much of your bare skin.

“Will you bring us songs as well as messages in the future, sweet bird? You sound so lovely when you sing.”

“If the prince and princess wish it,” you answer honestly.

You yelp as Oberyn switches legs, nipping your right ankle. Your flinch draws Ellaria’s attention to your chest. Her hand moves lower, boldly caressing the supple, sensitive flesh, all the while watching your face. She thumbs your nipple experimentally, and you bite your lip. She pinches it, and you gasp, the touch zinging straight to your core. 

This time your motion twitches your thigh away from Oberyn’s mouth. With a growl, he crawls back up the bed, shoving himself unceremoniously between you and Ellaria. 

“You have already had your fun, my love.” The prince falls atop his wife, his teeth at her neck. “Do not make me restrain you this morn.” 

He swallows the princess’s giggles with a shamelessly wanton, thorough kiss. 

“That would be a terrible torture, indeed.” Ellaria is finally able to agree, teasingly, breathlessly. “Very well, my love. I shall not interrupt your designs.”

Oberyn kisses her again, quick and soft. Resting his forehead against hers, he turns his head to you. “Perhaps after I am through with her, you can give me a reenactment of your meeting.”

His eyes gleam wickedly as he looks at you while addressing his wife.

They are both impossibly beautiful. Inky hair and rich coloring- the very sun yearns to embrace them, its golden arms reaching across the bed. They appear all the more unearthly when gilded with its light; untouchable as muses, models which sculptors might strive their whole lives to do justice.

But they are as physical as you. The illusion is broken when Oberyn again slides his body across yours, pleasure striking like sparks over your skin.

“Come, sweet one. I wish for my messenger bird to perch upon my face.”

Oberyn wants you to…sit on his face? Why? 

The prince stretches out on your other side. You sit up, wanting to oblige him but unsure of his intent. You don’t understand until Oberyn reaches for your sex, stroking lightly in a beckoning gesture. He growls in satisfaction at the slickness that readily coats his fingers.

Oberyn reads the hesitation in your face. “You have not done this before.”

“No, my prince. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize. It is an honor to teach new pleasures to the subjects in my care.”

The sheets rustle as Ellaria strokes your thigh comfortingly. “Oberyn had much to teach me, as well, when I first came to his bed. You will like this,” she assures you.

Oberyn makes no objection to his wife’s touch this time. “What is going to happen is you, lovely bird, are going to sit that shapely bottom here-” he pats his chest “-which will allow me to taste your sweetness directly from the source.” He dips the tips of those beckoning fingers into your cunt, leaving no doubt as to his meaning.

You are stunned all over again. Although this time some of your bemusement is surely due to the way the prince’s thumb joins his fingers, pressing at the bud of your sex even while his fingers continue to rub at something divine inside you.

You arch and whimper. “Prince Oberyn-!”

He chuckles, a pleased, approving sound. “That’s right, sweet bird. Come, take your perch and sing.”

The prince tugs and maneuvers you just so, arranging you above his mouth. His fingers are wet on your thigh.

His mouth is wetter. You moan, high and long and helpless, when Oberyn’s mouth engulfs your sex. Past lovers have done this for you (albeit in more traditional positions), but Oberyn has clearly received a prince’s education even in the carnal arts. Slippery heat and suction, concentrated pressure and indiscriminate lapping- somehow he knows precisely what to do and where, and when, and for how long-

“Ah~!” you cry out again as pleasure rushes up all too suddenly, pressure about to burst like a geyser. You squirm and try to lift away from Oberyn, but his arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you firmly in place. Surely it would be rude to climax before the prince?

Ellaria’s grip above your knee has tightened. In your parted lips, your heaving chest, she reads the signs.

“Take your pleasure, sweet bird.” Her eyes are now wide, rather than sleepy. “You needn’t wait to reach your peak.”

Her intent gaze is all the permission you need- as is Oberyn’s tongue, twisting relentlessly at your clit. Your uncertainty snaps at his wordless demand. Pleasure floods your system, climax shuddering through every muscle, everything pulling abruptly tight before releasing

The onslaught of bliss gradually recedes. Accompanying the very last of it is a long, deep sigh- a confirmation of relief if there ever was one. Your thighs tremble suddenly, after holding tense for so long. Your hands fall to Oberyn’s head to support yourself, fingers instinctively stroking through the short, bristly strands of his hair.

The prince tips his head back into your caress, revealing his mouth and chin shiny with your release. His eyes glint with satisfaction. 

“Was that as sweet for you as it was for me, Songbird?” 

“I daresay it was, my prince.” You are breathless and overcome with the sudden urge to giggle.

You begin to ease off of Oberyn, your limbs clumsy as if affected by the same buzzing that fills your head. It’s a giddy, bubbling sensation; it reminds you of a party the palace hosted, not long ago. You don’t remember the reason, now. Only that the prince had used it as an excuse to share a marvelous new kind of wine he’d discovered on his travels- a sweet, white vintage which fizzed, in which bubbles rose endlessly, seemingly without source or cause. It sparkled in mouths and in spirits all night long. He’d invited all the palace staff to the celebration, to try this magical wine, and had caught your eye that night. Your spirit lifted by the bubbles, you’d smiled at Oberyn.

Nothing came of it that night, of course. But now, with your body loose as if that wine were still fizzing in your veins…you cannot find it in you to feel disappointed. 

Oberyn takes a second to ensure that you are again lying snugly between him and Ellaria. Then he leans over you entirely, his mouth still shiny, and Ellaria sits up slightly to meet him. She moans at the taste of you in his kiss.

Oberyn’s manhood presses into your thigh. It is insistently hard, a ruddy flush to it now, and leaking freely. The fluid smears onto your skin. Eyes wide, you are entranced by the prince and princess all over again.

The ends of Ellaria’s raven curls brush your arm, soft and sweet-smelling. Following them upward, your eye catches on a necklace encircling her throat. A slender gold chain rests atop her collarbone. From it dangles small stones, their polished surfaces catching the light in shades suggesting a sunrise: pink, lavender, topaz. It seems to glimmer with a light all its own, the chain links shifting and tinkling as Ellaria moves.

“Perhaps you will have to try our topsy-turvy position with her as well, my love.” Oberyn murmurs against Ellaria’s lips, and you’d swear her cheeks colored the slightest tinge.

Turning his head, the prince notices what has caught your attention.

“Do you like her necklace, sweet bird?”

Oberyn shifts his body over yours as he speaks. Distracted by his words, you almost don’t notice the prince’s body sinking between your legs- until you feel a cool brush of air where there hadn’t been, and something rigid, long, and hot settle at the seam of your cunt. You draw a startled breath.

“I like how it sparkles and chimes when I fuck her, “ Oberyn croons in your ear. His tongue flickers at your neck, every inch the viper; the sensation crackles down your spine like a whip-strike of fresh pleasure. “Shall we find one for you?”

Your mouth hangs open, but no air or sound passes in either direction. Perhaps there are too many sounds you could make, and not enough air in the room; all you can do is stare.

Taking your shock as assent, Oberyn directs Ellaria to pick something for you. “We keep a jewelry box by the bed for this very purpose.” The prince smirks.

Ellaria stretches toward the nightstand at Oberyn’s bid, the sheets slithering down her back. She could be a sea-nymph, reaching out from a pool of gold, the silk glimmering like water around her. It is a mesmerizing sight: Ellaria’s long back, a slim braid of muscles flickering as she rummages in a drawer. Her arm arcs upward suddenly, triumphant, and when she turns back the silk slips lower still, and you glimpse what you had only felt between her legs that day…

Ellaria dangles her prize before your face. A short chain of gold like hers, but from which hang smaller stones like clusters of grapes, winking in the light. You can’t imagine wearing something so fine- but then, you couldn’t imagine being welcomed into the prince and princess’s bed before this morning, either. Being adored and adorned by two such breathtaking individuals at once.

“Perfect.” Oberyn’s declaration is hushed and reverent. “This will shine like stars against your skin.” 

“Put it on,” he orders. Then he nearly whispers, “Let us get you ready for me, songbird.”

In his tone is a wicked desire that you realize had been banked, before now. But now- as he pins your legs open with his own body, with his own hand- you sense there is no stopping it.

Oberyn slips two fingers into you, the first rush of the flood he had thus far contained. You gasp, thighs spasming. But Oberyn had drawn from you a flood of your own earlier, and there was no pain, only sudden recognition of an ache- a hunger for more than just the prince’s fingers.

Ellaria drags the end of the necklace over your chest. The metal scrapes gently over your nipples, a startling but not unpleasant sensation, and you squirm at the onslaught of stimulation- Oberyn’s fingers filling you, Ellaria’s fingers brushing your throat- and finally, the close-fitting chain clasping snugly around your neck.

You swallow, and feel the resistance of the unyielding metal against the bob of your throat. Oberyn watches you intently, hungrily. His fingers still move inside you, experimenting with one motion, then another, tracking your reaction to each one. You hitch your thighs open wider as sensations compete for your attention. You tip your head back, exposing your now-bejeweled throat to Oberyn.

“Do I sparkle enough for you, my prince?”

One corner of his mouth curls up, but it’s an almost mocking effect combined with the glitter in his eyes. “Let us find out, little raven.”

Without further warning, Oberyn’s fingers withdraw from your cunt. Every muscle in you tightens, your awareness narrowing in anticipation. Oberyn strokes his cock through your sex, readying you. Your hips lift toward the sensation. Your eyes lock.

The prince of Dorne plunges his cock into you in a single, breathtaking stroke. Your head drops back; your eyes roll heavenward. Oberyn’s loud, satisfied moan fills the room. He relishes this moment as fully as he enjoys everything else he does, his hips grinding forward into yours like he cannot get enough of himself inside you.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, your breathing short. Oberyn’s cock fills you like nothing you’ve ever felt, until there is no room for you to focus on anything but the thick, burning length of him.

“Look at me, Bird. Open your eyes.”

How can you do anything but obey? 

Oberyn’s gaze is fiercely alive, shining with joy and triumph at the pleasure connecting you.

You can hardly speak, but he sees it in your eyes; you have never been so thrilled to feel like a mouse in the cat’s claws. 

After that there is nothing more to be said. Oberyn ravishes you as he promised, raining praises like word of law, scandalous declarations that make you blush despite your position beneath him. Every stroke of his cock is a work of art. The prince draws out your pleasure from a seemingly endless spool, until you are unraveled, trembling, teetering on the knife’s edge of bliss.

The necklace around your throat did indeed glitter like a chain of stars. Oberyn thrusts into you hard, taking it as a challenge to make the stones chime louder than you sobbed each time. He thoroughly enjoys the way each thrust makes your curves ripple. He enjoys, too, the sight of his wife plastering herself to your shoulder, cooing encouragement even as she contributes to Oberyn’s treatment.

“You’re doing so well, sweet bird. My husband does have stamina, doesn’t he? And this after he had me earlier this morn…” Ellaria’s voice is lush and silky as flower petals- and as erotic dragging over your skin. “I had no idea you could sing so sweetly.”

Oberyn slows his pace. “I should not be the only one to have you today, my heart. I wish to hear what songs you make together.”

Oberyn grips your chin in his large hand and turns your face toward the princess. “What do you say, Songbird? Will you eat my wife’s cunt when I’m through with yours?”

You would have agreed to anything as long he brought you back to that dazzling edge, but this was a bargain you’d be happy to fulfill.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Gladly.”

A small smile tilts up Ellaria’s mouth. “I would be most intrigued to experience the talents of this lovely mouth,” she muses. “But perhaps I would rather eat yours, instead. You know how I like to taste you, my prince.”

She direct the last words to her husband, sultry mischief in her dark eyes. Her fingertips dance between your bodies, down, down, to where you are split around him. You jolt at the targeted pressure she places on your clit. 

Oberyn groans, his forehead lowering to your shoulder. “I fear you shall not have long to wait, my love. This cunt is truly divine- it may deserve further worship after all…”

His words trail away, praises only half-formed grunted into your neck. His thrusts speed up again. The two of them on either side of you, commanding your pleasure so sweetly, overwhelms your senses- as do Ellaria’s fingers, pressing precisely where you need.

Your mouth opens in a soundless cry as you tip over the precipice. Oberyn jerks his head up to see, and the gorgeous pleasure-pain contorting your features, your cunt fluttering in time with your body’s convulsions, yanks the prince after you. 

Ellaria watches raptly. Her husband’s long body, muscles rippling as he pistons into another, was a sight she never tired of. Neither was his near-snarl as he climaxed, his body seizing and shuddering in ecstasy.

The prince continues moving until your cries turn to whimpers, and your thighs clamp around his hips. A sinister thought briefly quirks his mouth- if he had not been additionally sated by Ellaria earlier, it would have taken much more effort indeed to slow him. Oberyn is rarely satisfied unless his lovers are all but unable to rise from his bed. 

A good thing then, that a familiar gleam has appeared in his wife’s eye.

As Oberyn lowers himself back down to your side, Ellaria takes his place, her body undulating atop yours like a serpent. The prince watches with lazy satisfaction. Despite both his recent releases, his blood maintains a low simmer at the sight of the two of you, the feminine swells of you squishing and spilling against one another. Like the overflow of cream from a bun, he thinks dreamily. Exactly how he likes his cream- overflowing. Perhaps he will be able to sleep now, and he can request some custard puffs from the kitchens later for a second reenactment…

You have barely caught your breath from Oberyn’s attention when Ellaria steals it again, her tongue slipping against yours in a familiar dance. Unencumbered by gowns this time, you are able to touch all of her, caressing down her spine and lower, marveling at the smoothness of her skin. She sits up slightly, and slickness that's not your own lets her rock easily against your sex.

“You sing too sweetly to release so soon, lovely bird. Have you any urgent appointments today?”

Your gaze falls to the black sash which Oberyn had so carelessly tossed aside. Before you can respond, another knock sounds at the door.

Oberyn lets out a half-hearted snarl. “By all the gods-”

Again fully nude, but appearing even more debauched than when you’d arrived, the prince stalks to the door and flings it open.

“Yes?”

It’s another messenger, although her reaction is very different from yours: she stares rigidly ahead, her voice quavering at the sight of Oberyn’s naked, recently exerted body. 

“My prince, the Maester sent me to look for…” she trails off when she spots you, her eyes flitting to you for a split second when Oberyn shifts impatiently. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, my lord.” She bows her head, her voice going squeaky.

“Tell him I have need of this raven for a special task today. I will answer his missive later.”

Oberyn is closing the door before he’s done speaking. When he turns back to the bed, he finds you with your head thrown back, writhing as Ellaria toys deliberately with your nipples. 

He chuckles. “And you tell me I am the incorrigible one, my love.”

Oberyn burrows languidly into the sheets again, stretching out comfortably by your side. You’re whimpering by now, a furrow in your brow rapidly taking the shape of disbelief. It’s a feeling he knows well. 

“Oh, sweet bird, my wife is a rare talent with her fingers, is she not? We have hardly begun all the things we would do to you…”

Thanks for reading 😘💗

Want more? Check out my Masterlist

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #got fic #oberyn martell fic #ellaria sand x reader #oberyn x reader x ellaria #oberyn x you x ellaria #ellaria sand x you #ellaria sand fic

[kiaramori]

📓🫶

I love these so much!! Thank you for sending me it!!

This is another one I’ve been seriously considering writing after my current fic is done, it’s kinda a high fantasy omegaverse thing?

Less about heats/ruts more about giving Steve a Mulan moment lol.

In this one Steve is the oldest prince of the the glorious __ empire. He has always been assumed to be an alpha, but he was a super late bloomer and didn’t present until he’s 18-20

Nancy and Mike are his younger half-siblings (no romance ever with stancy in this one. More sibling/ascension politics.) Steve and Nancy don’t really get along. Once they were close, even friends, but Nancy’s ambition for the throne has put a damper on it.

Background, there is a war going on with the barbaric people of the west, who have teamed up with the last of an ancient race of monsters that were vanquished by The Gods of Light decades ago.

There is a lot of lore in this idea I won’t get into here.

Unfortunately for Steve, when he does present finally, he presents as an omega. This means he will be expected to mate with Duke Hargrove’s son, in order to secure their loyalty and armies. He isn’t eager, given he knows Billy’s character. And if Billy is on the throne (which he would be) then the people would suffer. But they can’t afford to jeopardize their goodwill.

However, his advisor (Murray) offers him a way out. If Steve joined the war before an engagement offer is made and dies, then the Hargrove’s will have nothing to complain about. Nancy will be able to take the throne when the time comes and she will be a much better ruler.

Murray says Steve doesn’t even have to actually die. Just put the royal seal on a dead body.

Btw it is possible to pretend to be an omega in battle where no one is looking for it, than as a noble where people ARE looking for it, and have eyes for details.

So Steve decided to join the war and die a hero rather than fail his country by marrying Billy. He won’t let another person die for him, he’s going to war as a common soldier

However, war is messy. At one point, the army attacks a barbarian village and everyone is given orders to let none survive. But Steve can’t do that, and he fights another soldier in order to allow a mother and her child escape.

He faces punishment and is ripped of all his clothes but his underwear, whipped, and left tied to a stake for the whole time the army is camped there.

But THEN the barbarian army comes to get revenge on the soldiers for destroying the village, and all the soldiers in Steve’s company are killed.

The 2nd in command (effectively the general) is actually the husband of the woman Steve saved (surprise it’s hopper and Joyce)

So they actually spare steve as long as he joins their army.

The 1st in command is against this initially. He is one of the monstrous people and he hates everyone in Steve’s country for the horrors they wrought against his people. He hates Steve and wants him gone. But Hopper convinces him to let Steve stay.

Steve ends up teaching the youngest soldiers to fight (Dustin, max dressed up as a boy, Lucas, Ericka dressed up as a boy, etc).

Things are complicated when Mike arrives with his wizard friend and servant, looking for his brother.

And then again as Steve and the 1st in command (it’s Eddie of course it’s Eddie) begin to become closer.

Steve isn’t sure who’s on the right side and who’s not. As stuff progresses, he becomes increasingly more conflicted.

Eddie isn’t anything like the monster he was raised to believe, and Steve’s country has secrets they’re not telling anyone about.

In the end, will he choose to follow his heart or his family?

And does he even have a choice at all?

Yeah so pretty much I’m going have to decide between this one and the other idea…as you can see, I’m definitely in a high fantasy mood lol. It’s tough!! I love both ideas so much 😭 let me know what you guys think so I can decide!

#steddie #fic ideas #thank you!

[shutupyeats]

The background photo really is of the IA base at Al Kasik, although I seem to have spelled it “Al Kisik” every time I had to label a photo. It was overrun and extensively wrecked up by ISIS back in 2014, then by us again in 2016, so I doubt if this shows anything really relevant. Comic text notwithstanding, it wasn’t actually that much of a shithole by Iraq standards in as much as it had prewar hard stand buildings with hot running water, heat and electricity, and if really was far enough from the flagpole that, while you didn’t get USO shows, you also didn’t get visiting brass.

MITT Team stands, of course, for MIlitary Transition Team Team, whereas SFAB is Security Forces Assistance Brigade, which does indeed have the same mission only better organized and with slightly more in the way of institutional support.  MITT Teams were a flawed execution of a good idea, and were example #2,196 of the U.S. Army self-sabotaging in wartime in furtherance of institutionally entrenched and inflexible management practices that have nothing to do with victory*. Of course, the flaws in the way the advisor system was run had little to do with why the ISF collapsed in 2014, making the whole thing somewhat academic, and the Army, in restructuring it into the SFAB framework, belatedly learned the lesson; at least, until someone realizes that for the annual cost of six SFABs you can put green paint on over half the armored vehicles earmarked for deployment to Europe, and they scrap the whole thing. I give it ten years.

I digress. This matters for the story because probably the number one flaw in the MITT Team execution was that - and this is key - no matter how good an advisor you were, it didn’t count much for promotion because it was considered a Broadening Assignment and not a Key Developmental Assignment, and (if you're an officer, especially) you HAVE to punch your ticket at a KD assignment AND do well at it, ideally (in the height of GWOT) while deployed, in order to get promoted. So, if you’re an ambitious, highly motivated young Captain, say, serving on a MITT team meant that you’d be doing a year-long deployment, probably under pretty austere conditions and with lots of violence, followed by (or just following) your KD assignment in Company Command, which almost certainly meant ANOTHER deployment, back to back, the later of which you'd be totally burnt out for and probably not performing at your best. This meant that MITT teams had a hard time attracting the high flyers.

This is not to say that these were not brave, competent patriots. Many were. But you did have a tendency to get the JV team: guys with prior enlisted service who didn’t have to worry about getting promoted again before retirement; mediocre LTCs who weren’t going to command battalions; LOTS of reservists on IMA orders; guys who got tasked with it because they didn’t know the right people; guys in unhappy marriages who were happier in Iraq &c. Plus whatever lower enlisted were in the wrong place at the wrong time and got tagged with it.

Which is all relevant to the story, as we shall soon see.

*But, then, why not overhaul our outdated and inflexible personnel management practices? HERESY! Why would we change the way we do things, when it’s worked so well? **

** Worked so well = got the G1 promoted to his current rank and position.  And his predecessor.  

#Iraq War #us army #independent comics #cartoonists on tumblr

[anigraham]

(Background: A D&D character of mine witnessed a man (a traitor) executed by fire out on the street. The man actually survived, Ian assisted with him, and now he’s plagued by nightmares.)

He found himself in a complete and empty void. Nothing but white above, around, and below him. But the void itself is not what took hold of his senses. Instead it was the scent of burning flesh that was assaulting him. A raw and terrible smell that made Ian choke and stumble back.

There was also an intense heat coming from behind. This heat was so great it was on the verge of burning his own flesh. A sense of an impending danger was also approaching from behind. Ian wanted to know what it was, but a knot in his stomach. . .a heavy fear weighing on his shoulders prevented him from looking back.

His head was now throbbing. His throat was dry. He swallowed and it caused some discomfort. The heat. The smell. The fear. Ian wanted to look behind himself to see what it was, but for the moment he just couldn’t do it.

Ian reached up to hold his head and upon doing so he saw that his skin was burned. His normally tan skin was turning pink, red, and then brown. The discoloration was spreading up along his forearms and the smell was stronger now that he was aware of it. And then slowly there was pain creeping in. It grew in intensity. He wanted to scream.

Instead there were screams in front of him. Ian looked up and froze before the sight before him. How did he not notice this until now?

In front of the firine stood his family, both mothers, his father, and his two sisters. . .all of whom were burning to death by some invisible flame. Their screams, the scent of burning flesh, and the sight of it all was so great that Ian no longer could sense that he too was burning to death along with them.

He ran to his younger sister, a girl but only 5 years old, and scooped her up in his arms. Ian quickly moved to heal her, but as he placed a hand upon her. . .he saw her burns accelerating. With his touch, her third degree burns only deepened and revealed muscle and then bone. Blisters were forming and then tearing open before his eyes. She screamed and tried pushing Ian away, clawing at him as she was in agony and Ian was making it worse. 

Now he was panicking. His heart was racing. With every breath he took he found it harder and harder to draw in oxygen. It was then he noticed little red sparkles floating through the air and he became aware of that impending doom once again behind him.

Only now Ian was able to look over his shoulder.

That was when Ian saw him. Balandrav. The red advisor of the King of Arbera. He stood there towering over Ian. His expression was blank. Balandrav’s blood red eyes were just staring at him. 

“You only have yourself to blame.” Balandrav’s words were hot and heavy. And with them, Ian woke up.

His eyes opened and he took note that he was in a cold sweat. Another nightmare.

Another. Nightmare.

Ian took a slow deep breath and did his best to relax. He was accustomed to nightmares, but they were never this extreme. His head began throbbing just like it did while he slept and he could still recall the smell. Ian reached up to rub at his temples. He would not fall asleep again.

It was early in the morning and his traveling companion was still fast asleep. He sighed, closed his eyes, and covered his face with his hands.

‘I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?’ he thought to himself.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

#ficlet #vulrianefrae #dnd #dungeons and dragons #original character #oc #writing

[nugnthopkns]

it all pours out after dark

word count: 5.8k

warnings: insinuated!fem reader, cursing, mentions of alcohol (but no consumption), expressions of self doubt

recommended listening: the knife | maggie rogers

series masterpost: here

a/n: first installment of hiiapl!! very excited about what’s to come. here is some bffs/roommates to lovers with petey :))

Elias’s friendship was a welcome surprise.

You hadn’t expected much when you met the Swede – after all, you were serving at the annual Canucks charity gala and he was the rookie poised to win the Calder trophy. There were a million other things you would have rather done than spend a Saturday evening walking around in sky high stilettos and passing out flutes of champagne, but the catering company paid generously, and you needed to come up with the funds for your next tuition installment. Vancouver may be beautiful, but it’s incredibly expensive.

So you spent the night with a kilowatt smile plastered on your face, staying silent in the background and making sure no one’s glasses were ever empty. You were barely legal to handle alcohol, freshly nineteen and waiting for an opportunity to experience the city’s nightlife for yourself. There was no way you should be regulating the alcohol consumption of adults but you were doing it anyways. The tips were very generous, more than you should have probably been receiving, but you accepted them with a smile because the athletes making millions could certainly afford it.

No one paid you any attention, but you didn’t mind. The night was beginning to wear on you and the event didn’t plan on stopping for another couple of hours. You debated on what to do with your tray while you tried to work out the knots that were forming in feet from standing for so long.

“Let me hold that for you,” a gentle voice sounded from behind you.

When you turned around you were face to face with Elias Pettersson. “That won’t be necessary,” you stated, tone kind but firm. If your supervisor caught you, you would have been fired immediately.

He didn’t take no for an answer. “Please,” he urged, thick accent ringing out in the space between you. “Your feet are going to cramp. Take your shoes off for two minutes.” The English was broken, but you appreciated the sentiment. He really wanted to help.

After a little more insisting from the blonde you agreed, and he diligently stood watch to ensure you wouldn’t get in trouble. It was a relief to be out of the torturous constraint of your shoes for a few moments, and you thanked him profusely.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, a small smile on his face. Shouting erupted from some other players then, looking for him.

“You better get back before they miss you too much.” You nodded in the direction of the voices, to which he begrudgingly agreed. Elias handed you back the tray of champagne flutes before taking one for himself.

He was about to fade into the crowd when he turned to face you again. “I never caught your name,” he stated.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Elias.”

With that he disappeared into the throng of people. You never expected to hear from him again, chalking it up to a kind interaction with a stranger, but a day later he had messaged you on Instagram after searching through the countless profiles that shared your name and were located in the general Vancouver area. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you, and you became fast friends.

☼☼☼☼

That first meeting was nearly four years ago, and countless memories had been made since then. You treasure your friendship with Elias, and truthfully it’s the one you hold closest to your heart. This could be because over the years you’ve developed a small crush on the lanky blonde, but it’s a secret you’ll take to the grave. No one knows of your true feelings for Elias, and no one ever will.

“E? I’m home,” you shout into the quiet apartment, wondering if he’s home from morning skate yet.

After you completed your undergraduate degree and your lease ended, Elias insisted you move into his spare bedroom. The offer was too tempting to resist – you got to live with your best friend and continue your education in a city you adore. Moving your stuff had been a bit of a pain, but your life fit seamlessly into Elias’s. The two of you worked well as roommates, and over the past few months the space began to reflect not just Elias, but you as well. Hair ties were randomly thrown on counters and the bookshelves began to fill.

You’re setting the few groceries you picked up from the local market on the counter when he comes down the hall.

“Hi sunshine,” Elias says softly, voice riddled with sleep. He must have returned home earlier than you thought and had a quick nap.

You smile at the nickname. Elias had gifted it to you early in your friendship when you were in a terrible mood. He had meant it sarcastically at first, but it stuck. Now he hardly calls you by your name.

“How was practice?”

“Really tough,” he admits, moving behind you to place the apples in the fridge. “Coach is being hard on us because we aren’t performing well.”

You frown but hold your tongue. Your degree in sports psychology tells you that isn’t the way to improve players’ morale, but Elias doesn’t like it when you lecture him on what the Canucks staff are doing wrong. He knows things aren’t perfect within the organization and hopes desperately the situation will improve when they start winning again.

The two of you put the rest of the food away in comfortable silence and then unwind by watching numerous episodes of House. You had recently decided to give the medical drama a rewatch, and Elias’s interest was piqued by the snarky physician who always saves the day. It’s become your favourite way to relax and it seems that both of you need it today.

“How does Wilson do it?”

You’re perplexed. “Do what?”

“Put up with House,” Elias sighs. “He’s an asshole.”

Laughter tumbles from your lips. “The same way I deal with you, grumpy.”

“No,” he scoffs, tossing a pillow in your general direction. “You’re House and I’m Wilson, sunshine. Being an asshole is how you got that nickname in the first place.”

You couldn’t argue with Elias’s point – he was right. Between the two of you, you’re the one most likely to be snarky with your anger and he’s more likely to shut himself off from the rest of the world. “Fuck off,” you giggle. 

When Elias crawls on top of you and drops his weight you don’t flinch. You’ve become accustomed to his casual yet spontaneous displays of physical touch, and by now the two of you can frequently be found with your limbs tangled together. 

The rest of your afternoon passes in the blink of an eye. You fall asleep a few episodes in, and you assume Elias did as well because when you wake up his body is still pressed against yours. Once your eyes adjust to being awake, you notice it’s well into the evening. Your stomach rumbles and you decide you have to get up. 

“E,” you say softly, not wanting to completely disrupt his rest. The season is off to a rougher start than everyone hoped for, and he hasn’t been sleeping well. 

There’s no response from the boy on top of you so you try again, voice a decibel or two louder. “Elias, please let me up. I’ve gotta start dinner.”

“Mhmm,” Elias murmurs, not opening his eyes. “Or you could just stay here. You’re so warm.”

You roll your eyes. “Dude, we’ve got to eat. Come on.”

He doesn’t move. In fact, he presses more weight on you, effectively trapping you on the couch. “We can just order food in a bit,” Elias suggests. “Please just stay and nap a bit longer.”

That’s all it takes to convince you, and you let your eyes flutter shut again. In the comfort of your best friend sleep comes easy, and neither of you move far from the couch for the rest of the night. 

The next few days are incredibly busy, and you don’t see Elias much. School is heating up and you’re struggling to stay afloat. In an effort to get the team to put up a few wins, the Canucks organization is holding extra practices and development workshops in between games, so Elias is barely home. When he is he’s exhausted and spends most of his free time in his room, chatting with friends at home or playing video games. 

You do your best to not let the distance bother you, but not being able to have a conversation that lasts more than fifteen minutes before one of you is running out the door is wearing you down. You miss your best friend. 

Elias is set to go out with some of the younger guys on the team this evening, and though he invited you, you’re in a graduate student society meeting until well after they’re supposed to be leaving. He deserves the time to unwind, but a part of you is jealous he actually gets it. Both of you have been running around like chickens with your heads cut off and it seems like Elias can finally slow down. You on the other hand cannot. 

Approximately twelve million things go wrong throughout the course of the day. First, you left your lunch and wallet at home, leaving you unable to eat. Then your advisor was late to your meeting and insisted it was your fault. To top everything off, the graduate student society dismissed your proposal for more funding into public outreach programs. You really, really wanted to be at home.

The door to the apartment is unlocked upon your arrival home, which you find strange. Elias isn’t one to forget to lock it on his way out the door. Brock was terrible about remembering that sort of thing, so you assume he was the last one out. You open it with a sigh and kick off your sneakers. It has been a long day, and you’re looking forward to opening the bottle of wine you picked up with groceries last week.

It doesn’t dawn on you that Elias’s shoes are still by the door or that the living room light is on. You’re so preoccupied with getting comfortable you don’t realize you aren’t alone until you hear a voice from down the hall. 

“Rough day sunshine?”

Elias is standing at the end of the hallway, staring at you intently. It’s as if he can sense the tension rolling off your shoulders. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I thought you were going out with the guys?”

He just shrugs. “Didn’t really feel like it. Besides, I knew you were having an off day because you didn’t text me on your lunch break so I wanted to be here for you.”

You nearly tear up from his words. Elias is a lot of things, and kindhearted is certainly one of them. “Go have a shower,” he insists, “And I’ll start dinner.”

“Thanks E.”

A hand comes up to ruffle your hair on his way by. “Don’t mention it.”

The two of you spend the night tucked against each other, eating pasta and telling stories. You never make it to the fridge to get that bottle of wine, but you don’t mind because during your shower Elias made hot chocolate for you both. Conversation flows into the early morning, and by the time you head to bed you can’t remember why you were upset in the first place. 

☼☼☼☼

The season drags on. The Canucks still aren’t playing well, and it’s beginning to wear on Elias. He’s spending more time in his room, reviewing tape and tweaking his workout regime to achieve maximum results. You worry he’s beginning to isolate himself and that it won’t be good for his mental health. 

“Do you want to go hiking tomorrow?” you ask him at dinner. The team has a rare day off, and the coaching staff want them to decompress before leaving on a long road trip. 

Elias shrugs, not looking up at you as he continues to cut his vegetables. “Not really sunshine. I have some clips I need to watch.”

You sigh loud enough to make him feel bad, and his eyes meet yours. “E, you need a break. Let’s go to that trail you like and just relax for a while. I’ll pack a lunch and we can just go slow.”

Whether or not he’s just appeasing you or genuinely wants to go you aren’t sure, but Elias agrees. He places a hand on your shoulder in silent thanks before loading his plate into the dishwasher and retreating to his bedroom. You take it as a victory, however small, and are glad he didn’t completely shut down the idea. The rest of the night is quiet, with you finishing a book and falling asleep on the couch. 

Neither of you are quick to rise in the morning but it doesn’t matter. There’s no timeline for your upcoming adventure so long as you’re back before dark. You make it to the kitchen before Elias and take it upon yourself to make breakfast for the two of you. It’s nothing fancy, just oatmeal, but your best friend appreciates it when he finally makes an appearance. Elias looks like he slept for a maximum of three hours, and you have half a mind to tell him you’ll take a rain cheque, but you know he needs a change of pace. 

The two of you chat idly throughout the meal but it isn’t tense or awkward. Neither of you are completely awake, and both like time to reflect in the morning. It’s nearly an hour later when you meet Elias at the door. You grab your keys, much to his surprise. 

“What?” you shrug.

Elias cocks a brow in your direction. “You hate driving on the highway.”

He’s right – you have no issues navigating the traffic riddled streets of Vancouver, but as soon as you get out of the city and onto the freeway you freeze up. 

“Gotta get over my fear at some point. Come on superstar.”

There’s no complaint from Elias, and you suspect he’s secretly relieved. Driving isn’t his strong suit either but you know he does it so you don’t have to. The ride is quiet, and once you hit the city limits the car feels lighter, as though Elias left all his stress behind. Some lo-fi playlist trickles through the speakers as you get closer to your destination. It isn’t your kind of music, or Elias’s for that matter, and you’re pretty sure Brock gave him the link. The parking lot is empty when you arrive, and you back into a spot with ease. 

Usually Elias would comment on your driving quirk, teasing you because ‘no one under the age of sixty-five backs into a parking space’, but he’s quiet. You wonder if he even noticed. Nerves about the possibility of a far-away look in Elias’s eyes subside when he scrambles to get out of the car. 

“First one to the top wins,” he shouts, metres ahead of you as you double check to make sure the car is locked. You let out a full laugh but don’t try to catch up – he’s going to win anyway so you might as well enjoy yourself. 

The hike does wonder for Elias. Just being outside, in the fresh air that doesn’t hold any expectation of who he should be, is enough to lighten his mood considerably. You trail behind him the entire time, allowing yourself to marvel at his beauty from afar. The longer you live with Elias, the harder it’s becoming to mask your feelings. A couple of times he pauses to wait for you to catch up, and once at the top of the small summit he lifts you into the air in triumph.

“Alright E, put me down,” you giggle, squirming out of his grip. He obliges and places you back onto the rocky surface as though his previous act was the easiest thing in the world. 

The two of you marvel at the view from the top of the mountain for a bit longer before making the trek back down to the car. Halfway down the trail you fall behind significantly, exhausted from not only hiking up a mountain, but worrying about Elias and stressing over some school deadlines that are rapidly approaching. Elias slows his steps so you can catch up, and insists you jump up to piggy-back the rest of the way. You try to protest but he isn’t having it. Eventually you give in and doze off with your face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

You let Elias drive home, too worn out to think about the traffic you’ll inevitably hit. When you get home you allow him to tuck you into bed, and don’t tease him when presses a kiss to the crown of your head. 

The road trip both flies by and drags on. At home, you're busy with school, work, and taking care of Brock’s dogs. Coolie and Milo have become a welcome responsibility, and truthfully you love having them around. They make the absence of Elias less apparent. Each night you curl up on the couch, a dog on either side, and watch the game intently. The Canucks seem to be on the up, winning the first three games with ease. It’s like something has clicked between them and on-ice communication is no longer a problem. However, that changes quickly, and they lose the entire back half of the trip. 

You do your best to comfort Elias from afar – sending him periodic text messages of encouragement, random memes you find on instagram, and calling after every game. The streak of misfortune is getting to him, and it’s beginning to affect his play. He adds only one point the entire trip, an assist that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things since they were blown out of the water. When you talk to him it’s easy to hear how upset he is, and you imagine he’s hearing a lot worse than what you’re telling him from the coaching staff. It makes your blood boil – how they’re treating him – but you’re helpless. Nothing you can say will undo the potential damage. 

The Canucks get back late, and you’re tucked into bed with the dogs, nearly asleep. You’ll return Brock’ pets in the morning. If you hadn’t had a disastrous meeting with your advisor you would’ve met them at the airport, seeing as it’s Friday and you often don’t go to bed until well into the morning, but your body is thoroughly exhausted. 

You don’t hear the door open and are only alerted to a new presence because the dogs perk their ears. Footsteps echo through the silent apartment, and you think you can hear Elias grumbling in Swedish. He makes no attempt to find you so you assume he thinks you’re sleeping. You should be. Up until three minutes ago you were on the verge of sleep, but now you wait with baited breath to see if you can hear any indicators to Elias’s mood. 

A door closes and seconds later the shower turns on, so you assume he’s feeling alright. Most certainly not great, but well enough to maintain his normal routine. You don’t try to move, knowing you’ll talk to him in the morning, and finally allow yourself to commit to sleep. There’s a few minutes of bliss where you’re almost unconscious, but your slumber is disrupted by a quiet knock at your door.

“Sunshine?”

Elias’s voice sounds like a different type of exhaustion that you’ve never heard, and you know right then that you won’t deny him entry to your room.

“I’m awake E,” you mumble, praying he can hear you because you spoke so softly. The door creaks open and you can just make out his facial features in the dark.

Standing tentatively in the doorway, Elias looks at you with tear-rimmed eyes. “Y/N, I think I’m going to get benched.”

☼☼☼☼

His suspicions were, unfortunately, right. The decision to bench Elias had apparently been made on the plane ride home, but he wasn’t informed until the team meeting after practice the next morning. You knew something bad had happened because when he came home there was no conversation. He slipped through the door like a ghost and disappeared into his room. You knew better than to go after him right away – Elias is the type of person who needs to process his emotions alone before sharing them with others.

You busy yourself with editing the chunk of your thesis proposal that has occupied your brain for the past few weeks. It’s getting closer to the end of your first year of graduate school, and you need to get approval for your topic soon. You hope to research the effects of locker room speech on athletes’ mental health. The focus group will be the Vancouver Whitecaps, and you’re excited to work with them. Your advisor has some personal connections and pulled a few strings to get you the gig and you’re extremely thankful.

An hour or two passes before Elias pads his way into the main living area. Wordlessly he flops onto the couch and holds his arms up in the air. You can read Elias like a book – you know he wants you to stop working and lie on top of him. The action brings him comfort, which he desperately needs in this moment, so you don’t have an issue with it. On your way over you grab a banana from the fruit bowl and offer it to him. He takes it, but sets it gently on the coffee table.

Once you’re settled, Elias wraps his arms around your body, holding you to him like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers otherwise. You absentmindedly trace patterns on his forearms for a while, letting the silence soothe him.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

It’s a shot in the dark, you know, but you try anyway. Elias doesn’t answer, instead asking you what you did while he was gone. You indulge him, knowing it’s the only way to take his mind off the heartache, and narrate the menial chores you did in painstaking detail. It seems to help, and eventually Elias brings his own anecdotes into the conversation, telling you something dumb Brock had whispered in his ear at practice.

Eventually Elias has to get ready to go to the rink. Though he isn’t playing he’s expected to be there, dressed sharply and watching from the press box. You help him as best you can – ironing his favourite tie and filling his lucky mug with just the right amount of coffee.

He gives you a short hug in thanks before bending down to tie his dress shoes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” you ask. “I can easily get a press pass and we could sit together.”

Elias shakes his head. “You have work to get done. I’ll be fine sunshine,” he says, doing his best to convince himself along with you that everything will be alright.

You watch him open the door and gingerly blow him a kiss as he turns to wave goodbye. It’s a silly ritual the two of you started a few years ago, before you’d moved in with Elias. He insisted you spend time with him before each home game, which meant you wound up cooking dinner and making sure he drank enough water. To annoy him you started blowing him kisses as he left, and the tradition continued once his place became yours. Elias catches it with his left hand and blows one back.

Not much work gets done while Elias is gone. You’re too worried about him to focus on your proposal and end up with your eyes glued to the television as you watch the game. The Canucks desperately need a win, something you hope they can get so your best friend can be put back into the lineup. Your eyes zero on Elias every time the camera pans to him sitting in the rafters, and your heart breaks each time you see the defeated look in his eyes. It seems to have worsened since he left home.

The game does not go well for the Canucks. It’s as if the team isn’t communicating with one another on the ice, and a lot of passes don’t connect. Shots aren’t on goal either – you know Elias is fuming from within the press box. He feels responsible for the team’s deterioration even though he isn’t playing. You watch the rest of the game with furrowed brows and think of ways you could support Elias. 

After sharing a space with him for almost an entire trip around the sun, you know Elias doesn’t like ‘grand’ gestures. He’ll hate if you draw him a bath, and besides, that’s not something roommates or best friends do for each other. That’s strictly reserved for romantic partners – something you’re sure you will never be to Elias. Ordering food is out of the question because he refuses to eat after nine-thirty, and sure it’ll be past ten before he walks through the door. You settle on warming up his favourite blanket in the dryer and making the both of you a cup of tea. If he wants to take them into his room to spend time alone and decompress that will be okay with you. 

Your phone chimes from its resting place on the kitchen counter. Wondering if it’s a friend wanting an explanation to Elias’s absence from the game, you grumble on your way to the device. The notification is from Elias himself, and you open it with baited breath. You know he’s devastated and pray he’s only letting you know he’s on his way home, not sharing bad news. 

Heading out now. Probably going to get stuck in traffic, got any sad song recommendations?

The message makes your heart break, but you respond with a playlist link that features your favourite songs to cry to. A short message is tacked on to the end to let him know you’re always ready to support him. 

Hopefully this fits the mood. I’m here for you. 

Elias’s response fills you with a small bit of hope. 

I know.

You set your plan into motion, and finish pouring the boiling tea into your favourite mugs as the door opens. 

“Hey,” you say tentatively, not sure what Elias’s mood will be like now that he doesn’t have to have his guard up. “I made you a cup of tea and there’s a blanket in the dryer that should still be pretty warm.”

“Thank you,” he mumbles, but it doesn’t make his words any less sincere. You can tell Elias is drained in every sense of the word by looking at him, and you decide you aren’t going to push him to talk tonight. The communication can come a bit later. 

The blonde trudges down the hallway to the small room where you keep the laundry and reappears moments later wrapped in the plush navy blanket you had prepared for him. Elias doesn’t even bother to change, too exhausted to get out of his suit. You blow some of the steam away from his mug before picking it up and padding over to where he’s sitting on the couch. Elias takes the mug gratefully, and tries to smile at you in thanks. It comes out more like a grimace. 

It’s silent as the two of you sit side by side, staring out the large window at Vancouver’s skyline. The absence of noise isn’t as unsettling as you feared but it still puts you on edge. You can tell Elias’s emotions are beginning to boil over, and you aren’t sure what to do about it. 

“It’s my fault,” he says, voice small and fragile. 

When you turn your head to see him, you’re met with two ice blue eyes brimming with tears. Your heart breaks for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “Elias, listen to me,” you urge, grasping his hands in yours. “The game wasn’t your fault. You not being on the ice did not cause the team to lose.”

Elias scoffs and rolls his eyes. For a split-second, hurt seeps into your bones, but you dispel it because you know he’s upset and didn’t mean to be so abrasive. 

“Not the game!” he shouts, anger clearly winning the mental battle of what emotion to present. “The entire fucking season. We’ve played like shit all year and it’s my fucking fault.”

“Elias,” you say as calmly as possible, knowing it’s important for one of you to be rational. “You’ve consistently put up points all season, and you’re only going through a short dry spell. You pick up the slack where needed and try your hardest to succeed. You’re a damn good teammate and the best hockey player I know. Please don’t be so hard on yourself.”

It’s then he breaks, collapsing into your wide open arms and sobbing. You hold him close to your chest, afraid that if you let him go he’ll disappear in front of your eyes. The sounds of his ragged breathing and your gentle encouragement bounce off the walls until all you can focus on is his heart rate returning to something in the ballpark of normal. Elias cries for an unknown amount of time and you don’t even bother to calculate it. He needed to let everything go – hopefully he can now turn the page on the past couple of months. 

When he seems like he’ll respond again, you speak. “I know they put a lot of pressure on you, and I know that you’re a professional athlete, but what they’re doing to you isn’t right. E, you don’t deserve to feel like this, regardless of how you’re playing or where the team is in the standings.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Elias hiccups. “Everything has become a lot lately, and it keeps piling up. It’s affecting my play, and I just want the team to be successful. I want to be successful.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter and card your hands through his hair. “You are successful, and don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m always available to talk, but if you’d like I can book you an appointment at the clinic and you can talk to someone who’s actually qualified.”

“You’re so close to being fully qualified,” he encourages, always wanting to make sure you matter too. “But that would be really nice. Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

That phrase had first confused Elias when you first directed it towards him, but he now understands it’s your way of saying ‘Of course. I’d do anything for you’. You rarely use the phrase with anyone else, and it makes him feel special inside. 

Eventually you untangle your limbs from Elias’s, getting up to refill your mugs and insisting he change into clothing that’s more comfortable. He’s gone a lot longer from the couch than you are, and you begin to worry he won’t be reappearing. The creaking of a hinge wrangles you free from your thoughts. Elias pads back into the living room, dressed in a pair of ridiculously patterned pyjamas you had bought him two Christmases ago. 

“Hey,” he practically whispers. “Can I tell you something?”

You do your best to keep the alarm you feel from appearing on your face. After the conversation you just had, his mind could be going in a million different directions. “Always,” you reply, volume matching his. 

“If it weren’t for you, I don’t know if I’d still be playing hockey.” You make a sound of protest, but Elias doesn’t let you form it into a thought. “I’m dead serious. The night we met? I was a wreck. Sure, I was in the middle of a rookie season most players dream of, but I was so miserable. I cried every night on the way home from the rink and felt completely alone. You were the first person in Vancouver that didn’t expect anything of me, that still doesn’t. I’m so fucking thankful for you. I love you.”

Tears flow freely from your eyes and you raise the sleeve of your sweater to wipe them away. Elias isn’t one for heartfelt confessions – that’s much more your style. He shows his appreciation through random acts of kindness, so you deeply treasure his words. 

“I love you too E.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” he insists. “I really love you. I don’t mean it platonically, and I never have.”

You’re sufficiently shocked. “Don’t say something you don’t mean,” you mumble, pushing off the couch to go hide in your room. 

It’s Elias’s turn to grab your hand. His grip is gentle but still firm enough to let you know he isn’t going to drop the conversation. 

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

“Because,” you sigh, “You’re Elias fucking Pettersson. You’re the star centre of an NHL team and there’s a million other people better suited for you than me! Sure, I might be head over heels for you but we aren’t on the same level. I’m your best friend E, and that’s okay. I can live with that. What I can’t live with is you letting emotion get the better of you and confessing something that isn’t true. You’re grateful for my support, and I think we should just leave it at that.”

He shakes his head fervently. “This isn’t a spur of the moment decision Y/N,” Elias says. “I’ve been debating telling you for months, but the season kind of derailed my plans and got in the way. I love you.”

Before you can process the gravity of his words, Elias is pressing his lips to yours in an effort to show just how sincere he is. You falter for a split-second, shocked that this isn’t a dream – your best friend, who you’ve had a crush on for years, is in love with you and you’re in the process of kissing him – but you recover quickly. Kissing Elias feels like a long awaited homecoming. It’s as though you’ve found true peace, and nothing will ever be as good as your lips connecting. You lose yourself in him quite easily, and only focus to your surroundings when he pulls away to look in your eyes.

“So,” Elias sheepishly tucks a misplaced strand of hair behind your ear. “Think I could take you out, like on an actual date?”

You beam at him, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips. “That can most certainly be arranged.”

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo​ if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#god i want to be petey's roommate turned lover so bad #elias pettersson imagine #elias pettersson x reader #elias pettersson fic #vancouver canucks imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites #hiiapl

[bestiesenpai]

Idolatry - Getou Suguru

I love aliens and someday I will fuck one

Content warnings: manipulation/blackmail

“Mayday, mayday! Mission control, please come in, this is astronaut Getou Suguru!” The red emergency lights were on, multiple different sirens were going off in the background and Getou had just lost the rest of his crew.

“Mission control, can you hear me?!” He slammed on the control panel, desperately flipping switches and trying to regain control of his failing aircraft. All his training back on Earth hadn’t prepared him for the possibility of a black hole opening up and sucking in half his ship, ripping it apart and taking it somewhere unknown.

“Please, please, please!” There were frantic tears and sweat dripping down Getous face as he tried to get the thrusters back online. His ship was in shambles, slipping further and further into the blackhole.

Looking up through the windshield, his view of space before him was slowly fading away and he felt an intense pull from behind him, almost as if he was being ripped apart himself as he and his ship were pulled into the blackhole.

Getou didn’t think he’d wake up after that. The world had gone completely black, all the oxygen yanked from his body and the cold vacuum of space compressed around him. Getou hadn’t expected to wake up on firm, solid ground. And much less surrounded by otherworldly creatures.

“Is it really him?” He wasn’t sure how he understood the things before him, their voices warbled and distorted, but he could. Getou could only watch with fuzzy edged vision as the creatures crowded around him and their features became clearer.

“It must be! Just look at his face!”

“He’s got the hair as well, and his skin is milky white like in the stories!”

“Our God has returned to us, what a joyous day this is!” Someone cried and Getou was lifted up from the ground and removed from the rubble that was his spaceship. Struggling to breathe, he was sure there were a few cracked ribs under his skin.

“Be gentle now, the journey from the heavens wasn’t kind on him.”

“To the temple, at once!”

Placed on a long gurney, Getou was transported to the temple in question. With his vision going in and out, he could just barely make out the bright blue trees and foreign animal sounds passing him by. The creatures that had lifted him up were now closer to be viewed and Getou could tell they weren’t of human origin.

“Oh, how we’ve waited for this day!” The heat of whatever jungle Getou was in had a light sheen of sweat gathering on his skin, but the warm air helped lull him into a more relaxed state, almost falling asleep despite the situation.

Carried up the steps of the temple, Getou barely came to when he was stripped and submerged into a pool of light green water, nearly scalding him and scented with what appeared to be rose petals floating around him.

“Call the shamans, we need to make sure everything is correct!” There was rustling around him, figures darting in and out of his half lidded gaze. Someone was lifting one of his arms to wash him, immediately letting go when he let out a pained groan.

“He needs medicine, quick!” In an instant something was being poured down Getous throat, an ice cold liquid that spread across his body and made a shiver go through him. There was a heavy silence in the air for a moment as he was observed, and all of a sudden, he felt better.

Sitting up a little straighter in the solid gold tub he could now see, Getou stayed silent as his body was washed. The creatures around him avoided eye contact, bowing their heads when he turned to look at them.

They were gentle, washing the dried blood off Getous face and combing through his hair with their long pointed nails. He’d never received such lavish treatment before, and as he relaxed further into the tub, a man dressed in robes not unlike the ones Getou owned back home came to the side of the tub with a heavy tome, reciting something in an unknown language over Getou.

He was lifted out of the tub and dried gently, dressed in a soft green robe like the man that had prayed over him, and escorted to another room. He could tell this was at the heart of the giant gray stone temple, a skylight and large windows high on the vaulted ceilings letting in plenty of natural light and illuminating the lavish scene in the middle of the room.

In the middle of the room atop a short flight of stairs, sat a golden, red tufted stool only a few feet up from the ground and surrounded by a multitude of pillows and ornate gold decorations. Several oriental rugs were draped across the floor, covering the cool limestone underfoot.

A thick mattress lay just behind the stool with semi-sheer curtains curtains concealing it and the many pillows and blankets atop it. Hundreds of candles were lit around the room as well, lighting up dark corners or simply for decoration around and atop the rugs and stool.

Able to walk on his own now, Getou slowly went up the steps with only a mild drag in his sore legs. Skimming his fingers across the seat of the stool, he walked past it and to the bed, pushing the curtains aside and melting into the squishy mattress.

Even though he couldn’t really keep track of the time, Getou was sure a week had passed since he’d crash landed on this mysterious planet. In that time, he filled in the blanks of what was going on around him.

He was being worshipped as a God, an altruistic being that had fallen from the heavens as foretold in the legends of the people that lived here. Apparently, he was one of many gods and goddesses that the planet believed in, and it just so happened that his sudden appearance aligned with a prophecy that he would arrive.

Not one to live in a lie, Getou had originally wanted to tell the truth once he was able to speak more properly. It wouldn’t be right for them to place such strong faith into him when he truly wasn’t what they wanted, but he found it harder and harder as time went on.

And that was because of the treatment he received. He was bathed everyday, fed delicious meals whenever he wanted and was showered in praise and admiration at every second. To say Getou was soaking up all the attention was an understatement; he was absolutely drowning in it.

“My Lord, may I approach?” It was midday, the sun beaming down through the ceiling directly onto Getou, warming him up and making him radiate with light. A temple worker he’s never seen before enters the room, head bowed and with a familiar set of objects in their hand.

“You may.” Getou quickly noticed the basin, towel and pitcher of water and sat up a little straighter in his stool. It was time for his midday foot bath. You made quick work of the steps and knelt down before him in a moment.

Getou watched as you silently poured the water, keeping your head bowed per usual. Craning his head up to the sky, Getou lazily studied the windows above him. There were no clouds in the sky on this planet, but it didn’t stop the sky from looking beautiful.

“You’re quite handsome, my Lord.” That comment had Getou’s head snapping back down and coming eye to eye with you. No one else had ever made eye contact with him, not even the shamans that spoke with him about sacred texts. The sudden change unnerved him, making him blush.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to look upon me in such a way.” Getou said, dipping his feet into the bath and relaxing his legs. “I am a God, after all. Wouldn’t a comment like that be considered blasphemous?” Regaining control over his suddenly rapid heartbeat, Getou still felt a light veil of heat across his face.

“It would be, if you really were a God in the first place.” Getou nearly choked on his spit as he heard the words come out of your mouth.

“E-excuse me?! I am a God!” His face erupted in a dark blush. This was bad, really bad. The smirk on your face told him all he needed to know; the jig was up, you saw right through him. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still try and keep up the ruse.

“An arrival from the sky may have been foretold in the legends, but you are not what was promised to us.” Your words were quick and concise, an almost harsh tone underlying them. “It was my job to go through the rubble of the craft you arrived in, and I found quite a few things labeled from a planet called ‘Earth’.”

He and Gojo just had to have too much fun with the label maker, didn’t they?

“Earth is what us God's call the place we reside.” Clearing his throat, Getou tried to soothe his burning cheeks.

“Then why did I find this?” Digging into a hidden pocket within your robes, you pulled out a thick manuscript, personally typed and signed by Getou outlining his position within the team and the duties he’d fulfill while on the mission that ultimately brought him here.

The edges of the paper were all burnt and crispy, but most of the pages were still intact. Flipping through them, you showed him all the polaroid pictures that were stuffed inside of Getou in his space suit and at the control panels of the ship, and with Gojo and other crew members.

“I didn’t think a God would carry around so many papers about his job. I thought you just knew.” Tossing the manuscript to the floor, you sprinkled smelling salts into the water and grabbed onto one of Getou’s feet, raising it only slightly as you let him mull over the new information before him.

“So, I assume you’ll have me killed for lying, then?” There was a heavy pit sitting in his stomach, but Getou knew this day would come, it was only a matter of when.

“Kill you? Never!” Your sudden laugh gave him pause.

“Then what? What will happen to me now?”

“I intend to use this information to my advantage.”

“You want to use me to climb the ranks at the temple, don’t you?” Narrowing his eyes, Getou could already see the plan formulating behind your eyes.

“Precisely, my Lord. Over the course of a few months, I will become your most trusted advisor.” Letting go of his foot, your hand slid up Getou’s leg, your pointed nails scraping against his skin. “And before the anniversary of the sun’s return, I will be the highest shaman in the temple. Your right hand, if you may.”

As you spoke, your hand went higher and higher, skimming the edges of his long silken robe and going under it, cupping his knee for a moment before stopping midthigh. If anyone walked in right now, what would they say to the scene in front of them?

“What’s in it for me?” Getou shuddered as your nails dragged lightly along his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake that had his senses tingling. You flashed him a smile, one full of rows of shiny black teeth.

“Why, you get to remain the all powerful God of this land, bestowing wisdom upon the subjects that worship you.” Sidling up to Getous legs, you fully pushed apart his robes to reveal his soft cock. “And…”

“And?” Getou pressed as you trailed off, subtly opening his legs as much as he could with his feet still in the basin. You chuckled at him, hand grabbing gently onto the base of his cock. Getou had come to learn that the creatures on this planet were often colder than he was, and your lukewarm hand was a testament to that.

“And I’ll keep you nice and happy.” Brazenly leaning over his lap, you sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth, your long tongue lapping out and wrapping around him, the tip going all the way down to his balls.

��Ah!” The unexpected pleasure shooting up his spine made Getou curl inward, knocking over the basin and spilling water onto the rugs. His hand shot out to grasp the back of your head, urgently trying to ground himself as his mind turned to mush.

“Don’t worry about the mess, my Lord. I’ll clean it up.” Pulling off his cock, you licked your lips and looked over your shoulders.

“You- what’s your name?” Getou panted, his legs already starting to tremble.

“(Y/N), my Lord.” You grinned, beginning to slowly jerk off his cock.

“(Y/N).” He tested the name on his tongue but he couldn’t speak any further as you thumbed the tip of his cock.

“But you don’t need to worry yourself about that now.” Now that his feet were free, you could slide in between Getou’s legs and get to his cock easier. “Right now, it’s all about you.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru #geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen scenarios

[stuffedeggplants]

10 or 11 for the book ask? 📚

What was your favorite new release of the year?

Unfortunately I only read one new release for this year, so I can't rank favorites! The one I did read is by a former national security advisor for the USA, and was basically his assessment of various national security challenges and what he thinks a good foreign policy direction for the USA would be.

What was your favorite book that has been out for a while, but you just now read?

A Ride to Khiva, published in 1876! It was written by an intelligence officer in the British Army and recounts his travels through Central Asia set against the background of the Great Game. One of the reasons I like it so much is because it wasn't just the author saying 'I went here and did X,' but it's interspersed with societal/cultural observations about the areas he visits or knows, political or historical discussions he has with various people, just observations about life and what's going on, etc.

There's a part where he's staying at a place in or around Samara and Orenburg in Russia, and he talks about how his room's furnace system is designed differently from what he's used to in England and how this one is built to keep as much heat in the room as possible. But the downside of the way they designed the heating system is that it can let smoke and fumes build up in the room if you don't know what you're doing, so it's actually kind of dangerous for travelers who aren't aware of that. (He actually wakes up with a headache from carbon monoxide poisoning and almost faints but manages to get the door open just in time for fresh air.) It might seem really mundane but I love stuff like this as a window into how people in the past lived and what things were like back then.

#ask games

[luminescencefics]

(there is) no time like the present

On his way towards the rest of their friends in the booth by the back of the pub, Niall finally spots Aisling’s auburn hair and glittery dress standing near the wooden table. He’d be lying if he didn’t think she looked quite pretty. Niall’s always known Aisling to be pretty, in a way that he knows that thunder follows lightning during a storm and that the sun always shines the brightest in the summer. It was just a universal thing.

But tonight, he finds that he’s entirely hyperaware of Aisling’s prettiness.

And he isn’t quite sure what to do about that.

A (short) story about a brown-haired boy and an auburn-haired girl trying to convince the world that they aren’t lonely, and how time really isn’t of the essence.

written for the 1dff discord server fic challenge

new year’s eve // roommates trope

niall/ofc, 8k words | banner credit

11:34

In Aisling O’Leary’s twenty-eight years of living, she has known two constants. The first being, she could never say no to people. No matter how hard she tried to, she just couldn’t bring herself to disappoint the people she cared about most in her life. She blames that on her trait of always trying to please people. The second constant is that she was a settler, in every sense of the word.

She settled with her group of friends in secondary school back home in Clifden. She settled when she chose to go to university across the country in Dublin instead of taking the leap and applying to schools in her dream city of London. She settled with her marketing position at a publishing house when her dream was to be an editor. And, she settled with her last boyfriend of two years, Cormac Hayes.

When he decided to end things with her three months ago, Aisling knows that she probably should have been more upset over it. Truth is, she stayed with Cormac for that long because it was easy. He loved her at arm’s length and she was okay with that. He gave her attention and loved her the best way he knew how, and although it wasn’t enough for Aisling in the end, she sort of just let it happen. And when she didn’t even shed a tear over losing her boyfriend of two years, she wasn’t surprised in the least.

That’s just how Aisling O’Leary worked.

She tries her hardest to ignore the constant ringing of her mobile from the inside of her purse under her work desk. It was Friday afternoon and she was practically the only soul in the office because most of her other co-workers decided to take the day off to prepare for this evening’s New Year’s Eve festivities.

Aisling didn’t really think too much about it, to be honest. What did she have to celebrate this past year? The fact that she received an end of the year bonus at her job that she hasn’t enjoyed for the past four years? The fact that she’s single, once again? The fact that she’s still living with her uni mate and putting off her goal of moving to London?

She pushes those thoughts away when an image of said uni mate flashes across the screen of her mobile.

“Niall, for the love of god, please stop ringing me,” Aisling scolds, harshly whispering into the receiver. It’s really no use considering it’s just her and the unlucky intern who couldn’t get the day off, but she does it anyways for dramatic intent.

“As lovely as ever, sweet Aisling,” Niall starts, the sound of whooshing air in the background a bit distracting. Aisling can only assume that he’s walking around outside, the sound of the chilling winter wind blowing through the phone loudly giving him away.

“Sorry, Niall. Just, uh, busy is all.” Aisling lies and Niall doesn’t even try to fall for it. She does feel a little bad for snapping at him, because it’s really not his fault that she’s in such a shit mood. And taking it out on her uni mate turned flatmate turned best mate just wasn’t really fair.

Niall Horan crashed into Aisling’s life during her first year at University College Dublin (the word crashed used very appropriately). She was sitting towards the back of her Art History lecture, a random gen-ed requirement her advisor forced her to take. She chose the back because she assumed she wouldn’t be bothered, but then eight minutes after class began, Niall ran in with flushed cheeks and his freshly bleached blonde hair standing up all over the place. And out of all the empty seats in the entire lecture hall, he chose to sit next to Aisling.

He spent the entirety of the lecture fidgeting in the plastic seat next to Aisling, looking over her shoulder at the notes she was scribbling down aggressively. He didn't even bother to bring a notebook, let alone a pen, to the lecture. Normally, Aisling would find that infuriating. But when it comes to Niall, Aisling has found that most of the things that should bother her just, well, don’t.

“I’m walking into the shops. Everyone’s been texting like mad about tonight, driving me up the fuckin’ wall. Did you put the group chat on mute again?” Niall asks and Aisling doesn’t even bother answering, because of course she did.

It’s not that she didn’t like her uni mates, because they really were the best friends Aisling has ever had. But when they decided amongst themselves that her and Niall’s flat would be the destination for pre-drinks tonight, conveniently leaving Aisling and Niall out of the conversation altogether, she couldn’t help but grow increasingly annoyed.

But in typical Aisling fashion, she just let it happen. She blames it on that first constant of hers.

“Just while I was working. Didn’t want to be distracted,” Aisling decides to say, pausing as she hears the sound of an automatic door opening and closing on Niall’s end. She knows he’s probably completely aware that she’s not that excited about tonight. But in typical Niall fashion, he tries to find the silver lining in every situation—even if he is feeling equally as shitty about this evening.

“Well, you’re probably the only person in all of Ireland working today,” Niall says, a chuckle added at the end to let Aisling know that he’s just messing with her.

“That’s not true. Sean’s here with me, having the time of his life.” Aisling watches the office intern sit at his desk with his head in his hands, clearly hungover and annoyed that he got stuck working the day of New Year’s Eve. She feels a bit bad for the lad, empathetic to his cause.

Niall agrees. “What’re we drinking tonight, Aisling? How ossified do we feel like getting, scale of one to ten?”

Aisling sighs. She knows getting drunk off her arse tonight is probably not the best move to make. But then she starts to think of her friends and how they seem a lot more bearable after a few drinks. She starts to think about the past three months of her life and how she feels like she’s just taking up space. She starts to think about the last phone call she had with her mam, and how she’s suddenly begun to worry about her oldest daughter. She starts to think about her future, and how she’s not really excited about it at all, to be fair.

The more she thinks about it, the more getting completely plastered sounds better and better in her head.

“Whiskey. Lots of it,” Aisling replies, sure and assertive.

“There’s my girl,” Niall says, and she can practically hear the glass bottles being added to the shopping trolley. “I’ll see you when you get home. Let’s just try and have fun tonight, yeah? Forget about all the bullshit.”

Aisling agrees to try her hardest to do that for Niall. But she’s got enough bullshit going on in her life to hold anybody down, and if she’s going to try and get over it, she’s going to need a lot of whiskey to do that.

And some courage—lots of it.

14:08

In Niall Horan’s twenty-eight years of living, he’s known two constants. The first being, he puts too much trust in other people, not nearly guarding his heart the way he should. He’s always fallen too quickly and too harshly, never really thinking of the repercussions. The second constant being that he was always blissfully one step behind everybody else, overlooking hidden clues and secret hints, not really understanding the longing look in another person’s eyes, or why their cheeks heat up around somebody’s presence. He wouldn’t blame that on selfishness, per se, rather, naiveté. If it wasn’t hitting Niall right in the face, chances are he completely missed it.

He’s thinking about his unguarded heart while lining up the various liquor bottles he bought at the shops a few hours ago, creating a makeshift bar on the kitchen countertop. His mind briefly falls to Sheridan, as it does most times when he’s feeling a bit lonely. He thinks about her blonde hair and turquoise eyes and warm pale skin. How she was the most important thing in his life on and off for five years. How he loved her with everything inside of him, and he figured that would be enough.

But then she gets a job offer a world away in America, and she takes it without even looking back. Without even considering how it would affect Niall. Without even including him in the conversation.

He wonders if she’s always been selfish with his heart.

Niall tries his hardest to not think about it. She left Ireland almost nine months ago, and he really has been doing better. He wants nothing more than to forget about this year. It was one filled with heartbreak and anger and pain, and the idea of drinking his sorrows away to start over again is exactly what he needed.

But there’s no denying that Niall Horan is admittedly lonely.

He thinks of Aisling, and how she seems just as lost as he is most of the time. Back in uni she was always the rational one between the pair, always taking notes and showing up to class and making sure that Niall kept his head on straight. When he meets Sheridan at the end of their first year, he remembers instantly thinking that she was the one for him. He blames it on that first constant of his.

Sheridan Walsh was beautiful and rich and, admittedly, so far out of Niall’s league the second he met her at a mutual friend’s house party. She was studying linguistics at Trinity as a hobby, a job at her parent’s enormous investment bank already secured. Her family had an expansive estate in Killiney overlooking Dalkey Island and Niall did everything he could to try and fit into her world.

When he meets her he charms her instantly, and the second he realizes that she was in a different social class than his own, Niall runs into Aisling’s dorm room and begs her to strip the bleach from his hair. He spends Years Two and Three doing everything he can to impress Sheridan, and finally one night she gives in, and he feels as if he’s floating through thin air.

To this day, Niall still isn’t sure what it was about him that made Sheridan finally agree to start dating him. She didn’t approve of his course of study, she found his hometown of Mullingar to be quaint, and she never really understood why he decided to live with Aisling in their too-small flat.

If there’s one thing Niall can appreciate most about his friendship with Aisling (and there’s a lot to be thankful for, to be fair) it’s that she tried her hardest to be nice to Sheridan, even though there would never be a world where the two of them would ever be friends. Aisling showed Niall how to properly knot a tie to prepare him for meeting Sheridan’s parents, she explained to him the difference between an oyster fork and a salad fork whenever he had to go to fancy dinner parties, and she constantly reminded him that he shouldn’t try as hard to fit into Sheridan’s world, because she loved him just the way he was.

If only it were true in the end.

In reality, Niall has a lot to be thankful for when it comes to Aisling O’Leary. He just hopes that he purchased enough whiskey to try and make her enjoy herself for the first time in three months.

17:41

Normally it takes Aisling twenty minutes to get home from her office near O’Connell Street to her and Niall’s shared flat in Ranelagh. But she’s stalling, walking along the River Liffey in the brisk evening weather instead of getting on the bus to start getting ready for tonight.

Niall knows this, as he’s grown accustomed to Aisling whipping open the front door twenty minutes after five, complaining about the crammed rush hour commute while untying her boots and throwing her scarf haphazardly over their wobbly coat hanger. He’s currently watching the clock change from the half hour mark almost nearing quarter to six, debating if he should ring her or not.

As if reading his mind, Aisling shoots Niall a text, assuring him that she’s not avoiding their mates (lie) and that she isn’t contemplating ditching this evening’s festivities (lie) and that she’s stopping at the nearest shop to grab snacks for their friends (half-lie turned truth). Niall doesn’t bother telling her that their friends already agreed to bring food over, because he knows Aisling better than she knows herself sometimes. Instead, he writes, Do what you need to do, A. I’ve got a drink waiting for you when you get home xx, and Aisling starts to feel a bit more at ease.

It’s near six when Aisling appears with a shopping bag filled with crackers and the nicest assortment of cheese she could find last minute. Niall can hear her usual foot pattern by the front door while he starts pouring the two of them whiskey neats in the nice glasses Sheridan re-gifted him two Christmases ago.

“Sorry I was late. The shops were brutal, too many people banging about. Couldn’t even find the good cheese Cara likes,” Aisling says, entering the kitchen with a smile headed in Niall’s direction. He watches as she starts putting the items into the fridge and respective cupboards, avoiding making eye contact.

“If you turned your mobile on every now and then, you’d have seen that Cara and Robbie already got food for tonight,” Niall says, sliding Aisling’s drink across the kitchen counter.

Aisling gives Niall a sheepish look. “Right. I was just—”

“—Busy.” Niall gives Aisling a look she knows all too well, and she immediately feels guilty, slumping down in the chair across from him. “Your mam rang me earlier. Was wondering why her lovely daughter wasn’t answering her calls.”

Aisling chuckles softly, bringing the glass to her lips. “Ah, of course she did. Sometimes I think she rings you because she likes you a bit too much.”

“What can I say? Mam’s love me—especially yours,” Niall says with a grin, puffing his chest out a bit.

Aisling snorts. “Did she say anything of interest this time ‘round?”

“Just went on about how your da can’t find a proper barmaid for tonight,” Niall says, the mention of Aisling’s family’s pub in Clifden bringing a nostalgic smile to her face. “She might have also mentioned that she’s worried about you.”

Aisling frowns. “Worried?”

Niall nods cautiously. “Yeah. She thinks you're lonely.”

Aisling pauses for a moment, watching the amber liquid inside her cup slosh with each swivel of the glass on the countertop. She really hates that word—lonely. To Aisling, loneliness implies the absence of something. How can she miss a feeling she’s never even truly felt in the first place? The only thing Aisling has felt for the past few years has been complacency. And that’s one she’d love to shed with the new year.

“Well, she’s nothing to worry about. ‘M not lonely,” Aisling mumbles, downing the rest of her drink with one large gulp.

Niall cocks an eyebrow in her direction. “That’s exactly what a lonely person would say.”

It’s one of those rare moments when Aisling can’t tell if Niall is taking the piss or genuinely concerned. But with one look in his blue eyes, Aisling decides to go with the latter.

“I promise you, Niall, I’m not lonely. It’s been three months. I barely even think about Cormac anymore, so quit your worrying,” Aisling counters, beginning to pour herself another glass, this time a bit shorter.

“You never even thought about him to begin with,” Niall quips, finishing his drink as well. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

Aisling doesn’t really know how to answer that, because there’s no denying that Niall is absolutely correct. She just isn’t quite sure how to explain to her best mate that she never truly felt heartbreak in the same capacity that he did. Cormac ending things with Aisling did not shatter her heart the same way that Sheridan did to Niall’s.

Aisling starts to wonder if there’s something wrong with this so-called heart of hers.

“I think I saw it coming before it actually happened, ya know?” Aisling begins to explain. “I think I knew Cormac wasn’t the one for me. It made the blow less harsh, in a way.” It’s a version of the truth that both Niall and Aisling can settle on. And she can tell that he’s understanding as he nods through his final swallow of whiskey.

“Just want you to be happy, is all,” Niall says, placing his empty glass on the countertop. “It’s the beauty of New Years, my sweet Aisling. You can start fresh.”

Aisling just smiles, finishing her glass as well. “Let’s hope you’re right.”

And this time, she truly hopes he is.

19:22

Aisling is starting to think that it’s far too early for her friends to be this inebriated.

It’s barely half past seven and her friends had started to arrive nearly an hour earlier. After her unsettling conversation with Niall, Aisling resorted to locking herself in her bedroom with the excuse of getting ready. Instead, she sat in the shower for far too long until the hot water turned cold, building up the courage to just try and let loose for one fucking night.

The second she hears Cara and Robbie enter the flat, Aisling immediately fights the urge to down another whiskey neat.

There was a time when Aisling believed that Cara and Robbie would be the first pair out of their uni group to get married. They had been together ever since Aisling lived next door to Cara in the dorms during her first year at UCD. And while everybody else had seemingly tried to grow up during the past seven years, Cara and Robbie seemed content in their post-uni bubble.

Aisling was pretty sure that bubble should have been popped some time after their twenty-fifth birthdays.

“Oi! Aisy! Pass me a fresh Smithwick while you’re at it!” Conor hollers over from the small loveseat in the living room when he notices Aisling heading towards the fridge for a new drink.

She nods, biting her tongue at the ridiculous nickname that he hasn’t stopped calling her since Year Two. Aisling’s just happy he isn’t calling her feek anymore.

If Aisling had the choice, she would never have had Conor worm his way into the inner-workings of their unusual friend group. But alas, Conor came along with Niall, and if Aisling wanted to keep Niall in her life (which she very much would like to), then she had to suck it up and deal with his unruly best mate.

Aisling passes Conor the freshly opened bottle of beer, smiling politely at the pretty brown-haired girl seated to his right. According to Niall, Conor’s been bringing her along to their group pub outings for a few weeks now. Aisling promised to remember her name if she stuck around for another month. Conor had a bad habit of flying through girls, and it became harder with each new face to remember their names.

Aisling heads back into the kitchen to start preparing the cheeseboard, watching in her periphery as a long slender red-painted finger reaches out to snatch a stray cracker hanging off the side of the tray.

“Wait your turn like everybody else, Han,” Aisling scolds, ignoring the snicker her friend makes in between bites of the cracker.

“Sorry mum, you know how I get if I don’t eat something before drinking,” Hannah says, her Scouse accent already beginning to muddle together. Aisling does her best to keep her eye roll to herself.

“It’s too early for you to be slurring. Lay off the drink until we get to the pub, okay?” Aisling responds, reaching out to grab the half-finished vodka tonic in Hannah’s shaky hands. She tosses it aside, hopefully long forgotten by the time Hannah finishes eating something.

She watches Hannah nod her head agreeably, before sneaking another cracker off of the plate. This time, Aisling doesn’t scold her.

“I’m sorry you’re ringing in the New Year all by yourself,” Hannah says after Aisling has a sip of her drink. “Shite being alone, innit?”

There’s that word again. Alone. Aisling shrugs half-heartedly even though she doesn’t really agree with Hannah’s logic. Even if she tried to explain it to her, she knows she wouldn’t understand it. While Hannah’s been a great friend to Aisling over the years, she’s admittedly been quite selfish. Therefore, Aisling tries not to burden her with matters of the heart.

Niall overhears the conversation when he walks into the kitchen with Hannah’s boyfriend Rory, and immediately he starts to feel a bit guilty.

Aisling and Cormac would never have met if it weren’t for Niall. They both played together in Niall's men’s league for footie, and he thought that they would be a good match together. So when he gave Cormac his flatmate’s number one night after practice and a week later they went out to dinner, Niall really believed that he did Aisling a solid.

Now though, he feels a bit shitty.

“What’re you two gossiping about?” Rory asks, slinging an arm over Hannah’s pointy shoulders, unaware of the awkward tension left hanging in the kitchen from Hannah’s previous comment.

“Nothing, babe. Just sad that Aisling won’t have a New Year’s kiss,” Hannah says, the backhanded dig flying completely over her head. Aisling feels it though, and so does Niall, who immediately steps in.

“Keep drinkin’ like that Hannah and you might not make it to midnight for a kiss this year either.” The lightness of his tone makes it seem to Hannah and Rory that he’s just joking with them, but Aisling knows Niall, and she can hear the undercurrent of frustration laced between his words. So when she lifts her head up and looks at him and already finds that he’s staring right back at her, she smiles a bit, mouthing a quick thank you in his direction.

Sometimes, she’s really lucky to have a friend like Niall.

21:43

Niall slams down his second shot of whiskey since entering the pub nearly thirty minutes ago, and he’s finally starting to feel that type of drunkenness where everything seems a bit lighter and everybody seems a lot happier. They’ve chosen a pub in Parnell Square in favor over the crowded pubs in the Temple Bar area, and he’s happy with their choice considering the pub is filled with twenty-somethings instead of the usual younger, rowdier crowd.

After the incident in the kitchen, Niall finds himself keeping a closer watch on Aisling. While he knows the past few months have been quite hard on her, he didn’t realize how apathetic some of their mates were. He also didn’t notice how sad it made her.

He wonders if she’s always felt like this, and he’s always just been too wrapped up in his own sadness to notice her own.

Regretfully, he blames that second constant of his.

“Oi, Horan! Drink up!” Conor yells over from his left, another shot of whiskey waiting for him on the bartop. Niall tears his eyes away from Aisling, instead focusing on the overflowing shot glass in front of him. He gulps, already mentally preparing to slow down in order to keep his wits about him until midnight approaches.

Niall shoots the drink back, slamming the glass onto the sticky bartop and wiping the back of his hand over his lips. He can hear Conor cackling beside him, and he tries to ignore the elbow digging into his ribcage. He tries to find Aisling’s wavy auburn hair through the crowd, or even her sparkly long-sleeved dress, but it’s no use. She’s too far out of his view.

“Are you lookin’ to pull?” Conor asks smugly after noticing Niall’s gaze flittering over the other side of the pub.

“Nah mate. Not tonight,” Niall replies, the thought of pulling a random girl for the night sounding entirely unappealing.

Conor turns towards his friend, putting his back to his pretty date. “Niall, tonight’s the perfect night for a random lay. C’mon mate, it’s New Years! Every single bird here is looking for an easy shag. It’s been months anyways, what’re you waiting for? Sheri’s not comin’ back.”

Niall tries his hardest not to flinch at his friend’s words. He knows deep down that if he really wanted to sleep with a random girl for the night, he could. And earlier, he probably would have done just that to cure his loneliness. But now the thought of doing just that sort of makes his skin crawl a little.

Including the fact that he can’t stop trying to find his flatmate in the crowded pub. But he’s not quite sure what that means.

“Fuck off Conor. I know she’s not coming back.” Niall’s annoyed that his friend decided to bring Sheridan up. He just wishes everybody would stop fucking bringing her up.

Conor just shrugs. “Then why aren’t you lookin’ for an easy lay?”

Niall’s grip on his whiskey coke is so tight that his knuckles turn white. He grits his teeth before taking a long sip, before giving his stupid friend one last annoyed look. “Because sex isn’t the answer to everything.” And with that, Niall walks away.

“It sure helps though, prick!” Conor shouts from his place at the bar, and Niall just shakes his head, ignoring him.

On his way towards the rest of their friends in the booth by the back of the pub, Niall finally spots Aisling’s auburn hair and glittery dress standing near the wooden table. He’d be lying if he didn’t think she looked quite pretty. Niall’s always known Aisling to be pretty, in a way that he knows that thunder follows lightning during a storm and that the sun always shines the brightest in the summer. It was just a universal thing.

But tonight, he finds that he’s entirely hyperaware of Aisling’s prettiness.

He’s watching the way her head falls back when a loud laugh rips through her lungs, her long auburn hair falling past her shoulders, catching the dim pub lighting in a way that stops Niall dead in his tracks. The sparkles in her shift dress glitter with every bend of her knees or swivel of her hips, and Niall tries his hardest to keep his eyes off of Aisling’s lower half. Her eyes have that glow to them that only happens when she feels totally comfortable, and he’s wondering if it’s genuine or if the liquor is helping mask her unease surrounding tonight.

Before he’s caught, Niall pulls himself together and approaches the group.

“Niall!” Aisling squeals once he’s entered the small half-huddle the girls in the group have formed. She’s leaning in, a bit unsteady on her chunky heels, and Niall can feel the whiskey warmth of her breath fan over his cheeks. She’s definitely drunk, Niall thinks, securing an arm around her middle so Aisling doesn’t end up arse over tit on the dirty pub floor.

“Somebody’s havin’ fun,” Niall pushes through a grin, his arms tightening around her waist once Aisling presses two small hands on his shoulders to steady herself. She giggles and it sounds like the prettiest song he’s ever heard.

“Wasn’t it you who told me to drink away all the bullshit?” Aisling asks, finishing the rest of her drink, her head falling back on her neck dramatically as she swallows. Niall chuckles, grabbing the empty glass from her shaky fingers before it slips and cracks on the floor.

“Might’ve. But slow your roll, sweet Aisling. Still three hours left until midnight,” Niall tuts, smiling a bit when she huffs out in disappointment, her lower lip jutting out in a pout. He finds it incredibly adorable.

“Don’t leave me alone with these eejits then! They’re the ones forcing drinks down me throat!” Aisling calls out, pointing a skinny finger towards Cara and Robbie who look responsible. Her Western accent grows much stronger with each level of intoxication Aisling passes, and Niall knows that if she continues he’s going to start struggling piecing together what she’s trying to say.

So he laughs, removing his arm around her waist and throwing it around her shoulders instead, pulling her closer to his chest so that his chin rests above the crown of her head.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got ya,” Niall says, and Aisling smiles back, squeezing his hand that dangles in front of her chest tightly in thanks.

Niall squeezes back, thinking that if he had to spend the next three hours with her, he wouldn’t mind at all. He especially wouldn’t mind it if Aisling was still tucked under his arm once midnight struck.

23:38

Aisling has spent the last twenty minutes holding Cara’s curly hair back while she retches into the toilet. She stopped drinking about an hour ago once she noticed the pallor beneath Cara’s copper skin, knowing it was only a matter of time until she grew sick.

And just like clockwork, with an hour to go until midnight, Cara grabbed Aisling with shaky hands and dragged her to the toilet before vomiting into the porcelain basin below. Aisling rubs her friend’s back, wrapping her curly hair around her wrists to make sure the coiled tendrils stay vomit-free.

She wishes the night didn’t have to end like this.

But it seems to always happen whenever she’s around Cara. As much as Aisling loves her, she can’t help but wonder if this is how it’ll always be with her friend. She wonders when she’ll finally just grow up.

Once again, Aisling has to give up her night in order to make sure Cara’s isn’t ruined.

Cara moans under her and Aisling snaps out of her miserable state, asking her friend if she was okay and if she needed anything. Cara shakes her head, albeit still unsteady on her feet as she slowly hobbles over towards the sink. Aisling sighs for what feels like the hundredth time, wishing her friend would stop being so stubborn.

Before they leave the toilets, Aisling dampens some paper towels and blots it over Cara’s sticky forehead. Her friend swats at her wrists angrily, snatching the wet paper towels from Aisling’s hands and throwing it into the rubbish bin.

“‘M wearing foundation Aisling! Christ, yer gonna fuck it up!” Cara scolds, walking past her friend and fixing what’s left of her mangled curls into a topknot.

Aisling just frowns, wishing her friend would be a bit kinder to her considering she did just spend the better part of her evening holding her hair back and listening to her retch into a shitty public toilet.

“Sorry,” Aisling mumbles, because she knows she could never yell at her friend no matter how angry she makes her. Aisling would rather not rock the boat, so instead she just lets Cara take out her frustrations on her. She’s been doing it for the past seven years anyways, why stop now?

Cara says nothing. Instead, she irons out her black dress with her hands and leaves the toilets, heading towards their group of friends in the back of the pub. Aisling watches her go, taking a few seconds to herself to just breathe.

If Aisling were a different person, she probably would have told Cara off for acting like a Grade A Bitch. She would tell her to stop being so selfish, to stop making everything about her, to stop acting like such a fucking child.

But Aisling is not that person.

So instead she shakes those words from her head, focusing on regulating her breathing and making sure the redness in her cheeks goes away. She wishes she was the same level of drunkenness she happened to be a few hours ago, where everything seemed a bit more bearable and she wasn’t focusing on the shittier parts of her friendships.

When she emerges from the hallway, she spots Niall immediately. She’s found that he’s always standing a bit closer to her than normal, always making sure she’s okay and that she’s enjoying herself. She’s grateful for it, if she’s being honest, because out of everybody in this crowded pub, she’s happy that it’s Niall who’s standing by her side.

She watches as his brown hair flops over his forehead, hanging around his face in a messy boyish way. He looks handsome with his white button down shirt tucked into his navy blue houndstooth dress pants. When he turns a bit so he can laugh at whatever obscene joke Conor just made, she can see the way the shirtsleeves tighten around his flexed bicep, and the way his waist looks thinner when he swivels his hip, and the way his arse arches in his new pants.

Aisling is immediately transported back to a time when every movement Niall made would make her blush uncontrollably. When his hair was blonder and his laugh was louder and he wasn’t as muscley—when he would barge into her dorm room at all hours of the day and show up at Aisling’s library table and doodle notes and scribbles on her coursework. When she found herself crushing on her first ever real uni mate, when she tried her hardest to ignore it, until it ultimately faded as the years passed on.

But sometimes, in moments like this, the feelings would shoot straight into her chest like a lightning strike, and she finds herself struggling for air. It usually happened in fleeting moments—typically when he laughed so hard his blue eyes scrunched, or he held her really tightly whenever she had a bad day, and especially when he called her sweet Aisling.

And just like that, the moment is gone, leaving just as quickly as it came. As if noticing her absence (something that he’s been doing a lot of tonight), blue eyes meet hazel and he cocks his head in concern, the silent question of Are you okay? floating through the air until it stops right in Aisling’s path.

She nods her head and it’s entirely unconvincing. But before Niall could leave their friends and approach Aisling, she gestures towards the bar with a small smile, insinuating she was going to grab a new drink. Niall just nods, staring at her as she approaches the bartop.

As soon as she feels the heat of his gaze leave her back, Aisling orders a water. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to be here anymore, the dreaded feelings she had earlier in the day flooding her insides without warning. She doesn’t give a fuck about midnight anymore, doesn’t give a fuck about watching her mates cheers to the start of a new year.

She just wants to leave.

23:55

Niall turns away from his conversation with Conor, wondering why Aisling hasn’t returned to their spot in the back of the pub. He watched her head towards the bar almost ten minutes ago, and he’s not quite sure if there’s something wrong.

He’s reminded back to the lifeless look in her eyes when she left the toilets with Cara moments ago, and he instantly feels his stomach drop a little at the thought of something bad happening to her. Did they get into a fight? Did Cara say something to upset her? Where the fuck is she?

“Cara, where’s Aisling?” Niall asks, leaning into her ear to talk over the loud music. He cranes his neck towards the bar where he last saw her, and finds that her auburn hair is no longer in view.

Cara shrugs her shoulders, looking less than interested in this conversation. “Dunno, mate. Fucked off in the jacks ‘coupla minutes ago.” Niall scrunches his nose at the lingering smell of bile on her breath.

“What’d you do?” Niall knows that his tone is a bit accusatory, but he feels like an idiot for not realizing that Aisling was upset sooner. He’s instantly brought back to the kitchen when Hannah hurt her feelings, and Niall’s left wondering if he’s as much of a prick as their friends have been lately.

“Oh, fuck off Niall,” Cara starts, laughing even though it’s not funny. “Did nothin’! She probably just doesn’t wanna be ‘ere durin’ midnight ‘cos she’s single and all.”

Niall knows that isn’t true. He also knows that if Cara had asked Aisling herself, she would know that Aisling could give less of a shit about being single.

Niall’s suddenly left with the unwavering thought that maybe nobody has asked Aisling how she’s truly felt in a long time.

Before he can reply, he notices the countdown start to begin, and suddenly he doesn't want to be around his friends at all.

He wants to find Aisling.

23:59

Aisling can hear the ten second countdown from her spot outside the pub, leaning against the cold brick wall, cooling her down from the inside out. Her winter coat is still clenched in her right hand, the heat of her anger keeping her warm against the evening breeze.

Her eyes are closed tight and she’s trying her hardest not to cry. Aisling knows it’s stupid—crying over her friends who didn’t even spare her a second glance when she stormed out of the pub door. She doesn’t want to blame them, because even though they can be selfish and unaware of her sadness, Aisling has let it slide for far too long. She’s starting to think that her friends have grown accustomed to her knack of shrugging things off her shoulder, and she really only has herself to blame.

Aisling sighs as she hears the countdown end, the sounds of celebration reverberating through the thick brick. She’s ringing in this new year alone, as it seems, and she wonders if she’s part to blame for it.

She wonders why she’s never spoken up when her friends overlook her feelings and say hurtful things about her. Aisling knows that they aren’t intentional, and that her friends don’t truly mean to hurt her feelings, but part of her wishes they would just understand.

She wonders why she’s never been bold enough to go after the job she actually wanted. Why she stays working her shitty desk job day after day, losing interest in everything around her. Why she never acted on that job listing she received an email from in London, why she never even tried to move there in the first place.

She wonders why she’s wasted so much time trying to find love in boys who can never offer her what she truly needs. Why even though Cormac was a sound lad, she knew he wasn’t right for her, but the thought of leaving him was much more difficult than staying, so she chose the easier option.

Aisling wishes she was the type of person to speak up, to act on what she wants, to simply be better.

But she isn’t.

So she sinks down to the cool pavement below her, her neck stretched upwards as her head rests on the brick wall. Her eyes are still closed shut, and she thinks that if she keeps them closed, she can squeeze out the girl she so badly wants to get rid of.

She thinks that when she opens her eyes again, she’ll be a new person. The person she wants to be.

00:03

Niall finally finds Aisling outside, her head resting against the wall upturned towards the night sky. Her eyes are closed and Niall’s eyes are trained on her long ivory neck, and he wonders what would have happened if he came out here just as the clock struck midnight.

He shakes that thought from his head, because she looks so small. So unsure. So sad.

Aisling doesn’t look at Niall until he’s sitting near her with his warm hand resting on her bent knee. He’s looking at her as her eyes flutter open, hazel eyes glassy from the tears threatening to fall. He knows Aisling though—knows her so well that she won’t let them fall, no matter how badly she wants to.

She offers Niall a weak smile, and he’s sitting close enough that he can see her bottom lip wobble. It makes him angry.

“Ready to get out of here?” Niall asks softly, ignoring the millions of other questions he wants to ask her. He knows how fragile she is. How adamant she is about not explaining her feelings, so he takes the easy way out even though it kills him to do so.

Aisling smiles at him, a little stronger than before. “Please.”

Niall doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he stands up, grabbing her winter coat in one hand and her smaller hand in the other. Once she’s standing in front of him, close enough that he can feel her shaky breath on his neck, he holds open her coat and buttons her up.

“Let’s go.”

00:52

Niall and Aisling have been sitting around the kitchen island, a half-finished bottle of whiskey on the countertop between them. Aisling’s heels are discarded somewhere near the front door, her feet resting on the unoccupied stool to Niall’s left. He’s rubbing her shins in between pulls of liquor, his navy blazer thrown over the couch, the top few buttons of his crisp white shirt opened to show his patch of chest hair.

They haven’t really said much in the fifteen minutes they’ve been home. Niall knows when to bite, and he knows that getting Aisling reacquainted with whiskey will make the conversation a lot easier.

So they sit. And he jokes. And she smiles.

It’s only after Niall says something stupid that makes Aisling snort—something that should be completely unattractive to most but Niall finds it incredible endearing—that her words make Niall’s heart stop.

“God, now I remember why I had such a crush on you in uni,” Aisling says after a pull of whiskey.

Niall stops his laughing, eyes immediately going wide. “Wait, what?”

“Oi, quit being an eejit,” she says with a roll of her hazel eyes. “Don’t act surprised, everybody knew.”

But Niall can’t help it. He is surprised.

Why hadn’t anybody told him? More so, why hadn’t she told him?

Was he really the only person who didn’t know?

“Aisling, why didn’t you tell me?” Niall asks, his voice void of teasing. He’s honest and when she looks deep into his ocean eyes, Aisling realizes that she probably shouldn’t have mentioned the crush she had on him in uni seven years ago.

“I genuinely thought you knew. Christ Niall, everybody knew,” she whispers, placing the whiskey bottle back on the table separating them.

“I just—I,” Niall’s confused. And overwhelmed. And slightly angry with himself. “Just wish I knew, is all.”

“Why? It wouldn’t have changed anything, Niall. It was years ago. And you were with Sheri. It really isn’t a big deal, I shouldn’t have said anything—”

“—Don’t do that,” Niall says abruptly, cutting her off.

Aisling’s eyes widen, mirroring Niall’s. “Do what?”

Niall huffs in response, running a frustrated hand through his messy hair. “Act like your feelings don’t matter. They do. And I just—fuck, I dunno, Aisling. I just wish I fucking knew.”

“Why, what would you have done?” Aisling asks, repeating herself, half out of annoyance and half out of sheer curiosity. She truly wishes she just kept her fucking mouth shut.

“Who knows,” Niall says, grabbing the whiskey bottle for himself and pouring it down his throat. “Probably would have spared myself the heartache of dating a girl who could give less of a shit about me. But hey, the past is in the past. New year and all that. New beginnings or summat.” He holds up the bottle in a false cheers, his eyes dull and harsh.

Aisling’s replaying what he said earlier over and over in her head, watching as her best mate continues to gulp back whiskey.

Act like your feelings don’t matter.

Has she been doing that for years now? Acting like her feelings are insignificant, like everybody else’s feelings are more important than hers? Like every thought she has is just her completely overthinking everything?

She reaches out and grabs the bottle from Niall’s lips, placing it on the countertop in front of them with a gentle thud.

“It’s not that I don’t think my feelings matter,” Aisling starts, her voice a small mumble. “It’s just—nobody bothers to ask. I’m always helping everybody else with their problems, and it’s not that I don't want to, because I’d do it for anybody. I’m just different, I suppose. I keep things in, because sometimes the things I try and say are just shit, if I’m being honest. So I don’t really say anything.”

Niall sighs sadly, reaching across the countertop for Aisling’s hand instead of the whiskey bottle.

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Niall starts, a sad look on his face. “I’m sorry I never bother to ask sometimes. It’s just, fuck Aisling, you’re just hard to read sometimes. And it’s so frustrating ‘cos you’re my best mate, yeah? I care about you so much.” Niall’s thumbs are brushing against Aisling’s hands and she tries her hardest not to shudder. “Hate when you keep things in. Need you to tell me, yeah?”

Aisling nods and she prays that Niall keeps his hands in hers.

“‘M sorry too, Niall. Care about you, too. Quite a bit.” Aisling is wondering if she’s imagining Niall leaning closer towards her, or if she just wants it to happen so badly that she’s conjuring it up in her own head.

Sitting across from Aisling in their tiny kitchenette, Niall wonders if he’s ever truly thought about kissing her before tonight. Sure, Aisling’s always been beautiful. And sure, she’s been one of his closest mates ever since they first moved in together. But as he sits here, watching the way her skin glows from the overhead lights, watching the way she’s slowly leaning in towards him, he’s really thinking about it.

So he leans in, too.

And he kisses her.

01:14

When they break apart, Aisling feels as if she’s on fire. Her forearms are balancing her upper body on the countertop, and Niall’s longer arms are holding her elbows tightly. Blue eyes meet hazel and their faces are so close that Aisling’s eyelashes are tickling the apples of Niall’s cheeks.

They’re breathing each other in before Aisling’s hand wraps around the back of Niall’s neck and she’s bringing his lips against hers for another searing kiss.

He reacts almost instantly, bringing one hand away from her elbow and up to her cheek, slotting his bottom lip over her top lip and holding back a groan from the back of his throat.

They break apart again, the edge of the counter digging into Aisling’s chest in an uncomfortable way. She sits back against the chair on her knees, her breathing labored and eyes blown wide. Niall’s staring at her, taking in her rosy cheeks and her messy hair, her swollen lips and huffing chest.

He thinks she’s the prettiest thing he’s seen all night. (Even though he knew that to begin with, to be fair).

So he stands up, holding an outstretched hand towards her body, giving her a boyish grin to which she returns instantly. “C’mere.”

Aisling practically jumps into his arms then, leaning her entire torso onto his with her arms wrapped securely around his neck. She can feel Niall’s forearms against the small of her back, and she’s standing on the tips of her toes in order to press her lips fully against his.

Niall squeezes against her hips and Aisling gasps, her mouth opening against his allowing him to lap his tongue against her own. It’s everything and more, and the sound exploding from the back of his throat practically causes Aisling to melt against his chest.

His hand is knotted into her hair, pulling back slightly so that she can reach his mouth. Aisling slowly starts to back Niall up against the wall adjacent to the hallway, and with that support he can run his hands down her back and against her bum, squeezing the skin through her glittery dress. When he pulls away for a breath, Aisling starts to kiss down the hollow of his throat, sucking a lovebite against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, causing Niall to rock his hips against hers.

“Christ Aisling,” Niall says through a strained breath, his head falling back against the wall when she blows over the fresh mark on his skin.

She steps away cautiously, her eyes wide in anxiousness. Was she doing too much? Niall practically whines when the warmth of her body leaves his own far too quickly, and his arms stretch out to bring her back to him.

“Is it too much? We can stop and forget that it even—”

“—What? Christ, who’s being the eejit now? Don’t leave,” Niall rushes out frantically, pulling Aisling flush against his chest to continue what they were doing before she left.

Aisling giggles into his mouth and it’s probably the sweetest sound he’s ever heard (a close second to her groaning into his mouth earlier). Before she can retreat again, he begins walking them backwards until she’s pushed up against the wall separating their bedrooms.

He breaks away and looks at her with a cocked eyebrow, a smirk growing against his strawberry swollen lips. “Mine or yours, sweet Aisling?”

Aisling laughs a bit, her arms still locked around his neck. Her hands are playing with the hair against the back of his neck, and he’s practically purring at the feeling of it. Without really thinking much (because how could she with the way he was looking at her?) she grabs the closest doorknob to her (which so happens to be hers) and opens it swiftly, dragging Niall by his forearms into the room until the backs of her knees hit her mattress and she’s falling into it with a gentle thud.

It’s all tangled limbs and pulled hair and knocking teeth, and they both could never have imagined their night ending this way. Niall practically rips the hidden zipper of Aisling’s dress off (“Sorry babe, can’t stop thinkin’ about what you look like under it”), Aisling tears through the remaining buttons on his white dress shirt, running her fingers through the hair on his chest causing him to groan against her neck (“Do you like that, Niall?”), Niall flips them over and when he’s leaning over her staring at Aisling hungrily in her cute little matching underwear set, he’s practically drooling at the mouth (“Dear god Aisling, you’re beautiful”), and when they’re both stripped down to nothing but skin and Niall’s leaning on his forearms over her, pushing into her with one swift breath, Aisling can feel herself falling apart inside (“Christ Niall, you’re everything”).

And when it’s all over and done with and they’re both lying against each other, breathing in and out, Aisling suddenly has a realization.

Truth is, maybe her and Niall were alone. But, for one night at least, they could forget about that. Why be alone by yourself when you could be alone together?

So with that thought, she cuddles deeper into Niall’s chest, feeling his hand tread through her auburn hair softly. Before she drifts off, he presses a kiss to the crown of her head, mumbling a quiet Happy New Year, sweet Aisling into her hair.

And when she mutters it back to him, sealing it with a kiss to his collarbone, she actually believes it for once.

That it was, truly, a very happy New Year (in the end).

----------------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @adoremp3​, @stylishmuser​, @ihearthemcallingforyou​, @verorax​, @unn--known​

#niall horan #niall horan fanfiction #niall fic #1dff #1dffupdates #onedirection #fic: time #updates

[i-like-plan-m]

About your LWJ can hear lies AU- I can’t help but wonder how he would react to Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao since they are both known for being expert manipulators, especially since it’s hinted at that Nie Huaisang had a lot to do with the WW and MX thing. So I wondered if Huaisang would find a way around LWJ’s lie detecting or if he even knows about it? Also, I can just imagine the PAIN LWJ would be in if he had to talk to Jin Guangyao

Oops, I forgot to link this on tumblr! My bad! This is chapter 3 of the lies au

The trip to Qinghe was familiar by now. 

Years of flight between the sects meant Lan Zhan could make the trip with his eyes closed. He kept them open, because the sight of the Qinghe mountain range always brought a sense of relief that was as sharp as the cold air.  

The sight at the gates was becoming a familiar one, too. Nie Huiyin waited for him with all the patience she was capable of, her constant restless energy directed into a small but impeccably crafted blade that she was sharpening like it had done something to offend her. 

It was just her way, Lan Zhan had learned. Nie Mingjue’s cousin was as brusque as he was, infinitely more cheerful and possibly the loudest person Lan Zhan had ever met in his life. She was also, however, the most refreshingly honest person in all five of the great sects, save for perhaps Nie Mingjue himself. 

“Ah!” She said brightly as he landed before her, stepping gracefully from his sword and sweeping it back into the sheath on his back. “It’s our little Lan Zhan, back again!” 

He refused to acknowledge the blush heating his ears and instead nodded in greeting. His composed response did not deter her from tossing a friendly arm around his shoulders and hauling him through the open gates, past the grinning guards and into the towering grasp of the Unclean Realm walls. 

“How have you been, shidi?” She asked. The Nie Sect, Lan Zhan had quickly discovered, lived up to their imposing reputation of strength and honor. They were also the friendliest people in the world, once they’d decided you were theirs. 

Once Lan Zhan's was unofficially acknowledged as a member of the sect leader’s family-- or at least someone held in high regard by Nie-zongzhu himself, the floodgates had opened. He couldn’t decide whether their open affection was embarrassing or not, but it did fill him with a warmth he was unfamiliar with, one that felt like unconditional acceptance. As though they wanted him here. As though they liked him.

He had never had friends before. 

Well. He wasn’t entirely positive that he had any now. But regardless, the Nie Sect disciples treated him with regard. They smiled when they saw him. They welcomed him in their training exercise despite the differences in their sects’ fighting styles. 

Some, like Nie Huiyin, treated him as though he was a part of their sect. Another of Nie Mingjue’s little brothers to look out for, to keep tabs on like he was incapable of taking care of himself. 

It would be insulting if it hadn’t felt so much like acceptance. 

“I have been progressing,” Lan Zhan reported dutifully. “My control has improved further since my last visit.” He didn’t react to lies like someone had stabbed him in the ear the way he once had. With age came control, and a higher pain tolerance, apparently. 

Nie Huiyin made a sound of exasperation. “You Lans, I swear. I meant how have you been? Done anything fun lately?” She jostled him to punctuate her questions. He was slightly cheered by the fact that she had to reach higher than usual to rest an arm over his shoulders; he’d finally hit his growth spurt this summer and was nearing his brother’s height. 

“I mastered Inquiry,” he offered. 

She squinted at him suspiciously. “Is that what you do for fun?” 

“I enjoy it, yes.” 

“Hm. Acceptable. Though my rock climbing offer still stands if you want real fun. There’s nothing more exhilarating than free-falling from a thousand feet, shidi!” Lan Zhan gave a doubtful noise in response that made her laugh. “We catch ourselves before the bottom and take the rest of the fall on our sabers. And then!”

And then they raced through the most dangerous mountain pass in Qinghe on their sabers, chasing adrenaline with as many death-defying stunts they could manage until the pass ended in a dead-drop of a hundred feet. Most of them followed the waterfall straight into the large lake at the bottom. Most of the Nie disciples were reckless enough to try it at least once.

“Scorpion Alley,” he said, familiar with the sect’s unofficial rite of passage. 

“You got it,” she agreed cheerfully. “We still haven’t gotten you out there, have we?” 

“You will not,” he assured her, and bit back a smile when her laugh echoed across the training grounds. It was so different here than in his sect. There was little composure in Qinghe, no reason to stifle laughter or keep words hushed. 

Composure, he’d learned, was another word for concealment. Disguising one’s truthful feelings to reflect serenity instead. A mask that hid the turmoil beneath for the sake of propriety.

It was a lie all the same. 

“I hear your sect is hosting guest disciples next year,” Nie Huiyin said, steering him towards the main hall. 

“Yes.” He made a halfhearted attempt to sound neutral. He must have failed, because she snorted a laugh as she shoved open the doors of the main hall where Nie Mingjue sat, sorting through a stack of reports with a cranky expression. A slender, unfamiliar man with a dimpled smile stood beside the desk, holding a massive accounting book and waiting patiently for Nie Mingjue to stop muttering under his breath. 

Nie Mingjue looked up as the doors swung open. He brightened almost immediately, standing to welcome Lan Zhan with such genuine delight that Lan Zhan ducked his head, pleased. 

“Welcome back,” he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder and leading him to one of the nearby tables, gesturing for a servant to bring tea. He sat across from Lan Zhan while Nie Huiyin leaned against a column behind him. “How was the trip?”

“Fine,” Lan Zhan said, and tried not to sound petulant. He was almost sixteen, perfectly capable of making the trip from Gusu to Qinghe without trouble. 

“It’s the da-ge instinct, little Lan,” Nie Huiyin said with a laugh, nudging Nie Mingjue with her knee when he scowled up at her. “He can’t help himself.” 

The unfamiliar man hovered in the background as though unsure what to do without Nie MIngjue’s attention. Lan Zhan blinked at him, still unclear on who this newcomer was or how he’d climbed to Nie Mingjue’s side so quickly. Lan Zhan visited often enough that he would have noticed a new person in Nie Mingjue’s inner circle before today, surely. 

Nie Mingjue noticed his distraction and turned to wave the man over. “Ah. Apologies, you two have not met.” The stranger obediently crossed the room and bowed low to Lan Zhan. “This is Lan Wangji, the Second Jade of Lan. And this is Meng Yao, my new deputy.” 

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Lan-er-gongzi.” 

Lan Zhan nodded politely in response and wondered at the faint whisper of a slipped note that accompanied his words. Not quite a lie, but there was something underlying that sounded… off. 

“Da-ge,” Nie Huisang complained, sweeping into the room with a sulking expression. “I already did my saber training today as promised, and Nie Zonghui is trying to make me do more. This is cruel and unjust and-- oh, hi Lan Wangji.” 

“Nie Huaisang,” Lan Zhan murmured. 

“Lan Wangji,” Nie Huiasang said brightly, throwing himself down beside them. “Tell me, doesn’t your clan have a rule or twelve about keeping promises?” 

“A-Sang,” Nie Mingjue said tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Behind him, Meng Yao hid a smile like he’d witnessed many similar discussions like this one. 

Then again, so had Lan Zhan. The Nie’s bickering was as constant as stars in the sky. It had taken some getting used to, but now Lan Zhan let it pass over him as background noise. It was all born from a place of love, and even the small lies (like Nie Huaisang’s mistruth about the duration of his promised saber practice) were easily ignored. 

Meng Yao, though. He was odd. 

Lan Zhan kept his face carefully neutral whenever Meng Yao’s smiles rang false, which was… often. He smiled like he knew it was expected of him, not because he wanted to. Like he was playing a role, either for the sect leader’s benefit or his own. 

It had been a few years since his lessons with Lan Xichen on the reasons why people lie, but most of it was… still hard to understand. So when Meng Yao responded to direction throughout the rest of Lan Zhan’s visit with a demure, “I would be honored, Sect Leader” and it rang discordant every time, Lan Zhan thought it was perhaps time to ask for help. 

Only a few years ago, Lan Zhan had accidentally exposed an advisor in Qinghe who had been bought off by merchants in the city. Every bit of his advice and own influence had been manipulated to support the merchants. 

Of course, when Lan Zhan was in the room and realized the advisor’s input sounded like a drunkard playing a dizi, he’d signaled to Nie Mingjue, who then rooted out the reason for his lies. Lan Zhan was not capable of doing so himself-- he only knew when people lied, never their reason for it. 

Shortly after Nie Mingjue had personally tossed the advisor out of the Unclean Realm’s gates, Lan Zhan had discovered a shadow wandering around on his heels. 

“How’d you know he was lying?” Nie Huaisang asked curiously. He continued when Lan Zhan stood frozen in place, unsure how to respond. “I saw your cue to da-ge. The hand signal?”

“I…” He had no idea what to do. Brush him off? Explain his mother’s gift? Deny it entirely? 

No. That was dishonest. 

He swallowed hard and admitted, “I can hear lies.” 

“Really?” Nie Huaisang’s eyes brightened. “So you knew the advisor was corrupt?” 

“No. Just that he lied.” 

“Hm. Interesting. So just the lie, not the intention?” The ever-present fan fluttered as Nie Huaisang stared thoughtfully at him. He nodded once in agreement. “You hear it?”

Lan Zhan realized he’d been absently following Nie Huaisang’s meandering pace along one of the walls. They were alone, so he reluctantly shared, “It was a gift from my mother, before she died. I hear conversations like music, and lies are…”

“Horrible, mangled sounds?” Nie Huaisang asked dryly. “My music tutors tell me that’s what I sound like when I play, anyway.” 

His face did not show the flicker of humor he felt. “Yes.”

“Is there anything other than the curse that tells you when they lie? Like, if their voice sounds nervous or their breathing is too fast?” 

Lan Zhan paused. He’d never thought of that, of looking past the sound of the curse to identify the physiological aspects of the liars. Why would he? There was irrefutable proof from the curse. 

But not looking further felt… lazy. Like willful ignorance. That he could not abide. 

“I will observe from now on,” he decided. 

“Me too!” Nie Huaisang caught his skeptical side-eye, because he sighed like he alone bore the weight of the universe and said, “I’m just saying, it seems like a useful skill. That advisor got past me, too, you know, and I spend a lot of time listening to their incredibly boring conversations.” 

“Boring conversations about running the sect.” If the disapproval wasn’t clear on his face, it was evident in his tone. 

“Exactly,” Nie Huaisang agreed. “But I learned my lesson, Lan-er-gongzi, all thanks to you! We should practice together, don’t you think? How about just before lunch every day?” 

“That is the time of your saber training,” Lan Zhan, who was not an idiot, said. 

“Is it?” Nie Huaisang asked, blinking innocently at him. “Ah, well, da-ge can’t complain if I’m busy making our favorite guest feel welcome!” 

“We will spar together before lunch,” Lan Zhan decided, ignoring Nie Huaisang’s horrified expression. “And then study during lunch.” 

“No,” Nie Huaisang wailed. “How can I learn to read people if I’ve been pummeled into the dirt by the Second Jade of Lan?”

“I would not,” Lan Zhan said, offended. “You are not capable of a legitimate spar--” 

“No shit!” 

“--so instead I will help with your training.” 

“Somehow this turned out very badly for me,” Nie Huaisang muttered, but he was at the training grounds mostly on time later that day all the same. 

That was two years ago. 

After two years of shared study, they had something that was not quite a friendship. Lan Zhan had never lost the sense of awkwardness around Nie Huaisang-- he was never quite sure how to interact, wasn’t sure what his role was in this relationship. 

Nie Huaisang mostly just complained to him about everything under the sun. But every time Lan Zhan visited, he showed up to the training grounds with an expression of utmost suffering. He only remembered his saber half the time, and he tripped over his own feet often enough Lan Zhan feared for his life, but he showed up. 

So Lan Zhan knew his concerns would be heard if he took them to Nie Huaisang. Maybe he would have more insight into Meng Yao’s oddities-- Nie Huaisang understood people the way Lan Zhan didn’t. He couldn’t hear lies, but he could see them. 

Most of the time, anyway. He’d learned to read faces where Lan Zhan heard the mistruths. It was a training method with guaranteed reliability, and Nie Huaisang’s success had surprised him. Apparently he was highly capable when he actually applied himself. Too bad he didn’t want to. 

Still. He would listen to Lan Zhan, and he would help. That much was certain.

#this is late #sorry i forgot to answer the actual prompt lol #featuring my chaotic lesbian oc #nie huiyin #because i wanted more women in it #in the shadow of moonlit flowers #my fics #my writing #the untamed #mdzs #asks #anon #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan wangji #lan zhan #meng yao #prompts

[retvenkos]

“and we were destroyed before we were made whole.”

A/N: the amazing @brokenandheadoverheels asked me to talk about my mc for blades of light and shadow so here we gooooooo

@bladesappreciationweek, Day 7: MC + Wild Card SOME GENERAL INFORMATION ABOUT OLINDA, MY BLADES OF LIGHT AND SHADOW MC...

background: while i do like the mc’s original background, sometimes you have to disregard canon for the drama of it all. so.... just kind of disregard the “bandits killed my parents” storyline.

she’s a human - more about her look here

she and her family lived on the outskirts of riverbend - they were humble farmers, working the land, and they were old friends with kade’s family.

when olinda is five, there’s a drought. 

it hits right right before crop season, and nothing can grow. droughts in morella are rare, but when they hit, they last for a long time - years. the crown is expected to have resources saved in the event of these 

king arlan, a man of excess and pride, blew through a lot of morella’s saved resources throwing the most elaborate of banquets to get nobles on his side, rather than his twin brother

(who was the more popular of the two but younger by just a few minutes, denying him a birthright that many would have loved to see challenged.)

when the drought hit, it was a crisis that needed averting. 

the position of king’s advisor was a revolving door because arlan was intent on finding someone who could fix this problem, without having to negotiate with orcs or elves or (even worse) send expeditions beyond morella’s borders to hopefully find aid in the people only spoken of in stories and legends.

charlatans, arlan thought, there was no possible way that there could be a species of people more intelligent and more capable than his own.

eventually, one advisor of the dozens suggested encroaching on private land in the southeast - a place where the drought was suspected to have hit less. those lands were all privately owned because long ago, the land was gifted to brave men who served on the front lines of a war, but that was long enough ago that few remember it. besides, it’s already farming country, most of it. it’s been mostly forgotten. the idea was to take back the land, get the most fruitful harvest they could, and give the biggest rations to those in Whitetower - the home of all the nobles. the nobles wouldn’t care enough to check to see how the poorer parts of the nation were doing, and as long as their bellies were full, they would support arlan.

arlan agrees that the plan is engenius. so how do they decide to steal land from innocent, hard working farmers? by taxing them, of course!

so one day, kingsguard marches up to houses, declaring an emergency increase in taxes. when the struggling farmers inevitably fail to pay, they seize the property. and if anyone is to put up a fight, they’re jailed for their crime. there are a few “aggressive” farmers who put up a fight, and a few are killed or gravely injured. the crown manages to hush it up for the most part, and due to such aggression, they have reason to strip many others of their property.

it’s terrible, and a little prince named aerin sees what is happening and cries, one night. his brother baldur laughs and whispers “you’re just as weak as they are. i’d be careful you aren’t next.”

there is much unrest in the rural parts of the kingdom, and during this time, kade, his mother, his lame uncle, and a former neighbor move in with olinda’s family. together, they are resourceful enough to scrape up enough for the high taxes, and because their property has always been less fertile than those around them, they are overlooked.

for two years, the makeshift family survives, going to sleep without food in their bellies, selling their valuables and conserving as much as they can. no one knows when the drought is going to end, and until it’s truly over, they have to be careful.

kade’s uncle passes

one of olinda’s parents dies, something like pity for those who live on their face

when spring comes around again, it’s mostly dry. one night it rains, and olinda and kade dance in the downpour, ignoring their family telling them they’ll get sick.

it’s still a painfully dry season, and everything is dry enough that if it were to be lit on fire, the whole countryside would burn before you could make it to the river to get water.

during the day, the family works and the children are left to themselves - sometimes assigned menial tasks but mostly just left to roam with the strict warning to never step foot on a neighbor’s property. most of it belonged to king arlan, now, and if they were caught, they would lose a hand.... and perhaps something more.

olinda was mischievous, though, and kade was nothing if not the person to egg her on. together, they got very good at sneaking through the trees, using their own renditions of bird calls to play and tease the other.

one day, during their usual games, kade raced to olinda, cheeks blotchy, and told her he found an apple tree. olinda thinks it’s just another one of his tricks  (“you’re always turning shadows into boogeymen and clouds into dragons.”) but kade insists.

“show me, then.”

“well...”

“see? i knew it was a lie.”

“it isn’t! it’s just... well, it’s on one of the king’s farm.”

“so?”

“you know we can’t get close to those farms!”

“you did if you saw apples.”

“well... they were sort of small. and definitely not ripe.”

“did you see them or not?”

“i did!”

“so you can take me back.”

“but, olinda—”

“kade, all of this land belonged to us before it belonged to them. those are our apples. besides, we’re not going to eat them - we’re just going to take a look.”

they decide to go after night fall. no one will be out in the fields that late at night, and their parent’s won’t know they’re gone.

but in true seven year old fashion, they don’t realize that it’s going to be too dark to actually see the apples from a distance.

olinda convinces kade to take them closer - onto the property so that he can prove they’re actually there.

when they get close enough to the tree to properly tell, kade’s stomach growls and olinda says they’ve already come this far - they might as well take some.

they take three apples and stop to eat them in the woods before they go home. the apples are terribly unripe and pitifully small, but they eat all three and lick their sticky hands clean. kade insists on planting the seeds, despite the drought, and so it’s well into the night by the time they start to make their way back home.

i believe it’s the light they saw first. the heat was already unbearable, that time of year, and the ash was too akin to dust and dirt for their young minds to reason.

when they saw the fire, kade was the first to run. he made it far on his spindly legs before a coughing fit overwhelmed him and he staggered backward.

their house and all their crops were on fire

burning before their eyes.

olinda was the first one to remember what their parents had always said, in case a fire should start. she pulled kade to the place where they were to wait - a wooded area that was far away enough to hopefully be safe, but close enough that they could watch their world burn to the ground.

their parents weren’t there, and for some reason, olinda thought that they would come

kade’s mother was probably just trying to pull on her shoes or something. they would meet them there - just like they always said they would.

olinda waited all night for them to come, even when kade knew they weren’t coming

part of her is still waiting.

farmers and the king’s guard were the ones to put out most of the fire, and for some reason, it rained that night - barely more than a sprinkle, but enough to dampen olinda and kade’s clothes and enough to calm smouldering ashes.

by that time, it was too late - the fire ravaged the area and much was lost. their house was burnt down, and some time in the morning, olinda and kade crawled back to its foundations, finding very little in its wake.

they ash stuck under their fingernails and collected in their throat. kade was coughing from how thick it was, and olinda rubbed his back, as though trying to ease the pain that ate at him.

who started the fire, olinda and kade would never know. bandits, some said, the hungry, thought others. some people even blamed the drought itself.

but aerin knew. he had heard his father and baldur speaking through a crack in the door about two families who they couldn’t oust from their land. they somehow managed to keep up with the tax - no matter how high they pushed it. they were survivors.

baldur (barely ten, at the time) expressed that everyone could be crushed, somehow. “can’t they just burn?” he had asked, with something dangerous in his eye.

arlan had thought for a moment, and eventually said something about how legend said a phoenix could rise from the ashes. perhaps the land could, too. he then patted his son’s head and left, a swish of furs and jewelry.

a nearby farmer went over to the burned ruins in the morning to make sure nothing was left burning, and when he found two kids, he put them in his cart and took them to riverbend - the failing town nearby.

he brought them into the pub, and the town christened two new orphans - nowhere children, they called them.

riverbend knew a lot of tragedies, and orphans with nothing to their name were called what they were - children who came from nowhere and were going the same.

the farmer couldn’t feed two more hungry mouths. neither could anyone else, for that matter. the pub owner said they could watch them for a week or two - then they’d become someone else’s problem.

kade seemed to be sick, after the fire. he was paler, feverish in the dreadful heat, and the bright look in his eye was fading.

it was olinda’s eighth birthday when someone new came to the pub. he was a weathered looking man - younger than he seemed and tired - the pub owner seemed to know him, and kade and olinda were introduced to him, not too long after his arrival.

he had been a nowhere child, once. he still was, really, with very little to his name. but he was working as a blacksmith and a farmhand at some place nearby. he didn’t have money for two kids - especially when one of them looked like a ghost - but he had a debt to pay forward. he figured this was the way to do it.

“but you’re going to earn your keep - you hear me?”

kade simply coughed

“i can earn it for the both of us.”

and the man nodded at olinda, something dark in his eyes “yeah, i reckon you can”

and olinda did well.

having lived on a farm her whole life, any task she needed to do was a quick study, and having been born from tragedy and drought, she was constantly working, used to the grime beneath her fingernails and the sweat that lingered on her brow.

olinda was strong and worked in the fields, and kade was smart and helped count money and barter with vendors in town. his sickness never really left him, it lingered in him always, but most days it wasn’t bad. he worked as best he could, but much fell on olinda’s shoulders.

when olinda was 9, the drought was over. four years later, and things were growing again. the taxes stayed high for a while, but at some point, word started to get out that arlan had suspiciously high taxes on certain farming regions, and whispers of when they were imposed started. arlan’s twin brother seemed to be currying favor with the king’s privy council.

 the taxes lowered again.

fear didn’t leave the hearts of the farmers, though. they knew what had happened, and they knew how vulnerable they were. olinda and kade grew up alongside fear and ruin, and it would stick with them for the rest of their lives.

when olinda and kade were 10, kade’s sickness flared up again, this time far worse than anything olinda had ever seen.

riverbend had a name for this, too - ghost sickness. a way the dead damn the living for having survived when they shouldn’t have. a way the dead promised to claim kade soon.

but olinda had already lost too much to lose kade, too.

she worked all day - harder than before to account for kade’s lack of work - and at night, she would pretend to sleep but really stay up, listening to his coughs to see if they got worse, and making sure he was breathing, when he finally did fall asleep.

the townsfolk told kade stories during this time, and the bard in him was born. he was always a charismatic speaker, and now, with such fanciful tales... it wasn’t just pity that earned them free bread.

during this time, an anger festered in olinda. all of life was so cruel to her and kade. it took everything from them when they were so young, and now it threatened to take away what little she had fought so hard to build.

by 13, olinda would get into fights with other kids her age. they looked at her funny because she was a nowhere girl with a dying brother, and she was tired of it. she would give them a reason to respect her, if they needed it.

the farmer that had taken them in (and still cared for them, the three drifting here and there, wherever they could find work) found out.

he advised her to take out her anger on things other than people, but also taught her proper form. he told kade, once, when they thought olinda was asleep, that he knew that anger far too well - it was bound to come out, at some point.

by 15, kade began to get his strength back. he was still thinner and weaker than most, but he lost the pallor to his skin and he could hold a meal and get through a day of activity.

the farmer they lived with died when kade and olinda were 16, and once again, it was just the two of them.

olinda could do most everything by now - she was a decent blacksmith, a skilled farmhand, a fisher, a rudimentary carpenter, a fletcher, a leatherworker... kade joked that if she ever wanted to be a gladiator she could. 

point is, she was decent at a lot of things, explaining why she was able to so easily pick up skills during the book.

kade, on the other hand, was an entertainer with the added skill of having an encyclopedic knowledge on random things (like, he knows what flora and fauna are safe to eat or he knows a crazy amount of geography and can use maps really well). he also knows elf and orc languages - all thanks to the people who would keep him company, at his bedside.

it’s a big superstition in morella that one of the few ways to wash away your sins is to appease the dying. they are close to the veil and if you visit them when are in between, they will remember you and give you blessings, later on.

kade also worked as a peddler for a while, selling things that olinda made while drifting from here to there. they traveled a bit between small towns, staying at pubs and inns. kade often charmed them a decent meal for cheap and at the end of the night, olinda got them kicked out for brawling.

they always came back to riverbend, though, never going far. despite not having a home, they seemed to be tethered to riverbend, like they had unfinished business, there.

personality/relationships:

as you can see, olinda is a little more.... pugnacious and rough around the edges than the actual mc for blades.

she’s seen how terrible this world is to the best of people, and she has had to bear the brunt of misfortune on her shoulders from very young. it’s only natural that she have some of that anger in her heart.

olinda may not believe in the goodness of the world, but she has hope for it, yet. that’s all because of kade’s stories - he would tell them to her every night and make her swear that she wouldn’t give up on the world, and at some point, olinda started to believe that maybe things weren’t so hopeless, after all. it was just their poor luck that landed them where they were.

this also means, though, that olinda is extremely caring and sensitive when it comes to those who are suffering. she would rather die than turn her back on someone in need, and this will put her in sticky situations over the course of her journey.

olinda doesn’t really see herself as a hero - she would like to save the world, but she has only ever been a nowhere child, and nowhere children don’t go anywhere. she thinks it would be amazing to do something grand - something that could change the world, but she truly doesn’t think herself capable

it takes a lot of prodding to get olinda to realize the weight of her actions and the possible outcome, and when she realizes that what she is doing could truly change the world, she has a hunger and thirst to prove herself.

olinda always gives 100% to whatever she’s doing, and it can often come at her detriment. when she’s given the chance to be more, she seizes it - damn the consequences.

olinda doesn’t have a lot of friends or close relationships - she has lost everyone who has ever gotten close, and part of her wonders, especially when kade looks sick, if it’s her. maybe she curses whoever comes near.

when olinda first meets nia she is baffled by her innocence. it’s not refreshing nor is it something that angers her - it’s just confusing. and maybe, at some point, olinda envies nia for her rosy view of the world. to nia, fire is just fire; it’s not a burning funeral pyre that haunts her dreams. to nia, sickness is just sickness; it’s not a vengeful ghost ripping away the one good thing she relies on. to nia, shadows are just shadows; they’re not something she has been running from ever since she was seven years old. olinda wants a bit of that. and maybe she’s worried that she will ruin nia, if they were to ever become closer than travel companions.

nia definitely teaches olinda the beauty in the world. kade taught olinda beauty in the past and the possible future, but he could never teach her to love the beauty of the present. nia does, slowly but surely. she shows her how things manage to grow, despite the world conspiring against them. she shows olinda how this world is still good, deep down. there is always light, with nia, and when she instills that view in olinda, it’s important.

when meeting mal, olinda immediately saw something of a kindred spirit - he was clearly damaged, too, this world against him from the beginning. they were both survivors looking for their family but while still being afraid of letting others close. although mal seemed to hide his damage better. instead of righteous fury, mal was ambivalent, and olinda wanted desperately to learn how he did it. olinda quickly learned though, that mal was an avoider - he didn’t let things roll over his shoulders, he jumped to the side before they could get to him. together, these two get some therapy and learn to take this world without letting it change them.

what i absolutely adore about their relationship is that they are both constantly teaching each other new skills. mal teaches olinda how to throw knives and how to be sneaky and she teaches him how to set traps or how to make a scabbard for his knives. they are constantly trying to one up each other by knowing how to do more things or being better at select skills, but it’s just friendly competition that keeps the other on their toes.

when it comes to tyril, olinda is less than enthused. these two had the hardest time getting along, and it all kinda stemmed from tyril being like,,,, “don’t slow me down” and olinda is like,,,,,, you invited yourself??? but also, i think that he reminds olinda a lot of the farmer that took her and kade in, so it’s a wound that tyril unwittingly hits. but also, tyril and olinda both know that the other is useful, and part of them knows to make a person who has the most potential of becoming a future enemy a friend, first, so that’s why they swallow their pride to reach out. they’re both headstrong, but they also both have deeper wounds, and that connects them. it’s like,,,,, i see you and i respect you, but if you weren’t on my side, i would not hesitate to end you.

i think that olinda and tyril eventually become great partners on the battlefield - they work in sync really well because they are both a little self sacrificing in their melee attack, and they are both fairly versatile. they definitely work well together, and they definitely teach each other patience. and don’t get me wrong - they have their soft, vulnerable moments together, but they’re too similar to be good for each other™

this leaves me to talk about imtura, who definitely vibes with olinda. they both do what they have to do, and while it infuriates olinda that imtura doesn’t open up much (she’s surrounded by kade and nia in the beginning, who are like - do you want to know my tragic backstory? i’ll tell you right now, even if you don’t want it. then, mal is willing to tell some parts, and tyril is just tyril. olinda is 90% sure that he doesn’t even have a past, he just has vague allusions. imtura just shutting her down right away because she doesn’t feel like it? blasphemy.) olinda respects imtura. they’re both self-made women trying to find their way through this world, and they both learn to really lean on each other.

funnily enough, olinda teaches imtura to let her soft side out. olinda “i will fight you if you so much as look at me wrong” teaches imtura to be vulnerable. it’s weird. but, olinda is big on emotions - harsh and vulnerable, so she teaches imtura to express those more. imtura teaches olinda when to let that anger simmer, without flying off the handle. think first, then pull out your axes. they do wonders for each other’s emotional maturity.

oh! i think i should mention aerin. at first, olinda is against aerin and baldur. she does NOT want to have to take care of two princes who have lived sheltered lives and are the reason she lost her family. however, it’s much easier to hate baldur and something about aerin reminds olinda of kade.... a smart, bookish boy who’s lonely and doesn’t mean much to anyone, in this world. the two definitely bond, (and while i chose some of the romance options just to see) they only become friends. it’s crushing when he betrays them, and for a moment, olinda is afraid that maybe when she finds kade, he’ll be the same.

random thoughts:

olinda has a fear of fire. her eyes follow it’s tongues very carefully and she’s always double checking that it gets put out. the company figures this out fairly early on, and nia is almost always the one to very pointedly put it out. the first time, she made a big show of it, and everyone laughed, but olinda thought it was very sweet.

it’s kind of a joke, now, that whenever anyone puts the fire out, they make some very pointed comment. olinda always rolls her eyes, but she won’t deny that she does sleep easier, now.

it’s 100% an inside joke between olinda and tyril that they make up the most outlandish constellations - all stemming back from that time they talked about kade making up constellations. tyril made up a constellation once while on the road, stretching his imagination to cheer up olinda. nia tried to (sweetly and carefully) correct tyril, but he insisted until olinda realized what he was doing and smiled. together, they’ve made up some pretty good ones, and when kade joins the group, he makes up stories for each constellation they make.

mal is a pickpocket, and one of the first things he ever taught olinda was that skill. they like to have little competitions to see who is the better pickpocket (tyril was the final level and the hardest to pickpocket), and at one point, the game changed to sneaking things into people’s pockets. mal slipped olinda a love letter once and it was vvv sweet. olinda will sometimes jokingly mock him for it, but we all know she enlisted kade to help her write one back.

imtura and olinda spar! they do it all the time, and even though imtura wins most of the time, they both maintain that it’s a tie - they’re both too good. 

also, olinda 100% makes imtura a new gauntlet - it’s a collaborative process. imtura chose what she wanted it to look like and what materials she wanted and olinda made it for her, trying to teach imtura, but imtura was terrible at it.

olinda has long hair, and nia taught her how to do really intricate braids. my girl used to just tie it up into a bun or ponytail, getting all kinds of tangles. nia was rightfully appalled and taught olinda how to braid her hair nicely.

the whole company has definitely braided each other’s hair.

the only one allowed to touch imtura’s hair is nia, and tyril would rather die than let mal touch his hair, but all of them know how to braid hair and you cannot tell me that they haven’t helped each other tie their hair back before going into battle

tyril is the worst at telling stories, and it’s a joke within the whole company. whenever they’re all hanging out after dinner, they tell stories and at least one person tries to tell a story terribly, seeing if they can do it worse than tyril

at first this super annoyed tyril, but now he will correct people’s terrible stories, making them even worse by revising the story and cutting out entire chunks or just interrupting them, saying the premise is already too interesting.

the exact opposite happens with mal - his stories are all incredibly detailed, but they’re all the same

the company tries to make a “mal story” that checks off all the cliches

contessa?

poorly timed winks?

a daring escape that is 100% fake?

an increasingly large diamond?

a charming disguise?

nia is actually really good at coming up with the most outlandish stories. mal is very proud.

speaking of nia, this woman did not know how to cook. imtura teaches her, and it’s actually really sweet. everyone thought nia was going to get queasy at gutting a fish, but she was oddly okay with it.

imtura gets really connected to her culture later on, so the whole company knows orcish sayings and the know a lot of the customs. it’s very sweet.

olinda is actually really bad at flirting, so mal is constantly trying to give her “tips” which is really just an excuse to hit on her. tyril hates it, nia is slightly scandalized, and imtura joins in on the fun.

olinda is actually scarily good at deception, though, and she teaches nia, which scares the whole company.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @missameliep // message me if you want to be added!

#bladesAW #choices: stories you play #playchoices #choices #blades of light and shadow #blades #bolas #bolas choices #blades choices #mc #blades mc #blades of light and shadow mc #tyril starfury #mal volari #nia ellarious #kade of riverbend #imtura tal kaelen #headcanons #imagine #would include

[archaneanscribe]

Any Moment With You

During the period of time Marth is staying in Talys before Shadow Dragon starts proper, Caeda and Marth take a walk, get caught in the rain, and something momentous happens ;) Part of the Archanea Chronicles.

"If we seek aide from-"

"Pardon me?"

Marth, Jagen, Cain, and Abel looked up from the map they were examining, each turning to face the familiar voice speaking from the doorframe. Posture uncharacteristically shy, Caeda nodded at the acknowledgment of her presence.

"I am sorry to interrupt, but if you would not mind terribly, might I borrow Marth for an hour or two? It won't be very long."

"What exactly will you be doing?" Jagen asked, face stern but not unyielding. The discussion was important, yes, but they were in Talys only because of the good will of it's royal family after all. Caeda's gaze turned to her feet, yet again at odds with her normal behavior, "It is... a secret? If it is too great of an imposition..."

The prince and his advisors shared a look.

Marth spoke before anyone else could, eyes pleading at his eldest advisor, "I would gladly accompany you, Caeda. Surely I could be spared...?"

Jagen shook his head with a resigned fondness, "Very well. We will debrief you on the results tomorrow. Enjoy yourself for the day, my liege."

"Thank you!" the prince and princess said nearly simultaneously, cheeks red and smiles wide. Confidence seemingly renewed, Caeda grabbed Marth's sleeve and pulled him out the door with considerable haste, leaving the three cavaliers to watch their retreating forms with fond looks.

"Do not think I do not enjoy to spend time with you," Marth began, looking around at the surrounding trees. The sky above them was also a worrying grey, but he chose not to comment, more distracted by the other circumstances surrounding this adventure, "Because you know I do, very much. But is this all you needed me for? A walk?"

Caeda tugged at the hem of her skirt, looking bashful, "Yes- but that's not everything! There is something I wished to show you a ways in. You will not regret it, I promise!"

He smiled softly, placing a hand on her shoulder, "It is as I said, do not mistake my curiosity for disinterest. Any time spent with you is worthwhile time."

She tried smiling as well, though it was far weaker, smoothing the back of her hair over with a sigh, "Thank you, Marth. I know how difficult this time is for you, and I noticed how the stress has been weighing on you. I just... wanted to share something that I care for with you, to lessen your burden in any way I can."

Walking on for several seconds more, she stopped upon realizing that her companion was no longer moving with her. When she turned to see why, she found him with an expression that found an impossible middle ground between joy and sorrow, "I am very sorry, Caeda."

"Whatever for?"

"We have been imposing upon you and your father all this time, and now I am causing you to worry over me. It makes me happy to know you care, but I cannot help but find myself pained to have troubled you in this way."

"Marth, no!" she cried, rushing to stand before him, gripping his arms as tightly as she could, "Do not say such things! I am doing this because I- because I care for you, I would care for you even if circumstances were different."

His head had been hanging low, but he let it rise, nodding at her words, "...thank you, Caeda. I should not have let myself fall to despair like that. You are so kind and fair, of course you do this from the goodness of your heart with pure intent."

"You flatter me."

"I speak only the truth. It is only the presence of my comrades that allows me to face each day, and your support is chief among them. You bring me the light I need to move forward."

"Marth..."

With all her hesitance dispelled, she offered him her hand to take, and he did just that.

However, before they continued walking, like the boom of a war drum, thunder cracked, startling them just long enough to make them unprepared for the downpour that soon followed. 

Thinking as quickly as he could, Marth draped his cape over his arm, and then held it over Caeda's head to shield her, "Is there somewhere we could take shelter!?" he asked, struggling to be heard over the sound of the pounding rain. 

"Yes, a few minutes up ahead there is a shallow cave where hunters often rest!" she replied at equal volume, and with that, the pair took off at top speed in the direction she had pointed.

-----

"I am so sorry, Marth. I was trying to cheer you up, yet this happened!" Caeda lamented, futilely trying to wring the water out of her hair, seated against the wall of the hunter's refuge. The both of them were as wet and cold as could be, and at least one of them was just as miserable, "I was warned of the weather, but did it anyway,"

Taking off his cape, Marth laid it flat to dry more quickly, then made his way over to sit by her side, shaking his head, "I noticed as well, yet also said nothing. There is no one to blame here."

"If you say so... at least we will be able to avoid the worst of it in here. It does not seem to be as bad as it could be, thankfully."

"Yes," Marth said, smiling fondly despite the circumstances, "I remember my first island storm on Talys quite vividly, when we visited many years ago."

"You were so frightened," she said with amusement, the mood of the small cave lightening considerably, "I remember you rushing into my room in terror!"

He shifted closer to her so their shoulder's bumped, the heat of their bodies felt by the other despite their wet clothes, "I thought we were under ballista fire, and you told me it was simply the waves crashing against the rocks! Of course, I had never heard either before, so I could not tell the difference."

"It was not so easy to convince you of that at the time," she said, leaning into him, "We had to go out onto my balcony so I could show you. Our fathers were so upset that we ruined our clothes and let the rain in!"

They shared a laugh, suddenly not so bothered by the weather outside. 

"I think your plan has worked despite everything," Marth commented, feeling bold enough to place his hand on Caeda's waist to pull her against him even closer, "When I am with you, no matter the circumstances, my mood cannot help but improve. I only hope I can do the same for you."

She smiled, "Oh Marth, you do. You have always treated me as more than my father's daughter, and you are always willing to listen and help whenever I have troubles, no matter how insignificant. I find just being with you calming."

"I am overjoyed to hear that. Once Altea retaken... would you consent to a visit?" he looked away in embarrassment, scratching his nose, words trailing off, "Of course, because Elice would like to see you again. And... I would like to continue spending time with you..."

"I would be glad to."

Joy overtaking all other emotions, Caeda let her instinct take over, and placed a kiss on Marth's cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. In his surprise, he snapped his head to face her, their noses brushing.

All it would take for them to-

"Caeda... may I...?"

"Yes... Marth..."

With the sound of pouring rain pelting the leaves and the damp earth in the background, they shared their first kiss, individually and together. 

Their lips were still tinged with cold, they could taste rain water, and in truth it was nothing more than a press of lips, but for the pair, it was magical.

When they found it in themselves to pull away, they locked eyes, pupils dilated and cheeks flushed.

"I... Marth, did we..."

"Yes..." he reached his free hand up to brush his knuckles against her cheek, "Caeda. Right now, I am not in a position to give you everything you need. Retaking Altea must be my main priority. But every free moment I have, and the very day our flag once more flies over my homeland, I am yours."

"I do not want or expect more than you are able to give, Marth. We are young yet, and there is much to do. So long as I get small moments such as these," she caught his hand in her own, interlacing their fingers, "I am beyond contentment."

"And I am beyond lucky to have met you."

In the world outside, the rain had begun to wane, and they could hear the thundering of hooves as well as several familiar voices calling their names.

"That sounds like Jagen," Caeda removed herself from Marth's embrace, something that they both mourned, "He will surely be cross with us."

"Let him be cross."

"Marth!" 

He grinned as he gazed at her faux scandalized expression, leaning in for one more kiss before they had to return to reality.

Independently of one another, they made a promise to themselves: they would do whatever it takes to ensure that one day, they could share as many kisses and moments of happiness as they like, no matter the cost.•

#fe1 #fe3 #fe11 #fire emblem #fe #archanea saga #archanea #marth x caeda #caeda x marth #marth #caeda #marth (fire emblem) #caeda (fire emblem) #suu's scribbles #wrote this in novemeber but posting to offset some angst i posted to my art blog lol

[welldonebeca]

why do we have to go and make things so complicated? (25)

WC: 1k words Characters: Ben Solo, Rey Palpatine. Warnings: Fluff and… more.

“I’ll have number 7,” Ben pointed to the menu. “And… Whatever wine the chef recommends. Rey?”

“Number 9,” she decided. “And whatever non-alcoholic beverage you seem fit for it.”

The waiter wrote it down, humming along. 

“Driving?” he asked, distracted. 

“Breastfeeding,” she corrected him, not thinking much. 

The young man gasped, looking right down at them, and Rey could finally notice how young he was. That boy couldn’t be over his first year in uni and behaved just like that. 

“It’s your first date about the baby!” he exclaimed. “Oh, couples come here for that all the time! What’s their name?”

Ben looked at her, completely confused, but turned back to the waiter. 

“Ophelia,” he stammered.

“Because of Shakespeare, right? Powerful! I’m studying him in school!” he smiled, picking their menus back. “Well, I’ll be back with your drinks in a minute. Have a nice date.”

The waiter left, leaving them alone, and Rey was the first to break the silence with a laugh. 

“He seems like a nice kid.”

Ben blinked a couple of times, but chuckled, catching up quickly. 

“Oh yeah,” he smirked. “Remember when we were his age? Wasn’t Finn a part-time waiter when we were in the first year of school?”

“He was,” Rey confirmed. “And I don’t know how he did it. I was exhausted with the school alone, I can’t believe he had the energy to work and study.”

“He didn’t,” Ben shrugged. “Good thing he got that scholarship, uh?”

She felt her cheeks heating up, and he laughed. 

“I’m just teasing you,” he assured her. 

A new waitress came by them and poured Ben his glass of wine before putting down a cocktail in front of Rey. 

“Non-alcoholic, as requested,” she assured them. “Excuse me.”

When they were entering their second year of school and things proved themselves to be even harder, Rey had found a very loopy way to get Finn a full scholarship without directly giving him any money or, allegedly, bringing suspicion over herself. She’d created an organization that’d give out scholarships to ten BIPOC students in Harvard based on a mixture of background, good grades, school performance and a bunch of other things she knew Finn qualified for. It wasn’t a surprise when he was one of the ten selected students, though it was a surprise that he actually knew about everything when it was said and done. 

Apparently, Rey had been trying too hard to get him to call his advisor - professor Maz Kanata - to make sure he’d be part of the group running for the scholarship, and he ended up looking into its origins. Poe was very quick to find Sabé’s name behind the organization and inform Finn, but her friend didn’t mind, only pointing out that he wanted things to be fair for him and all the students, which they absolutely were. He’d won the scholarship by merit, after all. 

“More people picked up on our organization these latest months,” she smiled. “Next year, we’ll be able to give out 25 full scholarships, would you believe that?”

“30,” Ben corrected her. “The hospital board had a reunion yesterday and decided to grant another two scholarships this year to students who are doing research about the coronaviruses, and mum and uncle Luke are also sponsoring one student each in their own areas.”

Rey raised her eyebrows in surprise and then frowned when she realised the number didn’t add up. 

“That’d be twenty-nine.”

“Well…” Ben moved on his seat. “I’m actually doing the same, but in Ophelia’s name.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and before she could say anything the waiter was serving them. 

“Ben…” Rey stared onto his face. 

“It’s the least I could do,” he shrugged. “This whole scheme was what made me know I’d marry her mother one day.”

She just stared at him in surprise. 

“I thought you’d said you fell in love with me when we were teens?” she asked. 

“I did,” he assured her. “But I knew it was more than a silly crush when I caught you working on that. You stayed up nights on end after studying taking care of the bureaucratic part and made sure everything was completely perfect, and it wasn’t even for your own benefit. It was just… You know, like a sign from the heavens that I wasn’t just a stupid kid with a random crush.”

Rey laughed, but had to blink away the tears that threaten to come to her eyes. 

“I just wanted to help him,” she shrugged. 

“I know,” Ben smiled - a real smile, one she hadn’t seen on his face for quite a while. “That’s why I love you.”

Her heart raced up, and she felt her whole face warming up as she blushed, and licked her lips, staring into his eyes and finding a mix of loving feelings. She put her hand over the table and Ben reached out, covering it with his, and smiled, even more, when Rey took it and kissed his palm. 

“I love you too,” she affirmed. “I might not be the most romantic woman but…”

“You’re perfect,” he corrected her. “Absolutely perfect.”

Dinner was uneventful after that - though it was hard to imagine anything with Ben being truly uneventful - and when the time came to go home, he was the perfect gentleman and opened the door for her when they left to wait for their ride, paid for it, and held her hand the whole time inside. 

“I had an amazing night,” she finally said when they entered their flat, discarding her shoes and purse. 

The tension between them could be cut with a knife, honestly, and none of them moved until he cleared his throat. 

“Can I walk you to your door, maybe?” he asked in a joking sound and cringed. “Oh, that was bad…”

“You can,” she answered, quickly.

Ben blushed, but didn’t let her hand go until they were standing by her bedroom door, and before Rey could even say anything, he was already kissing her. 

His lips were infinitely better than she remembered and tasted like the dessert wine he’d had with the cheesecake they shared, delicious and passionate. His hands cupped her face, cradling her neck in their giant size just as she grasped his shirt, wanting him even closer. 

“Rey…” he whispered, pulling away too early.

“Come in,” she asked, looking up his eyes, before he could say anything. “Please.”

. . .

Forever Tags: @emoryhemsworth​​​ @amythyststorm33​​​ @shaelyn102​​​ @yknott81​​​ @ria132love​​​ @letsdisneythings​​​ @maximofftrash​​​ @kgbrenner​​​ @thefridgeismybestie​​​ @magpiegirl80​​​ @mogaruke​​​ ​ @shadowhunter7​​​ @musicalcoffeebean​​​ @megasimpleplan4ever​​​ @deemoriarty​​​ @05spn18​​​ @malindacath​​​ @kdcollinsauthor​​​ @random-fandom-fangirl2112​​​ @widowsfics​​​ @frozenhuntress67​​​ @averyrogers83​​​ @notyourtypicalrose​​​ @nerdypinupcrystal​ @giruvega​

#why do we have to go and make things so complicated? series #Reylo #Reylo fanfiction #Reylo imagine #Reylo fluff #Rey x Ben #Ben Solo x Rey #Star Wars fanfiction #Star Wars fluff #Star Wars imagine

[miy4bot]

peppermint

pairing: yaku x gn!reader;

genre: fluffy winter-ish fluff, safe for work, your child can read this;

warnings: kenma being a salty hoe, some swearing here and there, poor writing, 2 cool 2 beta test;

winter is cold, but a hot peppermint mocha can keep you warm 

a/n: idk what is this BUT n e ways mah boi mori needs more content 

15/01 

cherishing your friends is the most normal thing on earth, would think morisuke, twirling in his hands the lucky charm you gave him before the match with nohebi. after all, it’s a nice sign of support and faith that gave him a pretty big boost of confidence. an average reaction, yaku says with a nervous smile while looking away from kuroo. one thing tetsu knows about his friend for sure - he can’t lie to someone’s face. 

the evening started to fade out, replacing ruddy sunset with the haze of nightfall. all of nekoma’s members were already on their way home, minus one particular third-year libero, who was standing at the bus stop, checking his phone. tonight wasn’t such a big of a deal - after all, it’s been years since he started coming to your house and sleepovers were a casual event for you both.

ding 

[17:43] y/n: moriii

[17:44] y/n: where the f r u

[17:44] y/n: it’s cold

the moment he saw the display lighting up with your name on it, a warm feeling spread through his soul.

[17:44] mori: at the station 🙄

[17:45] mori: freezing my ass while waiting for you  

yaku, indeed, is quite a straightforward and a confident person - he never hesitates to give you his honest opinion on whatever the topic is. but since the day he caught himself thinking about you it was fairly difficult for him to express all the thoughts on his mind. and still, he’s sure you already caught up on that, right? you wouldn’t be so sweet and flirty with him otherwise. or are you just trying not to hurt his feelings? or… 

“morisuke!“ the cheerful expression on your face rapidly changes into a worried one. “why are you even standing? your ankle needs a rest, don’t you remember?“ 

gosh. yes, he does remember about the ankle. but he can’t control his hands reaching out for your bag, so you dodge him.  

“no, winner, you think i will let you do that?“ the nickname you gave him made his pale cheeks turn into a cherry-ish tone. Miyagi’s icy wind was doing its job.. yeah, the weather today was pretty chill. “i’ve got you the simpson biscuits.“ 

the sudden mention of that damn cookies makes a little giggle escape yaku’s mouth, following a burst of loud laughter. 

“thanks, i hate them.”

 29/01

something about mori’s presence never fails to make you feel safe and cozy. maybe those are the results of spending the past two years near him, maybe it’s just yaku himself, but god does it feel nice to curl your body into his while laying on a futon sofá. his steady heartbeat felt like a lullaby, mixing with background noises of “nightmare before christmas” and wind blowing outside. if someone saw this scene from the far without knowing you both, they would definitely think it’s a sappy couple’s pastime. thought, kai already thinks you’re a sappy couple. 

a starbucks cup of peppermint mocha with morisuke scribbled on it was cooling on the chabudai. 

your eyelids started to get heavy under the weight of accumulated fatigue and stress. the last thing you could sense was the light touch of the roughened fingertips on your thigh and soft kiss on the hairline. 

[1:23] ken: why did you leave the server 

[1:23] ken: dont tell me u r as lame as kuro and fell asleep

[1:27] mori: stfu you don’t even crop your memes fuck you 

[1:28] ken: stop babying ur boo and come back kei team is beating my ass 

[1:28] ken: im alone 

yaku audibly gasps at the “boo” and bite his lip, trying to calm down the urge to snap at kenma through voice messages. it’s not like he listens to them anyways.

[1:30] mori: they’re not my boo or wtv bleached loser

[1:30] ken: yaku idfc who they r just join already

his gaze glides over your body, stopping on the parted lips. datemate, huh? maybe it was something special going between you two. maybe not. you always left him with a bunch of unanswered questions and a blunted feeling of hope. yaku has no doubts about his libero skills, about his grades or how damn attractive he is, but social interactions weren’t exactly his strength, let alone romantic ones. the first and the last time mori overstepped his pride and asked for advice was two month ago in the discord group chat. let’s just say kuroo isn’t the best romantic advisor out of here.   

what will change if you actually start dating? 

ice crystals slowly began to melt in yaku’s hands as he formed a snowball. the clock showed it’s half past four of the evening, half an hour later than the time you both agreed to meet.

winter is mori’s favourite. the way his heated body collides against january cold, warm khaki parka his mom got him on his 16 birthday, snow angels and even KFC chicken he despises doesn’t taste so bad. you were supposed to go on a cute and cliché coffee-shop date, that nishinoya strongly recommended. it was still a mystery to morisuke how yuu found out about his little crush, but the idea of being able to sit down and look at you peacefully drinking hot drink while the snow covered the streets of tokyo seemed quite nice.

but yet, you are a sleepy head. 

and he knew it better than anyone else.

rubbing your eyes, you tried to focus your gaze on the phone’s display. it’s thursday. evening. the evening. your maybe date with yaku was supposed to happen like half an hour ago, if not more. and he’s probably waiting for you while freezing himself outside. abruptly getting up from the warmth of the bed and ignoring the darkness in eyes, you approach the window.

the moment you decided to get your head out and look up if he’s here, a sharp sensation of prickly frost burst your cheek. 

a fucking snowball?

staring blankly at your hand, you blink twice in disbelief. 

“good morning, y/n l/n, i hope you slept well” a loud voice cuts through the dead silence in your neighborhood. well, it definitely woke you up from your daydream, won’t lie.

briskly going down the stairs, meanwhile wrapping yourself in a warm and fluffy cardigan, you cursed yourself for being such a mess. oh gosh, how could you totally forget about such a thing? after getting so hyped about it and spending 3 hours choosing the clothes you would wear?

standing right in front of him feels awkward. as it should, you think, especially after making him wait for you for 30 minutes straight. trying to escape his curious look, probably because of your new pajamas, you sigh. 

“well, do you still wanna get something hot with me?” 

libero chuckles and the annoyance he was feeling not so long ago disappears. 

“bet.”

taglist: @oof-she-needs-therapy @ennoshitasimp​ 

#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #yaku morisuke #yaku x reader #yaku x y/n #yaku x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you

[ayatosmlktea]

Is it possible for you to do a royal au? Where king Levi is in love with one of his servants (reader) but she keeps on pushing it away bc she knows itll taint his name and doesnt want to cause him any trouble even if she does love him in return. But u know Levi, he dont care about anything and tries to tell her that it doesnt matter what everyone else thinks and she agrees to be his ❤

A/N: I love this idea so much!!!!!!

𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕 𝑨𝒇𝒇𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔 ❤️

“Y/N wait up!” She turns around to findJean running after her his arms carrying what looked like clothes.

“His royal crankiness asked me to tell you to bring him his evening tea.”

“Jean don’t call him that! Someone could hear you.” Y/N scolds but can’t help chuckling at the blond’s nickname for Levi. Rolling his eyes he shoves the clothes into her hands.

“Yeah yeah, weird how he’s always asking for your though. Something going on between you two?” She feels her cheeks heat up as he wiggles his eyebrows micheivously at her.

“O-Of course not! He’s the King, Jean. I’m just a servant, besides it’s not my fault if I do your job better than you.” He rolls his eyes playfully shoving her shoulder.

“Whatever Y/N, you’d better hurry up he seemed pretty impatient. See you later!” Jean waves his goodbyes, disappearing around the corner as she makes her way to Levi’s room, knowing she could bring him the tea later. Their secret relationship was thrilling, albeit risky at times sometimes she couldn’t believe that someone as powerful as him could want to be with her but Levi always reminded her of how special she was to him.  She felt butterflies fluttering around her stomach, they hadn’t had a chance to see each other privately for a few days and she missed his presence.

“Tch, took you long enough.” Locking the door behind her she feels her mouth water as she takes in his appearance. He’d obviously just gotten out of the bath, his hair still damp water droplets running down his bare chest and his towel hanging dangerously low. Smirking at her expression he strides over cradling her face in his hands as he leans down.

“God I missed you.” His lips capture hers, her fingers immediately tangling themselves in his hair as the forgotten clothes drop to the floor.

Humming softly to herself, Y/N adjusts her dress and makes her way to her quarters for the night. She smiles softly, biting her lip as she recalls their…passionate evening together.

“I think it’s time he finally finds a wife. The kingdom needs a queen.” One of Levi’s advisors complains, instantly Y/N feels her heart drop into her stomach.

“I agree. He needs someone of noble reputation, not some air headed servant girl.” Well so much for it being a secret. Their words twist in her gut like a knife, she loved Levi but knew that they could never actually become a public item because of his status. Making up her mind she trudges back to her room feeling her heart breaking.

Y/N tries to hide her blush as she sets Levi’s dinner in front of him,  his fingers brushing along the length of her inner arm. She pulls back quickly before any of the other servants see their King affectionately stroking her arm knowing their gossip would spread to others in town. Clicking his tongue in annoyance he leans back in his chair, his expressionless eyes narrowing into slits.

“Y/N what is this shit table setting? I thought you were taught better than that.” His sudden voice startles her and she instinctively moves away from him hanging her head in embarrassment. Swiping his finger under the edge of the table he brings it closer to his face.

“And what is this? Dust?” The other servants in the room turn to stare at her in shock. Each one of them knew how picky Levi was about keeping the castle clean, especially the dining room. Her palms start to sweat as she finds herself unable to respond or look up at him.

“Tch, everyone out. Except you.” He orders cooly, getting up he bars the door and loosens the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Y/N can’t help but gulp in anticipation, she knew what was coming. For the last few weeks she had started distancing herself from Levi, not wanting to ruin his reputation with her own. He was the King and she was just a poor servant girl. What would the people say if it was made public that he was involved with someone who had nothing and who had come from nothing. His eyes are predatory as he backs her up against the edge of the table his arms on either side preventing her from escaping.

“You’ve been avoiding me Y/N, why?” He asks leaving a trail of kisses up her neck. She bites her lip to stifle a moan, out of habit she moves her head to the side giving him more room but stops herself quickly as his advisors words float around her mind.  

“I’ve been busy Sir, I apologize the table setting was messy.” She gulps refusing to meet his prying eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with the damn table setting brat. I miss you.” His hands grip her waist bringing her body flush against his. She leans into the warmth radiating from his body inhaling the smell of his cologne, it had been a while since they had been this close and while her mind was screaming at her to pull away her body wanted him more. Bracing her hands against his shoulders she tries to collect her thoughts and ignore the hand snaking its way up the front of her dress to cup her face.

“I think it’s best if we stop seeing each Sir.” Her words make him freeze, his eyes narrowing as he grabs her chin and forces her to look at him.

“Didn’t I tell you to drop the ‘sir’ shit when we’re alone?” His face is dangerously closer to hers, she wants nothing more than to close the gap between them and kiss him but she can’t.

“You have a reputation to maintain Levi. You can’t just keep screwing around with some stupid servant. There’s no future for you there.” She forces herself to be harsh, to harden her heart against the feelings of love that had wormed their way in.

“Bullshit. I don’t give a fuck about my reputation and you know that! I love you Y/N and if you can’t see it yet then you’re just as blind as you are beautiful.” Typical of Levi to insult her while complimenting her and damn her traitor heart for beating faster.

“Levi, please! Think about it rationally. You have a kingdom to run, a bloodline to continue. I can’t offer you anything!” Batting away the hand on her chin she tries to put distance between them, which was challenging as he effortlessly shoved her back against the table, his body towering over hers. She feels her eyes start to well up with angry tears, why was he making this so hard? Why couldn’t he just accept that they weren’t meant to be together and go find some rich princess to marry?

“I am thinking rationally, idiot! You’re the one whose brains have gone to shit. When have I ever cared about your background?” No longer wanting to play this dragged out game of cat and mouse Levi beings to lose his temper, like hell he was going to let her go because of something so trivial as where she came from.

“When have I ever made you feel like I don’t love you? My future means shit if you’re not in it. You’re the only one I want and I know you want me too so stop trying to convince yourself that you’re doing this for me. It’s fine if you’re scared, but if you’re going to let everything we have together go because you think I care about the opinion of my shitty advisors then you obviously don’t know me very well.”

Y/N feels her self control evaporate and she lunges forward. Her hands balling up the material of his shirt, mashing their lips together in a hard kiss. Levi groans into her mouth his hand coming back up to cradle the back of her head, their noses brushing against each other. His tongue swipes along her bottom lip and she complies parting her lips as he maps out her mouth like he’d done many times before. Her teeth pull on his bottom lip making him growl and grab her hip roughly. His lips were fire against her skin, igniting an insatiable need to have him closer to her. Levi moves down to her neck sucking harshly on her soft skin, her hands move up to grab fistfuls of his hair as she gasps loudly.

“Levi don’t, people will see.” She pants as his teeth graze over her sensitive skin the mixture of pain and pleasure was intoxicating as he continues to mark her neck. Pulling back to admire his work he places a soft kiss against the large red hickey.

“I’m sure they already know Y/N, you’re not exactly quiet.” He chuckles placing another gentle kiss on her lips.

“Are you sure you want to be with me? People talk you know.” Her voice is quiet not wanting to ruin the mood.

“I don’t care. I want you, all of you. Forever.” Y/N buries her face into the crook of his neck smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. How could she ever doubt his feelings for her?

“Oh! Your dinner is cold now!” She exclaims pulling back to find him smirking playfully.

“I guess you’re just going to have to bring me some more later then.” Batting her eyelashes lustfully she leans forward to whisper in his ear.

“I think I can do that.”

Part 2

Masterlist

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #aot #levi x reader #aot x reader #snk #snk x reader #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan blog #levi attack on titan #aot au #reader insert #requests

[elenathehun]

Watching the Clone Wars, part 2

Another week, another batch of episodes watched.  Some of these were (dare I say it) actually good, and some of these are rather bad.  Read on for the details of my opinion on “Clone Cadets”, “Supply Lines”, “Ambush”, the three-episode “Malevolence” arc, and “Rookies”. 

“Clone Cadets” (3x01)

This was very clearly a way to capitalize on the success of episode 1x06 “Rookies”, one of the top five episodes in the first season of TCW, providing background on the mostly-doomed Domino Squad.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t really warm up to it, even though I liked all the characters, and was excited to see 99 and Shaak Ti.  I think the core issue is that it was framed as a coming-of-age story, but coming-of-age stories imply agency.  No clone has agency in this war - or if they do, it’s something they have to carve out themselves.  Their entire existence is dependent on their martial performance, damn all their other qualities.  Success throws them into the meatgrinder of the war; failure dooms them to an ignomious existence as janitorial staff.  There is a lot a viewer can pick out regarding how physical disabilities are seen by the Kaminoans and the trainers, as well as how those values are transmitted to the clones, in 99′s story, as well as further hints of some kind of inter-clone caste system, but none of this is ever elaborated upon, at least in the episodes I recall.  

Either way, Domino’s “success” left a sour taste in my mouth.  TCW insists on portraying war as worthy and necessary, and in certain situations, that can be true.  But the Clone Wars is not one of those situations.

“Supply Lines” (3x03)

Another day, another episode where we see some cool characters die!  RIP Captain Keeli, you deserved better.  TCW did not have a military advisor, as the tactics used as abominable.  Like, I’m not asking for much, but hey, a little bit of mass fire wouldn’t go amiss, or even the use of an infantry square...  

There is sort of an interesting theme in this episode about the duty of the government to it’s people. Cham Syndulla is right to be upset that his people are being hung out to dry, but on the other hand...it happened to Naboo ten years previously.  It’s honestly surprising the Republic hasn’t fallen apart faster.  I’m rather neutral on the mission to Toydaria.  On one hand, it’s nice that Star Wars is trying their best to redeem Lucas’ very obvious and horrible stereotypes.  On the other hand...idk, Bail Organa vs Viceroy Gunray wasn’t really a great showing for what either side believes in? I’ve already forgotten most of it  

However, I feel like this is the first time I’ve ever seen Jar Jar Binks subvert his own reputation for good.  If he was always like this, he would be much better as a character.

“Ambush” (1x01)

This episode is mostly a showcase for Yoda, an 874-year-old murder machine.  This guy is basically a one-man army.  I like all the clone companions, and it was nice of him to give them a pep talk, but they were sort of superfluous to his reign of destruction, you know?  It would have been nice if we had seen the obvious end result of this natural-born killer fighting and beating Asajj Ventress.  Not really sure he actually has any mercy in him in the heat of the moment.

Boy, the writers are trying so hard to make these battle droids personable!  It’s should be funny, and it occasionally is, but it mostly leads to many questions about computer programming in the GFFA.  I like to think that Dooku has pulled a Krennic (or did Krennic pull a Dooku?) and he has a whole team of unwilling computer programmers writing the code for the droids, which is why they are so badly programmed. 

Of course, the  real answer is that Star Wars is space fantasy, and the real answer to the droids is magic!  Bad magic.  One might even say...incompetent magic.

“Rising Malevolence” (1x02)

I really intensely enjoyed this episode.  Finally, a superweapon that makes sense!  A giant ion cannon to be used against capital ships!  That’s actually brilliant.  Now, I have my quibbles with the design: since the CIS is mostly staffed by droids and drones, it doesn’t really makes sense for there to be a missive ship superstructure around the cannon.  It would make more sense for it to basically be like the old Legends Darksaber, which was basically the Death Star laser sans the battle station.  The ion cannon, repulsors and a hyperdrive, turbolaser emplacements and attached hangar bays for starfighter drones, as well as a screen of protective cruisers to defend the cannon against more maneuverable ships - that would make more sense.  But of course, it would have a much different silhouette in that case.

More truly graphic clone death.  Seeing several men get spaced is not PG, idek how this managed to get past the censors.  That is actually a real war crime, and I have no how parents explained this to Little Johnny and Sally (age six) when it aired on Cartoon Network.  And although I do love the relationship between Ahsoka and Plo, the central emotional question of the episode was left unresolved.  Who would come for a clone?  As it happens, a Jedi, but only if they’re looking for another Jedi :(

“Shadow of Malevolence” (1x03)

This was an OK-but-not-great episode?  Unfortunately, I read the X-wing novels multiple times as a pre-teen and teenager, so I have pretty high standards for starfighter combat and this didn’t really measure up to it.  I did love the space manta ray scene, though, it was very pretty.  Also a nice shout-out to the Y-wings, the perpetual butt of all the jokes in the X-wing series.

Again, I have no idea why “it’s a kid’s show!” was ever even tried as an excuse for the shoddy writing.  This is the third episode ever released, and the CIS is deliberately targeting a hospital.  Again, this is not appropriate for small children to watch!

On the bright side, a fun AU would be to play with the fact that this ion cannon apparently shorts out anything.  It would be pretty funny to see a story where the 30,000 walking wounded (I think) who were being medically evacuated, as well as Wolffe, Boost, and Sinker (plus Shadow 7, 8 and 10) are spread throughout the GAR when Order 66 comes through - and it doesn’t work for them, because the cannon shorted out their chips and no one realized.

Just a thought, that’s all.

“Destroy Malevolence” (1x04)

This episode mostly exists to show that Anakin will definitely put the greater good aside for the purpose of rescuing his main squeeze. I think it could have been cut for that reason alone.  Also to have some standard R2 and C-3PO hijinks, as well as Obi-Wan just being insufferable in general.  

Honestly, I would like this episode better if Padme was a Sith apprentice that Palpatine was trying to kill, that would at least make it more interesting.  Aside from that, it could have easily been cut.

“Rookies” (1x06)

This is definitely one of the better episodes of the first season.  Finally, Filoni gives the people what they want: an episode mostly dedicated to clones!  For a show about the clone wars, they’re in awfully short supply.  This was a nice war story, artfully executed.  I wouldn’t call it original, but honestly, originality is over-rated.  Cody and Rex are delightful as always, and unlike “The Hidden Enemy” (or “Clone Cadets” for that matter) it portrays clone relationships in a more positive, wholesome light.  

I also loved the droid commandos.  Kudos to the animators, who gave them a unique, more menacing walk and style.  However, I do dislike the continuing use of instantaneous communications through hyperspace even in star wars.  It’s a shame that the writers are either unwilling or unable to use the tension of time in their stories so far.

Next Week: “Downfall of a Droid”, “Duel of the Droids”, “Bombad Jedi”, “Cloak of Darkness”, “Lair of Grievous”, “Dooku Captured”, and “The Gungan General”.

#watching the clone wars #star wars tcw #television is hypnotoad