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wannab-urs · 8 months

Note

For the sleepover

Do me a favor

My baby boy, Dieter

Congratulations again babe! I love you!

Thank you bb I love you and I'm really excited about this fic

For the Record

Pairing: Record Shop Owner!Dieter x f!Reader

Summary: You go to a record store looking for something specific and end up on a date with the owner.

Warnings/Content: Dieter Bravo being Dieter Bravo, excessive name dropping of bands I like, grungy Dieter wearing Doc Martens and covered in tattoos, reader going to a strangers house like an idiot, kissing, fingering, oral f!receiving, unprotected piv (this is not real life. Don’t be dumb), one tiny little ass slap, praise, creampie, no use of Y/N, WC: ~2900

Notes: Bravo Records is based on Grimey’s in Nashville, TN which you should absolutely visit if you get the chance. Unfortunately it isn’t owned by Dieter Bravo. Thank you @theywhowriteandknowthings for the beta read and the encouragement <;3

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You’re on the hunt for a Replacements' album, Tim, specifically. Ironically, you’re replacing it in your collection, having lost it to your ex boyfriend. Note to self: never combine your record collection with anyone ever again.

This morning you’d googled “record shops near me” and scrolled past Walmart and Target, no thank you, and settled on Bravo Records. The blurb advertised it as a “Laid-back music shop specializing in vintage, pressed recordings, CDs & cassette tapes,” and mentioned a bookstore in the basement and a consignment shop out back.

Pulling into the gravel parking lot, you take in the building. There are murals depicting perfect recreations of album covers on the brick walls of the store. If you couldn’t see the brushstrokes when you got up close, you’d think they were somehow printed on. The bright yellow of Metallica’s 72 Seasons, the hands reaching for the sky on Boygenius’ The Record, both newer releases. But there’s also The Clash’s London Calling and The Stooges’ Fun House.

Whoever owns this place has taste. You step into the shop, eyes immediately drawn to the oddly curved ceiling and the exposed brick walls, covered in posters and random paintings. There are 6 sets of shelves running almost the entire length of the store up to a small clearing in the back. There’s a surprisingly large stage beyond that, someone playing the guitar and reciting poetry, a smattering of people leaned against the shelves, listening.

“Welcome to Bravo’s,” a deep but cheery voice rings in your ear. You let out a small yelp and turn sharply to face the source. “Oh! Didn’t mean to scare you. I was just downstairs and heard the door… I’m Dieter, by the way.”

You take in the man now standing in front of you. He’s wearing a very faded Nirvana shirt stretched within an inch of its life across his broad chest and shoulders. It probably used to be black, but now it’s a bit gray, and there are holes in the seams of the collar. His wide legged pants are black and flowy, you almost mistake them for a skirt until he leans against the counter and crosses his legs. His Docs are scuffed, clearly worn in, maybe vintage. You trail your eyes back up his body, noting the various tattoos on his hands and arms, all black ink and thick linework. You settle back on his face and find his eyebrows arched over deep brown eyes, plush lips in a pout. His beard is scruffy, patchy, and his hair looks like he just rolled out of bed.

“Find anything you like?” He smirks at you and you suddenly realize you just silently checked him out for a good 10 seconds. Your cheeks heat and you clear your throat.

“Um… I’m looking for Tim? The album I mean, not the guy, I don’t even know a Tim. By the Replacements? Do you know it?” You sound like an idiot oh god.

He barely restrains a chuckle, mirth dancing in his eyes, “Yeah, I know it. I only have a first pressing in the original sleeve… is that okay?” He crosses his arms over his chest and holy shit. His biceps are huge. You bite your lip and nod.

“Yes! Er… um. How much is it?” You wince. There’s no way it’s gonna fit in your pitifully small budget.

Dieter tilts his head to the side and scrunches his eyebrows up, two lines forming between them. He brings a hand to his unruly hair and tugs. So that’s why he looks like he just got thoroughly fucked. He perks his head up suddenly, almost like he heard your thoughts.

“Do you wanna go out with me?”

“What?”

“Oh! I mean go out for coffee with me and you can have the record.”

“I can’t just take it for free, Dieter!”

“Of course you can. I’m the owner. It’s my record. Do you not want to go out with me?” His face scrunches up again and fuck. He’s really cute.

“Of course I want to go out with you,” you splutter, shocking yourself.

“It’s settled then. Let’s go!” He turns and walks out the door and you scramble to keep up with him.

“Now? Don’t you have to run the shop?”

“Nah, Chrissy can handle it,” he waves his hand like it’s no big deal and heads for the street. “It’s just right down the road.”

–-

Coffee with Dieter is amazing. He orders a sweet monstrosity, frozen, topped with whipped cream and 3 kinds of syrup. You try to order your favorite drink, but he insists you get the same thing as him.

“Just trust me!” You’ve literally just met the man, but you think you do trust him. There’s just something about him. He learns your name when you give it to the barista and you apologize profusely for being too flustered to properly introduce yourself.

He just laughs and guides you to a pair of armchairs in the corner, kicking off his boots to reveal mismatched socks – one a dark purple tall sock with embroidered grapes on it, the other an ankle sock with a print of Starry Night on it – and settles cross legged into the chair. You tell him you like his socks.

He asks you about what you do for work, where you’re from, what your favorite movies are, an endlessly easy and flowing conversation, peppering in his own answers and arguing with you when you tell him that Judd Apatow movie about making a movie during covid was awful. He asks you what your holy grail album is, the one you’d kill to have in your collection. You don’t even have to think about it.

“The Velvet Underground and Nico, original pressing, with the sticker still on it. I’ll never be able to afford it though. I’ve never even seen one in real life.”

“Do you want to?” He looks at you with a shit eating grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What? Want to see one in real life? I mean… yeah?”

“Let’s go then!” He jumps up, pulling his boots back on and heading for the door. You’re again hustling to keep up with him. You follow him out onto the sidewalk.

“Dieter! Go where?”

“To my house!” You grab his arm and pull him to a stop.

“Why are we going to your house?” You’re exasperated.

“To show you the record. You wanted to see it right?”

“You do not have it. Dieter, there’s no way… One of them just sold for 25k.”

“I do have it. My dad bought it when it came out and now it’s mine.” He takes off walking again, grabbing your hand and pulling you along with him.

“Is this some sort of ploy to get me to go home with you? You could have just asked.”

“I know! I mean… fuck. I’m being serious. I have the record upstairs.” He suddenly comes to a stop in front of an apartment building. “If you want, you can wait here and I’ll bring it down. Just promise not to rob me, yeah?” You huff out a frustrated breath.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll come in with you.”

His face lights up and he threads his fingers through yours again. It feels nice, holding his hand. He pulls you up the stairs with him and unlocks his door, and you step into his living room. His apartment was clearly supposed to be one of those industrial chic, modern type spaces, but he clearly didn’t care for that style. There are paintings and posters covering every square inch of wall space. “I take it you decorated the shop then?”

“Yep! I do all the murals too.” Fuck, he can paint too? The concrete floor is covered with rugs of all different shapes, sizes, and textures. There’s a blue couch and some clearly thrifted armchairs off to the left. The right side of the room is absolutely dominated by his record collection. There’s a shelf running the length of the room, standing taller than you and absolutely stuffed with records. On the floor around it are milk crates filled with even more records.

“Jesus Christ, Dieter, how many records do you have?” You wander over to a crate and start flipping through, finding that he’s organized them by genre. This one is folk punk you notice as you flip through albums by AJJ, Violent Femmes, The Mountain Goats, and more.

“I genuinely have no idea. I stopped counting back when I was a teenager.” He goes to the shelf, and you decide it must be more organized than it looks because he quickly pulls two albums out and presents them to you. One is the album you asked about in the shop. The other one…

“Holy shit.” You stare up at him from your crouched position. “Holy fucking shit Dieter you actually have it.”

“I fuckin’ told you! Do you wanna listen to it?”

“Do I want to listen to it? Are you actually kidding me? Of course I do!!” He grins at you and walks over to his record player beside the couch. He slides the record out of the sleeve gently and places it on the turntable before dropping the needle. You join him on the couch as the first notes of “Sunday Morning” drift into the room.

“Dieter?” He hums and smiles at you again. “I could kiss you right now. Fuck. Can I kiss you right now?” He looks shocked for a second before taking your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him back hard, licking into his mouth. He drags you into his lap, your knees settling on the outsides of his thighs.

You bury your hands in his wild curls and gently tug on them. He groans into your mouth and trails his hands down your body, pulls you even tighter against him. You can feel him getting hard under you, his soft pants doing little to conceal his arousal. You’re not much better off as his lips leave yours and trail down your jaw, your throat, his teeth catching skin as he goes. When “I’m Waiting for the Man,” starts to play, Dieter brings his hands back to your face and pulls you away from him, staring deep into your eyes.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?”

You stare at him, shocked for a moment, and then you laugh so hard you fall sideways off his lap. “You know what, Dieter? Yes. I’d like to have sex with you.”

“Cool,” he breathes out, turning and settling his body over yours. He presses another kiss to your lips and you tug on his shirt. He pulls back long enough to strip it off and you take yours off too. He lays sloppy, open mouthed kisses on your throat and chest, mumbling praises into your skin as he works your jeans and panties down your thighs. You kick them off as he makes his way down to your core. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life. He’s so fucking gorgeous. All golden skin beautifully covered in black ink.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Dieter whispers into the space between your thighs. Your hands fly to his hair as he licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit, immediately closing his lips around it and sucking lightly. Your head falls back and a moan rips from your throat.

He presses a thick finger into you and it’s fucking bliss. He feels so good already. He curls his finger upwards, swirling his tongue in circles around your clit at the same time. Your hands drop to his shoulders as he adds another finger and starts thrusting them into you, curling on every upstroke into your g-spot.

“Fuck! Dieter… feels so good. Don’t stop.”

“Shhh baby, I can’t hear the song.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, laughing and on the verge of coming at the same time. He slips his tongue down to join his fingers at your entrance and buries his nose against your clit and you’re gone. The shaking of your body from laughing at him quickly gives over to shuddering as your core tightens around his fingers. You cry out, pure euphoria washing over your whole body.

“That’s it baby. Fuck, you’re squeezing my fingers so tight. Look so pretty coming for me.” Dieter talks you through it until the haze of your orgasm fades. “Here or the bed?”

“Here. Get in me. Now.” You grab at his hair, pulling his face back up to yours. You kiss your own slick off his lips hungrily as he clumsily shoves his pants down far enough for his cock to spring out. He slides it through your folds a few times before notching it at your entrance.

You grab his hips and pull him into you, throwing your head back and arching your hips up into him. “Impatient.” He grumbles it into your neck, but thrusts himself into the hilt, clearly as desperate as you. He barely gives you a chance to adjust before he’s drawing back and thrusting into you again. His breath leaves him in a low growl that has a new gush of slick coating his cock.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him back into you every time he pulls out. His thrusts are shallow from this angle, but he’s slamming into you so hard it doesn’t matter. You slot your lips together, not really kissing, just breathing each other in.

“Dieter, I’m gonna come again,” you can feel your walls tightening around him, drawing him deeper into you. He shifts his angle slightly so that his pelvis grinds against your clit every time his hips meet yours. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulders, dragging down to his lower back as your whole body tightens and spasms around him.

For a moment, as you catch your breath, you think your hearing must have gone out. Dieter is buried to the hilt inside you, torso pressed flush to yours, but you don’t hear the music anymore. “Want me to flip it to the B side?” Oh. He just fucked you for the entire A side of the track and he’s still not done.

“Yeah sure,” you huff a laugh into his hair. He lifts up, presses a kiss to your lips and pulls out of you with a groan. Your cunt flutters around nothing, missing the feeling of him inside you already. You get a good look at his cock now – thick, uncut, drooling precum and covered in your release. He’s so pretty.

He flips the record to the B side and then pushes his pants down the rest of the way, leaving them in a black puddle on the floor. He grabs your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. “Thought I’d get a look at your B side too,” Dieter says and you can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I think I hate you,” you mumble into the cushions. He just laughs and settles one knee on the couch, his other foot planted on the floor. He taps your ass cheek lightly.

“Up on your knees, pretty girl.” You shift to comply and he settles his hands on your hips, helping you up and burying his cock in you again in one smooth motion.

“Fuck!” Your arms buckle and you drop to your elbows as he rails you. The new angle is so good it almost hurts. He uses his grip on your hips to pull you into every thrust, punching the breath out of you and turning your brain to mush. You couldn’t tell him what song is playing right now if your life depended on it. All you hear is your own strangled moans and the praises he’s crying out into the air.

“So fucking beautiful. You’re so tight and wet, fuck. I’m gonna come baby. Can I come in your pretty pussy? Please?” You nearly come again at that. The thought of being full of him.

“Yes! Yes! Dieter. Come in me. Need it. Please!” He buries himself inside you and stays there and you can actually feel his cock jump inside you, hot spurts of cum filling you up. He curls himself over your back and you both collapse into the couch.

He rolls onto his side, pulling you with him and tucking your back to his chest. He doesn’t pull out of you, just tangles your legs together and wraps his arms around you. You both just lay there in a daze, listening to the rest of the album. When “European Son” fades out and the record starts clicking, Dieter finally slips his softened cock from you. He stands up and puts the record back in its sleeve, filing it back on the shelf.

“If I go to the bathroom, will you still be here when I get back, or are you gonna steal my record and break my heart?”

“Of course I’m gonna steal it,” you smile at him, still stretched out on the couch and not really planning on moving any time soon. He rolls his eyes, laughing at you and disappearing into the hallway.

Maybe combining record collections isn’t completely off the table. If it’s with the right person.

#gins1500sleepover #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fanfiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro fics #pedro pascal character fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader

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akutasoda · 1 month

Note

hellooo, I saw your event and congrats!

I was wondering if r1999 slots still left? If it's still available, can I have Zima x fem reader? I heard his b'day is on April 28. ❄️

Where his significant made him a poem about him on his bday? Even they tried their best to write a poems to their love for Zima.

a poet's gift

synopsis - where you write a small gift for his birthday

includes - Зима (zima)

warnings - fem!reader (no pronouns mentioned), fluff, wc - 761

a/n: thank you! yes his bday is the 28th so i guess this is an early present :)

zima was a talented poet and that much was obvious, the only issue was that not many knew nor got to hear his poems. one of the poets biggest downfalls was the fact that he was quite socially inept, preferring to recite his works to animals that all seemed to enjoy his works as well - you had seen many kinds of creatures flock towards him as if they actually understood him.

your lover wasn't exactly open to sharing with you at first either. if you caught him writing or reciting his poems, his normally expressionless face would crumble and he'd avoid you for a couple of hours out of sheer embarrassment. you felt rather bad that he had such a reaction and so you came to peace with not hearing any of his poems - sometimes you could find a few laying around when he was out and as long as you put them back exactly, you could read them.

you'd know when he became more comfortable sharing them with you. it wasn't really him sharing them but it counted as the bird that normally perched upon his shoulder would come to find you with a rolled up piece of paper containing zima's newest work that he wanted to hear your opinion on. it was rather cute but you knew if you brought it up to much he'd stop.

eventually he'd start handing them to you in person, ready to receive your opinion immediately and in person. zima would also come to develop the habit of allowing you to tag alongside him, if you weren't too busy to go read his poems to some animals - atleast you got to hear him read it outloud. it was nice, seeing how passionate he became over his poetry.

it would take a while but eventually he would allow you to sit beside him as he wrote from scratch. zima wouldn't confess it to you but your presence was very calming to him and it actually helped him focus, so he did prefer you to be by his side nowadays. naturally from watching your lover write a couple of times, you wanted to give it a try. you may not be an exact master of words but that's why you had zima to help.

a rather nervous coach but he tried his best to give you a few pointers and ideas to improve the small piece you began drafting alongside him. it was a nice change. a warm, quiet room filled with the scratching of pen against cartridge, it became oddly calming after a while. you would come to notice the extra pens and paper that resided on his desk, it didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant by leaving them there.

one day you had happened a glance at the calendar and saw that the upcoming event was in fact zima's birthday. a gift hadn't really crossed your mind yet, you didn't really know what else he liked that could be gifted apart from poetry and animals. you figured you still had a few days until his birthday and so maybe the perfect gift would cross your mind before then.

it didn't take long before the sight of pen upon paper to make up your mind on what to get him. zima liked poetry and so why didn't you compose him a personal piece? sure you weren't exactly the greatest poet but it was the thought that counted. as much as you would of preferred to write beside him, you knew if you did that your surprise would be spoiled and so for the first time, you started writing completely on your own.

all the hours you spent toiling over words had finally paid off. the day of zima's birthday you gave him a scroll of cartridge that was neatly tied over with a small bow. while he normally referred to his birthday as 'the begining of misfortune', he doubted it could be today when he felt weirdly optimistic at the sight of you and your gift. he carefully unrolled it and observed the contents for a while before he brought his hand to cover his face as he muttered out a small thank you.

zima really never had the habit of preserving his work, but this was your work. a beautifully written proclamation of your love that he would keep forever.

akutasoda's 1k event

#↪♡akutasoda's 1k event ♡#x reader #x fem reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #r1999 x reader #re1999 x reader #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 x you #reverse 1999 zima #r1999 zima #zima x reader

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illwynd · 27 days

Text

Utgard-Loki's Tale

I finally got to perform this thing tonight, so I guess it has reached its final form.

This poem is inspired by the traditional Icelandic rhyming poem Lokrur. My adaptation uses a bastard Kalevala metre (trochaic tetrameter), with various features of both Finnish poetry (repetition and alliteration) and Icelandic poetry (alliteration and abundant use of kennings and other wordplay), and I developed it specifically for spoken performance, in accordance with the way the story would originally have been passed along. There's some really geeky shit in here.

Also my thanks to @obligate-rebel who gave me a thumbs-up on an earlier iteration of it :D

...

By men I am called Utgard-Loki

Outlands’ trickster, apt in magecraft,

Skilled in spells and in shape-shifting

One who worked his tricks on wanderers

One who wickedly deceived them

When to his threshold gods came calling

You see, all Thor and Loki knew about me was that I throw all the best parties—what else is there to do when you live way out in the Outlands?—but everyone in attendance has to be the best there is at whatever it is they do, so these two gods... they thought they’d crash my party, cause some trouble, start some fights, show me who’s boss in my own house, and I had to figure out a way to get them to head on home without actually starting a war, because, y'know, that would tend to put a crimp on the party scene. So do you want to know how I managed that trick?

Surely you have heard them tell it?

Heard the tale as they recite it

Heard about Thjalfi, swiftest,

Tricked in foot-race versus Hugi

Passed by one who treads so lightly

Or the contest of the mighty

Rymr, he who calls the thunder,

Put his lips upon the vessel

‘Pon the cup all full and frothy

Froth as white as salty sea-foam

And the thirsty draughts he drew then

Drained the horn—of but a mouthful!

So it seemed by liquid’s level

Sore was he, Midgard’s protector

Falling short in simple trial

Surely you have heard them tell it

Heard the tale as they recite it

Heard how Loki, sly and clever

Set his hunger versus Logi

Chowing down along the trencher

Met the two with crumbs between them

Drawing even, feasts devoured

Loki patting bulging belly

Smirking with his smile ‘broidered

Met they then—but skinny Logi

Ravenous as wolf in winter

He had eaten all the meat…

And all the bones… and all the trencher!

Thus was Laufey’s heir defeated!

And you must have heard them tell it

Heard the tale as they recount it

How the grim one’s son continued

Put him forth another challenge

Boasting of his strength of body

Strength indeed of all his sinews

I set before him then the mouser

Tomcat’s father, hearth’s wee tiger

Purring on the floor before him

That he should test his might upon it

Asa-Thor bent low to grasp it

Bent to wrap his grip around it

Struggling with grunts of effort

Grunting as he tried to lift it

But one paw he barely shifted!

One paw raised above the tiles!

Purring still the feline bore it

As Baldr’s brother failed to heft it!

Fury gripped lord of Bilskirnir

And in his anger bade another

Challenger be brought before him

Said I then I thought my mother

In her youth a wrestler had been

But in her dotage still might suit him

Wroth was he with red beard bristling

Stomping on the mat before him

As Elli hobbled to her corner

But soon she did contrive to hold him

Hold him fast with arms around him

Arms like bands of stubborn iron

Till his knee did bend beneath him

Shamed was Grimnir’s lauded kinsman

Beaten so by woman wizened!

Tell me those are not the stories

More or less as you have heard them

But one voice has not been cited

One has not been heard to tell it

That is me. And if you’ll heed

I’ll tell the legend as I lived it

And each contest I’ve recounted

—true it is that I deceived them

Wanderers of Aesir kindred

But look at it from my perspective

Behold for but the briefest moment

Consider how I first had found them

Sheltering in fingers’ caverns

Cowering within the leather

Where the last night I had left it—

I swear I did not mean to wound them

Or to frighten with my snoring

I was merely heedless taken

Heedless of their headstrong journey

Thus I met them in the morning

Waking to their faces frowning

Trying to be most disarming

Not to give them cause for worry

Then they asked ME where the pathway

To the hall of Utgard-Loki!

I saw it full, the very future

Of which I’d had no foretelling

For they queried after speaking

‘Mongst themselves of doom impending

Doom that they would deal that monster

Dwelling in those halls unknowing

Well!

I endeavored to dissuade them

Placing in their path obstructions

Surely less than cruel misfortunes

Set before them my conditions

If they’d travel with my guidance

They would travel by my schedule

I would call the halts and respites

I would carry all provisions

Thus I handed them frustration

Goaded them to resignation

Alas the doggedness of gods

Was not within my calculations

So, if they’d not be dissuaded

Then ‘twas I must scheme before them

How to meet their whim for action

Without inviting my destruction

Thus I pointed them to pathway

To the door of Utgard-Loki

Once apart I shed illusion

Readied all in preparation

Waited till they came a-hailing

Thunder roaring at my doorway

And ‘twas I that granted entry

Though they did not recognize me

As they came to show their mettle

Prove their might in any challenge

Fain was I to meet their boasting

With my own skill in devising

Thus I placed the end of vessel

From which Odin’s son drank freely

Down upon the dolphin’s doorstep

Thirst could never be so mighty!

Not to drain the fishes’ highway

In this way I meant to thwart him

Meant to tactfully confound him

Meant to make him long for Asgard

Not to linger ‘neath these timbers

Then, said I to ember’s elder,

Let me place on you deception

Garb yourself in Aesir aspect

Shape the hungry tongue within you

Solid where your spark did flicker

That Laufey’s son so sly and able

Might not swiftly recognize you

As he sits down at the table

Thus I spake to Munin’s brother

Of the planned dissimilation:

Wrap yourself in men’s attire

From the ash-wood make your raiment

Lace your boots of supple leather

Then set foot upon the pavement

There to meet Toothgnasher’s wounder

There to race against him striving

Round the path of mead’s lacuna

Thus alike I worked enchantments

On the great snake Midgardsormr

On that serpent world-encircling

One that Thor once snared while sailing

Scales reshaped to furry shoulders

Still he hissed alike I tell you

That one trait you might have noted

Naught else of his essence showing

And then came the last contender

Gracious guest of all the prudent,

Spoils of the years’ survivor

By her leave I did conceal her

Veiled her hair in moonlight’s metal

Bent her back like twisted tree-limb

So Harbard’s son would be no wiser

When she set her hold upon him

In the aftermath of trials

Egos soothed with ale aplenty

I revealed to them my secret

That they would not feel too cheated

Nor would they feel too affronted

All I wished was their forbearance

Parting then as friendly rivals

So they would crave not for vengeance

For Jotuns have our share of talents

Our own place on World-Tree’s branches

Spells apart from gallows’ knowing

More are we than Aesir’s foemen

There my tale is near completed

But if my tongue’s allowed to waggle

Somewhat more of gods and giants

And the bitter blood between us

Just a few words I will venture

Fury, I have surely felt it

Anger aching for requital

For accounts all to be settled

Quenched with blood the battle’s metal

But I’ve seen no better ending

Not for bards and not for swordsmen

Than to sit by fire flaming

Telling tales with close companions

Ale in hand and sated, cravings

And all the stars above bright-blazing.

#norse mythology #poetry #my fic

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sinisterexaggerator · 7 months

Text

NSFW Alphabet ~ Hondo Ohnaka

Kinktober got me thinking:

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): Hondo is attentive; he makes sure your every need is met. However, this depends on his mood and how close he is to you. I see him being a “wham, bam, thank you, ma’am” kind of guy in situations where he needs to leave the scene of the “crime” in a hurry, or if he has important business to attend to, otherwise he is akin to the likes of Gomez Addams, treating you like the king or queen you are.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): Hondo’s favorite body part belonging to himself is either his face or his own cock. This man has an ego and thinks he is hot shit, which he is. He grooms his appearance and takes care of himself. He most likely practices a skincare routine and washes and rebraids his hair. He trims his nails, makes sure his clothes are laundered, so that to me says he is very much in love with his whole self, though the face is especially cared for, despite having a scar over his eye. In relation to his cock, he is not modest; he does not sell himself short. It gets the job done and he has never had any complaints; it serves him well.

As for his partner, he loves to stroke his fingers along the curves of their hips, toward the inner thigh. He also loves faces, and eyes; they are the windows to the soul. He pays attention to imperfections; he loves every scar and every scratch. Ah, and to hear your voice; it is like music to the ears.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): Hondo will make you cum before he cums himself. He is a savant in the bedroom, and is most likely known for his unprecedented skills in this area. He’s not afraid of it; he will taste it, savor it, and lick you clean. Cum is a tangible byproduct of your pleasure; pleasure he knows he is responsible for, and that in and of itself is a turn on.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): Hondo is nasty. He will do anything once. Just ask and he will oblige you. He doesn’t care how “gross” or taboo it is; that is not his concern. His concern is getting your rocks off, as nothing boosts his ego more than giving his partner an earth-shattering orgasm.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): Hondo is very experienced. We see in canon he has had relations with people such as Aurra Sing. I have no doubt in my mind that Hondo is a sex connoisseur that makes you want to keep on coming (cumming) back. He can talk the talk and walk the walk, and I am sure this occurred from a young age. Hondo is charming and successful in the Clone Wars; just imagine how far that charm could take him.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): Missionary, so he can stare into your eyes and watch the tiny twitches of your facial muscles as you writhe beneath him.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): Hondo is a switch in more ways than one; he can be both. If feeling romantic or sweet on someone, he may take a more serious route, declaring his adoration or his love. If feeling frisky, or just in a mood, he can be very, very playful. Humor, after all, is the best medicine, and Hondo may as well be the doctor prescribing it.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): As I mentioned earlier, very well-groomed. I feel that Weequay do have hair down there, soft tufts of brown curls, perhaps, and Hondo keeps it very trim and in order.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Again, Hondo can play the clown for your amusement (and his), or he can be very intimate, loving, and affectionate toward you. The romantic things this man recites to you leaves you reeling, having never heard such poetry before. He truly makes you feel as if you are special, whether you are or not. “Et es better tu have loved for a very, very short period of time, than tu have never loved at all, ah?”

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): Hondo loves to be watched. He’s a bit into voyeurism/exhibitionism, among other things. He wants an audience when at all possible, and for you to talk him through it. If you join in, that’s even better. Thinking you’re a few parsecs out and a holo call has to suffice. This happens often when you are away, or if he’s missing you. (@allsystemsblue gets credit for this one)

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): Voyerism, exhibitionism (he doesn’t care who is watching, but also likes to play the game of “don’t get caught”). He is a switch so he will bottom or top, or play into the role of sub or dom, though sometimes a certain kind of mood strikes him. Rope play; he loves being tied up or tied down. Praise kink; he loves giving praise or getting it himself. He has an ego, after all. Sensation play is also big for him. He loves to receive attention physically just as much as you do. He’s into degradation as well, or being treated like an object. He’s also down to make you a human footrest.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): Anywhere and everywhere; Hondo is always ready, although there is nothing quite like his own bed, full of luxurious pillows and soft blankets.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): Just looking at you; being in the same room as you; listening to you speak, or watching you walk. Your very presence is a turn on, and he can be ready for a romp at a moment’s notice. And rest assured, he is not shy in making his attraction known.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): There is very little Hondo will not do. He may be hesitant to truly harm you, even if you are into that, such as punching or outright slapping. He is a lover, not a fighter, and violence is not something he is fond of and only necessitates when necessary, mostly in relation to his “work.” Although, he has been in a bad mood a time or two and killed someone out of anger. Still, to know you is to love you and Hondo will most likely shun that sort of thing.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): He prefers to give rather than to receive, but he will never turn down a blowjob. He feeds off his partner’s pleasure; there is no better high. Yet, he will gladly accept oral sex and will praise you and/or dirty talk you the entire time.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.): Hondo typically likes to take his time. He is slow, methodical, and knows his way around your erogenous zones like the back of his hand. He can be rough should the need arise and you desire it. That man has powerful, thick thighs and they are not just for show. He can plow into you fast, or give it to you slow, though he prefers basking in your beauty and all those little sounds you make.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Quickie’s are not out of the question; that man will fuck you anytime, any place; you only need to ask. However, he much rather experience the joy of a long, drawn-out sexual encounter so he can properly service you, of course.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): Hondo is nothing but a risk-taker. As I said before, he will try anything once; he once was the lover to Aurra Sing. I am sure she had her preferences, and was noted to be a very dangerous woman. This most likely extended into the bedroom, so yes, Hondo is very much acquainted with taking “risks.” He is a pirate after all; fear is the mind-killer. Hondo is also an example to his men. He takes any and every situation head on, and he loves to experiment and learn new ways to please you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Hondo has great stamina, though it slows down as is natural once he is older. In his youth as a teen and early 20 something, he could go multiple rounds. In his thirties, he can still go a few, but not as many as before. Once we hit Rebels, he may complain about his back or other types of old man issues, though he will never give up trying. Maybe he falls asleep soon after, and is happy as a baby to cuddle in your arms.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Oh, yes. Hondo is up for anything, and he would gladly use toys on you. In fact, I like to think the restraints Hondo used on Obi-Wan and Anakin were more for sexual escapades, as they were sort of heart-shaped, and they were bound both by their hands and ankles. I am sure he also likes to be whipped, paddled, or otherwise spanked, or chained and handcuffed. You can also use your strap-on on him; he loves to be pegged.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): Ohhh, this man is a tease, but he knows when to stop and when he has pushed you too far. He’s quick to make it up in some way or another, but in relation to making you cum – he will edge you to the brink, chuckling as he watches you with eyes narrowed into slits – he wants you to beg for it; he may be feeling in a sadistic mood.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): Hondo is not shy; he will vocalize. He can get loud, but prefers murmuring sweet nothings in your ear in that low, deep, rumbly voice of his. He may also give you soft commands, demanding quietly that you: “come for me, my love.”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): Hondo is clingy and possessive when he finds the right person. He can also be jealous, but he hides it well. In fact, he is more the type to be passive aggressive until you can pull what is wrong out of him. Truth be told, it does not take much effort as this man is very opinionated and is not afraid to speak his mind.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): Hondo is not too big and not too small. He has a very stout cock. It is ribbed and striated just like the rest of his skin, with alternating patterns for your pleasure.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): Very, very high. He is ready when you are, or even when you are not. You may have to express yourself if you want him to pull back. Expect a pout, but of course he always wants your consent.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): Very quickly. Hondo goes hard; he does everything in his power to make sure you get yours before he gets his, and when he’s finally spent, he sleeps soundly and comfortably; dead to the galaxy. Make sure to wake him up though if you feel like going another round. He would be offended if you didn’t!

#Hondo Ohnaka #Hondo Ohnaka x Reader #Hondo x Reader #x you #x reader #star wars #N$FW Alphabet #Kinktober #Weequay #Star Wars #Imagines #Star Wars Kinktober #clone wars #star wars rebels #pirates #Headcanons

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junikicker · 11 months

Note

idk if u take requests but if you do could i request a fic w lady bellaston (maybe w the same reader character as your previous lady bellaston fics??) where they’re at a party and lady b is knowingly flirting with others to make reader jealous all the while sending looks at reader like ‘what are you going to do about it:);)’ and reader takes her to an empty room and fucks her lol no worries if you don’t take requests tho!!

Masquerade - Lady Bellaston x fem!reader

warnings: smut

note: I've really grown to love the oc I creadted with the whole Under Her Spell story. Love that even though the story is officially over, you requested the character again. Also love that you all love the series so much.

word count: 2.2k

“I understand you will attend the masquerade ball next week?” Your father asked, just as he was about to head out for the day. “Affirmative, father. I’ll have William fetch my clothes from the tailor this afternoon.” You responded, looking at him from your desk as you dropped the quill in your left hand.

“You’re not again writing that foolish poetry, are you? Son, how often must I tell you that you are no Shakespeare? And quit writing with your left hand.” He ordered, a deep frown on his face.

“When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down. I’ll crawl home to her.” You recited the words written down on the piece of parchment before you, looking your father straight in the eye. The man’s frown seemed to only deepen at your words. He turned around and left without saying another word. You sighed. Nothing you ever did could seem to make him proud.

Later that day, William arrived with your clothes for the ball. Your father had insisted on the family colors, however, you decided to only go for the blue and switch the black for silver elements. He was not attending either way, so you thought you could just as well do a bit of your won thing.

You hadn’t seen Lady Bellaston since the night the two of you spent at Champagne Lane, but you regularly exchanged letters. William was so gracious to act as a courier for the two of you, delivering your letters to her and her letters to you, so your father wouldn’t suspect anything. William truly was a man of honor. He’d been around the manor for as long as you could remember. For a long time he had been your only friend.

The letters mostly consisted of her telling you about how much she longed to be with you again, while your letters always included a new poem of yours that you had written for her and only her.

Since you met her, your creativity had increased. You saw her in all the little things. The flowers, the sky, the clouds, and the moon with the stars at night. Sometimes even a word was enough to make you think of her.

As the masquerade ball was approaching, you felt yourself grow nervous. It was the first time that you would be seeing her after Champagne Lane. What if she suddenly decided she wanted to end it all? What if she had told anyone? What if she had told your father?

“Are you quite alright, Y/n?” William asked you as he fixed the buttons on your shirt. Whenever your father was not around, he called you by your real name. Whenever you heard your own name, a smile appeared on your face. Your father always called you Atticus. Everyone called you Atticus. Everyone but William, Charles, and now, Clarissa.

“Yes, it’s nothing.” You sighed, your hands a bit clammy. “Is it about Lady Bellaston?�� He asked and you met his eyes. “I haven’t looked at the letters. But I sense there is a strong connection between the two of you.” He explained as he stepped aside for you to look into the mirror.

“We have been sleeping together, if that is what you are asking.” You told him as you smoothed out your clothing. “I was not implying-” William started but you cut him off, chuckling. “It’s fine, William. Really.” You told him. “I suppose, I am just nervous to see her again. We’ve been talking over letters over the past two weeks, but what if she decided that she wants to end whatever we are having? What if she thinks it was wrong?”

“Everything will be alright, Y/n. I’ve seen how she beamed when I came with your letters every day. How she was eager to get your reply. She won’t change her mind. And if she does: Whatever happens, happens. Everything happens for a reason.” William tried to soothe your nerves. “Thank you, William.” You genuinely told him and he gave you a smile. “Now leave. And enjoy yourself. Your father is in Paris until the day after tomorrow, do not worry about the time of your return.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then. And thank you again.” You told him as you got ready to leave. “My pleasure, Y/n.” He spoke and left you alone.

The carriage in front of your home seemed to have arrived just in time for you to leave. You were still nervous but William seemed to have managed to calm your nerves down severely.

There were already loads of people at the masquerade when you had arrived. You got off the carriage and looked at the mask in your hands. With a sigh, you secured the mask over your eyes and tied it at the back of your head.

You looked around, trying to find any sort of familiar figure but decided it was not worth the effort. Everybody looked so different with the mask on. You still tried to find that one particular blonde among the many people.

“You have got to be kitting me! Atticus Huntington?” A voice grabbed your attention and you turned around. You were met with a small man. His hair was neatly pulled back into a slick bun at the back of his head. “Blifil? Is that you?” You asked. You hadn’t seen the man that you knew when he was still a boy in years. “So it is you! I haven’t seen you in a long time. What have you been up to?” The young man asked. “Spent some time in the countryside. Wrote a book. Everything and nothing, really.” You explained. Then Blifil was saying something about how he wanted to go to the countryside too, but it just didn’t seem to be a fitting environment for him and some other things that you didn’t quite catch because you were distracted by something, or rather someone.

About fifteen meters away was a woman in a yellow dress, a mask hid her face, but you would know that hair anywhere. It had a different color than all blonde hair you had ever seen. It had a texture that you’d know everywhere. And she was talking with some man, a tad older than you. A hand on his arm as she laughed at something he said. You had a hard time drawing your eyes away from her but managed to get back to your conversation with Blifil.

“I don’t think you’d be a fit for the countryside either, lad… Look, it was nice catching up with you, but I need to find someone.” You explained and gave his shoulder a pat. “Yes, no worries, I must be off as well.” He said and you parted ways. When you looked back to where you had just seen Clarissa with the mysterious man, there were now two ladies, one dressed in delicate green and the other in a deep purple gown. You looked around. No sign of Lady Bellaston.

As you were about to give up on searching, you saw the yellow dress again out of the corner of your eye. There she was, talking to… Tom Jones? What could she possibly want from Tom Jones? Surely she was not going to allow him to wed Sophia. There it was again. That laugh. That laugh that you had come to adore so much. The laugh that you thought was only for you.

As if Clarissa seemed to have felt you watching her, her head turned and she looked at you, giving you a smirk. That was when you knew what she wanted. It was all a game. She wanted to make you jealous and you hated that it was working. Your jaw clenched when you watched her laugh at yet another joke Ton Jones seemed to have made. She looked at you again, quirking an eyebrow at you as if to say ‘what are you going to do about it?’. You took a deep breath before abandoning your drink on the next best table and then made your way over to where Clarissa and Tom Jones were seated.

“If it isn’t Tom Jones. Are you not supposed to be talking to Sophia? My Lady Bellaston.” You acknowledged her presence as you put on a fake smile for Tom Jones. “I was just about to leave.” He gritted out between his teeth before getting up and leaving.

“Follow me.” You said to Clarissa, grabbing her hand, leading her to the next best room inside that you could be alone in.

“What was that about?!” You asked her through gritted teeth. “Why in God’s name were you trying to seduce Tom Jones?! He’s not in love with you!” You were backing her up against the closed door, leaving no place to escape for her. She had a smug smile on her face as her hands reached behind her head to get rid of her mask before she reached around your head to get rid of yours as well.

She caught you off guard with that. It was not what you had been expecting at all. Confused, you looked at her, meeting her emerald green eyes. “Because I want you.” She breathed out. “And this was the fastest way.” She explained, a hand cupping your face, thumb tracing your bottom lip.

“You’re mine.” You breathed once you had comprehended her words. “You belong to me. And if you ever look at him like that again, you are going to be very sorry, Clarissa.” You told her and her pupils dilated at your words. “Understood?” You asked her, looking deep into her eyes. You took the small whimper that fell from her lips as a yes. “Turn around.” You ordered and she immediately obliged.

You practically tore the dress from her body, not caring if it took damage as you removed it from her body. You just needed so much access to do what you had in mind. “Now I’m gonna show you who you belong to.” You growled into her ear. You looked around to find the next best place to take your activities to and saw a desk in the middle of the room. You got a hold of her hips and led her to the wooden piece of furniture.

One swift movement was all it took for you to lift her up to sit on the desk as you stood between her legs and removed her underwear. As you did, you got the perfect look at her breasts, corset so tight they were threatening to spill out of it. And the little heart-shaped mark was present once again.

You dragged your index finger up her slit and a low moan left the woman’s mouth. “Oh, darling. I’ve barely touched you and you are already drenched.” You chuckled at the wetness you found between her legs.

Without a warning, you thrust two fingers into her dripping core, Clarissa’s head falling back at the rough pace you set from the beginning. Your fingers play with her sensitive bundle of nerves, while one of her hands reach for your hair, gently tugging on it, while streams of moans leave her throat. Your lips latch onto her cleavage, leaving mark after mark on her porcelain skin.

Her gasps get higher in pitch and once you feel her flutter around your fingers, you pull away fully, gaining a groan and whimper in response. Just as Clarissa was about to say something about it, you slipped your fingers back inside, thrusting even harder and faster, a moan taking up the space of her words. Her pupils were blown wide, and her chest was flushed and covered in, what you thought was, art.

Your thumb on her clit continues to tease her further, her gasps becoming more frequent and the rhythm more frantic. Just when you curl your fingers into that special spot inside of her, her back arches fully into you, and a loud moan leaves her mouth. When you press your lips to hers in an attempt to silence her loud moans, the kiss is sloppy and messy. A few moments later, curses in what seemed to be French started leaving her mouth. Within the next few moments, you can feel her walls flutter around your fingers and her hands clawing at your back, into the fabric of your suit, while you throw her over the edge. You helped her ride out her high, before pulling away. “Who do you belong to?” You ask her, wanting to know if she remembered anything about your conversation from before. “Yours.” She panted, trying to catch her breath.

Her hair was now messy, the heart-mark washed away by sweat and her lipstick was smudged. You wondered if there was some on your face. The way she smiled at you made your heart ache. “I think I’m in love with you.” You blurted out. Just as you realized what you had said, you put your hands to your mouth. “Sorry- that was...”

“You think or you know?” Clarissa asked, now back to her cocky self. “I know.”

#gxg #wlw #fem!reader #lesbian #rebecca welton #rebecca welton x reader #ted lasso #hannah waddingham #lady bellaston x reader #lady bellaston #tom jones pbs #junikicker

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lesbicosmos · 7 days

Text

day 1 of @chrisginnyweek !!

day 1 prompt: flowers

summary: Three weeks before her birthday, Neil gives Ginny an early present - an anthology of Sappho's poetry fragments. One week later, she finds a poem in her locker along with two violets. She wants to believe it's Chris who keeps leaving them for her, but she doesn't even like girls...right?

notes: okay so chris and ginny both go to henley hall in this because of Plot Reasons and also who cares about canon when its one character with about two minutes of screentime and another who's literally only in deleted scenes?

also on ao3!!

the one with violets in her lap

“Hey, Ginny!” Neil called out as Ginny was about to leave the cave.

She had joined the Welton boys for a few of their secret Dead Poets Society meetings by this point and was loving it. No one at Henley Hall had ever thought of anything as unique as this, and it also gave her more chance to practise performing. Sure, performing a poem in front of a group of boys and occasionally Chris wasn’t exactly the same as performing on stage, but both helped her confidence massively. They’d just wrapped up this month’s meeting – ending with Knox reciting an original poem he’d written for the new girl he was head over heels for and receiving an overenthusiastic round of applause and cheering from Charlie followed by barely concealed laughter from everyone else. At the point Ginny was leaving, Neil and Todd were the only ones left in the cave. They were always the last two to leave.

“Yeah?”

Ginny turned around to face him, stepping closer.

“I have something for you.”

“Really?”

Neil turned behind him to get something out of his bag.

“I was going to save it to give to you for your birthday, but it’s only a few weeks so I figured why not give it to you now?”

Neil handed Ginny a brown paper bag. She reached inside, looking quizzically at Neil as she did so. She pulled out a book with an orange cover: Sappho: A New Translation.

“Todd and I found it when we went to that bookshop last week, we thought you’d like it.”

Ginny beamed up at him.

“I didn’t even know there was a new published translation!”

“Neither did we ‘til we saw it,” said Todd, who had stood up from the rock he was sitting on and was now beside Neil.

“Thank you!” Ginny lunged forward, hugging them both.

“We knew you’d like it. Now, you’d better get back before your mom notices you’re not home,” said Neil.

Ginny turned to leave the cave once again. She glanced back as she left, giving the two of them a knowing grin – they’d somehow moved even closer together in the few seconds since she turned her back. They really weren’t as subtle as they thought they were.

She ran home as fast as she could. It was nearly two in the morning when she finally got into bed, but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she turned on her bedside lamp and began to read.

“Oh Chris, they’re so beautiful! You really should borrow the book!” Ginny enthused as she and Chris walked through the halls at school.

“I’ve never even heard of Sappho!”

“She was an Ancient Greek poet from the Isle of Lesbos, most of her works have been lost over time, only a few fragments written on papyrus rolls survived, and they’ve been translated into English,” Ginny explained.

“What did she write about?”

“Emotions mostly, like all poets. Passion, jealousy, hatred, love.” Ginny lowered her voice, whispering into Chris’s ear. “Specifically love of women. She’s the reason we have the words ‘sapphic’ and ‘lesbian’.”

Chris turned to her, smiling.

“That’s so cool! It’s all because of her?”

“Yeah! I know you’re not…like me…so maybe it doesn’t feel as significant to you but it’s so amazing to me. The fact so many women since Ancient Greece have felt the same, and it’s like those feelings and that solidarity has passed on through generations. Reading these poems, even though they’re just fragments, it’s like…I can’t even explain it. It feels timeless.”

“Wow, that’s…,” Chris began but was interrupted by the school bell.

“Oh shit,” said Ginny. “My next period’s on the other side of the school, I’d better run. See you later!”

Before Chris could say anything else, Ginny was off down the halls.

It was the following week when the mystery began. Ginny got into school that Monday morning and went to her locker like usual, but there was something inside: two violets, tied together at the stem with a small piece of pink ribbon. Ginny picked them up, looking around to see if anyone was looking at her or waiting for any reaction. No one seemed to notice her. Ginny spotted there was a tiny note attached to the ribbon. On one side, it was blank, but there was writing on the other side:

‘girls

all night long

might sing of the love between you and the bride

with violets in her lap’

Ginny recognised it as one of Sappho’s fragments immediately. But there was no other writing on the note, no hint as to who could have left the flowers in her locker. She placed the note between two pages of her chemistry textbook and tucked one of the violets into her hair.

“Pretty flower,” smiled Chris when Ginny sat down beside her in history.

“Thanks! Someone left it in my locker,” she explained, still incredulous.

“Oh? Was it like…a love confession or…?”

“No idea. If they were trying to tell me something I don’t see what they’d want me to do about it, there was no name on the note, just a line of Sappho.”

“Maybe there’ll be another tomorrow.”

“I doubt it.”

There was another in her locker on Tuesday. There was only one flower, this time, but still had a note tied to it with the same pink ribbon.

‘he seems to me equal to gods thar man

whoever he is opposite you

sits and listens close

to your sweet speaking

and lovely laughing – oh it

puts the heart in my chest on wings

for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking

is left in me’

Another Sappho poem. How did this person know about Ginny’s love for her poetry? The only people who knew were Neil, Todd and Chris and surely this was none of their doing, right? Neil and Todd went to an entirely different school so they wouldn’t have had chance to plant it before 8am. Besides, this gesture had to be romantic, and Ginny knew for a fact neither of them felt that way about her – or about anyone other than each other for that matter. Chris hadn’t seemed too enthused by Ginny’s musings about her anthology the previous week, and she didn’t even like girls, so it couldn’t have been her. Was there another Sappho enthusiast at Henley Hall? Had someone spotted her carrying the book and realised they might have a chance? That would explain the anonymity, she supposed. No one would admit they were sapphic unless they were entirely confident the other person was okay with it.

Ginny tucked the flower into her hair again and shook her head, ignoring the thought. She had exams to worry about now, she couldn’t get caught up about a potential secret admirer. She would just pin the note to the side of the mirror on her dresser and keep the violet in a glass of water, as she had yesterday. Surely, that had to be the end of it, now.

Wednesday. Two more violets. Another note.

‘stars around the beautiful moon

hide back their luminous form

whenever all full she shines

on the earth

silvery’

Still no signature or indication of the sender.

Thursday. Another flower. Another fragment.

‘i long and seek after’

Ginny didn’t even recognise the handwriting. The calligraphy was so precise.

Friday. Three violets. Another poem.

‘not one girl I think

who looks on the light of the sun

will ever

have wisdom

like this’

“So how’s the book, Gin?” Neil asked on Saturday.

She had met up with him and Charlie in town and Charlie had run off to buy ice creams on the park. Technically he was supposed to be studying with Meeks but apparently ice cream was more important than his grades.

“It’s really good! The fragmented translations are so interesting, it’s like you have to imagine what she would have written next.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing with ancient poets, we never really get all their work. It takes a bit more imagination to read.”

Charlie came running up to them, handing them ice creams and sitting beside them on the bench.

“Nice flower.” He pointed at the small purple bloom sticking out by Ginny’s ear.

“Thanks, I keep getting left them in my locker.”

Neil and Charlie looked at one another confused, then back to Ginny.

“I don’t know who’s leaving them,” Ginny anticipated their question. “But every morning this week there has been at least one violet in my locker with a note tied to it, and the note is always one of Sappho’s lines. Never signed, no indication of who left it there, just the poetry.”

“Did you tell anyone else about the book I got you?” Neil asked.

“Only Chris.”

Charlie smirked.

“It’s not her.”

“How do you know?”

“She doesn’t like girls like I do. Believe me, I really wish it was her. But I know it isn’t.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie teased.

Neil shook his head at Charlie, indicating for him to shut up. He’d been the person Ginny had confided in about Chris back when she realised she liked her as more than just a best friend. She’d had overwhelming feelings for her for so long, and every time she’d seen her that past week there’d been a part of her wondering what if it is? What if it is her? But every time the thought crossed her mind, she shook it off. She wouldn’t give herself false hope. No, that would hurt too much.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I hope it doesn’t take too long, I’m running out of room on my dresser for these things,” Ginny chuckled, eating her ice cream. ‘Maybe they’ve given up, anyway,’ she thought to herself.

Monday morning. Another violet, another note.

‘my darling one’

“You still getting those?” Chris walked over to Ginny’s locker, peeking over her shoulder at the paper in her hand.

“Apparently,” Ginny said, hoping her voice didn’t give away her nerves at Chris being so close to her. “Why don’t they just sign it or something? Then I wouldn’t have to figure out who it is myself.”

“Maybe they’re waiting to surprise you. It is your birthday this weekend, after all.”

“Do you know something about it? Do you know who it is?”

Chris smiled, raising her eyebrows knowingly and miming zipping her mouth shut. Then, she turned away from the lockers and strode down the hall. Chris knowing who it was somehow made it hurt more. She was helping someone who liked Ginny, completely oblivious to the fact Ginny was head over heels in love with her.

Tuesday. More flowers. More poetry.

‘someone will remember us

I say

even in another time’

Still no signature.

Wednesday.

‘for many crowns of violets and roses

at my side you put on

and many woven garlands

made of flowers

around your soft throat’

Thursday.

‘I conversed with you in a dream

Kyprogeneia’

Friday. Five violets.

‘sweet mother, I cannot weave –

slender Aphrodite has overcome me with longing for a girl.’

“I just don’t get it,” Ginny groaned as she sat beside Chris on the bench at lunch. “Why haven’t they said anything? They just keep leaving the flowers and notes in my locker! It’s been two weeks now!”

“I don’t know, Gin. Have you noticed anyone looking at you differently? Expectantly?”

“No! That’s exactly my point: aside from the poems, they’ve not given any hints, not tried to seek me out or anything! If the goal was to tell me for my birthday, I don’t think they’re gonna reach it.”

“You never know, they might surprise you!”

Ginny turned her head to look at Chris, squinting suspiciously.

“You’re still coming over for my birthday tomorrow, right?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“We’re not doing that much you know, just having a meal with my family.”

“I know,” Chris replied cheerily.

Ginny squinted at her more.

“You know something, and I don’t like it.”

It was true. She didn’t like it. Chris just didn’t know the exact reason why. Chris just grinned and bit her apple.

Saturday. Ginny sat at her dresser, desperately trying to figure out what to do with her hair. She groaned and dropped her head forwards onto her arms. After a few seconds, she sat up, looking at herself in the mirror. She was wearing her favourite dark purple dress with the white collar. It was almost the same shade as the violets, which were by now spread across three makeshift vases on her dresser. She also wore the small heart pendant necklace Chris had bought her for Christmas. She’d barely taken it off since she’d received it. Ginny sighed, picked up her curlers and got to work.

She’d just positioned one of the violets next to her left ear when the doorbell rang. She all but ran down the stairs, pulled the door open, and was shocked by the sight before her.

Chris stood there in her pink jumper and grey skirt, holding a bunch of violets. The flowers were tied with the same pink ribbon as the ones in her locker had been for the last two weeks – the same pink ribbon Chris now wore in her hair.

“Happy birthday, Gin.”

She held the bunch out to Ginny, and she took them, gently turning over the piece of paper that was tied there alongside them. Sure enough, there were two lines of poetry written in perfect cursive.

‘you came and I was crazy for you

and you cooled my mind that burned with longing.’

Ginny just stared up at Chris for a few seconds, who was smiling expectantly back.

“Come in, let’s go upstairs,” she said, after remembering she needed to breathe, stepping inside to let Chris in. She shut the front door behind them, shouting to her parents that Chris had arrived before dashing upstairs to her room.

“It was you,” Ginny said simply as she and Chris stepped inside her bedroom. Ginny made sure the door was closed so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

“It was me,” Chris admitted.

Ginny sat down on her bed, staring directly forward. She was confused and overjoyed at the same time. She felt the weight on the bed shift as Chris sat beside her, their thighs touching just barely.

“So you…like me?” Ginny asked, just to be sure.

Chris giggled. Ginny wanted to listen to that sound forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even know you felt that way about girls.”

“Neither did I until you told me you did. I’d never really considered it an option but then after you told me, I started thinking about it and, yeah. I think it’s the reason dating Chet never felt…right. I hadn’t realised I was with the wrong Danburry,” Chris explained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried to hint at things, even before the violets and poems. It wasn’t a coincidence that I broke up with Chet only a week after you came out to me, you know?” She paused before continuing. “Also, I wasn’t entirely sure whether or not you felt the same about me. Both of us being like this didn’t necessarily mean that we also both had feelings for one another. That’s assuming…you do feel the same way?”

Ginny scoffed as if Chris had just asked her if the sky was blue.

“Of course I do! I thought I made that fairly obvious. You were the person that made me realise I liked girls in the first place – I mean, you and Audrey Hepburn, but still. I’ve been dreaming for months that you liked me back, that we could be together, but I always woke up thinking it was impossible.”

“I can assure you it is very much possible. What happened in the dreams?”

“Sometimes we’d go out to the park, sometimes you’d come over here, but every time, we’d just be sitting there, holding hands.”

Chris took Ginny’s hand in her own.

“Then you’d lean in and kiss me,” Ginny continued, really hoping the shaking she was feeling was just in her mind and not her body.

“I think we can make that happen,” she said softly, her other hand moving around them to cup Ginny’s cheek and bring their faces closer together.

When their lips met, it was so soft, but it was like an electric shock passed between them. Ginny’s eyes were closed but she swore she could see fireworks; an explosion of flush pinks and bright violets erupting in her mind, and all her senses were heightened. Chris pulled away after a couple of seconds, but Ginny held her face and pulled her back. They giggled as their noses bumped into each other, but soon settled into a rhythm, Chris’s hand moving up into Ginny’s hair. Ginny could taste the lip balm on Chris’s lips – strawberry? No – cherry. She tasted so sweet, exactly as she had in Ginny’s dreams. She knew it was cliché as soon as the thought came to her, but she didn’t care; she wanted to stay in the moment forever.

They only moved apart when both physically needed to breathe. They smiled at one another, then Ginny moved sideways, laying her head in Chris’s lap. Chris carried on messing with her hair.

“Sorry,” she giggled, “I think I messed your hair up.”

“Chris, believe me when I tell you I do not care. Mess it up all you like.”

“Want me to re-do it? I have an idea.”

Ginny nodded, sitting back up. Chris reached over to the other side of the bed and took the bunch of violets that had been discarded when they sat down.

“Ah, we might not have enough here.”

“I have them all.”

Ginny indicated towards her dresser, where the glasses stood housing every one of the violets Chris had left in her locker over the past two weeks. Some were more damaged than others, but she’d kept them alive for the most part.

“You kept them?” Chris was touched. She stood up and walked over to the dresser, reaching out to stroke one of the ten pieces of paper taped around the mirror. “And all the notes, too?”

“I think part of me had some hope that it was you who was leaving them, so I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of any.”

Chris smiled at her.

“You’re so cute.”

Chris took the hairbrush and the glasses of flowers and brought them over to Ginny’s bedside table, before sitting back on the bed. She moved her feet apart so there was space on the floor in front of her.

“You okay sitting on the floor?”

“Of course,” Ginny said, sitting down.

She tried not to think too much about the fact she was sitting in between Chris’s legs. That image had also appeared in her dreams more than a few times. But she had time to talk about those dreams later on. She relaxed immediately when Chris began gently pulling the brush through her hair.

“Your hair’s so soft,” she said.

“Thanks,” Ginny was unsure how else to reply.

When Chris didn’t say anything else for a few minutes, Ginny let herself close her eyes and zone out, the gentle tugging on her hair keeping her from falling asleep.

She pictured herself, only a few months ago, not long after she realised the truth of her feelings for Chris. She’d been at theatre rehearsals, practising a monologue on stage, and Chris had tagged along to watch her. She was the only person in the whole auditorium, and Ginny couldn’t concentrate on anything other than her. It distracted her from her lines, staring at the way one corner of Chris’s mouth moved up into a smile; the way her hair sat so perfectly behind her ear, glowing in the harsh light of the theatre; how pretty her hand looked propping her chin up as she leaned forwards onto the chair in front; the way her eyes never left Ginny’s performance. In that moment, Ginny wanted nothing more than to jump off the stage, run over to her and kiss her all over her pretty face. She’d gone home and cried that night. She hated the way she felt about her, hated that she knew nothing could ever happen between them.

Well, she thought she knew. Now she knew she was wrong. She had kissed Chris and was going to make it her mission to kiss every part of her face as soon as she could.

Ginny was broken out of her daydreaming by Chris’s silky voice.

“I think you’re done, Gin.”

Ginny stood up, brushed her dress down and walked over to the mirror. Her hair was in a beautiful up-do, several braids twisted together to form a bun on the back of her head. The violets were threaded throughout, matching her dress perfectly. She saw Chris walk up behind her in the mirror, a huge smile on her face.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Ginny pulled Chris into a tight hug before kissing her once again, the fireworks from earlier returning and brighter than before. Chris stood on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss, and Ginny pulled her impossibly closer to deepen the kiss.

“My darling one,” Ginny muttered as they broke apart, quoting one of the Sappho lines Chris had left in her locker.

“Girl sweetvoiced,” Chris replied. “Kind of sad I didn’t get to use that one, it’s one of my favourites.”

“You can quote Sappho to me whenever you want, Chris.”

Suddenly Ginny’s mother called from downstairs.

“Girls! Dinner!”

The two instinctively jumped apart, then both laughed.

“You ready?” Chris asked, holding out her hand.

“Yeah,” Ginny replied, taking it.

But as Chris started for the door, Ginny stopped.

“Wait!”

She dashed over to the bedside table, where one flower was left in the glass. She took it and walked back over to Chris before tucking it into her hair, moving a lock behind her ear as she did so. The dark purple contrasted beautifully with her bright blonde hair.

“There. Perfect,” she whispered.

Ginny leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Chris’s nose before taking her hand once more and leaving the bedroom.

And if Chris kept leaving flowers and poems in Ginny’s locker the next week? Well, at least Ginny could be sure who they were from now, and not only because of the pink lipstick mark on one side of the paper that perfectly matched the ribbon.

#can you tell i love this prompt #and sappho #and violets #its not obvious at all #chrisginnyweek #dps #dps fic #chris noel #ginny danburry #chrisginny #my fics

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adiposewalksaway · 2 years

Note

Batboys x reader receiving crocheted gifts please

Hope you enjoy this! I was excited to see this request! I actually know how to crochet; my grandmother taught me years ago. This wasn't to terribly long.

Dick

Dick would love to receive any kind of gift from you

Is the embodiment of its the thought that counts

Doesn’t matter what it is, blanket, sweater, beanie, anything

Every new gift would be met with lots of cuddles

Cuddles under the new blacket with the Nightwing emblem on it, yes please

Would be loud and proud

There would not be a single person he knew that hasn’t heard about it

Would brag non stop about how talented you are

Everyone would know who made it

Jason

I see Jason as more of a sweaters and beanie type

You things that he could use everyday

Maybe crochet bookmarks(?)

But also wouldn’t care what you made, he would appreciate it

Having watched you, he would understand how much time and effort went into whatever piece you made him.

I think Jason would just as much of a sap as Dick is over getting handmade gifts

He just wouldn’t show it as much as Dick would

Gift him anything and he’ll recite your favorite poetry or book to you

Overall, cute in his own way

Tim

Tim would love sweaters

The poor baby never sleeps, make him a blanket

He needs to keep warm, especially in the winter

Make him amigurumi figures

Would love it if you made one that looks like him

He’d absolutely adore them if they looked like his friends or teammates

He would display them all over

Everywhere in his, even on his computer desk

Damian

Damian would probably pretend to not like the gifts at first

But would get totally jealous if you’d make anything for someone else

He would be so proud of anything you’d make

It doesn’t matter if it’s something that he genuinely liked it or not

I think Damian would, in general, appreciate handmade gifts more than anything else

He’ll make drawings or play music for you in return for the gifts

Would also love amigurumi, make one of each of his pets

I think he would appreciate or at least find voodoo dolls of his brothers or enemies funny

#batboys x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #tim drake x reader #damian wayne x reader #dc x reader #fun fact i do know how to crochet #despite knowing how to crochet i wasn't really able to put it into words #i take forever to make one thing #it took me months to make a single scarf once #story time over

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tobi-boi · 2 years

Text

Playing with hair

Characters included: Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Kazuha, Gorou Genre: fluff Warning: not proof-read

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✦Scaramouche✦

╺ Scaramouche doesn't get why anyone would like having their hair played with, so it would take a lot of effort to get him to play with your hair– even more to get to play with his hair.

╺ Would never admit it, but when he finally gives in he finds it strangely relaxing. Be it playing with your hair or having his hair played with, relaxing nonetheless.

╺ Usually doesn't initiate this action on his own.

╺ The times he does initiate it, he has most likely had a stressful day and needs something to make him relax a bit.

You had already finished everything important you previously planned for the day, and was now having a conversation with Childe. The ginger was telling you about the last opponent he faced, a huge grin on his face as he motions around his his hands. You roll your eyes and slightly shake your head at him.

You get a little startled when you feel someone bury their face in your shoulder, fingers tangling into your hair. There's only one person you could think of who would do this. A small smile makes its way onto your face. "Hello there, Scara" you say to him, taking on a soft tone. You get a small huff in response, to which you proceed to place your hand on his head. If you could see his face right now, you would surely be able to see a blush tinting his cheeks.

✦Tartaglia✦

╺ Tartaglia loves every bit of affection you give him– be it hugs, kisses, holding hands, gifts, quality time. Every bit of affection. You could basically brighten up his day by just smiling at him. In short, he adores you and everything about you.

╺ He would let you play with his hair without any hesitation, absolutely delighted to have your fingers running through his locks. He wouldn't even mind if you just went and did it right away without telling him.

╺ Of course he'd play with your hair as well, and will take any opportunity to do so– sometimes just to see you melt into his touch, cherishing the way there's the smallest of smiles on your face.

╺ Tartaglia gets extremely fond of this action when he's tired, just wanting to spend time basking in his beloved's presence.

It was getting pretty late. You were ready to go to bed, feeling the sleepiness weighing your body down as if you're about to fall asleep at any moment. You snapped back a bit to reality when you felt a kiss being placed on your cheek. "Hey sleepyhead" Tartaglia smiles at you.

You return the smile with a small one of your own, burying your face in the crook of his neck. A soft chuckle is heard from him as he reaches his hands up to your hair, running his fingers through it– enough for you to instantly melt right into his touch, and also enough for the sleep to gain the opportunity to wash over you.

✦Kazuha✦

╺ Kazuha definitely has really soft and silky hair without even trying. He finds himself subconsciously running his fingers through it, usually doesn't notice that he's doing so until his arm gets tired.

╺ He notices how you glance at his hair at times. He wouldn't let you know that he did though, other than just smiling at you. Whenever he finds himself wanting to play with your hair, on the other hand, he would just straight-up ask if it's okay if he does.

╺ Enjoys it when you mindlessly run your fingers through his hair as he recites poetry for you. Either that, or he's quietly humming a melody he has recently heard.

╺ Kazuha would let you braid his hair. 100%, I don't take criticism for that. Braid some flowers into his hair while you're at it.

On top a grassy cliff– facing the ocean, and feeling the breeze carried with it blowing through your hair. Relaxing, peaceful. Only you and Kazuha. Your hands are busy combing through Kazuha's hair, as said person is reciting his favorite poems to you.

Starting to braid his hair, you pick some nearby flowers to braid into his hair, careful not to mess up. Moments like these are some of your favorites, peaceful moments un-interrupted by all and everything. After finishing the braid you move to sit beside Kazuha, leaning your head against his shoulder.

✦Gorou✦

╺ Gorou's hair is just as fluffy and soft as his ears and tail are. He's not a big fan of getting his hair played with, but finds it nice some times– his ears are usually off-limits though, no matter who you are.

╺ Despite that he finds himself yearning for your touch, the way you run your fingers through his hair is one of his favorite things. You can catch him stealing glances towards your hair at times.

╺ If you randomly decide to play with his hair, with out any warning, he'll try to keep his composure– to no avail, since his tail gives him away as its wagging from side to side.

╺ You can catch his tail wagging when he's playing with your hair as well, he's just so happy to be doing so. By playing with Gorou's hair, you can get him to relax after a stressful day.

You are sitting at the usual spot on one of the beaches on Watatsumi Island, waiting for Gorou to arrive so you can watch the sunset together with him– like you usually do.

Finally, the doggo general arrives and takes a seat beside you. You give him a smile "Good evening, Gorou" you say. He responds with a quick nod, which is a little out of the ordinary– since he usually responds with telling you how much he missed you during the day. "Stressful day, huh?" you lean towards him, turning his head towards you by his chin.

Again, a nod. You give him a quick peck on the nose before reaching a hand up and tangling it in his hair, feeling one of his ears twitch slightly. You catch a glimpse of Gorou's wagging tail as the sky is painted in beautiful hues.

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I really hope someone out there enjoyed this, I wrote this while running on 0 hours of sleep. Word count: 1039

#fluff #scaramouche #genshin #genshin impact #tartaglia #childe #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha #gorou #gender neutral #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #scenarios?

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thetavolution · 7 days

Note

Wedding Asks for Lamia & Astarion and Lamia & Wyll please!

Pre-Ceremony Events - Are there any special events, ceremonies, rituals, or preparations the couple must do before the wedding day? Ritual cleansing, asking a parent for the character's hand, mehndi/henna painting, little pre-ceremony games or challenges, etc?

Flowers - What flowers or other natural elements do they have as part of their decoration, if any? Are these flowers significant?

Wedding Party - Are there bridesmaids, groomsmen, attendants, special witnesses? Are they dressed a certain way or positioned in a special spot?

Thank you for sending this! I'm also so happy to do some Lamia questions haha.

Lamia has a total disregard for tradition, but she also likes attention. Lamia is an orphan who doesn't really have any ties to any culture. She doesn't know who her parents are or where they hail from. She would probably lean into whatever her partner's traditions are, especially any that allowed her to be the center of attention. But other than that, she'd just do typical planning.

Astarion loves a lot of pomp and circumstance. He's also an elf and elf weddings often last for weeks. After 239 years of being a spawn, he'd want to get back something of his past. He would shorten it to a week of events because weeks is just way too much energy. (He'd rather be on his honeymoon.)

He would want poetry recitations and musical performances. It's also common for elves to have theatrical events that retell the great love stories of elven lore. Correct me if I'm wrong on this info. I've heard it comes from the Dragon magazine #279. It honestly sounds about right, and I think Astarion would go all in. Lamia would happily go along for the ride. Knowing Astarion, he'd probably have one of the plays re-enact his love story with Lamia. She'd go apeshit for it.

But after about a week, Astarion would be over it and would want to just be alone with Lamia. So they would party right up until the wedding, and then everyone would be free to go do whatever they want.

Wyll would be a lot more traditional than Lamia. He wouldn't ask Paloma for permission, but it would be important to get her blessing. She would, of course, give it happily.

A lot of Wyll's pre-ceremony events would be political, but he'd try to make them fun and more meaningful for him and his bride. There would be a lot of meeting dignitaries and the like. They would have a pre-wedding portrait done. There'd be a rehearsal dinner.

Paloma would throw a bridal shower/bachelorette party for Lamia while Wyll had his own bachelor party. But it'd be all his weirdo friends who don't know what to do at a bachelor party.

Both parties would accidentally end up on a quest to save someone, kill a monster, or uncover a murder plot or something. They just do things wrong with this bunch.

I also imagine it is a Big Deal™ that Wyll is marrying a "former" criminal AND a changeling. There will be a lot of "Wyll, what are you thinking?" Sometimes he will be polite and, other times, people will be asked to leave the function.

Flowers - What flowers or other natural elements do they have as part of their decoration, if any? Are these flowers significant?

Lamia and Astarion are SHOWY. They would have gorgeous flowers. Lamia would get her irises, of course. They'd pair those with roses and lavender freesia.

But Astarion would also sneak in some grass lilies (A.K.A. garden star-of-bethlehem), the same flower he put on his grave. It symbolizes innocence, purity, honesty, hope, and forgiveness. Lamia would notice, but might not say anything until Astarion said something first.

In Lamia and Wyll's wedding, Lamia would still get her irises. Why would Wyll ever say no to a simple request from his love? Lamia would work with the florist to make beautiful bouquets. Wyll would be present, but would defer to Lamia's wishes on flowers. It's not his expertise.

It's not a flower, but Lamia would also sneak some Wilden Oak's acorns into the decor. She'd let Wyll discover them on his own during the ceremony. Just something as a nod to when he officially proposed. He'd most likely tear up and Lamia would act awkward about it.

Lamia has it in her to be sweet, but feels weird when it's acknowledged on any level. But she'd be happy that she made him happy.

Wedding Party - Are there bridesmaids, groomsmen, attendants, special witnesses? Are they dressed a certain way or positioned in a special spot?

Lamia would, naturally, have her big sister, Paloma as part of the ceremony. Paloma would have a maid-of-honor sort of position and Lamia would rely on her to figure a lot of stuff out. (Paloma is the wildly parentified big sister due to the whole orphan situation so she'd act more like a mom.) Wyll or Astarion would quickly figure out how much Lamia is leaning on her, and they be sure to include her as much as they felt comfortable with. It helps that Paloma understands boundaries and knows when to back off. Astarion would LOVE off-loading boring stuff onto Paloma, too.

Lamia's bestie, Allie, would be a bridesmaid and Allie would grin and bear it. Allie isn't really a ceremony person nor does she like being perceived. It's easier to deal with it since Lamia is at the center of everything though. Lamia wouldn't care that much about how people are dressed, as long as they don't show her or the groom up. If someone wore anything nicer than her, it be a fight.

Lamia would want Paloma's kids as part of the ceremony. While Lamia would love a giant look-at-me wedding, there's only a few people she NEEDS to have there. It would be her companions and a few select allies, I.E. Rolan, Dammon, and Zevlor for starters.

They would have their big wedding, but she'd then want something smaller and more private afterward. Something that's just for close friends and family.

Astarion seems like someone who'd want something big, but he'd secretly relish the more intimate wedding. At the time of the wedding, his only true friends will be his companions so he will need them to be there. He will be devastated if they aren't present (but would never show it). He also gets very attached to Paloma and the kids, even if he pretends not to. He pretends to hate being "Uncle Astarion" makes 0 effort to stop it.

Astarion would be working on his relationship with his siblings and they would be invited as guests. Dalyria, however, would be a bit higher on the food chain. She's the first one that starts to bridge the gap with Astarion after being free. They've also been looking on a cure for their affliction together or, at least, looking to find a way to walk in the sun again. Astarion tentatively lets Dalyria help him figure out all this wedding stuff, especially when he doesn't feel comfortable asking Paloma for help.

I also have it in my head Dalyria gets her own romcom romance with a Baldurian wedding planner. It's cute, leave me alone.

Astarion would be WAY pickier about how everyone is dressed. He would 100% have a system. And, of course, no one can look better than him or Lamia.

Wyll prefers the smaller event after the big wedding, but he's not so opposed to his big, invite the entire city wedding. He'd be proud to show off his new spouse in front of the whole city, especially after the pushback he gets for marrying an ex-con changeling.

Wyll doesn't have a lot of close friends outside of his companions because of what Mizora did to him. He spent so much time on the road saving people, he had to forgo a lot of deeper connections with people. It doesn't help he had to keep a huge part of his life a secret. Of course, all of the companions and their allies would be getting invites to both the big wedding and smaller after party. It'd be important to him that Florrick be there.

Lamia and Paloma would make sure to free Wyll from his pact and save his father. Wyll would be rebuilding his relationship with Ulder. Ulder would be concerned about Wyll's choice of bride and I don't think he'd ever really, truly get along with Lamia. They would both put aside their differences for Wyll's sake.

I headcanon that Wyll would reconnect with old friends, especially an old boyhood friend. He'd want them to be part of the wedding alongside his companions. It'd also lead to hilarious interactions with the heroes of Baldur's Gate and just some guy Wyll used to know. He's a good guy, but still Just Some Guy. At least, until he inevitably becomes a hero while hanging out with Wyll. Maybe he becomes a hero at the bachelor party where they will, inevitably, fight a monster.

#ask meme #wedding ask meme #Lamia #Lamia and Astarion #Lamia and Wyll #BG3 Wedding Season Tag Game

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earlgreytea68 · 11 months

Note

I love the daily excitement of checking what the piano medley, riff with patrick and magic 8 ball along was and just the sheer joy this tour is bringing us fans and seems to be bringing them as well.

but. but I wish we'd pause more often to talk about Pete reciting baby annihilation on stage. just pete on his own with his words. and how much fucking courage that must take, every single night. Patrick at least has his piano, somewhere to put fidgety hands, somewhere to look instead of the room. Pete just has his words. And I just admire him so, for this bravery.

PETE IS SUCH A STAR FOR BABY ANNIHILATION.

You're right, the other revolving parts of the show that change every night are showier and get all the attention. Which maybe is the way Pete wants it. But Pete gets up every night and does magic -- literal magic, but also the metaphorical magic of his words -- and he does it even though he looks terribly nervous about it, he pulls a hoodie up over his head and he says his words.

People say that he's gotten more comfortable with it as the tour has gone on, and it does seem like he's gotten more comfortable with adding more of his screaming in, his bridge for Bang the Doldrums last night was the best I'd heard him do it, and so, in this Tour of Healing, maybe also what's healing is Pete Wentz realizing that being the frontman of this band can involve more vulnerability than he realized, and it'll all be okay. TRUST FALLS ALL AROUND.

I still can't believe Baby Annihilation is an actual track we got on this album, like, I just really never even thought to wish for a Pete Wentz poetry track in the year 2023, and THEN HE GOT UP ON STAGE AND PERFORMED IT LIVE AND HE KEEPS DOING IT.

I genuinely feel like this tour has numbed us in some ways to how thoroughly remarkable all of this is. If you had told me two months ago Pete Wentz was going to perform Baby Annihilation live on stage for the tour, I would have been like, "Yeah, okay, what fic is that?" "And then Patrick's going to frequently play What a Catch on piano." "Uh-huh." I DIDN'T EVEN BELIEVE THEY WOULD PLAY A DIFFERENT SONG FOR 8-BALL EVERY NIGHT UNTIL WE WERE LIKE A WEEK INTO THE TOUR.

Honestly, all of this is incredible and when we tell the story of this tour in future decades no one will believe it all happened lol

#fall out boy #fob #tourdust

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thiswasinevitableid · 1 year

Text

Serpent Heart (Sternclay)

The winner of the “ new monsters” poll was Naga! This fill is NSFW and mentions oviposition.

The books on courtship in the royal library always make it sound glamorous; romantic waltzes across ballroom floors, moonlit poetry recitation, flowers every time you meet.

Barclay’s own courtship has so far involved a curtain, an endless procession of voices, and a rapid decline in his belief in love at first sight.

The tradition within Kepler is this; when the prince is ready to seek out a partner, the gates are opened to anyone who can make a convincing case. His advisors will listen to each and permit a select few to meet the prince and begin courting him. What is not disclosed in the tradition is that the prince has to sit behind a floor to ceiling tapestry in a special alcove so he can obtain first impressions of his future suitors without them knowing he’s doing so.

This is the second of the two days, with only five men permitted through so far. Barclay’s tired of hearing people talk about his regal bearing, his noble face, his prowess in battle. He’s only ever been in battle twice, both times at the request of his father, and he hated every second of it. Yet the whole kingdom is convinced he’s a mighty and imposing warrior.

As another would-be suitor is dismissed, he sighs and rests his chin in his hands; no one talks about him like he’s a person. Just an idea, a rare beast that only the lucky few get to glimpse that stands for all that is good about the kingdom.

A new commotion enters the air, complete with shouts of alarm, and he stiffens. There’s a strange sound beneath the hubbub of something sliding along the tile of the throne room floor.

“What is the meaning of this?” Woodbridge’s shout quiets the crowd.

“I’ve come here to make my case for pursuing his majesty. I was told this was where I should go.” The responding voice is clear and polite.

“This is ridiculous. Get out at once!”

“Why? There’s no rule that says I can’t be here. I checked.”

“This is completely unprecedented! No Naga has ever dared show their face at the castle, let alone pretended they wished to woo the prince.”

Barclay grabs the edge of the fabric and puts his eye to the light. There, blue-black scales glinting in the torch-light, is an honest-to-god Naga. His hair is the same, inky black as the cloak draped over his shoulders, and Barclay silently wills him to turn his head so he can catch a glimpse of his face.

“I’m not pretending, it’s an honest request. And something being unprecedented is not the same as it being illegal.”

Mama, the only person who’s been concerned with how the suitors would make Barclay feel “With all due respect mister, uh…”

“Joseph.”

“Right. See, it ain’t a secret that Naga’s and humans don’t have the, uh, best relationship, historically speaking. You can see why we’d be a little wary of you being near the prince.”

“My understanding is guards will be present for our initial meetings. Also, from a strategic perspective, announcing my presence and trying to get close to his highness is a terrible way to abduct him, because everyone would immediately look for me, specifically.” He sighs, “My point is, I’m not here on anyone’s behalf but my own, and I have an entire list of points prepared for why I’m a good candidate. Prince Barclay…well, he fascinates me. I’d like to get to know him.”

Mama is clearly considering the request, but Woodbridge and Janelle trade one look and shake their heads.

“No. We are the royal advisors, and we-”

“You’ll let him through.” Barclay pulls back the curtain, sending a wave of gasps through the room. Then there’s a scramble as everyone tries to bow. Joseph is staring at him with the same shock as everyone else, but his blue eyes are observing Barclay as closely as the prince is observing him.

“Your highness-”

“You heard me, Woodbridge.”

The Naga bows, his cheeks tinted pink, “Thank you for the honor.”

Barclay nods and then strides towards a side door, surrounded by murmurs on all sides wondering what on earth he could be thinking.

—---------------------------------------------------------

“Is it just me or do you seem actually excited for this one?” Dani blows on Barclay’s fingers to help the coppery polish dry.

“It’s not like it’s every day that you get to have dinner with a Naga. Plus, he seems nice.”

“And the other three you’ve seen so far haven’t?” Dani’s tone is casual, but he knows that if he suggested any of the suitors had hurt him, she’d feed them to her flytraps.

“Nah, they’ve been fine. But if I never hear someone reciting all the escapades I’ve apparently had ever again, it’ll be too soon. Maybe Joseph will be different.” He kicks his feet idly in their bath, making waves in the little blue basin.

“Joseph seems like such a plain name for a Naga. The books always make it sound like they have fancy names.”

“The only one I’ve ever met was named Duck, so I suspect it’s more complex than we believe.” Indrid, the royal seer, flops down on the couch across from them.

“When’d you meet a Naga?” Barclay’s a little alarmed; Indrid seldom goes outside the castle, which suggests one got in without anyone knowing.

“He was climbing a tree on the other side of the walls and I warned him of an incoming lightning strike. He’s quite friendly, though I’ve yet to have a chance to ask him if he knows Joseph.”

The clock in the tower chimes a quarter to six and Barclay stands and goes to dress. He’s been having his initial dinner with each suitor on the balcony near the koi pond, and it’s so hot in the evenings that he settles on a short, copper-green tunic and grey, flowing pants to avoid sweating himself to death.

He gets to the balcony at two minutes to the hour. Seventeen minutes later, he’s wondering if he should just put out the lamps and call it a night. Joseph is nowhere to be seen and hasn’t sent a messenger. Maybe he got scared off by the whole process? Or locked in the room he was given here at the palace? Or maybe he really was here for some nefarious reason and Barclay is about to be snatched up and dragged into a cave.

A steady stream of “excuse me’s” reaches him from the hallway, and the balcony doors burst open, nearly knocking over the guards, as the frazzled Naga slithers quickly over to the table.

“I’m so sorry your highness, I, um, I was on an errand that took much longer than I planned.” He bows, “thank you for waiting on me so long.”

“What errand?” Barclay says warily.

“According to what I’ve read, you’re supposed to bring a human flowers on a first date. I wasn’t expecting to be turned away from one florist and have the other flee at the sight of me, which in retrospect was naive, so I had to go all the way to a friend of mine to get these.” He produces a bouquet of ranunculus, peonies, and camellias from behind his back.

Barclay’s great uncle taught him flower language years ago. He wonders if Joseph knows the pink and white bundle of blossoms means affection and admiration.

“Thank you.” He takes the flowers and gestures for Joseph to sit down. Then he gingerly sets them in a spare glass of water.

No one has ever given him flowers before.

As the servants bring in their courses, Barclay takes the chance to get a better look at his suitor. Joseph looks as if someone meticulously carved a statue of the most handsome man in the world and then stuck it on a powerful, serpentine body. The muscles where skin gives way to scales are defined, and as he follows them up to that perfect face he finds blue eyes looking at him, amused.

Attempting to hide his ogling, he lifts his wine glass and says, “Did you really have a list of reasons my advisors should choose you?”

“Yes. I had a chart too but they wouldn’t let me bring it in.” Joseph cuts into his grilled fish.

Barclay chuckles at the idea of someone unrolling a massive paper in front of Woodbridge, “Maybe I’ll ask to see sometime.”

“Be careful what you wish for, your highness. It was multi-page.”

He full-on laughs at that, “Man, I don’t think any prince before me has ever had someone do a fucking research project just to get a chance to date him.” He smiles, “did you want to date me before or after you started reading up on me.”

Joseph’s pleasant smile goes bashful, “That’s a complicated question. I, um, I should start by admitting that the throne room wasn’t the first time I saw you. There’s a patch of the forest where I like to sit in a tree and read. One day, I was there, looked down, and saw someone digging in the dirt–I figured out later you were looking for truffles–who was so captivating I couldn’t focus on anything else. Our visits overlapped several times after that, including one where you foraged a whole meal right in that clearing and then cooked it over a little fire. I wanted to say hello but, well, you’ve seen how people react to Nagas. I didn’t want to scare you away from somewhere you enjoyed, even though it felt creepy to be there without you knowing.”

“Yeah it’s kinda creepy. But thanks for not giving me a heart attack trying to be polite. Think we avoided kicking off a human/Naga conflict.”

“That actually occurred to me once I figured out who you were. At first I thought you were a handsome villager. Then I saw the royal procession pass through a stretch of woods and glimpsed on your horse and realized I was wrong. That’s what started my researching you; everyone speaks of you as a ferocious warrior, as valuing only battle and the glory of the kingdom. That didn’t really mesh with the man I saw picking green onions and reading poetry in the grass. The more I read, the more I wondered about the truth. That curiosity is why I’m here.” He pauses, and for the first time the tip of his tail twitches on the floor, “well, that and the fact you’ve somehow only gotten more attractive since I first saw you.”

Barclay blushes not only from the compliment, but from the thought that anyone, let alone someone as magnificent as Joseph, could see him in his commoner's clothes sighing over love poems and see it as anything other than weakness that proved he was a weak, unmanly prince.

As they move to the third course, Barclay asks Joseph what he likes to do. This question was Indrid’s idea, though the only reason given was a cryptic “the futures say it will reveal a great deal of information.” At previous dinners, it always ends up being that the suitors are interested in whatever they think he is (or should be). Joseph, however, talks about his book collection and his hobby in researching long lost human customs. This leads them to a lively discussion of the serial mystery running in the newspaper, which they’ve both been following religiously.

Somewhere between a tangent of his about foraging berries and Joseph’s theories for how you could invent a game that mimicked a mystery story, one of the guards clears his throat and murmurs, “Your highness? It’s nearing midnight.”

“Oh fuck.” Barclay looks around at the darkness curled around their oasis of light.

“I didn’t notice either.” Joseph yawns, showing a pair of pointed fangs near the front of his mouth, and then smiles, “can I walk you to your rooms? I’m not sure what all the rules are yet.”

Barclay stands and offers his arm, which Joseph takes with that smile that’s at once charmed and charming. From so close, Barclay gets his first real sense of Joseph’s size; they’re heads are at roughly the same height, and if he doesn’t look back, Barclay can pretend he’s walking with another six foot three man. But the shimmering tail glides politely along behind them, a reminder that Joseph could fully envelope him without breaking a sweat.

They reach his rooms before he has a chance to wonder why that thought sends heat spreading across his chest. Joseph unlinks their arms and bows goodnight.

Barclay catches one hand between his own, bringing it to his lips for a kiss, “Have lunch with me tomorrow?”

“Don’t you have-”

“My dinner’s with another suitor. But my afternoon is all for you. If, uh, if you want it to be.”

For the first time all evening, a fork tongue flicks out, teasing the air between them.

“What time should I plan for?”

—--------------------------------------------

When Joseph wakes up on his twelfth morning in the castle, he–and the other five suitors–discover a message under their doors. Barclay has gone somewhere secret, by himself, and it’s their job to use what they know about him to find him. The first person to do so earns a private lunch with him. No guards, no servants, just him and the prince.

Early riser that he is, Joseph was already down in the kitchen, following a hunch, when the other five awoke and started running around upstairs, shouting orders to servants and squires. He knows Barclay likes to cook, and has said several times he wishes they’d let him make meals for his guests. But Barclay is also smart; he would have prepared the meal in the small kitchen in his rooms, not down here where someone might see him. So Joseph’s hunt is for ingredients he may have taken and brought back.

A bottle of balsamic vinegar and the cream in the icebox both have his scent. Joseph can’t think of one dish that needs both, so it’s likely Barclay made at least two things. And if he knows his prince, he wouldn’t do this without a drink to pair with the meal.

When he finds one of the picnic baskets clearly missing, his confidence in his theory grows. Barclay is very likely off the castle grounds. If he did this with his advisor’s knowledge, he’d have to choose a place where he could be pretty sure he’d still be hidden from anyone looking to make an opportunistic attack. And Joseph just happens to know a secluded place where Barclay likes to eat.

As he slithers through the trees and up the first hill on the way to the valley of the stars (named for how the many rivers and ponds turn the ground to the sky at nightfall), he grapples with how to feel if he’s right. Does choosing this spot mean Barclay want’s Joseph to find him? Has he brought others here? Does he ever think, as Joseph does, of what could have happened if Joseph slid from the tree, plucked a wildflower, and offered it to the prince as he lazed in the sun?

Because Joseph thinks about it a lot.

He glides around the last few trees and, as he suspected, finds Barclay waiting for him in the meadow. The prince is stretched out on a checkered blanket, basket by his side, and he smiles as Joseph joins him.

“Had a hunch you might win.”

“It almost seems like you stacked the odds.”

Barclay pulls a bottle of sparkling wine from the basket, “They said I had to issue the challenge to everyone. Not that it had to be fair.”

Joseph takes the offered glass and falls a little more in love.

The menu includes little bay shrimp fried in coconut flour, savory hand pies, fresh berries drizzled with balsamic vinegar, and little pots of chocolate pudding topped with coffee-flavored cream. By the time they’ve polished off dessert, Barclay’s feet are in Joseph’s lap. Joseph’s offer of a foot rub is enthusiastically accepted, so he digs his thumbs into arching muscle and listens to Barclay groan.

“Should I rub your tail as a thank you? Is that a thing?”

“Yesss” Joseph isn’t able to pull the hiss back in time; he tries so hard not to remind Barclay that he’s being wooed by a monster.

“Lemme see.” Barclay pats his thighs and Joseph loops a length of his tail over it. As Barclay pets along the scales, he asks, “Do Naga really sell their scales? I always see vendors in town with ‘genuine Naga’ pendants.”

“Some do, and if you’re shedding a few and you’re hard up for cash, it’s not a bad way to make money. Traditionally, you’re only supposed to give them as gifts to a future mate. Um, I mean spouse. You wear each other’s scale on a broach or a necklace, things like that.”

“That’s hella romantic.” Barclay traces little curves along his tail, lost in thought. Then he murmurs, “this live up to what you thought about when you were, uh, creeping on me?” He scritches the patch of scales with a teasing smile.

Joseph thinks about his old daydreams, of slithering down the tree and coiling himself around a willing body. Of testing the theory that Naga bites make humans wild with lust while he tells the human trapped against him how beautiful he is.

“It’s even better.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------

Barclay lays face down on his bed, feeling like the world’s biggest dingus.

Dani pats his back in sympathy, “If it makes you feel better, it sounds like Joseph didn’t know he was allergic to coconut either.”

“What if he thinks I tried to poison him?”

“Pretty sure he doesn’t.” Dani’s using the voice that means she thinks he’s being ridiculous, “And you still have five other guys you could hang out with. Maybe get ready for the next part of all this?”

“Ugggggh” Barclay presses his face further into the mattress; the prince is encouraged to take his suitors to bed to test compatibility. Alonso, red-haired and soft-spoken, may be worth a try, and he wouldn’t say no to kissing Hassan. But there’s only one suitor he’s jerked off thinking off, and that one is laid up with cramps and nausea. And that’s before he gets to the bigger problem with wanting a Naga to fuck him into next week…

A knock at the door; Woodbridge, telling him it’s time for his ‘romantic lunch’ with Caleb.

He gets through the lunch as quickly as he can without being mean, then sneaks into his private kitchen. An hour later, he’s at Joseph’s door, serving tray in hand.

“Come in! Oh” Joseph raises himself up to rest against the headboard, “I thought you were busy today, big guy.”

Barclay smiles at the nickname; they’d been drunk in the gardens a week ago, cracking each other up with bad puns and the name slid, unbidden, from Joseph's mouth, moving from awkward to fond by the end of the night.

“I got done early. Uh, I brought you some chicken and dumpling soup. Always helps me when I feel like crap.”

“Thank you.” Joseph leans forward for the tray, then groans and flops back with a sigh, “ugh, my muscles just will not cooperate. My stomach’s fine but the rest of me hasn’t gotten the memo.”

Barclay sits down, setting the tray on the desk by the bed, “Want me to help you out?”

“I’d hate to impose-”

“Does it help if I say I want to?”

Joseph smiles, as if Barclay has solved some puzzle for him, “Then yes, I’d like that a lot.”

For the next three days, Barclay spends most of his free time next to Joseph’s bed. Sometimes they talk, others they read side by side or play chess. And at no time does Barclay pay attention to Woodbridge grumbling that the Naga’s bed rest should have meant getting less of the prince’s attention, not more.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s only that he’s busy dodging nobles who want him to advise on their gambling fortunes that Indrid notices the long, dark figure draped along the balcony. Joseph is holding a book, but it hangs limply from his hand as he stares sadly at the gardens.

“Is everything alright?” Indrid steps into the sunshine.

“Yes, everything is great. Thank you for asking.” It’s a beautifully smooth lie.

“I only do so because it pains me to see someone looking so glum while sunning himself” He sits on a nearby bench, “You do not have to lie to me. We both know I am not prone to gossip.”

The Naga sighs, setting his book on the ground, “I just, well, I’m a little hurt that Barclay’s spent the evening with two of his other suitors but hasn’t asked me for that. Every time we’re together it’s like there’s enough chemistry to make a new compound, but suddenly when we have the chance for some real alone time, he doesn’t want anything to do with me?” Joseph looks his way, “did I do something wrong?”

Indrid frowns and begins flipping through the futures as he replies, “If you have, he has not told me. And while he’s shy I have never known him to not speak up when…he…needs…oh for goodness sake.”

“What?” Joseph drops off the railing and slithers to him.

Indrid rubs his forehead, “It seems my friend believes the old tale that Naga are sexless beings with little interest in physical passion. Apologies, though by now I suspect you know how inaccurate human books can be about other creatures.”

“Should I talk to him?”

He shakes his head, “Allow me. He’ll be less flustered. But” Indrid meets the Naga’s eyes, “I recommend being in your room at eight twelve this evening.”

—---------------------------------------------------

It only takes a count of five for Joseph to open his door, but Barclay manages to run through a half-dozen apologies before he gets there, and is already talking as Joseph ushers him in.

“Indrid told me about your, uh, your talk and I’m so fucking sorry for being so fucking clueless and I, will you please let me make it up to you?”

Joseph looks more amused than hurt as glides up so they’re face to face, “Of course. Also, given some of the misconceptions about humans I’ve read and believed, I’m not in a position to judge.”

His spine melts with relief, “Thank fuck. Do you want to spend tonight together?”

“Yesss, big guy, I do.” Joseph slowly circles him, leaning in now and then to kiss his cheek.

“There’s, uh, there’s one other thing I need to say. Uh. So, the last two times I’ve tried anything I haven’t been able to, uh, to…”

Joseph pauses “Get it up?”

“Yeah. Nothing much happened either time as a result. I was just kinda embarrassed and they were pretty disappointed they couldn’t get fucked by the prince. Just don’t want you to be disappointed if it happens again.”

The Naga is once again in front of him, and when he leans in for a kiss, Barclay catches his face in his hands and moans, tracing his fingers along Joseph’s cheek-bones as a narrow, clever tongue teases his lips.

“I promise I won’t be disappointed. I can’t be, not when I’m with you.”

Barclay blushes down to his toes.

“I mean it. I want to be with you, Barclay. However that looks. And it’s not like we’re out of options. I’m quite good with my mouth, and the thought of you blowing me never fails to get me hard. Hell, we don’t need your dick at all to have fun.”

Barclay’s cock twitches at the words and moans softly. Joseph looks at him a moment, and then his pupils are slits as he coils the tip of his tail up Barclay’s leg and under his wrap.

“Now that I think about it, we really don’t need your dick. I’ve got plenty for both of us. And there’s nothing that says a prince has to rule inside the bedroom.”

“Ohholyfuck” Barclay wraps his arms around Joseph as the cool end of a tail strokes his dick, “fuck, please keep talking like thatAH” he presses a messy kiss to the Naga’s collarbone as the tail coils around his shaft.

“I think” Joseph whispers, flicking his tongue against Barclay’s ear, “we found the problem. Those men wanted the prince of legend, the aggressive, strong ruler, built like a god and just as dominant as one. But that’s not what you need, is it big guy?”

“No” Barclay gasps, “no, it’s not.”

“Good. Because I don’t need a prince. I don’t even want one. What I want is to make the human who makes all the poems and songs about love make sense. I don’t want him regal and brave, I want him ruined and begging, nothing more than a hole to be filled until he’s limp and satisfied.”

“Fuuuuuck me.” Barclay groans, frantically untying his wrap.

Joseph laughs and kisses him, “That good?”

“No I mean literally fuck me, right fucking now.” Barclay tries to tug him towards the bed, cries out when the tail coils and constricts around his balls.

Joseph catches him as his knees buckle, “You’re not giving the orders tonight, big guy. You don’t have to worry about making any decisions at all. All you have to do is be good for me. Can you do that?”

“Uh huh, yes, yes please, fucking anything you want.”

“Good boy.” Joseph’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead as Barclay moans, “Has no one really called you that before? You’re a prince, you must get praised left and right.”

“Not like this.” Barclay fumbles for the desk, only for Joseph to reach down and open the second drawer, revealing the complimentary sex supplies left for each suitor. He finds what he needs in a small vial; a potion that loosens someone in a matter of seconds. Downing it, he turns to find Joseph looking, for the first time, like a predator.

“Sssuch a thoughtful boy, getting himself ready without me asking.” He holds out his hand, guiding Barclay into an embrace, “are you going to get me ready to?”

“Yes, fuck yes, show me how.”

Joseph slowly blinks at him, “Try again.”

“Show me how…please?”

“There we go.” He takes Barclay’s hand and set’s it on a patch of scales, approximately where his dick would be if he had a human body. Barclay pets it, transfixed as the scales and skin ripple and then slowly part to reveal two, flexible shafts, joined at the base to form a U.

“How the fuck does this translate to sexless???”

“Maybe because most humans know that to a Naga they’re just a nice, warm place to lay and steer clear. But not you, right big guy?”

“Fuck no.” Barclay wrenches his eyes up to meet Joseph’s own, “Couldn’t stay away from you if I tried. You make me so fucking happy, Joseph.”

The casual dominance in Joseph’s expression slips away and he dips down to kiss Barclay soft and slow as love song, “You make me happy, too. Ready?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Joseph grabs his hips, positioning him over one shaft, and then roughly shoves him down, forcing him to take it all in one go no matter how he thrashes and fuck is he strong.

“Good boy.” The Naga pets up his chest, “you feel ssso nice around me. Does it feel good.”

“Uhuh, fuck, fuck, I’ve never had anything this big, this deep” His cock is dripping pre-cum onto Joseph’s scales, and his Naga has shifted and coiled his tail in suck a way that Barclay can brace his knees on it.

“That’s a shame. You look amazing like this.” Joseph runs his hands along Barclay’s chest and stomach, cupping his pecs and teasing his nipples with his fingers, “so perfect, my Barclay. Sssso….pretty for me.”

Barclay’s moan surprises them both, and he quickly dips his head.

“You don’t have to be shy. If you want to be my pretty boy, then that’s what you are.” Joseph leans down and flicks each nipple with his tongue.

“I want it so bad, Joseph, please, please call me that, let me be that.” His voice sounds strange in his ears and he realizes he’s near tears.

“Close to crying already? We haven’t even gotten the second one in yet.”

“Fuuuuck” He fights to widen his legs, “I want that.”

“Be patient, big guy.” The tip of the blue-black tail teases up his side.

“Baby, please, I want it now-” His plea cuts off as the end of the tail encircles his neck in a flash.

“I said be patient.” Joseph thrusts lazily into him, his other shaft grinding against Barclay’s thigh, “you’re not here to make demands, remember? You’re here to be good for me, to, to let me use you.”

Barclay tries to beg again, only for the tail to apply actual pressure. Not enough to choke him, but far more than enough to make his cock spill across Joseph’s scales, his moans struggling to free themselves.

“You look so pretty when you cum.” Joseph grabs his ass, manhandling him until the second shaft presses against the first, “let’s ssssee if I can make you look even better.”

He screams in delight as the second cock pushes in, splitting him open and making him feel deliciously filled. Joseph smiles, proud, then flicks his tongue over his cheek.

“Be a good boy and ride me until I cum.”

Barclay does his best to obey, thighs still shaking from his orgasm. The tail around his throat tugs once and Joseph hisses, “harder.”

He puts all his effort into bouncing on the cocks, thighs burning from the effort, as Joseph guides his face in for kiss after kiss. His hands grope Barclay’s chest and slide down to gently squeeze and tug his limp cock, and soon Barclay is making enough noise to wake the dead.

“That’ssss it, good boy, make me cum, show me why I should give you everything you want, why i should lay in you until you’re stuff full and can only lay around and be spoiled, yesss, come on, make me cum while I play with you pretty, perfect, AHsssshit.” Joseph cums in him hard enough that Barclay feels it, moaning weakly at the idea that this isn’t even the max that Joseph can fill him.

The Naga glides backwards and into the bed, helping Barclay off his cocks and cleaning him up as best he can while neither of them feels like getting up for a towel.

“That was incredible. You are incredible.” Joseph kisses him, then carefully tilts his head this way and that to see if his tail left a mark. Finding none, he pulls them down to the mattress.

“I'm gonna send everyone else home. Not just because of the sex.” Barclay rests his head on Joseph’s shoulder, “I want us to be together, Joseph. I don’t want anyone else.”

Carefully, the Naga reaches down and plucks something from his side. Then Barclay is holding a single, shimmering scale in his hand as Joseph murmurs, “Neither do I.”

#sternclay #agent stern/barclay #taz amnesty #monster march #monster boyfriend #naga boyfriend #terato #human/monster romance

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aladaylessecondblog · 5 months

Text

5:40 (Raphael x Tav pt. 2)

TW: Noncon, dp, anal. Haarlep is involved and Raphael is ready to traumatize Tav.

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

Raphael made another appearance at the end of the week, when Tav had gone out to check on her garden late in the evening to tend the vegetables and herbs. She collected some parsley and sage in a basket, and had just moved past the golden-yellow silphium when she heard a familiar huff behind her.

"I don't see how you live like this." He gestured vaguely, as if they were already in the middle of a conversation.

She stiffened, but managed to answer in an even tone, "In the outdoors, with life all around me?"

"Like a peasant. Perhaps I should have offered coin instead of silence."

"I am nothing," Tav said with a deep breath, "If not adaptable, and I need no extra coin."

She paused, looking at him and waiting.

"I know what you're here for," she said quietly, eager both for a distraction from the fear of the subject, "But there is something I would like to ask."

"'Why,' I suppose?"

Tav shook her head. "No, I know that already. You're a devil, it's what you do. I was merely curious how you woke here. With...the memory of..."

"The memory of your thievery and murder."

She set her basket down.

"The memory of your theatrics. Honestly," she spoke perhaps a little too loudly, trying to mask the anxiety running through her veins, "Who recites poetry during battle?"

There was a moment of silence. Raphael folded his arms, and fixed her with an iron-hard glare.

"You are only lucky you weren't sent back there, else we would have a vastly different arrangement. One much less...merciful...for you and your son."

"I hardly call this merciful."

Tav turned away from him, unsure whether facing him or not was more unsettling. She didn't want to see that glare, but she also didn't want to not see him coming.

"You're making this harder than it has to be. If you simply...cooperate...then I assure you things will be perfectly pleasant."

Deep breath. Tav didn't believe Raphael, not for a second. She knew better.

"Maybe I've changed my mind. Maybe I do want to know why," Tav said quietly. She tried to keep still, though she felt a shiver coming on. "Have you simply grown bored of Haarlep?"

"Shall we put it...there are some things even Haarlep cannot give me." There was a slow, dark chuckle as Raphael stepped directly behind her.

"Such as?"

The world shifted. Suddenly Tav was standing not in her garden, but--

She sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden change from the dark of the garden. Greens, golds, all colors of growth and life. Softness even, all of it coated in a veneer of shadow. Here, though...here it was all ordered, angled, harsh. Largely red, stately, with pillars and rocks that felt inescapable. As a druid she would never choose this place over the outside.

The balcony, she remembered standing here, before. The bed behind her had been tempting then...

The boudoir.

Her legs trembled beneath her, but she reached out and braced herself on the railing.

"Vengeance." Raphael's voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "A sentiment I am sure you agree with. What was that woman's name, the one to murder your vampire and bear?"

"Orin."

"I'm sure you have the most gruesome death in mind for her."

"I--had thought to do what I did the last time. And that didn't involve killing her."

She was calm and composed internally. On edge, not afraid. But it was as if her body were saying 'bullSHIT you aren't scared!' Her heart was already off to the races, and despite her efforts to keep her breathing steady--

"Why?" Raphael started unfastening the buttons on the back of her dress as he spoke. "Answer me honestly."

"Because death wouldn't hurt her the way I wanted to hurt her."

"How delightful a thought. A point upon which we can both agree. The woman being a Bhaalist aside, death...is not a punishment." Having finished with the buttons, he lay his hands on her back and moved them outwards. The fabric of the dress was pushed off her shoulders, and fell to the floor. "It is a mercy."

He paused, stroking over her shoulderblades.

"Do you remember what I said when we first met?"

"...what?" Tav felt half-faint, and took another deep, slow breath to try and calm herself. "No. I don't."

"I have never forgotten it, you see." Another dark chuckle, and the run of his fingers through her hair. He leaned in close, his voice too gentle for the words he was speaking, "When hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair, that's when you'll come knocking on my door."

She swallowed.

"But for now, my dear indebted friend...I intend to reward you."

"Re--reward?" she practically squeaked the word out. Confusion and fear mixed together, and only intensified when Raphael didn't explain.

She was commanded to undress him, and then to join him on the bed. But when she made to straddle him, he tutted at her and turned her around, settling her in a reclining position with her head on his shoulder.

"You've behaved yourself. Oh, certainly you gave trouble at first, but...you seem quite well to know your place now. A quite welcome change of pace. I don't enjoy forcing the matter, after all. I would vastly prefer a willing voice raised in genuine passion."

Tav couldn't find the words to reply, but as Raphael's hands were wandering down, she spread her legs for him. A ruinous dark laugh, soft and dangerous, sounded off by her ear, even as she felt his hardening cock pressing against her back.

"When we fought," he said, two fingers of one hand probing her cunt as the other groped idly at one of her breasts. "You laid an offense at my feet..."

The push of his fingers was uncomfortable, but not entirely painful. She wasn't wet enough to take him, but she said nothing.

"An offense I have been working on correcting..." HIs voice drawled slightly. Slowly, dregs of unwelcome pleasure began to work their way out. Tav clenched at the sheets beneath her, and he gave a satisfied smirk. "...now, now, what have I said about stifling yourself?"

The hand at her breast moved to her jaw, turned her eyes to his, while down below he was working a third finger inside her. With a deliberate thrust of his hand Raphael forced a groan out of her.

"Must I give the same orders over and over? Is this the thanks you give me for my effort?"

"No, I--" she scrambled to correct herself, "--I just didn't--"

"You didn't want to," he whispered softly, "Oh, my dear, dear Tav...you will."

"Am I interrupting anything, master?"

That voice, she remembered it. More than ten years it had been since she'd heard it, but it brought everything back in an instant. The voice that had purred in her ear once, offered to let her stay there, beneath them, on them...to return to it, to that teasing voice that had whispered in her ear, promised pleasure of every stripe for time beyond count if she'd only give up just one little thing...

"Oh, far from it, Haarlep," Raphael said. "You're late, I've had to start the work myself."

"Apologies. I assume you wish company for yourself and your...painted morsel?"

"I wanted to reward her for so eagerly complying with the terms I set out." There was a pause, and a pain in her thigh as Raphael's hand gripped at it, with his nails digging in. "So...perhaps you might assume a different sort of form than our usual."

Tav took a deep breath. His tone was not so gentle as it had been, even a few seconds ago.

"Oh, I like that idea. Who shall it be, hrm?" Haarlep smirked. "I have so many forms to choose from, after all."

"Let me think..." Raphael's other hand was tapping out an unsteady rhythm on her jawline. "Oh, I know. Do you recall that young man I had for a while?"

"Certainly, master." Haarlep shut their eyes, and shifted...

...when the eyes looked out again, they belonged to Gortash. A younger one than Tav remembered. Still very much a man, but thinner, less filled out. More tired looking.

Thou, or thy son, Withers' voice echoed in Tav's mind. Choose. Only one of you shall go with her.

A voice, ruined, struggling, had responded. ...my son...

For a second, one hellishly eternal second, Tav swore her heart stopped. She barely registered Raphael tearing away at her underclothes.

"Please, no," she begged in a whisper.

"Do as you like with her so long as you keep that form," Raphael ignored the plea, and focused instead on Haarlep. "...for now, at least."

"And you, master? How shall I please you?"

"When I wish a change, I will let you know. For now..."

Raphael swept a dramatic gesture over Tav's bare body. And as Haarlep crossed the room, there was a whisper in her ear.

"What's wrong, my dear? Do you not like your reward? You should be thrilled." Gentle tone again. But only for that sentence. It turned sharp and cruel as a dagger in the heart when he spoke again, "It's what you earned, after all."

Haarlep, wearing Gortash's face, was climbing onto the bed, giving Raphael only time enough to whisper one last thing.

"Serve my pet eagerly and deny nothing requested of you."

She tensed, and there was a snicker in her ear. Haarlep pulled her forward, and the sudden contact broke her from her shock. She tried to stammer out that she couldn't--but the words wouldn't come, refused to even form in her mouth.

This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

The word 'no' was sealed in her mind, and she screamed it internally as Haarlep's eyes roamed over her once again.

It was like beating against a wall of stone trying to say the word, with bare fists that only grew bloodier and more painful with every repetition.

She could not say no. She could not say no.

"Perhaps you would like her to beg?" Raphael asked then.

"No need," Haarlep laughed and began to grind the tip of their hardened cock against her clit. "Allow me to work and I will have her doing it all of her own accord."

Let him have what he wants. It will be over faster. Just please, please, don't make me look at him.

"Not so wet as you should be...but we'll soon fix that." They kept grinding against her, and probing at her cunt with two fingers to gauge her readiness. Then they looked up. "Master...if I might make a request..."

"Within reason."

"Could you hand over the oil?"

"Of course, Haarlep, since you've asked so nicely."

Tav turned her head, tried to look, but given how far forward she was she couldn't see Raphael's movement behind her.

"Don't look at him, my pet." Haarlep pinched playfully at one of her nipples, and leaned down to brush a kiss (as tender as a last goodbye) over Tav's lips. "Look at me."

Every touch as she had remembered it being before, only now, with Gortash--revulsion filled what little of her mind remained unconquered by the incubus.

No, no, no, no, no

She took in a shaky gasp as she was compelled to look at him, at that face that had once belonged to her husband. Had there been any ability to resist, it would have faded as it did before, the first time she lay beneath the incubus. She hadn't wanted to fight against the flood of lust then, as she did now.

But in the end the result was the same.

Practiced hands moved eagerly over her her breasts, then back down to her hips.

She kept her eyes on their jaw as the bottle of oil was handed over.

"You seem quite eager, Haarlep," Raphael's voice sounded off, lustful, and yet still commanding. "To have a taste of giving what you only ever take."

"You have caught me." The incubus laughed, their mirthful sound only worsening the battle in Tav's mind.

Sick, it made her sick, to know this false version of her husband, to feel those hands on her after six years of missing them. She was certain that the disgust and fear were the only things stopping her from falling to the rising pleasure. The only thing that kept her from sinking into what would otherwise have been mind-blanking ecstasy.

She could not deny it, could not enjoy it, only rest here in this endless torment. The gasps of pleasure were not her own, though they were in her voice.

Tav could not enjoy this, not as she did before. Some of the oil was poured over their fingers, and there was a sudden hitch in her breath when she felt them slip over her damp cunt, then move lower, probing--

"Oh," Haarlep said in a breathless whisper, "It has been some time since anyone touched you here, isn't it? How long, I wonder?"

Once more, pleasure battled with loathing. A soft moan in her voice.

Tav answered, "More--more than ten years."

"Our dear pet's deceased husband did not much care to use her this way." The satisfaction in Raphael's voice was as infernal and devilish as his blood. "A pity, don't you think, not to use every avenue of pleasure?"

"Such a waste." Haarlep chuckled, and thrust his fingers slowly. "Relax, my pet, and let me remind you what lust can be drawn from here..."

It pained her just slightly at first, but their movements were gentle enough to keep her in a state of slight pleasure. After a minute or two of this, the rest of the oil was used to coat Haarlep's cock which then moved down, pressing gently.

"I've changed my mind," Raphael said suddenly. "Oh, by all means, have her this way. But I find myself unable to resist taking part in such..."

"How?" Haarlep asked.

Tav didn't see the gesture, but found herself turned and brought to her hands and knees, then hauled up. Haarlep reached down, angled themselves, and slowly brought her down onto their cock. The only mercy was the oil, making the intrusion into her ass lose all pain that might have been there without it. A whimper fell from her lips then, a surrender to the victory being claimed.

"So tight..."

"You can change to the usual now," Raphael said over her shoulder as he moved closer.

"Oh, is my master taking a more active role? Perhaps...we should do this more often."

"Yes," came the smirking reply, "I think we should."

A withdrawal, a shift, and then a push back inside her rear. Tav took in a sharp breath, feeling the change in Haarlep's body.

In front of her, Raphael gave her another of his looks. The kind that she had seen in his eyes the night she made the deal, that plainly spoke her weakness. It was filled with the knowledge that she was helpless to deny him anything, and oh, how he was reveling in it.

"Lean her back a bit."

Haarlep obeyed, and Tav groaned as the movement sent him just a little deeper. A second later Raphael's cock was thrusting inside her soaked center, forcing a yelp from her lips.

"I have it on good authority she enjoys being so filled," he said, looking again over her shoulder. "So let us be sure not to disappoint."

Darling...

She hadn't heard the whisper of Astarion's voice in some time, but suddenly it was in her ear again, as if instead it were him behind her. She'd had shut her eyes if she could. But it was as if Raphael had heard her thinking it, because his next command was, "Eyes open, and keep them that way."

A kiss was pressed to her lips, gentle only for a moment before his hand slipped into her hair. and his tongue pushed past her lips--and then, suddenly, both of them were thrusting into her. Slow, deep strokes that claimed every part of her at once.

At last Haarlep's influence was beginning to overpower her, the folding of her mind, the clearing of her mind. A mercy she had never expected to be grateful for. She released every moan that rose to her lips as the two of them fucked her.

Pain was a distant memory, and the familiar rush she had felt once before was rising to drown her. Her lips mouthed words she couldn't think, pleas that could find no voice. Her heart slowed and stopped along with her breathing, and her mind was (oh, what a relief!) clearing of everything but the rapture between her legs.

"Do you want her body, Haarlep?" Raphael's voice sounded off somewhere near, the only anchor Tav had to not drift away. He was moving slightly faster against her, thrusting and groaning and venting every hatred on her overstimulated cunt.

The only thing that drifted across her mind then was a vague sense of unease, so far into Haarlep's hunger had she fallen. The word 'no' was no longer trapped, but had failed to exist entirely. The feeling of being filled on both sides, fucked senseless, was all that there was. The beginning, the end, and everything in between.

Another few words she didn't notice, looking up at Raphael she saw his lips moving but there was nothing she could comprehend from them, if they were words, if she could even hear them at all, if...

If...

...if...

...warmth and flames...

A grunt, a feeling of further warmth in her belly. Raphael shuddered and moved back leaving her body still throbbing and leaking his spend.

"So delicious..." Tav heard the incubus whispering in her ear. Their hands were holding her hips as their own slowly rocked against her. "Mmm, yes...would you not like to stay...? Stay, and devote yourself to pleasure eternal. This could be...forever..."

The ecstasy was a constant plateau, and she could no more have answered than flown to the moon for the senseless state it had her in.

"You may have her body, but not her mind," Raphael said. "Isn't that right, Tav? Say the words."

"You..." Tav's voice felt like it was coming from someone else, somewhere else far away. Like she was far, far below a thick layer of fog she would never have been able to make it through were it not for the compulsion to obey Raphael. "...can have my body...but not my mind..."

"Tell her what you will do with it, Haarlep." There was a satisfied sigh then, as he reclined, watching the show before him unfolding.

As Haarlep continued to gently fuck her, they whispered, "As with Raphael's...I will add your body to my...glamour. I will gain great pleasure from you...AS you..."

Tav felt the end approaching, but could not find her voice. She'd had shut her eyes, had she been able--but there was nowhere to hide now. All was laid bare.

"But you must vow it - you are mine."

Her mouth moved on its own in reply, "I vow: my body is now yours."

Her tongue pushed against the roof of her mouth, trying to form a word she could not remember, a word that seemed so important, yet was lost in the haze.

One of Haarlep's hands came up, turning her head so their lips could capture hers.

This last touch was too much, the kiss too enrapturing, the ecstasy too much. It crested, broke, and she parted from the incubus only long enough to moan out the pleasure as her cunt contracted around nothing, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body greater than any that had come before.

But that release brought her out of the pleasurable haze, and slowly Haarlep eased her off their cock and back onto the bed. She turned to look, and saw their body shift to her own.

"I can't wait to figure out how you work," came her own voice in a lusty, slow tone, "What gets you going, what makes you sweat..."

These words, she remembered.

"And every time I make love in your shape...you will know. A shiver out of the blue, a tingle from beyond. You...will...KNOW."

"You can go now, Haarlep." Raphael's voice cut through the air, a command that would not be ignored.

"Very well." The incubus stood and turned, giving Tav an easy grin, "I will misuse you well."

He left.

"Very good work, Tav. I do believe Haarlep very much enjoyed the opportunity to partake in that."

Tav was breathing again, and she expected her heart to be pounding hard, but it wasn't. It was actually slow. Her head, empty. Her heart, a void.

She felt utterly hollow.

"Four hours, fifty-nine minutes, and twelve seconds. Your first hour is over, and what an hour it was." Raphael's smugness was evident in every oily word he spoke. "I am nothing if not fair, you know. Haarlep relishes excessive use of a new glamour...and I can grant you a quarter of the time spent wearing your body. I can imagine you'll be glad of it."

He stood, dressed, and picked her dress off the floor.

"Get yourself dressed. I'm taking you back."

Tav was glad for the compulsion to obey that followed, for had she been left to her own devices she was sure she'd never have gotten back up.

"Why?" she finally managed in a shaky tone when he handed her the dress. It was all she could say.

"Because as you told me about Orin, my dear Tav...death wouldn't hurt you the way I want to hurt you."

#raphael is performing surgery of a mental variety #not actual literal surgery #raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #tav #tav bg3 #drow tav #bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #haarlep #haarlep x tav

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it-happened-one-fic · 1 year

Text

His Dream That, As of Yet, Remained Undreamt - Al Haitham

Author Notes: Behold, an unplanned sequel fic that was written solely because I decide to listen to that slowed reverb edit of the Albanian Remix of "Habibi" by Ricky Rich posted on Youtube by Lunaries again while writing. Anyhow, this is the sequel to the first Al Haitham fic I ever wrote and which is linked below, but you can probably read this as a stand alone of sorts. Reader is gender neutral, but they are also a dancer. This takes place post Sumeru archon questline I hope you enjoy.

Part 1: A Dream Thus Far Undreamt

Type: Fluff/romance (implied with great interest from Alhaitham)/gender-neutral reader/post Sumeru archon questline

Word Count: 872

Sheer fabrics swirled through the air, a spiraling vision of blue and red interspersed with golden threads that made the two dancers seem like the greatest treasures that this land owned.

Sumeru had changed since Azar had been displaced, the archon restored, and Al Haitham had become the Acting Grand Sage. The arts were no longer frowned upon, and the bazaar, with all its exotic scents and rousing music, was almost constantly filled with students from the Akademiya.

They were like starved men. Partaking in artistry that delighted both their eyes and ears for the first time as they consumed every form of art as if this were their only chance.

The smell of spices filled the streets, and voices could be heard everywhere, forcing one to strain to hear the music that the two women danced to. Each a different form of beauty and elegance in the way they interpreted their music.

Nilou was, without a doubt, the fan favorite. Kaveh himself had begun composing shoddy poetry that poorly described her flaming red hair and the blue silks of her robes.

Unaware of her word bereft fan, Nilou smiled widely as she looked towards her fellow dancer, who joined her on stage in deep red robes that swirled gracefully around their form.

You were the less popular of the two for reasons beyond Al Haitham. Perhaps it was because he, unlike Kaveh, was not nearly as rabid in his affections, nor did he struggle amongst the throng of students in a wild attempt to watch the performance. Instead, he watched as he ever did, from a distant and raised position on a restaurant’s balcony.

Al Haitham was no fool. He knew that no mere words could ever describe the way you moved, looked, and even spoke.

While Nilou’s smiles were like the bright sun that lit up the daytime so that workers could see their crafts and people could go about their lives, you were different.

You were more like the moon. Possessing a gentleness that was at odds with warm-hued clothes you wore.

Yours was a beauty that seemed more mysterious and enchanting to Al Haitham. Perhaps this was the true reason you did not possess the fame of your fellow dancer.

Nilou was more recognized, and people were comfortable with her charms. It was less otherworldly and inexplicable.

Your charm, on the other hand, was more of the spellbinding variety. Something that few possessed and Al Haitham doubted he would ever truly understand.

And that was why he suffered through Kaveh reciting his poetry while he remained silent and observed, as he always did.

The heavens had not recognized you as they had Nilou for her art and embodiment of beauty, but Al Haitham did.

Al Haitham did and would continue to do so for a lifetime, even as your performance ended.

Both you and Nilou gracefully spun to a stop as your hands interlocked, and you both stopped. Chest to chest, with your smiling faces toward the crowd who cheered and showered you both with flowers.

You both waved. Nilou, with endearing shyness that seemed to make the crowd rave still more. You, holding back and staying slightly behind your fellow dancer.

But then it happened, and you caught Al Haitham off guard as you looked up and made eye contact with him, a gentle smile crossing your face as your eyes met his.

A tiny wave followed by a graceful inclination of your head was all you gave before your attention was taken by Nilou, who grasped your hands and pulled you to the front of the stage alongside her. Obviously wanting you to receive the same praise she was showered with.

The Acting Grand Sage was silent as he continued to gaze down at the two of you. Stunned that he had not only been noticed, but that you had smiled in a way that spoke of recognition.

Apparently he wasn't the only one who remembered your meetings in Port Ormos long before he’d known anything about the state of Sumeru’s Archon. Brief meetings, each of them, but they had made him intrigued by the possibility of a little thing called fate.

Because meeting you hadn’t seemed like an accident. It had seemed more like the beginning of a long path that had slowly been winding its way through numerous brief and often startling moments of seeing you through a crowd up until this day.

Al Haitham sat back, a smile crossing his features as his vision tunneled until you were his sole focus. It seemed that he had been noticed by his dream, that as of yet, remained undreamt.

The crowd slowly began to disperse, waved off by some of Nilou’s friends, and you were briefly left on stage alone, your head tilting back so that you once more looked up. Your sparkling eyes met his two-toned gaze as a knowing smile crossed your face again.

And it was then that Al Haitham knew this unspoken design of his would not remain wordless. It was high time that he at last approached his dream, which stemmed from days when the people of Sumeru did not dream unless it was wished for by the gods themselves.

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cynicalmusings · 2 years

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i feel like the royal x royal trope is so underrated😭😭

imagine being a prince/ss, in an arranged marriage with the one and only kazuha, the only son of the king of inazuma. it would be a slowburn, but kazuha showing you a different perspective on life—from the ways of his people and all the food that they eat and the clothes that they wear as well as the language that they speak, and you teaching him about your birth land and just *sigh* 🥺🥺 the eagerness and attentiveness to learn about your culture makes your heart sore.

kazuha is also just a gentleman at heart, and his first impression was a prime example of that. the way he bowed, kissed your hand, and opened his mouth with sweet praise, things like “the pleasure is all mine,” and “i cannot wait to get to know you further,” and your family loves him already—although your older brother sighs and rolls his eyes.

your prince writing poems just for you and buying you and your family little gifts for when he visits your kingdom.

your prince willing to teach you how to fight if you don’t already know how, and if you do, he’s ready to spar with you if you so request.

I LOVE KAZUHAA HSHHSJSJE 🥹

i am certainly imagining…

since you’re in an arranged marriage, i can imagine you being rather sceptical and hesitant at first; this whole thing has been arranged without your say, so you can’t help but be a little guarded towards the one you’re being made to marry.

of course, it’s not the worst situation ever: from what you’ve seen before, this kazuha guy seems pretty decent, and you’ve met him on a few occasions, in which he came across as well-cultured and kind. you felt that the kiss on the hand you received from him at your first meeting arose from genuine pleasure to meet you rather than an act done simply out of politeness.

however, at the end of the day, you’re still being forced into a marriage, and can’t help but feel your stomach twist with discomfort each time it’s mentioned.

similarly, kazuha remembers you from those few occasions, too, and shares similarly good feelings about you. the only difference is that his feelings are rather more… pronounced. he does understand the negative feelings that come with this whole situation, though, and decides that if he is going to win you over, he’ll take the time you need and are comfortable with, and nothing less.

in preparation for the marriage, kazuha pays frequent visits to your kingdom to get a taste of the culture there, and of course, to see you. at first, whenever you hear news that he’s arriving, you roll your eyes, wishing simply to be left in peace.

after a few meet-ups, though, you find yourself slowly starting to look forward to these encounters. he tells you about what life in inazuma is like, occasionally bringing a few souvenirs to give you a physical idea of what it’s like, and when you express an interest in certain things, he promises to one day take you there to see them first-hand. you, in exchange, tell him similar things from your own kingdom, such as tales from your cultures and your way of life. even when you’re going on about the winding history of one of your country’s customs— something which the ordinary person could very well fall asleep to— kazuha still watches you, nodding slightly as he takes in what you’re saying, not missing a single word.

he makes you feel very… heard; like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say, rather than listening only out of fabricated courtesy. he also writes poetry, and his style is refreshing: all poetry in your nation sounds practically identical, but the way he speaks and bends certain words to his favour make you marvel at his craftsmanship. he always smiles at you after reciting them, and asks whether you liked it. you always say yes, of course, and his smile widens.

now, you definitely had your doubts about kazuha at first: anyone who made such a good first impression on you surely can’t be any good after scratching the surface. kazuha, however, couldn’t have proven you more wrong.

and, very, very slowly, you begin to fall for him, too.

now, regarding fighting… i like the idea of you knowing how to fight, but your kingdom’s fighting style, weapons, and such other things are very different to inazuma’s. as a result, you and kazuha sometimes find time to spar together, and learn from each other’s styles. you realise some flaws in the techniques you use, and your style challenges some of his own. occasionally you exchange techniques, too, and your heart can’t help but give a flutter at the closeness when he places his hand over yours and guides your arm into the correct motions.

though he does admittedly win the majority of your spars, he never acts arrogantly, either, and only focuses on giving you tips on what to improve. in the instances that you do beat him, he spends the next half-day showering you with praise and compliments. and, again, every compliment he says is completely heartfelt, and not the slightest by exaggerated. somehow, knowing this makes every nugget of praise you receive all the more heartwarming.

now, as the heir to the throne of your kingdom, you spend most of your time cooped up in the palace, being educated and having countless classes upon classes on topics like discipline, war strategy, politics and more. in short, you don’t have much free time, nor many opportunities to leave the palace walls.

kazuha changes this. whenever you have the chance, and are willing to go, he takes you out to see both villages and natural spaces you never even knew existed. he shows you densely-forested woodlands and towering waterfalls, pebbled beaches and rolling hills; things so wonderful you thought they only existed in fairytales. he walks beside you, pointing out features in the landscape and explaining how they came to be. you find it fascinating, and give his musings your full attention.

and, after so long, you finally accept that maybe this whole situation isn’t too bad after all. at the very least, it could have gone much, much worse.

and though it may have taken a while, it seems kazuha has finally won you over.

——————————————————————

this reminds me that i still have a bunch of my other kazuha royalty au to write… oops.

i’ll get it done… one day or other… maybe…

#kazuha x reader #man… i really do need to continue that other au #i have so many ideas for it #i’m just too lazy to write it #r answers #sent: anon

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