#and it feels blatant enough that i am fairly sure that either they did it on Purpose-- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wayfayrr · 10 months

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I feel because of the chain having a lot of fights as strangers and since reader would be seeing wind sulking after when they have to leave since the other links are getting physical and because of that I would believe there be a lot of days where the links and reader would just have a movie night just some time to not think of the world for reader while feeding the chain's curiosity of this world. So I give you this, reader showing wind the pirates of the Caribbean trilogy.

So I hope you don't mind, I've written this as a sort of continuation of one of your recent asks where reader took Wind to the beach as a reward, but since the rest of the chain decided to argue and ruin it - he gets a private movie night instead!

“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with your dad arguing with every single living being Wind, I mean I know he’s getting better but you shouldn’t have to deal with it all the time.”

“Is that why you set all of this up [name], because he keeps arguing all the time? Are Wild and Calm gonna join us as well then?”

“Wild said they wanted to try and get closer to Sage actually. They’re doing their own thing, right now I’m focused on cheering you up kiddo. Don’t think I didn’t see you sulking when your day was ruined.”

He’s got his typical pout back, so clearly what I said was right even if he won’t say it aloud, Wind’s fairly easy to read like that. Asides from his very blatant dislike of the beach day being ruined by sage and time getting into a full-blown fight, he seems very pleased with the fact he gets my attention to himself like this. Burying himself in the pillow fort I made on the bed with a smile shows that clearer than day.

“So we're going to spend the night talking and eating a bunch of snacks?”

“A bit more than that, I’d like to show you some of my favourite films. I think you’ll love them even more than I do though.”

Setting this all up was far more complicated than I would’ve thought originally, and I’ll have to thank Wild for offering to distract Sage long enough so he won’t disturb us when we’re watching one of the best trilogies of all time, I’m sure I can come up with something to thank him. Right now my focus is all on Wind, and making up for his day being ruined; captain jack sparrow always helped cheer me up whenever I got upset so it should help Wind. Poor kid deserves to have some kind of reward for adjusting to his new life this well and as his parent, it falls to me to make sure he gets one that’s right for how incredible he’s being.

“So what are they about [name]! Is it one of those family traditions you said you were going to teach me, Wild and Calm!”

“No it’s not a tradition, and I wouldn’t be teaching you without your brothers either Wind.”

“You didn’t say what it’s going to be about though. Please [name]?”

Ruffling his hair with a laugh, settling next to him with the remote in my hand ready to show him something I was saving to cheer up a bad day. Making it beyond perfect for this exact moment. With the fog on the screen showing a ship emerge with the eerie singing, Wind’s attention was instantly hooked when he heard the faint lyrics of a pirate's life for me. Good, This is what he deserves after everything else. He’s more focused on this than anyone would have thought possible. Now I just hope he doesn’t have a Jack sparrow like I did the first time I ever saw this film, with his natural energy I don’t think any of us could survive that. After the escape and the botched execution of Jack with will turner saving his life I heard the first thing out of Wind since the film started.

“THAT WAS AWESOME!!! AND YOU SAID THERE’S MORE!!!”

“There’s still another two films to go kiddo, you sure you’re up for that?” “DO YOU EVEN HAVE TO ASK!! OF COURSE, I AM!!”

“So you wanna start the next one straight away?”

“COME ONNNN! I REALLY WANNA WATCH IT!”

“Alright kiddo, just don’t exhaust yourself you can ask me to pause it if you want to eat something.”

After watching the next two films, I can safely say I’m exhausted even though Wind still seems ready to watch more. Wait no, scratch that he looks like he could pass out at any moment, he’s barely keeping himself awake.

“‘M ready to go to bed now I think [name], do you mind if I-”

And there he goes, he didn’t even manage to finish his sentence before falling asleep. I’m just glad I managed to cheer him up after the failure of today. I’ll be careful not to wake him now. After all, I know better than to wake a man when he's sleepin'. It's bad luck.

#links✦react #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #househusband sage #moss✦answers #moss✦writes

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space-blue · 1 year

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🤍🍭🤲

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

I don't have a fic I feel people didn't get. I've had comments that completely missed the mark on what I was doing, the characterisation I was going for, etc. But it's rare. It happens most often on my biggest fic, Fathers and Daughters. I don't think there's an issue with either the fic or the readers. It's simply that when you have a story with 130k hits, you're bound to get a few commenters who either don't gel with your style or truly don't 'get' it.

Interestingly the most blatant case of 'not getting it' always happened with people who were completely new to fandom and didn't understand the concept of AUs. I've had people argue with me with stuff that was so fucking dumb like 'Silco would never swear'.

My friend, they're trying to stick to a rating and they already have a child swearing once. Do you really want to argue with me in my comments about the crimelord from the undercity saying 'fucking' once? (yes, they did)

🍭why did you start writing?

Oh shit, you sure picked a funny one. Buckle up for some TMI.

I was on a working holiday visa to Australia, fairly depressed from having had to leave NZ against my better wishes, and I had to do some 'remote' work in order to earn the right for an extansion to my visa. I picked the wrong person. A batshit crazy lady in Grafton in horse training for races. She basically ran us (she had two people at the same time) like slaves. I was doing WAY more work than I should, entirely unpaid, and getting manipulated and gaslit into doing extra work as a photographer.

It was swelteringly hot. Most days I worked in a bikini and shorts, ankle deep in mud when it was raining, and the rain was basically good enough to be a shower. My own showers were often via garden hose. So many flies. You can see me here in front of the 'feed shed' prepping the wet meal.

As soon as you locked the doors to that container it'd be SWARMING with roaches. I was expected to go in there and spray every night. They'd fly everywhere… I was also supposed to lift the feed bags and sic the dogs on mice nest under them. And carry the 50kg bags on my back from the truck. And much the truck. And go everywhere with her. And babysit the awful kids. And spray for spiders. Killed so many redbacks, not even funny. Their dogs had a litter and we had problems (due to not feeding the bitch enough) that resulted in a ton of bacrking right outside of my flimsy little window. I would do all the physical labour and proceed to be totally unable to sleep.

It drove me to the brink of sanity. Like genuinely losing my shit. I grabbed a series and started reading the Black Dagger Brotherhood series. Highly repetitive Vampire smut. I think I read up to book 6 in a week? I can't express how mentally unwell I was lol

Oh, and I couldn't get away because I had like 50$ in my bank account.

So yeah, I spiralled and started writing, like stuff was swirling in my head and putting it down was a lifeline. I still have it… a 40 pages manuscript on shitty paper written in pencil about immortal being that live off of life-force and struggle to live alongside humans in a post apocalyptic world. It had ghouls and roof gardens. lmao.

Anyway, I eventually left (in crazy circumstances) to another horse trainer in Orange (haha).

There I lived on a mattress on the floor at the end of stables, making food on a camping stove. Ruined my mental health even more by reading The Collector by John Fowles. It was so bad, I tried to read The Exorcist as a Palate Cleanser.

I was mucking stables all day, listening to Benedict Cumberbatch reading Metamorphosis on repeat, buffing my already pretty OP shoulders… Here I am atop an enormous pile of horse shit.

So at that stage writing to myself just wasn't cutting it. Talking to horses wasn't fulfilling my basic human needs for social interactions… So I joined an oline scifi and fantasy forum. Someone suggested I join their monthly writing competition, where you were given a topic and had 1.5k words to write about it. I wrote my first one in a feverish haze that day. Then we voted on the best story, and gave each other concrit.

It was my first sserious Writer Serotonin injection. I've never looked back. I went back to civilisation (Melbourne), got a decent job, a shit room (typical East Coast gig), and I carried on writing monthly for… 7 years! Whenever I was in a bad spot it was a real life saver.

I think it's a lot to do with preventing negative thoughts from spiraling. I'm not looking at how shit MY life is, but instead this little witch is in supernatural beings jail and she has to lick the fucking walls to make a potion in that special hidden organ of her and the last ingredient is the blood of her favourite warden and---

You feel me? It's a great way to help regulate my own moods and feelings and explore ideas. I'll stop before I feel like I' m reinventing the wheel.

TL;DR : I started writing because my sanity was crumbling and my life depended on it.

🤲what do YOU get out of writing?

I think I've made my point there. Once I have a good story in mind, it practicaly begs to be written. But sometimes characters, original or not, are some of the best company you have in difficult times. And then people tell you how your story touched them and they're grateful to you, for playing with your little dolls? It's an insane thing. A communion with strangers, over something that comes right from your soggy little frog brain?

Fantastic!

#tmi #irl stuff #life shit #snips talks #writer asks #insanity lmao #anon asks #thanks anon #you got more than you bargained for didn't you?

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hanibalistic · 3 years

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#A45B98 | PARK JISUNG.

genre | fluff

word count | 1533

warning | mention of biting people, actually biting someone

note | biting is my love language, and i have come to realize jisung has a very nice looking nose. thank you for indulging me @neo-shitty

jisung was fairly sure he fell in love with you, and he could not tear his eyes away from the ceiling of his room.

there was nothing but white paint on there, and the faded night-light stars his father stuck there when he was younger, and just that one weird stain of purple he wondered if it got when he was dancing while rushing his final art project in his room. compared to the boring ceiling, as he laid on the cold dirty floor with you by his side, he would much rather be looking at you, but he found it impossible to turn his head.

your intense gaze seeped into his peripheral vision, into his gigantic shyness radar just about a minute ago. the comfortable silence that fell over you two after a conversation ended broke when you decided to turn your head and stare holes into his poor side profile.

jisung could feel himself burn up as he blinked up at the ceiling. it could be the bright light of his room and the dryness of his eyes that were making his heart strain so much, but he knew well that it was you that was making his skin crawl and shiver. he knew well that it was your staring that was making him feel so bothered.

no matter how long you both have been dating, the blatant affection you held for him could never cease to turn him into a red, stuttering, grinning mess.

"your ears are turning red, jisung."

"i know," he replied to your monotonous yet soft statement, "you are staring at me."

"i know," you nodded and shifted your head to lay on your forearm, "your side profile is good-looking."

jisung pursed his lips together at the compliment. his heart was bouncing, leaping around like a child given what they wanted, simply because his partner complimented him on the most basic thing. "tha–thank you."

"i like your nose, it's very tall and slant," you hummed in approval.

"thanks..." he subconsciously touched the tip of his nose in thought.

"yeah..." you muttered. "you have a very edible nose."

jisung blinked. his slender fingers stopped against the bridge of his nose, pressing against the perfect bone and sliding down to the perfect button tip. his thoughts were questioningly occupied, and subconsciously his hand was testing out what exactly you meant by his nose being edible.

this could only one of two ways. it was either you meant it literally, like you could eat his nose, literally. or you meant it endearingly, like some type of affectionate expression where couples bite each others' noses.

jisung grimaced.

yeah, no way, that was a no.

the previous shyness complete gone, he slightly turned to face with you furrowed brows and concerned eyes. his fingers lifted, leaving only the tip of his nails touching his skin. "i'm sorry, what did–what did you say?"

your faraway mind took a moment to return to yourself. jisung's question served confusion as you narrowed your eyes at his mildly shocked expression, wondering if you had said something problematic. then, finally, as your words came back to you, your features relaxed into a more perplexed look—oh lord, what have you done and what have you exposed about yourself?

you shot up slightly as you scrambled to explain yourself.

"i... i mean like... well, obviously not edible-edible! i am not going to actually eat your nose, that would be cannibalism–i would never do that!" you waved your hands rapidly. "it is a compliment. like you have a nice nose. i say that about donghyuck too, actually. i think he has a very edible nose, like a nom-able nose?"

frustration ruffled your chest when jisung didn't seem to react too well to your messy explanation. he just looked more and more confused, if not more surprised and appalled that you were sitting there trying to justify wanting to 'nom' his close friend's nose as well.

your brain slammed against your head. all you heard was 'regret! regret! regret!' as you recalled your embarrassing justification of your fondness in biting, of your inability to express your love through something normal, of the fact that you don't really know how to love someone well.

"it's an affectionate thing, jisung!" you ended with a light slam of your fist to your thigh. "my primary love language is biting! i bite whom i love! i–i can show you!"

he scrambled up from the ground with widened eyes when you lunged yourself toward him. he felt your teeth graze his forearm, he saw your eyes squeeze tight and your nose scrunch up, and your lips did not touch his skin and you gently tugged at the flesh between your teeth. jisung looked at you, surprised and somewhat warmed.

you bit him and he did not feel like pulling away. you bit his forearm and he just let you.

his eyes softened when you dipped your head to avoid eye contact with him. there was disappointment and hopelessness laced in the way your teeth left his skin and you pulled away. he glanced at your shrunken state, seemingly afraid of his judgment, then his eyes looked at the teeth mark on his skin, he would kiss it.

"i'm sorry about that. i won't do it again."

"so how do you bite noses?"

your voices brushed past each other at the same time, the opposing message clashing together with fireworks. you perked up to find jisung looking at you with genuine curiosity, and you gulped. "what?"

he shrugged, pulling at his shirt as he adjusted his position. "how do you bite a nose? do i tilt my head or do you do it? you can bite mine, but i don't want to get in your way or anything."

the way you watched him with disbelief made him blush. he rubbed the back of his neck—jeez, maybe he was the weird one for letting you bite his nose! but he didn't hate it when he felt your teeth against his skin, he didn't hate it when the marks of your teeth faded visibly. he just felt touched.

he was touched, and he was bitten.

who else would touch him? who else would bite him? if not you? who else would love him, if not you?

"sorry if that is a weird–"

"i can show you."

you moved carefully even after jisung gestured for you to go ahead. you inched toward him with your knees, scooting slowly until your knee touched his. when his arm reached out to pull you onto his lap, bringing you closer, his face innocent as if being close to you was the only he should do, you could so easily melt with joy.

the chants of regrets in your head were turning into encouragements, into hope, upon jisung's hands that took an intimate place on the sides of your waist. he looked up at you, waiting curiously for you to show shower him with your unique expression of love.

he was the first one to wait. he was the first one to anticipate.

squinting his eyes, jisung leaned back slightly when you leaned in after grabbing a hold of his jaw. the same rush of redness he experienced a while ago came to him once again when you laughed against the tip of his nose. your warm breath hit his face in a way he couldn't imagine not loving, and your teeth grazed the tip of his adorable nose just enough for him to fall into infatuation.

his nose felt wet, it was your saliva. he didn't feel like he ought to wipe it. he could live with it, he could live with you leaving yourself all over him. he loves you; if you kiss him, he'll keep the kiss. if you bite him, he'll keep the bite.

"that's it?" he asked with a laugh after you pulled away, looking up at you as he scrunched his nose. "it was just a nibble!"

you laughed with him, holding his kind face in your gentle hands. a playful fire burned in your eyes when you squeezed his cheeks together and you shuffled toward his face. "what? are you looking for more?"

"yeah, i thought you would bite my whole nose! like just stuff it into your mouth!" he exclaimed quietly, reciprocating your action by leaning his face up to brush the tip of his nose against yours.

you giggled while pulling away. he must be joking, but his shy, cheeky smile told you otherwise. the recognition in his loving told you otherwise. holding jisung's face in your hand, your soft gaze examined his features, and you wondered how you have searched for him all your life, how you felt weak in the knees for him that it was pathetic.

"i'm going to start biting you," you whispered.

jisung chuckled lowly. "yeah?"

you nodded, glaring at him. "i only bite people i love."

"i know," he said.

and only people who love you will let you bite them, which was just convenient, wasn't it? because jisung was sure he fell in love with you, and he could not tear his eyes away from you.

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lightsupinthenorth · 3 years

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Damn it, I’m calling you mine

Read on AO3

When Alternate-Mobius (as Loki has taken to calling the Mobius from this timeline in his head) comes to get him out of his cell and lead him to one of the interrogation rooms for the umpteenth time in however long it is he has been stuck in this cursed timeline, Loki lets himself be dragged there without protesting.

Protesting got old fairly quickly, considering it accomplished nothing at all. It doesn’t even get on the nerves of the TVA agents and hunters as it did in the timeline Loki left against his will.

Alternate-Mobius’ grip on his forearm is firm, firmer than it usually is. As if he were afraid Loki was going to make a run for it. As if Loki were stupid enough to think it would be of any use, after all this time. Loki would be insulted if he could muster enough energy for such an emotion.

As soon as they’re inside the interrogation room, Alternate-Mobius locks the door behind them. That’s new, too. Loki’s eyebrows raise slightly, but Loki doesn’t question Alternate-Mobius. What is even the point? He’ll know soon enough what the man is trying to do. Probably.

Alternate-Mobius fiddles with his TemPad for a few seconds and a familiar orange portal opens in front of them.

“Follow me.”

Loki nods, ready to obey, but Alternate-Mobius doesn’t move. Instead, he opts to stare at Loki with a frown on his face.

“Really? You’d follow me just like that? You’re not even going to question it?”

It’s Loki’s turn to frown. Why would Alternate-Mobius ask such a useless question? Has he yet to register how Loki’s fire has died out ages ago?

He shrugs.

“Okay then, let’s go…”

Loki swears he hears Alternate-Mobius mumble “what the fuck have they done to him?”, but he doesn’t have time to think about it any further before he’s pulled by Alternate-Mobius through the time-portal.

Before Loki can blink, he’s in a living-room with Alternate-Mobius by his side. All he can focus on apart from that is his own confusion.

He hadn’t known what to expect, but he hadn’t been expecting something this benign.

“Where are we?”

“Oh, so you still have some questions then. Thank God, you had me worried for a second over there.”

Loki, instead of unpacking what Alternate(?)-Mobius just said, glares at him until he relents.

“We’re at my flat, it’s a long story, I’ll explain everything later. First, tell me if you’re okay.”

His gaze travels the length of Loki’s body, as if he’s assessing damage, and then he’s staring right into his eyes. Maybe he’s searching for the damage in his soul, then. There’s a lot to find, without a doubt.

The concern that radiates off of the man brings a realisation to life in Loki.

“Mobius?”

Of course, it’s Mobius. Alternate-Mobius is also Mobius. But what Loki is really asking is “are you my Mobius?” Because that’s how he thinks of the first version of Mobius he got to meet. He can’t ask that, though. Mobius couldn’t possibly react to such blatant (and misplaced) possessiveness in a positive manner.

“Yes.”

Loki wants to take the simple answer at face value, but he has to be sure. He has to be sure he’s got this right. He couldn’t cope if he accepted this as true only to have his fragile hope ripped away from him later.

Sylvie betrayed him, sending him to an alternate timeline where everything that had become familiar to him at the TVA was here and not here at the same time. It had been torture. Especially seeing Alternate-Mobius constantly. The other version of Mobius only served to remind Loki of what – of whom – he had lost.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

It’s not comfortable, being on this side of lies. Loki has a lot of experience as a liar and as the one being lied to. He far prefers the first configuration, it has to be said.

“What would I gain by taking you here and lying about which version of me I am?”

“Seriously Mobius, now is not the time to answer a question with another question.”

Loki is dead on his feet. He cannot fathom how he manages to stay standing. He fears it will not last much longer.

“I… I don’t know. Ask me something only your Mobius would know.”

Loki blinks a few times, trying to come to terms with this Mobius (whichever he is) saying “your Mobius” like this. Like it’s easy. Like it’s an evidence.

It turns out that Loki worried for nothing, earlier, when he kept himself from asking if this Mobius was his.

After a small eternity, Loki focuses on Mobius’ request instead of on this insignificant (but not for him) detail.

“How did we find out Sylvie was hiding in Haven Hills, Alabama?”

Loki could have asked Mobius a lot of things, but this question seems like a good option. No one knows about this but them. Loki doubts Mobius put it in the reports or mentioned it to anyone, because it’s just a detail, a clue that led them to Sylvie. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But Loki remembers it, and he’d bet his Mobius would too. The elation they felt when they reached their goal is not something that can be forgotten easily, after all. At least, Loki hopes not.

“We found out because you’re clever and we make a great team, but I don’t see how that’s gonna convince you I’m your Mobius.”

Loki feels winded by Mobius’ words. The praise, the acknowledgment of their partnership, and the “your Mobius” (for the second time in a matter of minutes). However, he can’t let himself lose his focus.

“That’s very nice of you to compliment me, and we do make a rather spectacular team. But I’m asking you about the clue which led us to the right location.”

“Oh, you mean Kablooie?”

As soon as Loki registers the words, his knees buckle and he might have fallen down if Mobius weren’t there to steady him. He extends his arms and Loki instantly grabs them. His heart is beating so fast he’d fear a heart attack if he were human.

“It’s really you.”

Loki hears his own voice crack with relief, and his eyes fill with tears.

“It’s really me.”

Loki didn’t need the confirmation, but it is so on brand for Mobius to give it to him anyway that Loki gets the impulse to throw his arms around him and bury his face in his neck. He tries to resist the impulse for a mere second before giving up entirely and engulfing his Mobius in a (perhaps overly) tight hug.

Mobius wraps his arms around Loki in return, hugging him back. That’s when the tears begin to fall in earnest. Before he knows it, Loki is sobbing uncontrollably in Mobius’ embrace. It’s most undignified and he’s probably ruining Mobius’ shirt, but Loki’s too far gone to care. Anyway, Mobius has seen most of his life when he was working for the TVA, and Loki’s done his fair share of embarrassing things. This is not the worst one, by far.

Being vulnerable is still difficult for him, but he has no control over himself right now, so vulnerability is the only way to go.

Mobius has an armful of crying god, and he’s taking it in stride if he does say so himself. He’s been looking for Loki for so long, he’s been through so much to find him that he’s prepared to accept anything Loki throws at him now that they’re finally reunited.

“There, there. It’s going to be okay now.”

Mobius continues to whisper reassurances in Loki’s ear until Loki’s sobs subside. Mobius is loath to break their embrace, but they can’t possibly stay like this much longer considering Loki has looked on the verge of keeling over ever since he got up from the floor of his cell. When he saw him, Mobius had to make a conscious effort to reign in a gasp (the hunters guarding Loki’s cell would have found that mightily suspicious coming from the Mobius he was then pretending to be). Loki is thinner, there are bags under his eyes, and his skin has taken a blueish tint which, rather than being reminiscent of his origins, looks sickly. Now that Loki’s finally safe, Mobius wants nothing more than to take care of him and nurse him back to health.

“We should probably sit down. Would that be alright?”

Mobius can feel Loki nod, but Loki makes no move to separate himself from him.

Okay. Mobius can work around that.

He slowly walks them to the couch without letting go of Loki. They fall on it rather gracelessly, and Loki immediately rearranges himself so he’s lying down with his head face down on Mobius’ lap and one of his hand gripping his knee. He wishes Loki would let him see his face, but it certainly isn’t the time for requests.

Mobius passes the fingers of his left hand through Loki’s messy hair and Loki shivers against him.

“Is this okay?”

Loki’s only reply is a hum. Mobius interprets it as acquiescence, so he repeats the motion again, and again, and again. To comfort himself as much as Loki.

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat?”

Loki’s grip on Mobius’ knee tightens and he whimpers. Mobius’ stomach drops.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I… I’m fine. Just… can we stay here for a while?” Loki’s voice is hoarse and tentative, as if he were expecting Mobius to turn him down. As if it were a credible outcome. Preposterous.

“Of course, anything you want. But, please let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

Loki hums again, and Mobius goes back to playing with his hair.

It must be hours before either of them speaks again. Loki’s turned around by now, so he’s facing Mobius while still resting his head on his lap.

“Do you have a bathtub?”

“I do.”

“I could go for a bath… But…”

He’s reluctant to voice his desires. He’s been attached to Mobius as a barnacle to a rock for longer than he can tell, and Mobius must be tired of him by now. Maybe he’s been tired during this entire display of neediness and has only tolerated it for Loki’s sake. Mobius is decent enough that it doesn’t sound particularly far-fetched.

“But what? Go on.”

“Would you… would you mind staying with me while I’m in the bath?”

“Sure.”

Mobius looks unphased, but Loki still needs to ask:

“Are you sure it’s no bother? I know I’m being clingy and…”

Mobius interrupts him:

“Rest assured, you’re only the one clinging to me because you beat me to it. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore than you want to be apart from me.”

Loki frowns, as if facing a puzzle he can’t quite solve.

“Really?”

“Of course. Why do you think I looked for you for months?”

And it makes sense, from an objective point of view. It’s a wonder Loki can’t wrap his head around it.

“Oh” is all he has to say.

“Yeah, oh.”

Loki will wonder later how exactly Mobius managed to rescue him. He’s not strong enough to deal with that conversation at the moment.

“Come on, let’s get that bath running.” Mobius says, sitting up straighter.

Loki gets the message and pulls himself up. He only loses physical contact with Mobius for a handful of seconds before he reaches for his hand and slide his fingers between Mobius’.

They walk to the bathroom hand in hand and Mobius only lets go when Loki has to undress. Mobius looks away until he’s in the bath, hidden by the bubbles. It’s a sweet, if useless (Mobius probably saw Loki naked in countless occurrences on the TVA tapes), gesture.

Loki would ask Mobius to join him if he had the courage. He can’t find it in himself. He’s been bold enough as it is. Besides, it would definitely cross the line. To be honest with himself, he’s not sure this line exists anymore, but he ought to pretend it still does. For Mobius’ sake, if not for his own.

“Can I wash your hair?”

The prospect of Mobius’ gentle hands back in his hair is a pleasant one, to say the least. So, Loki immerses himself in the bath to wet his hair and comes back up, before replying:

“Please, be my guest”, trying for a teasing smile that probably comes out looking wrong.

Mobius returns Loki’s fond smile, relieved to finally see a positive emotion displayed on this beautiful face.

He grabs his bottle of shampoo from the edge of the bathtub and squeezes some of it into his palm. It’s cheap stuff, with a cheap artificial apple scent. Surely not up to Loki’s standards. However, Mobius doesn’t reckon he’ll care after his forced stay in the Alternate-TVA.

When he starts rubbing the shampoo into Loki’s hair, Loki shivers again, and then moans. Mobius puts the reaction in a corner of his brain so he can examine it later. It might be a thing.

Mobius takes his time (which is to say, he takes far more time than is necessary), before he finally requests:

“Bend forward and close your eyes for me, please.”

Loki complies without a second thought, and warmth spread inside Mobius at the display of trust.

“Good boy.” Mobius says it without thinking, as he’s reaching for the hand shower.

Loki tenses up, and Mobius instantly regrets the words. They’re out, though, there’s no calling them back.

Thankfully, before Mobius can go into a full-blown panic caused by his own stupidity, Loki relaxes again, even though his breathing is now laboured.

That’s quite a lot to unpack there. Mobius will make sure to come back to it in the future. Until then, he focuses on rinsing Loki’s hair without making a mess. He then wrings the excess water out of it as gently as he can and grabs a towel from the rack attached to the wall.

He hands it to Loki and looks away again to give him some semblance of privacy. He hears Loki get up and say:

“It’s okay, you can look. I don’t mind.”

Mobius should decline, but he’s too weak. It’s so hard to not keep his eyes on Loki constantly when he has just got him back.

So, Mobius looks at him, and instantly notices Loki’s lower torso is covered in bruises. They’re stark against Loki’s skin, which is now back to its usual paleness, sans blueish tint.

Mobius must have visibly reacted, though he’s not aware of it, because Loki takes a glance down his own body and flinches.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think…”

“Don’t apologize. Not for that.”

Loki’s mouth clicks shut.

Once Loki’s dressed in a T-shirt and sweatpants (both black, thankfully) that he borrowed from Mobius, he brushes his teeth with a spare toothbrush.

Then, Mobius manages to talk him into eating something and having a cup of herbal tea (camomile), even though it ruins the point of the aforementioned toothbrushing.

What would he not do to appease Mobius and keep him from worrying? Loki prefers not to know.

They retire to bed soon after that, tangling together under Mobius’ fluffy comforter. Loki’s about to fall asleep, lulled by the repetitive motion of Mobius’ fingers running lines on his back, when Mobius speaks:

“I… I know I should let you rest before broaching this topic but… I won’t be able to think about anything else all night if I don’t ask…”

Loki’s tempted to tell him to spit it out, but he refrains, letting Mobius continue at his own rhythm.

“The other me… is he the one who, you know… the bruises?”

“No. He wasn’t particularly nice, but he was never outright cruel to me.” That much could not be said about many other agents of the Alternate-TVA, but Loki refuses to get into that. “Nevertheless, he was… wrong in so many ways.”

Mobius’ hand stops moving up and down his back.

“How so?”

“He was... different. He hated Josta, he didn’t care about jet skis, he was right-handed… He was cold, warier of me than you were, and a bigger stickler for the rules. He… he just wasn’t you.”

His Mobius was everything this other Mobius wasn’t to Loki. He was trustworthy. He brought him hope. Because he had seen Loki, he knew almost everything that could be known about him, and still he believed he could be someone good. The other Mobius had not witnessed any of Loki’s numerous lies and betrayals, and still he trusted him far less than his Mobius did despite every piece of evidence proving he should not.

Loki can’t comprehend the undeserved trust Mobius has for him, but he is grateful it exists.

“He sounds like a jackass.”

Loki lets out a teary laugh.

“He was. Thank you for rescuing me from him.”

“You’re very welcome. I needed it as much as you did, anyway.”

“You’ll tell me how you did it, right? Tomorrow?”

“Anything you want”, Mobius says for the second time that day.

And, by the Norns, does Loki want. He wants so much.

He raises his head from Mobius chest and places his lips on his. He keeps it brief, pulling back before Mobius has time to react. The line is crossed, annihilated. What can Loki say? He’s never been good at denying himself what he wants.

“Was that okay?”

Mobius exhales slowly, his body going lax after tensing up from the surprise.

“More than.”

“Good.”

They stop talking, then. Loki falls asleep in a matter of minutes, hopeful for the first time since Sylvie pushed him through a time-portal to get rid of him. Things are still a mess, but there’s a slight chance they’re going to be fine and, for now, that’s enough.

Thanks for reading ;

#Loki #Mobius #Lokius #fanfiction #hurt and comfort #Loki spoilers

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relaxxattack · 3 years

Note

ayo! (wait this might be a bit of a jumpscare dishdks i apologize) i’m op of That Post and was wondering what your opinions were on the whole woobification thing? /gen

because it’s a Tiny Bit widespread within the dream apologists to sort of,, overdramatize stuff like l’manberg hurting him. like they’re not a 100% wrong but if you look at it subjectively you can see some sort of bias going into that sort of thing that makes the character’s mistreatment a bit more blatant and intentional which,, it really wasn’t? and there wasn’t That Much of it either. especially on twitter (tumblr is much better about it) people just jump to conclusions it seems and yeah. since you brought it up i was wondering if you wanted to write a bit about it from your perspective!

we’re kinda from different corners of the fandom but i still notice that once you are too attached to a character you start taking certain evidence and giving it more weight than it actually has. there’s a blurry line between “taking away a character’s humanity” and woobification and it’s extremely difficult to find a balance when said character shows pretty much nothing of his emotional life (e. g. putting up the intimidating villain act in front of only c!tommy, pretty much everything he does making rational sense with no emotional subtext) and a lot of the fandom instantly jumps to one side or the other while it’s like.

we don’t know by far enough to say “he’s traumatized” or “he isn’t traumatized” or “he was villainized and it hurt him” or “l’manberg didn’t affect him at all”

as a very analytical person people constantly jumping to conclusions grinds my gears, but that’s about it for my own view of the situation - sorry for the rambling.

in general i agree with you that both dehumanization and woobification is Bad and i really hope getting Actual Context sorts this out (e. g. him saying he was betrayed by his friends doesn’t mean it wasn’t partially his fault or that they were allowed to leave him, but it also shows that he did care about that happening. mentioning the cat doesn’t mean anything about what happened to c!tommy but it also shows that he did care about what happened to it. it’s just always interesting to get more information about the way he feels because he usually does a very good job at hiding it.) because man.

it’s like being stuck between a rock and a hard place, especially if you also are attached to the character and are expected to automatically agree with everything the people on “your side” say. it just ends up with everyone being mad and the character being mischaracterised overall.

oh wow hello! i didnt expect the op of the post to find me you’re right lol

and yes i agree! you seem to have a lot of very good thoughts tbh.

and by woobification, i mean exactly what you’ve already pointed out— the people who will say l’manberg purposely villainized dream, the people who will say wilbur faked his mental illness to manipulate dream, the people who are pretty much always talking about how badly dream was treated by people who were acting only fairly for themselves, usually.

for example people who act like dream was a perfect peacemaker before tommy showed up, or that tommy started most conflict. these are just actual lies that are told by c!dream himself to justify his abuse of tommy, and people fall for them incredibly easily because not a lot of people watched early dsmp and know that truthfully it was chaotic even then, and that dream was chaotic too. not to mention wilbur soot tried very hard to secede peacefully with l’manberg and dream jumped directly into war with no warning. and then people say he was forced into their war when, no, he started it.

theres also people who will say like, dream and sapnap for example are such good friends. i’m sure they cared for each other, but dream on multiple occasions has done horrible things to sapnap with no regard for his feelings (like leading fundy to sapnaps pets during the petwar, leading tommy to sapnaps pets during the other petwar and encouraging him to kill them, handing mars over to tommy to use as leverage against sapnap, etc). george he’s been less awful too but he certainly spoke over him and ignored his feelings enough that george felt hurt. he had places in his hall of attachments for beckerson and mars. george and sapnap were right to walk away from being treated like that.

there’s also what you just said here — “dream puts on a villain persona for tommy”— but honestly he acts like that around quite a few people (example: eret) and it’s usually when he’s revealing crucial info, which leads me and many others to believe that ‘persona’ is actually a more truthful version of him.

there’s the fact that he really isn’t safe for people to be around (or at least he wasn't before the prison) because he was planning to come up with ways to control every single person by stealing and threatening their attachments (some of which were not items but were living animals, or a real breathing person).

and then people will say dream was doing exile to enforce rules, or to keep the peace— when it’s very clear in canon it was a deliberate plan to get tommy on his own and into the prison. (from the way he was framing tommy for multiple crimes, and having sam set up the prison, and kidnapping tommy instead of correctly exiling him, all at the same time).

not even going into how he wants to kill and revive people for fun or make tommy immortal.

it’s just— ignoring all these actual facts and saying “oh he misses his friends, let’s get him some friends now” reminds me of like. when people would put flower crowns on pictures of serial killers. and then, there’s hardly anyone on the server who wasn’t subject to dream’s plans, so there’s absolutely no one i would be okay with him interacting with.

just remembered about the torture thing, and wow i still hate it so much. it’s someone’s sick revenge fantasy twisted into a way to get a manipulative villain sympathy, and it’s just gross to me on every account. i do think dream is traumatized-- just not by l’manberg, which was a conflict he started on his own terms. i would think l’manberg did affect him, because he was scared of losing control.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again— my ideal ending for dream would be for him to be sent far away from dsmp to an island full of therapy animals and super strong therapists who have never met him before. and for him to get a shit ton of therapy until he becomes a halfway normal person. and then eventually he could get integrated into society again; but a different one with new people. (although maybe dteam + bbh + puffy can visit him, they might still like him.)

none of the people on the server (who have all been affected by dream) should be burdened with befriending him or rehabilitating him— look how that turned out with sam! sam had a personal grudge towards dream and it ended with the poor dude being tortured every day; and sam himself falling into corruption and literally cutting off his boyfriends arm. like we can all see thats fucking awful right?

no one who was affected by dream should have to deal with him ever again. and contrary to popular belief, that includes a LOT more people then just tommy. dream isn’t just tommy’s antagonist, hes almost everybody’s.

the only person on the server who might also be able to stand to help dream is techno, and that’s from sheer lack of ability to give a shit. but techno is probably THE furthest thing from a good therapist there is lol, and dream needs better then that.

this kind of just ended up being a rant about my thoughts on c!dream, so im so sorry op. especially since it was probably negative for you. i hope you’re doing very well.

i guess in the end it’s true what you said— people will highlight or ignore things based on what characters they like, and it’s especially easy to do in this fandom, where half the content doesn’t even get watched and then we become a big echo chamber of half-truths.

considering dream has hurt so many of the characters i care about, i almost can’t understand how he could be someone’s favorite or comfort character— but he is nonetheless, and it would be unfair of me to be rude about that.

essentially it just bothers me to see someone who was a perpetrator of accurately portrayed abuse and manipulation (using both those words in their actual definitions, not just as random buzzwords lol) being given the flower crown edit effect. especially since he’s hurt the characters i care about a lot.

ANYWAY all of that being said (this got LONG im so sorry op) i am so so excited to get dream’s pov, because although i disagree with his actions strongly i actually find dream’s character very interesting and cool, and watching his POV is going to insanely fun. i cannot wait to see what theories get confirmed or denied

ALSO incase it wasn’t clear this is all /nm at you! you seem lovely and smart, and neither of us can help what characters we get attached to :]

#c!dream critical #dream meta #og post #hey guys i would actually like some feedback on this one since i worked hard on it #rbs are okay and encouraged :]#my meta

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seihun · 4 years

Text

can i be your boyfriend? — a bbh social media au

ϟ prev ◂ part 15B ▸ next

ϟ pairings: byun baekhyun + oc:reader

ϟ word count: not too long, hopefully, because this is supposed to be a social media au (2.6k)

ϟ notes: hello! look at me, writing things out on this fake text blog, and updating before midnight. i don’t usually do this, but somethings are better said in incoherent paragraphs than in screenshots, plus it’s hard to convey the in-between steps of a relationship through just texts, so i hope you enjoy this insight into their budding relationship 🤗 more notes at the end!!

MONDAY.

“How exactly is it that you started working at Buzzfeed?” you question, reaching over a pillow to dip your bread in olive oil.

Baekhyun watches with amusement as you whine audibly when some runny oil drips from the bread onto your jeans. The indoor picnic he’d set up is pretty damn great if he does say so himself—blankets, pillows, and enough Italian food to feed a small army; and you, of course.

It’s another one of his many, many dates with you—or at least, he’s pretty certain they’ve been dates. Hearing you confirm that you like him was definitely a confidence booster, and reassuring, to say the least, but if Baekhyun’s being completely honest, he’s not sure where to go from here.

He likes you, he knows that much. He likes you a lot; a lot, a lot—(“You’re halfway in love with her, call it what it is,” Minseok said, before getting his ear pinched by Maize)—and he definitely loves spending time with you, and if you asked him, he’d say you’re dating casually, but would you agree?

It’s not like he would know, this is his first serious sort-of-relationship, after all. Baekhyun was never exactly the most suave kid back in high school; more clumsy and awkward than anything with anyone who wasn’t Kyungsoo. He’s not a complete novice; he’s been on dates, gone out, even had a few one night stands in his freshman year, but nothing close to this—whatever it is he has with you—so sue him for basically winging everything for these past two months.

“Honestly,” he recounts, “I did what you did. I complained publicly about one of their posts, and someone DMed, and eventually offered me a job, and here I am.”

“Wait, that’s not fair!” you whine, “Nobody wanted to pay me for my complaint tweets!”

“Well you should have tagged the VP of the company, not me.”

Baekhyun laughs while you pout, toothy smile diminishes into a closed lip one, as his eyes glaze over and flutter between your eyes and your lips. He finds himself leaning in after you, a nervous kind of excitement taking over him as you grow closer. And it’s just barely after his lips have grazed yours that you’re both interrupted by the buzzing and ringing of a cellphone.

You seem to know that it’s your phone, if the crinkling of your eyebrows and embarrassed exhale are anything to go by. Baekhyun simply chuckles, gently presses his index finger to the tip of your nose, and pulls away with a smile.

He watches you fetch your phone, and reluctantly answer the call—which, appears to be a FaceTime judging by the noise and the distance with which you hold your phone from your face.

“Chanyeol, if you’re trying to let Sehun win best friend of the year, you’re succeeding,” are your first words, and Baekhyun can’t help the audible laughter that leaves his mouth.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, or Chanyeol. “Who’s laughing, are you—is it the Buzzfeed boy? Oh, is this is a date? Baekhyun are you listening! Hello! My name’s Chanyeol, and I’m—”

“I’m going to hang up on you, what do you want!” you hiss.

Baekhyun finds himself smiling throughout the rest of your conversation. He likes that you’re comfortable enough to answer Chanyeol in front of him; he thinks that if Maize or Kyungsoo or Minseok called him, he’d pick it up in front of too. He’s not too sure about Junmyeon, though, he’s more likely to embarrass him.

Baekhyun hopes he can stick around long enough to meet the rest of your friends—from what you’ve told him about them, they sound like just the kind of people he likes having around. And after hearing how long you’ve been friends with them, namely Sehun, he finds himself even more understanding of your dynamics.

Not many people get just how deep a friendship can run, so when he tells people he’s known Kyungsoo for as long as Kyungsoo’s been alive, their reactions are surface level at best. But you get it, because Sehun is your Kyungsoo; or, rather, you’re Sehun’s Kyungsoo. Baekhyun shakes his head at the thought—the point is, you’re both similar in that respect, and he likes it. He likes you.

“Anyway,” he tunes back into to hear Chanyeol sighing, “I just wanted to let you know I burned the bear, so our apartment smells like smoke, which makes Sehun and I homeless for the evening, so we’re at your place, please bring dinner.”

“What do you mean you burned it! Chan—”

“You know, as in we lit it on fire. Sehun also wanted to throw it off the roof, but Chungha stopped him, so we just did it our living room, and now she’s being a meanie and saying she can’t help refuge us because she has a ‘group project’ meeting at her place in an hour, which I think is a lie. Baekhyun, if you’re still listening, I want you to know that I’m not a pyromaniac—”

“—Debatable—”

“I’m not. Anyways, bring food when you’re done flirting, Sehun and I are hungry, and Chungs is leaving us foodless, as per usual.”

“Then buy food.”

“Do I look rich to you?”

“Yes, actually—”

“Hyung—oh, hey, is that _____?” Sehun’s voice asks, “Hey, Chanyeol finished the gummy worms, can you—”

“I’m hanging up!”

Baekhyun watches with light in his eyes as you hurriedly end the call, then sheepishly turn back to him. “I am… so sorry they’re like this,” you apologize, putting your phone back face down on the blanket and composing yourself.

Baekhyun shakes his head, “Don’t worry, my friends are much worse.”

“Your friends are smart,” you reason, “And quiet, and don’t break into my apartment at their earliest convenience.”

“Actually, Junmyeon has done that last one,” Baekhyun hums, scooting a bit closer to you, “Except, it wasn’t my apartment, he broke into Minseok’s. Let’s just say it didn’t end well for him.”

Baekhyun thinks the embarrassing anectode was worthwhile to hear you laugh, even if it was at Junmyeon’s expense. It’s fine, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“So, does Chanyeol normally light things on fire or was this a one time thing?”

“You’d be surprised by the amount of things he’s accidentally set on fire since I’ve known him, actually,” you laugh, “But no—well, you know the bear I told you about? The one, um, Jongin gave to me when I saw him on Sunday?”

Baekhyun nods. Of course.

“Well, I also told my idiot friends about it, and that’s what Chanyeol burned,” you tell him. Baekhyun bites his bottom lip, trying not to laugh, but the temptation is written all over his face—or, evidently, so, as you chime in with, “It’s okay, you can laugh.”

Thank god, because Baekhyun wasn’t sure he could keep a straight face (or hide his blatant happiness). He decides right there that he likes Chanyeol. You have good friends.

Admittedly, after hearing you tell him about your history with Jongin as both a friend and a boyfriend, Baekhyun can’t say that he’s exactly fond of the guy. Junmyeon tells him to never judge a book by its cover, but seeing as you gave him the summary, he thinks he can fairly conclude that Jongin isn’t… the best person in the world. And the way he treated you and your friends is enough to make Baekhyun weary about him as a person.

Still, Baekhyun doesn’t judge you for talking to him. He’s not exactly jealous; he’s confident in your feelings for him and his for you, and above all, he trusts that you’re being honest with him. Quite frankly, Baekhyun doesn’t consider your ex boyfriend to be a threat.

Baekhyun knows you clearly just want to be a good friend, or at the very least, a good person to Jongin; and after knowing him for almost a decade—even if things got a bit bumpy—Baekhyun thinks you’re more than justified in that. You clearly see something in Jongin that you think can be helped, and Baekhyun trusts your judgement; you did pick him, too, after all.

Does he like that Jongin gives you gifts, and is very clearly still into you even tho you can’t see it, and don’t want any part in it? No, not exactly. But, on the bright side, Baekhyun’s the one that has your attention, and that counts for more than something.

(Not to mention you have a couple of guys who are both rooting for him and willing to beat up your ex at moments notice, so, he’d say he’s in a pretty good boat).

The only thing Jongin has ever had that Baekhyun wants is the opportunity to call you his. But he thinks he’s getting there. Hopefully. Is it weird to ask the ex of the girl you’re interested in how he got her to be his girlfriend in the first place? Do you even want to be his girlfriend? He hopes so.

He doesn’t know if sharing cheese and crackers and pasta and bread is any indication that you want to be his girlfriend, but he’d like to think it is. Because that’s what the next half hour consists of—you and Baekhyun, sharing food over smiles and stories and endless laughter.

Baekhyun finds himself laughing so hard at a story you tell him about Chanyeol and Chungha pranking Sehun, that he might as well be laughing over you. His hand ends up on your shoulder in his fit of giggles, and yours just barely above his knee. Neither of you comment on it, but you don’t pull away, either.

He’s about to chip in with a story about his childhood self, when he’s interrupted by notification noises again. Baekhyun grins at your exasperated exhale and tightly closed eyes. “It’s fine, they’ll be fine,” you tell him, silencing the ringer, and turning back to him in an attempt to continue your conversation.

Baekhyun’s about to tell you that it’s okay, that you should check your phone in case it’s an emergency or something, but he doesn’t have to; because it starts buzzing again and again and again and eventually is back to ringing.

“Answer it,” Baekhyun smiles, “Seriously, I wouldn’t want you to have to face Sehun’s wrath for ignoring him.”

It’s silent for a minute, while you scroll through your messages, and thumb a response. Baekhyun watches as your expression changes from annoyed, to vaguely amused, to concerned, to borderline unhappy. It makes his own eyebrows draw together when he sees the frown start to form on your lips.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh… I don’t think so,” you sigh, locking the screen and looking up at him, “I think I gotta head home, Sehun might have broken smoke detector and Chanyeol got… something stuck to the ceiling trying to fix it.”

Baekhyun can’t help the laugh that escapes him. You have really good friends.

“Fuck, Baek, I’m so sorry, this is—you did all of this, and my idiot friends—”

Baekhyun takes one of your flailing hands into his, effectively calming your stature and forcing to you make eye contact with him. “Hey, it’s fine, I promise,” he reassures you, “Really, it’s okay. If I got stuck to the ceiling I would hope Kyungsoo would come rescue me, too.”

“You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’m not just saying anything,” he laughs through his words because the look on your face is nothing short of adorable, “I mean it. I had fun on our—I, I had fun, today. It’s fine, really, I promise.”

And so, you smile, demeanor significantly calmer, “I… should call a car,” you tell him, his eyes traveling down your enveloped hands, which he releases slowly, embarrassed; but then you grin again, tapping away at your phone, “I had fun on our date, too, Baekhyun.”

(So these were dates! Nice, cool, cool, keep it cool. He doesn’t; he grins like a blushing fool).

Baekhyun helps you gather your things, and moves the food around so that neither of you step on it; walks you to the door when your car says it’s arriving shortly. He waits with you on the doorstep, pretending to look out for a white sonata, when he’s really stealing glances at you through your small talk.

“Would you, uh… I mean, you’re probably already going, so,” you cut yourself off with slow exhale, turning your body towards his, “There’s this showcase, presentation type thing, for some students to, uh, present about their research coming up soon. You might already know about it, since Kyungsoo is giving one about his summer internship, I think—and it might be a little boring, and that you’re not a science guy, so it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

Baekhyun cuts you off by calling your name, a wide smile playing on his lips. “I’d love to go,” he tells you, earnestly, “I was going to go, to see Soo anyway, but I wanna support my new favorite biochem student, too.”

“Really?” You reach out and grab his hand, an action that almost seems lost on your in your flurry of excitement or flattery—or both—but, not on Baekhyun, whose palm suddenly feels warm. You must have been able to tell you flustered him, because your eyes widen, looking down at your hands, then promptly pulling them away.

“You, I mean, I want you to come, but only if you want—”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what moves him to take a leap, step a little more into your space, and take both of your hands in his with unwavering intention, but he’s glad for it; because you don’t pull away, and the look you give him kind of makes him never want to look away.

“I want to go,” he says slowly, dipping his head down the slightest, close enough to see the rings of your irises, even in the dim lighting of his porch, “I want to be there for you.”

There’s an almost inaudible “okay,” that leaves your lips, the letters rolling off your tongue with a shy smile that Baekhyun finds himself mimicking. His eyes flutter away, just for a moment, to your hands, then back to your face, before he slowly lets them go, only to rest them against your jaw again.

Baekhyun might be using the “taking things slow” mantra as an excuse for his complete lack of experience on how to navigate a real relationship, but this, right here, he’s sure of. That he likes you, that he wants you, that he—

“Can… can I kiss you?” he asks, just above a whisper.

His eyes are frantic, looking for an answer in yours, but instead he gets them from your lips; a soft, “Yes,” accompanied by a softer nod that Baekhyun would have missed if not for having your head in his hands.

When he leans forward, you meet him halfway, lips pursed together—and Baekhyun thinks that, yeah, if being in a relationship with you meant he got to do this, all day, then he would have to figure out how to be your boyfriend sooner, rather than later.

One kiss turns into two, then three, then four with smiles, and giggles in-between, and the only thing that seems to pull you away from each other is the honking of a car horn. Flustered, Baekhyun lowers his hand, bites on his bottom lip as you fumble to check the license plates on the car to those on your phone.

“I think that’s my car,” you tell him, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he swears there’s slightest twinge of disappointment in your voice, too, “I—I had fun, Baek, really. So, thank you, again.”

“Me too,” he says, words on autopilot, brain still stuck in the moment before.

He smiles, daystruck as he walks you to the curb, before you cross the street. He’s about to wish you well again, before you turn to him, and give him the smallest, barely there peck on the lips.

“Goodnight, Baekhyun.”

He doesn’t even know if he responds audibly, he’s processing you in fragments, watching your silhouette as you cross the street, and head into the backseat of the car. He swears he catches the smallest wave from you through the window, but for all he knows that could have been his imagination.

Your goodnight kiss lingers on his lips, on his mind, and it’s only when he’s back inside that he lets himself break out into the foolish grin he’s been hiding all night. He’s going to have to figure out how to do that boyfriend-girlfriend thing. As soon as possible.

ϟ tag list: @artfulbarnes @bat-shark-repellant @baek-byunies @baeklooming-day @bbh-kji @cosmins @coffee-prince-kyungsoo @etsjusoa @exuwu @elyxion1485 @fifiaaaaaa @haechanspudu @honeyboocal @httpschoisan @junkfoodwriting @just-a-sad-writer @j-pping @kkpoptrashhh @littleflowercrown13 @loeytingz @marina-del-rey98 @mangobaek @miraculyfe @mochahyuck @oasissehun @ohwosehun @p-polaroid @peachesyeol @peacherparker @penguinsoo-l @rikachusworld @sakura-uji @shesdreaminginoverdose @sekshi-namjas @smolpeyy @strawberrychannie @takoyakkun @to-all-the-stories-i-love @vaiva @writingindaisies @xiutingmyself @yourexotextplus

ϟ more notes: more smoochies!! they have kissed a few times (maybe once or twice) since their first kiss a few parts ago, but i had no way of showing that to you guys so here you go!! they’re in a weird stage where they kiss each other goodbye and go on dates and like each other but it’s not exactly... dating?

i hope this gives some insight into baekhyun’s thoughts, as well. some things are harder to get across through just texts, but i wanted to show his feelings beyond his overexcited, adorable messages 🥺 he’s still a whole babie, but he has complex thoughts!!

i’ll finish rambling now, but there is an intended part 15C (which I know, sounds like it should just be part 16 at this point, but in a perfect world, I’d have been able to fit everything into one post but i digress). maybe it’ll be part 16 anyway, but it’ll likely include some writing because the xiuchen drama is back!! 🤗

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

—

It was a day's hike to the cliffs, and a day's hike back. Pallegina went anyway, of course.

It was a good opportunity to assess the members of this ragtag band she was joining up with, as combatants and as people. Overall, she was fairly impressed with their martial skills– their tactics and group cohesion were sound, but she was sure to make note of their evident lack of formal training and quality equipment. She'd found herself pleasantly surprised at their generosity and inclusiveness, sharing food and drink and smoke and stories as freely with their feathered newcomer as they did with one another. No one had even brought up her "divine heritage" until they'd been sitting around the campfire that first night, and the aumaua who'd broached the subject had actually managed to look appropriately bashful as he'd done so. Although in retrospect, an Avian Godlike woman in a brotherhood of paladins probably wasn't too outlandish a concept for these kith, considering that their squad leader was apparently an Awakened Watcher.

Pallegina had been fielding annoying, invasive questions posed by strangers about her body and her soul for her entire life, but Axa was a newly-minted freak, it seemed, and so was not quite sick of talking about it just yet. And her friends weren't either: with minimal prompting, Aloth had recounted her nightmares and her past life memories, Edér had remembered her staring at the tree in Gilded Vale for nearly half an hour, Kana had practically rhapsodized about her conversations with ghosts in caves and in dungeons. And the next morning, as the group stood on the bluff overlooking the sea, Sagani had handed Axa a misshapen little lump of adra, and Pallegina had watched as the orlan peered through it and into the In-Between.

She'd been told the woman was a Watcher, and she'd more or less accepted it as truth, but the paladin hadn't exactly been expecting a demonstration just yet. After a few minutes of watching the little woman sway to and fro in the wind, apparently mesmerized by the adra carving the dwarf had given her, concern for her wellbeing had compelled Pallegina to approach and take her by the shoulders, attempting to shake her out of it before she wobbled her way over the cliff's edge.

"Everything... all right in there?" she'd muttered, lightly slapping the little woman's cheek.

"Adra arch," Axa had rasped in reply, violet eyes wild and unfixed. Sagani had gently pried the carving from her fuzzy hands then, smiled compassionately at the other two women before asking Edér where in the Dyrwood an adra arch might stand.

That was... very strange. But stranger things have happened, Pallegina had reminded herself. She'd kept reminding herself of that as they'd made their way back to the city, as she listened to the others' stories of reincarnated souls and mysterious cults, dead brothers and ancient tablets and a haunted castle this eccentric little woman called home.

Ambassador Agosti had been less than pleased to receive his agent nearly three days after Verzano had been cut loose, and accompanied by a pack of disheveled strangers no less. But Axa was nothing if not a fierce defender of her troops, it seemed, and although she'd made a valiant effort to keep her comments civil, eventually Agosti had frayed the little woman's last nerve with his dismissive arrogance and insinuated threats, finally ending up on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing himself for once. Pallegina had known then that she'd chosen her new companions wisely, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning at Agosti as he stammered and sweated under the orlan's indignant outburst.

Her amusement at Axa's antics had been soundly quashed, however, by the new assignment laid upon her shoulders, one that she had dreaded might be in the works but had hoped would never actually be implemented– the negotiation of a new trade agreement between the Vailian Republics and Eir Glanfath, one that took blatant, vicious advantage of the Dyrwood's badly weakened state due to the Hollowborn crisis. It made sense in the short term, financially and practically, for the merchants of the Republics to step in and take the reins where the Dyrwoodans would not. But what gave Pallegina pause were the long term political implications of essentially kicking the Dyrwood while it was down, especially now at such a crucial juncture in the deciding of the country's legislation regarding animancy. If the Ducs Bels willfully chose to make an enemy of the Dyrwood now, it could have long-reaching consequences that could do untold damage to the Republics in the years to come, particularly for the animancy community. Animancers were already under attack in this country, superstitious types blaming them for causing this soul plague by somehow invoking the wrath of the gods, as well as for their ill-fated attempts at curing the nation's blighted children. Would the people of the Dyrwood, fiery and reactionist as they were, still tolerate animancy at all should the Republics, animancy's shining champion, stab them in the back while they were at their weakest and least reasonable? What would become of Vailian animancy without competition to keep them sharp, or collaborative efforts to keep them abreast of the latest developments? Even if animancy was permitted to continue in the Dyrwood, its practitioners would be loathe to share their discoveries with their Vailian counterparts, leading to an inevitable stagnation in the soul sciences– or even worse, the Republics could potentially fall behind the Dyrwood, languishing in the past while the Dyrwood moved ahead, forging the future without them...

No. This was not permissible, not after all the Republics and its animancers had done for her. But still, she had her orders. Now all she had to do was carry them out, one way or another.

"Twin Elms is a good long way from here," Sagani reassured her afterwards at their table at the Charred Barrel, swirling her ale around in her tankard and feeding her fox under her chair. "And Axa'll find more than enough distractions along the way, I'm sure. Plenty of time to come up with some sort of... creative interpretation of your orders."

Pallegina tried to smile, but only produced a weak grimace. "Then I hope our Watcher friend is more 'creative' than I am. I have many strengths, but subterfuge has never been one of them. And one can only openly defy the powers that be so many times before their patience runs out." She stared pensively into her wine as she spoke, couldn't help but think of Verzano's fate, Agosti's warnings.

"I'll drink to that," Edér mumbled around his mouthful of roast pork and potato, raising his cup in a commiserative gesture before knocking it back. "Axa ain't much for bullshittin' folks– not as far as I've seen, anyway– but she's got a knack for solvin' problems, and for pushin' her luck 'n' gettin' away with it. If anyone can finagle some kinda deal that'll keep your ducs happy without totally screwin' over the Dyrwood, I'd wager it'd be her."

"Elegantly stated, Edér," Aloth deadpanned, rolling his eyes and pushing his food around on his plate. "Speaking of Axa, she's been away from the table for quite a while now..." The elf lifted his head, anxiously scanning the throng of diners, drunks, and debutantes. "If I recall, she only said she wanted to catch up with Ingroed and Nonton, but I don't see her at the bar anymore."

"Ingroed and Nonton?" Pallegina glanced around idly and spotted the little woman almost immediately– that bold red hair was unmistakable, even when mostly obscured behind the fat asses and round bellies of the taller kith surrounding her. "More friends, I assume?"

"Couple of folks from my hometown, Gilded Vale. She helped 'em outta a rough spot." The blond man glanced over at the bar, smiling at his former neighbors.

Kana looked up from his dinner, face flushed with drink. "Ah! Are those the ones who set a trap for the dead man in the bear's den?" He beamed at Pallegina, practically glowing with enthusiasm. "You must have her tell you the tale, my lady. A truly inspiring account of our Watcher's unique insight at work. She learned of their betrayal from the spirit of the victim, you see! But there's a tragic twist–"

"Hey, now, don't spoil the ending, big fella, you wasn't even there. Let her tell it." Edér had caught sight of Axa too, just as she'd turned away from the well-dressed elf she'd been speaking with, and he beckoned the redhead back to their table with a wave of his hand. The stranger watched her go, nervously fiddling with his ostentatious jewelry as she sauntered back to her friends, while Pallegina tried to remember where she'd seen him before, his eyes widening in alarm as he caught her staring at him.

"Talking about me behind my back again?" Axa sighed, grinning and shaking her head as she clambered back into her seat. "Gods, I can't leave you scoundrels alone for a second. They didn't tell you a bunch of ghost stories, did they?" She winked at Pallegina, and the paladin noticed just how tired the orlan looked.

"Only the true ones!" Kana laughed a bit too loudly– not atypical of him, but the alcohol certainly amplified his natural exuberance. Aloth delicately scooted his chair away from the overly jolly giant, vexation plain on his face.

If Axa noticed anything unusual, she didn't mention it, only chuckled and took a long drag from her pipe. "Found out where your adra arch might be, Sagani. Turns out it's somewhere over by Twin Elms, believe it or not." She glanced up at Pallegina, a cautious little smile on her tawny face. "Unfortunately, I've also heard tell that the road leading there is badly flooded right now due to inclement weather. So it looks like we'll have some time to kill before we can head over that way."

"Belfetto," Pallegina sighed. She appreciated the attempt to cheer her up, letting her know she had time to decide how to handle the Ducs' request, but she had a feeling that the longer she dwelled on her predicament, the more it would weigh on her mind.

Aloth leaned close to the little woman. "I take it this means we're to head for the catacombs on the morrow, then?" He looked simultaneously anxious and eager, as though preparing to take on a task he knew to be important but especially onerous. A familiar burden, Pallegina mused.

"Ah... perhaps," Axa replied, looking away quickly. "There are a few other things I'd like to tend to first, though, if you're all amenable. I was just talking to that elf over there, the one in the fancy robes with all the gaudy jewelry, and he's asked me to do him a favor. See, he has this friend who's a courtesan at the, uh, at the Salty Mast..."

She winced as everyone at the table put down their forks and goblets and gave her their undivided attention.

Pallegina downed the rest of her wine.

—

#pillars of eternity #fic wip #poe anthem infinitum #writing pallegina really takes it outta me #so serious and dutiful #gotta get back to my strengths: dick and fart jokes #and making everyone else react to axa's wacky antics

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planetsam · 4 years

Text

“Look if you don’t want her she’s going to the pound,” Wyatt says, “she’s too fat to be of any good on the farm.”

“Do you need to think of the most dickish thing to say? Or does it just naturally come out of your mouth?”

Wyatt’s face screws up but Alex snatches the leash from him before he can say anything. He’s done listening to assholes with the last name Long. On the other end of the leash Buffy regards him with a mix of wariness and disgust. It’s more tempting than Alex would like to admit to shove it back at Wyatt, but his grip tightens on the leash.

“Glad you got a souvenir,” Wyatt sneers and storms off.

Alex tries not to rub the most recent addition to his scar collection and instead looks down at the dog. Buffy whines loudly and the sound matches whatever’s going on his recently repaired gut. Emotionally at least. Physically he’s been given the almost all clear, which for him is good enough. He kneels down and looks at the beagle who backs away.

“Yeah, I get that,” Alex tells her, “do you remember me?” He holds a hand out for her to sniff but she turns her snout up, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

He straightens up. Buffy looks in the direction she came from but Wyatt’s long gone. Alex has no idea what to do with a dog, much less a beagle who seems to like him about as much as her owner actually did, but standing in the road with her leash he realizes they’re in the same boat. Both left standing there, wondering what the hell they’re supposed to do now. When he glances down again, Buffy is looking up at him. She’s still reproachful but she hasn’t run and Alex is at a point where he’ll take what he can get.

“You wanna go home or should we go to the pet store first?” He asks. She perks up slightly at that, “pet store it is,” he says, “come on.”

* Since losing his leg Alex has been in several hand to hand situations, gotten kidnapped, discovered aliens and blown up a handful of buildings. He’d say he’s good with his prosthetic. Some days he uses his cane but it’s far and few between. He’s good but he hasn’t had a consistently strong pressure yanking his cane arm walk after walk. And there have been so many fucking walks. Buffy is overweight and though her diet is the main thing, walking helps. It helps one of them at least.

“Buffy, come on,” he says, “heel.”

Buffy huffs, lowers her body and digs in her paws.

Her blatant disregard makes the military man in him seethe. He doesn’t know how one beagle is more difficult to control than than a group of soldiers, but here they are. Buffy does not respect the chain of command. Or maybe she just doesn’t respect him. Alex thinks he’d be used to the universe ignoring what he wants but the manifestation of it in an overweight beagle left behind by a man who manipulated him so openly is a fresh wound on his ruined ego.

“Buffy,” he says.

Buffy puffs herself up and erupts into her signature barks. How such a loud noise can come out of such a small creature is beyond him. Buffy spends a lot of her time napping and laying on her back, but when she gets going it’s impossible to stop or ignore. Alex is used to people staring at him on the street. He’s learned to dismiss the judgement about things he knows he can’t change. For the first time though he gets it. He’s pretty sure he’d cross the street too if he saw what was happening.

“Buffy—“ he starts. She keeps going crazy, “Buffy come on,” he’s got nothing else so he scoops her up again. Immediately she stops barking, “seriously?” He sighs, “you know we’re both supposed to be walking,” Buffy looks over her shoulder at him, “God, fine,” he shifts the weight in his arms and starts walking, “I need the workout anyway.”

“Aren’t you both supposed to be walking?”

Alex turns around to see Michael standing there looking confused. He’s not close enough to hear what he just said, but the fact that it’s the first thing that comes to his mind makes Alex’s chest tight. Buffy gives Michael a look of complete disdain. Michael raises his eyebrows at the dog’s reaction, though Alex is fairly certain Michael is just glad to have an excuse not to look at him. Not that he can fully blame him, not with everything that’s happened recently.

“When did you get a dog?” Michael asks.

“A few days ago,” Alex says, “it was me or the pound,” he explains, “I wasn’t looking to get one.”

“Right,” Michael says slowly.

“Her name’s Buffy,” Alex volunteers. Michael finally meets his eye, arching his eyebrows at him.

“You sure you weren’t looking to get a dog?” Michael asks. Alex looks at him questioningly, “if I had to guess what you would name a dog, Buffy’s pretty high on the list—“

The truth smacks him across the face. Buffy squirms in his arms and he’s all too glad to put her down, even though that means he’s forced to figure out something else to do with his hands. Something that doesn’t involve punching things. All he can do is laugh bitterly at how stupid he is. Laugh and pretend that he doesn’t see the alarm on Michael’s face.

“You okay?” Michael asks.  “I’m good,” Alex says, shaking his head, “I just realized how much of an idiot I am,” he looks at Michael who looks confused still, “Buffy was Forrest’s dog,” he explains, “he left her behind,” he sighs, “I thought the dog was real.”

“She looks real to me,” Michael says.

“He named her Buffy,” Alex retorts. Michael winces, “like I said, I’m an idiot.”

They both look at Buffy who gives them a look back that says they are both idiots. Alex doesn’t think either of them would disagree after the things that have happened lately. But realizing that there’s a good chance the dog was adopted just to manipulate him is salt in that wound. Not by Forrest necessarily but by someone in Deep Sky.

“Your dog seems to agree,” Michael points out.

“Shit,” Alex mutters looking down at the beagle, then he looks at Michael, “what do you know about microchips?  “What do I know about what?” Michael asks blankly.  “I need your help,” Alex says.

It’s got nothing to do with what just happened but Michael goes serious and nods. Alex tries not to be affected by it. Or by how Michael seems committed to being open after months of them lying to each other.  “Whatever you need,” he says.

There’s a weight to his words that lasts a moment before Buffy decides right there is a good place to go potty.

* “Up you go,” Alex says and gets Buffy onto the table, “good girl.”

Buffy huffs at the compliment but when she spots Kyle she immediately starts wagging her tail. Because Kyle has that effect. He grins and scratches her ears as Buffy rolls onto her back. Alex looks over at Michael who seems surprised by this turn of events.  “Good thing he wasn’t trying to seduce you,” Michael says, “she’s already fallen for it.”

Kyle looks at him sharply and Michael realizes his mistake with a swear but Alex waves him off. Whether or not there were genuine feelings is an issue for another day. Or another lifetime, if he gets his way. Thankfully neither Michael nor Kyle have made the mistake of suggesting he get rid of the dog in case Deep Sky is spying on him with her. Kyle picks up the device and scans Buffy as best he can until Alex reaches out to help hold her steady. They find the first microchip easily enough. It’s just surprising how easily they also find the second one.

“They put a tracker in the dog?” Kyle shakes his head.

Alex agrees. It seems stupid with all the messed up shit they’ve done, but looking at Buffy with her upturned nose and disdainful glares and imagining her being picked out and named and then used like that makes him ache. Especially if it was in the pursuit of him. It’s not the only thing that’s wrong but Alex has always had a soft spot for animals and it’s the first thing that makes his throat tighten.

“We have to get them out of her.”

“We will,” Michael says, “first lemme make sure they don’t work.”

“It’s not going to hurt her, is it?” Alex asks as Michael reaches out.

Kyle and Michael trade looks and Alex knows his voice sounds odd but the dog’s been through enough. Especially on his behalf. A part of him thinks giving her away might be best but if Deep Sky is still using her then who knows. He could give her away and bring more people into this.

“Alex,” Michael comes around the table and stands next to him, doesn’t say anything when Alex shifts back, “look, it’s not gonna hurt her. I’m going to just disable them. We’ll figure out how to get them out of her after.”

Buffy rolls over and gives Kyle’s hands a lick before she reluctantly belly crawls to Alex. She doesn’t look thrilled about having to come to him, but she sits in between him and Michael and looks at Michael with her usual disdain. It’s not full on affection but Alex appreciates the defense all the same. He looks up at Michael.

“Okay, do it,” he says.

Michael puts his hands on Buffy’s shoulders and focuses. Alex waits for her to yelp or do anything but she just glares at Michael like this is the most ridiculous thing she’s ever been subjected to. He pulls his hands back and blinks rapidly, going a little pale. It’s one of the effects of whatever they did to him, his powers are there but using them takes more effort than it did. No-one knows when they’ll fully return.

“Kyle get the—“

Kyle gets the bin just in time for Michael to puke in it. Buffy flattens her ears and decides she’s done enough comfort one day. She trots back over to Kyle and flops on her back, bracing a paw against his arm so he has maximum access to her belly. Before Alex can think about what he’s doing his hand settles on Michael’s shoulder as he heaves. It’s another sign of how badly he’s fucked up and Michael consenting to it under duress doesn’t make him feel any better. But he forces himself to hold onto Michael’s shoulder as he empties his stomach.

“Shit that sucks,” he mutters, unthinkingly wrapping his hand around Alex’s elbow. Alex doesn’t let go of his shoulder as he wipes the back of his mouth. He looks up at Alex and gives a quick, shaky smile, “I disabled the chips on both, they’re dead,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Michael nods, looking more relieved than Alex is comfortable with at the words. He tears his eyes away to look at the love fest going on between Buffy and Kyle. It’s honestly hard to say whose fallen more for who. Alex pulls away and tries not to focus on how cold his elbow and palm feel without Michael’s signature heat.

“Now we just gotta get them out,” Michael says.

Kyle seems to be aware they are all looking at him intently. He opens his mouth to reject whatever they’re going to say and Buffy whines for him to continue the belly rubs. It’s written all over his face that of all the ways he saw his life going, this definitely wasn’t one of them. He looks down at Buffy.

“Am I still gonna be your favorite?” He asks her.

Buffy huffs.

“I think that’s a yes,” Michael says.

* “Your back hurting?”

Alex winces at the question, he thought he had done a good job of hiding it. The concern is there in Michael’s voice and it’s not well hidden at all. Alex looks over at him, seeing the guilt in his eyes.

“It’s from picking up Buffy,” he says, “she’s having trouble getting on the furniture.”

It’s almost laughable how furniture is so complicated in his house. Alex never thought the height of a seat could make such a difference in someone’s life. The perfect height for him though is apparently too much for his still overweight beagle. His best solution is to pick her up but for all her laziness Buffy isn’t good at staying put. It’s not overly painful but it’s not ideal while he’s still healing.

“Oh,” Michael says.

“She’ll get better,” Alex says, “she just has to lose some weight,” he rolls his shoulder, “and I have to heal.”

“She can’t stay off the furniture?” Michael asks. Alex glares, “just asking!” Michael says holding up his hands, “I never had a pet. I had a foster home where I wasn’t allowed on the couch once, it sucked.”

Alex doesn’t know how Michael can stand to be so casual about things like that. Mentioning something so devastating hasn’t even interrupted his rhythm in eating his fries.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says quietly. Michael acknowledges it with a quick nod, “I want her to be able to go where she wants,” he explains.

“Except maybe the bunker,” Michael points out.

“Okay maybe the bunker,” Alex agrees.

“What about stairs?” Michael asks, “they make stairs for dogs right?” His brow furrows, “your furniture is custom heigh though, right?” Then he perks up, “I can make her stairs.”

Alex almost chokes on his water. Michael’s response to everything was to throw his tools in his bunker and seal it up. Alex isn’t even sure he has the materials to build dog stairs. But it’s the first time he’s seen Michael look excited about building something.

“Are you okay with that?” He asks, “I can pay you.”

“You don’t have to,” Michael says, “if it gets Buffy to stop constantly stink eyeing me we’re good.”

“Just tell me how much they cost,” Alex says after a moment’s consideration.

He texts Michael the asked for measurements.

Michael doesn’t want to be alone with him and Alex can’t blame him. He doesn’t really want to be alone with Michael either. Not yet. It’s not until he hears the truck in the driveway that he even thinks more about it. The truck pulls in, parks and Michael gets out before Buffy starts going crazy. Alex feels a rush of affection for her.

“It’s Michael,” he says, “and he’s already almost inside.”

Buffy still puffs up like she’s done her job and Alex scratches her ears before he opens the door. Michael is standing there with two stairs in either hand and a black bag slung over his shoulder.

“Can I come in?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Alex says, his mouth dry, “of course,” he says, “come in.”

“Thanks,” Michael says. Buffy looks at him and howls. Michael glares, “the hat isn’t negotiable,” he tells her firmly, even as he takes it off and sets it aside.

Michael puts one of the stairs by the couch and hands Alex the other for his bed. Alex puts it down where it is and follows Michael to the back part of the house. Michael drops the bag and picks out a few tools before moving to the trap door.

“What’s all of this?” Alex asks.

“Eh I could tell you didn’t mean it when I said Buffy wasn’t allowed in the bunker,” he says, “so I put something together.”

“You built her an elevator?”

Michael shrugs and goes pink around the ears.

“Yeah I mean I want her to feel welcome,” he says, “and if you gotta hide I know you aren’t leaving her behind.”

Alex looks over at Buffy whose stink eyeing the stairs like she’d prefer to be carried. He wouldn’t leave her behind. He wouldn’t leave Michael behind either but just being alone in the same room is a lot. He doesn’t want to push this. He doesn’t know if Michael feels that as well.

“Can I get you anything?” He offers, “I have lemonade?”

Michael hesitates for a moment. Alex wonders if he’s read this wrong before Michael nods and Alex finds he can breathe again.

“That sounds good,” Michael says, “thanks.”

#michael guerin #alex manes #Buffy manes #Buffy the beagle #malex #michael x alex #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm fanfic #bc we all know where Buffy the princess belongs #fight me

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raelly-writing · 3 years

Text

Departures

Thancred/f!WoL with Alisaie&WoL. Takes place before the patch 5.3 segment of Bozja. SFW :) I feel a bit rusty and have struggled with writing something I feel happy with, but wanted to try and finish something at least so I can move on to other stuff.

----

“I still wish I could go with you.”

Alisaie’s exasperated tone made Viana look up from her travel pack to offer the young woman a small smile. “And I’d love to have you,” she replied earnestly. “Both of you.”

She looked over her shoulder to Thancred where he was seated by her desk. Clearly sensing her eyes on him, he looked up from her gunblade. The furrow between his brows deepened, but he turned his attention back to carefully cleaning out the disassembled chamber.

Not that he needed to say anything; it was obvious he shared Alisaie’s sentiment, though he knew there was no point in him trying to argue for it. Without a word, he’d taken her gunblade from her and sat down to clean it while she packed the rest of her things ahead of leaving early the next morning.

Sighing, Viana walked over to her cabinet. “But as much as I may want to have you by my side out there, I wager Krile would sooner physically restrain the lot of you than let you travel to a warzone.” She frowned at the small rack holding the pre-prepared potions, and picked up two healing ones, leaving one vial behind. Making a mental note to ask Tataru for a restock, she turned back towards Alisaie, just as she with a huff settled down on the bed, next to the open bag.

“But I feel fine.”

Viana snorted and raised an eyebrow. “You say that now,” she retorted as she put the vials into their designated leather travel case. The antidote vial in the case was still nearly full so no need to get more of that at least. “But you don’t know how you’ll feel after a few nights of poor sleep, and several hours of fighting. A few starved and desperate gryphons are a far cry from an imperial legion and magitek units.”

“She’s right,” Thancred chimed in, his tone the same firm, matter-of-fact one he would usually take when he and Ryne were disagreeing on something. He didn’t look up from the cylinder he was reassembling as he continued, “We’re all still recovering physically. If we were out there, we’d be a source of distraction, and not nearly to as much help as we might want to believe.”

Alisaie threw him a sour look, like she felt betrayed by him not siding with her on the matter. For a moment, it looked like she might argue with him, but instead, she turned her head to glare down at the floor. “I know. I just…” She bit her lip, her shoulders tense as she dug her fingers into the bed cover. “I don’t like sitting here, useless,” she continued, her voice tense. “Especially when you’re walking into yet another warzone, and this time, you won’t have Lyse, or Yugiri and Hien, or anyone else you know and trust there to back you up. The last time I should have been...” She fell silent, but the unsaid words hung heavy in the air.

Viana paused, her chest knotting with sympathy and a faint unease - the memory of Ghimlyt still haunted them both it seemed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Thancred’s hands briefly still, before he continued tinkering with her gunblade.

“You’re not useless,” she responded firmly as she walked back to the bed.

It did nothing to make Alisaie relax or cease with her attempt to glare a hole into the floor. Attempts at coddling were never appreciated by her, that much Viana knew. Hells, at that age, she’d never liked it when people older than her had tried to talk down to her either. But youthful eagerness to leap into the next fray, heedless of one’s limits, was always something to look out for, and gently but firmly redirect elsewhere.

Reaching out, she put a hand on Alisaie’s shoulder and squeezed. “The best you can do right now,” she continued, “is what will make your recovery the swiftest it can be. Running headlong into an dangerous situation may at best result in you pushing yourself beyond what you’re capable of at this moment, or at worst, you might injure yourself and just set yourself back even more.”

Finally, Alisaie looked up, their eyes meeting. For a moment, her brow remained creased and mouth pressed together in a thin line, until finally the steel in her gaze softened a little. “Well, I suppose moping about it won’t do you or me any good.”

Relieved to see her mood shift towards something better, a crooked smile quirked the corner of Viana’s mouth. “No it won’t.” When she felt Alisaie’s shoulder relax, she gave it another squeeze before letting her hand drift off it. “Besides,” she continued while lowering her voice, not really trying to keep herself from being overheard in the stillness of the room, “someone’s got to make sure Thancred doesn’t slack off while I’m gone.”

“I heard that.”

Thancred’s deadpan voice made them both burst into quiet laughter. And with that, the air felt a little less thick with tension.

As her laughter subsided, Alisaie’s posture relaxed completely. “Fine, I get what you mean.”

“I’m glad,” Viana replied and turned back to the parts of her gear lying on the bed. Picking up the bag she usually attached to her belt, she put the case with the potion vials inside it as she continued speaking, “Hien and the rest of Doma might not be able to aid the resistance directly, but Yugiri volunteered to personally run any messages I might have for you all. Alphinaud knows how to get in touch with her as well, should the need arise.”

“It’d be good to see her again,” Alisaie responded, her voice soft and a bit more cheerful.

Viana made a quiet, humming noise of agreement while continuing to pack some spare clothes into her bag. “Wager she feels much the same.”

A comfortable silence settled over them for a short moment, until Alisaie spoke up once more, “You’re leaving early, right?”

“I am, yes.”

A smile broke out on her features as she stood up from the bed. “I’ll leave you to finish packing then. Come say good-bye before you go?”

With a soft laugh, Viana nodded. “I promise. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Alisaie,” Thancred said lightly, his attention still on the gunblade.

Alisaie paused with one hand on the door handle and glanced back at Thancred. “Don’t keep her up for too long while ‘saying good-bye’.”

There was a sharp pling of metal hitting metal accompanied by a startled noise, barely audible under Viana’s scandalised shout of the young elezen woman’s name. Before either of them had time to formulate a reply, Alisaie had already slipped out the door with a cheerful “Good night!” thrown over her shoulder.

Viana crossed her arms and stared at the closed door, her cheeks burning furiously. Of course she held no illusions whether Alisaie, or any of the others, remained oblivious to what was going on between her and Thancred - the sly quips and jabs from all of them made that quite clear - but the blatant insinuation had caught her entirely off-guard.

A heavy sigh from behind her made her turn to look towards Thancred just as he leaned down to pick up the small metal ring he’d apparently dropped. “Perhaps I should count myself lucky that she mostly holds her tongue in public,” he grumbled. “Not sure the shreds of my dignity would survive.”

It was hard not to quirk a smile at his grumpy tone. “She just enjoys teasing you.” A glimmer on the floor in the lantern light caught her attention and she moved to pick up a screw that had rolled out onto the floor. “Well, both of us, I suppose,” she added softly as she walked over to him.

Thancred murmured a ‘thank you’ when she placed the screw in his hand, but before she had a chance to return to pack the last of her things, he swiftly wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her down into his lap.

Viana huffed out a quiet laugh through her nose, but he silently returned to reassembling the cleaned components, arms on each side of her.

“Not exactly the most productive working position,” she commented softly as she rested her arm over his shoulders and idly drew random patterns onto his back with her fingers.

“Works well enough, my dear,” he replied in that effortless, well-practised tone she knew was meant to mask whatever feelings he truly had.

She pursed her lips as she watched him work. For a moment, she considered calling him out on his bluff. It wasn’t as if they could avoid speaking of it. Which, if she guessed right, was precisely why he’d caught her like this in the first place. Sighing quietly, she dropped a kiss to the top of his head while still stroking his back.

Thancred’s hands stilled for a second, before he turned his head and pressed his cheek against her chest, the arm around her back tensing. “A moment.”

She replied with a quiet hum and brushed her fingers over the nape of his neck, her eyes still on his hands. Usually she quite enjoyed watching him work like this; to just quietly observe his nimble fingers twist and turn the small components of a gunblade, fiddle with a lockpick, or merely playing with whatever piece of string or fabric that might be within reach while he was completely absorbed in a book.

Stuck as he’d been reading his old journals and Riol’s reports to refresh and catch up on events in his absence, learning the ins and outs of her new gunblade had given him something else to occupy his hands with. By now, she was fairly certain he knew it just as well as his own. Which was why, despite that it didn’t take too long for him to finish up, she had the suspicion that he stalled a little just to gather his thoughts.

Finally, he held up the blade and gave it a critical once over, before setting it back down. With quick, efficient motions, he began wiping down the cleaning rods with a stained rag. “You need to refill your bottle with oil,” he commented while setting the rods back into her leather kit.

Viana glanced at the nearly empty bottle sitting on the desk. “There’s a flask of it in the cupboard,” she replied softly.

He nodded. “I’ll get it then.”

“Gonna have to let me up if you’re gonna do that, love.”

Thancred leaned back in the chair while his hands settled on her waist. He looked tired, his jaw tense and a hard edge to his eyes when he met her gaze.

It was a look that made her chest draw tight with concern. It felt like there was something other than just her impending departure that was on his mind. The silence stretched out between them, thick and heavy. Unsure of what to say to coax him into speaking of whatever was bothering him so, Viana raised a hand to caress his cheek before leaning down to press her lips to his in a chaste, hopefully soothing, kiss.

It was short and sweet, and a gentle reassurance that she’d be fine was right at the tip of her tongue, but they never made it past her lips.

With a sharp inhale, Thancred chased after her when she tried to part from him, his fingers digging into her hip while his other hand was quick to cradle her jaw. He swallowed her surprised gasp when he tugged her down to deepen the kiss, the scent of the cleaning oil that clung to his fingers sharp in her nose. A blazing warmth rushed up the back of her neck, while her heart quickened its pace and her thoughts scattered under the all too familiar yearning that he so skillfully stoked within her. The warm touch of his hand swept up beneath her shirt, leaving a trail of sparks behind as he let it idly roam over whatever he could reach of her, while still keeping her securely in his embrace. It was tempting to just surrender to it, to bury her hands in his hair and let the unspoken words die in favour of that carnal pleasure every caress of his lips promised.

Yet she would not let herself be swept up in it - not when she could all but taste the hard, cold undercurrent of something bitter in his fervent kisses.

Finding her voice, she pushed her hand against his chest. “Thancred.”

Immediately, he froze. “My apologies,” he rasped out, his breath a puff of hot air against her lips. The hold he’d had on her loosened, and she could sense that he would not stop her if she were to try and get up.

Rather than doing so, Viana relaxed and rested her forehead against his while she caressed his cheek. “What’s on your mind, love?”

Sighing, he nuzzled his nose against hers, before he finally responded, “Alisaie is right.”

“Whatever happened with ‘We’re still recovering’ and ‘we’ll be more of a distraction than help’?”

Thancred made an annoyed sound at the back of his throat. “Twelve, I know what I said.”

There was something he was not letting on. His tone was too guarded. Idly, she stroked her thumb over his cheekbone before leaning back a little. There was a stubborn set to his jaw and furrow between his brows. Unease bristled in her chest, a sharp and prickling concern for what was weighing so heavily on him. “You did not seem this worried when I ventured out to track down the weapon projects with Gaius,” she ventured carefully.

His expression darkened with a deep frown. “Because we all knew that Cid and the Ironworks would watch your back,” he responded firmly. “But out there, in Bozja, with the rebel forces? Who knows what’ll happen, who the Empire might have bought off with pretty promises or snuck in amongst the rank and file soldiers? We have no idea where Zenos is either. I should-” He abruptly fell silent and turned his head to the side, glaring off at her bookshelf like it was the sole source of his foul mood.

Viana raised an eyebrow and nervously wet her lips as she let her hand fall from his cheek to instead rest against his chest. “I don’t know where your head is at right now,” she began slowly, while trying to think of the right words to say. “But we’ve spoken of this. We both have our own duties to see to, and I know that you agree with me on the importance of that, so I can only guess that’s not why you’re bothered right now.”

She felt his fingers press into her hip, and tapped her fingers against his collarbone in turn. He glanced back at her, the grip on her hip tensing for a brief moment. The muscles at his jaw shifted as he clenched it, until he drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. When he lowered his gaze, he relaxed his hold on her. “Forgive me… I… think I’m not used to you going off on your own, least of all into an active warzone,” he murmured. “Usually you have one of the twins with you at least, or that I’m close at hand myself, or… you’re with some other ally we know and trust.” He made a vague, hopeless gesture with his hand. “Bozja may as well be on the First, for all that I - or any of us - can help if something were to happen to you there.”

Despite his gruff tone, the little ball of anxiety in her chest loosened up. With a soft smile, Viana cradled his jaw and sought his gaze with her own. “Thancred, you’re allowed to be worried.”

He glanced up at her, his mouth still pressed together in a thin line and eyes stormy with emotions, but the hard lines in his expression had softened out a little. “I know you can take care of yourself,” he added firmly.

Humming softly, she brushed back a few strands of hair from his eyes. “Just like I knew you could take care of yourself while you were tracking Elidibus.” Quickly, she leaned down to brush her lips to his. “That doesn’t mean I did not fear that every hour I spent here at the Source was several hours I was not readily at hand in the First if you all needed me.”

With all that had been happening then, it had been hard to shake off the constant lingering fear that the moment she went to sleep, Feo Ul would be in her dreams to tell her that Elidibus had made his move in her absence, or that Thancred’s body had been found somewhere. Or worse, that they’d lost track of him entirely. Finding out later that he’d been hiding his dizzy spells from her hadn’t helped.

The memory of their hushed, hurried argument over that particular bit brought a bitter taste to her mouth. One bump on the road of them both learning and adjusting to being together with someone like this, but they had worked it out.

Thancred made a low, thoughtful noise that stirred her from her ruminations. Taking her hand in his, he pressed a light kiss to the back of her fingers. “Fair point, I suppose.”

Viana offered him a gentle smile. There was still some tension lingering in his expression, but she felt him relax against the back of the chair, his shoulders visibly slumping a little as he seemed to finally let go of whatever root cause for his mood had been. “You better now?” she asked.

He huffed out a tired chuckle. “I’d still be happier if we all were going with you.”

“Hmm, well, it’s like what I said to Alisaie,” she answered softly. “Best you all can do right now is to rest and recover. Fair chance there’s not much time before some matter or another requires you all out in the field once more.”

Thancred’s eyes softened and his smile turned a little rueful. “You too deserve some more time to rest.”

He raised a hand to cup her cheek and she leaned her head into his warm touch. She’d miss it in the coming weeks - miss all of them, now that she’d finally gotten them all back home once more. “I fear the world has other ideas,” she hummed. “It’s either now, or let the IVth legion solidify their hold on the region while the empire crumbles around them.” But he knew that - he, Riol and Alphinaud had all read the reports provided by the resistance just as diligently as she had.

Gently, Thancred pulled her back down for a slow, tender kiss that made her heart flutter in her chest and warmth rise on her cheeks. The kiss melted into another, his hand sliding up to cup the back of her head, until they somewhat reluctantly parted to catch their breaths. “I suppose barring the door is out of the question, hm? For just one more day at least?”

Chuckling at the rather well-worn joke - forever just a hushed whisper beneath warm covers they did not want to leave or a wistful remark in the lantern light on a eve such as this one - she pressed another quick kiss to his lips. “Afraid so, love.”

Thancred sighed softly, “Then I better get that flask refilled so you can pack everything away for tomorrow.”

“We have the rest of tonight.” She brushed one more kiss to his lips, craving those small intimate gestures with him that she’d have to go without with the coming of the morning light. “Let’s make the best use of it.”

“That sounds good, my dear.”

#thancred waters #Thancred #thancred x wol #alisaie leveilleur #My writing #Alisaie best little sister ok

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 4 years

Note

15 from the smut prompts with Merriell ❤️❤️ if ya have the time

15. trying to distract the other with sex while they’re “busy”

16. orgasm denial/edging

Another good place to combine ideas! Be warned for some dom!Mer behavior, some name calling, menacing tones, pleasure/pain line blur, but then it goes soft bc I am such a soft bitch at heart. I TRY, I SWEAR.

And since turnabout is fair play, here’s one I wrote about edging him if you get to the end and you’re like, THAT ABSOLUTE SHIT!

* * * * *

When Merriell had decided to build your new house himself, you were thrilled. He assured you he could do just about anything you wanted, and that together, you would make the perfect home.

An interesting thing about Merriell was that he collected favors, not unlike an Italian Don. So when it came time to build, Mer cashed in favor after favor from an array of guys with different talents. So far, he’d gotten returns on favors from the building inspector, the excavator, and now the block man.

And you appreciated every cashed-in favor, every wink thrown in the direction of every cashier or secretary, and every phone call he made to sweet-talk out a deal that would save you money.

You knew that it was all for you.

And you also knew that Sundays, without question, were always to belong to just the two of you—no work, no phone calls, no house talk. Sunday was your day to reconnect, to show each other just how much you missed one another.

Except that today was Sunday, and Merriell hadn’t paid you one iota of attention aside from an acknowledgment that he was sorry he was so busy.

When you glanced up at the clock in the kitchen as Merriell took the fourth phone call of the evening, you dropped the dish you had been washing with a thud. Toweling off your hands and watching as the seconds tick into minutes, you wondered what the hell you could do to get his attention.

A naughty smile played with the edges of your lips as you realized you had everything you needed to get his attention right … under … your … clothes.

You tied your hair up in a messy bun, the fuck-me-bun as Mer called it, and stripped down. Trying to compose your giggles and look sexy, you followed the sound of his voice.

“Yeah—I’d love to get the order here end a the day tomorra. Yes, sir. Jus’ the cap blocks.”

“Uh huh. I sho do appreciate it.”

“While I got ya on the line, I was wonderin’ if I could persuade ya to—”

Merriell stopped talking and stared as you walked out onto the back porch, completely naked. It wasn’t like you had neighbors under the age of 65, so even if they thought they saw something, it would be quite easy to say they were mistaken.

You smirked and popped a hand onto your hip, idly examining your nails as if you just stood naked on the porch every time Merriell took a phone call.

“Apo--Apologies. Anyway, I was wonderin’ if ya could bump me up to ‘round noon.”

As Merriell listened to the man’s reply, his eyes raked over your body, but underneath the lust, there was a warning.

“Really appreciate dat. And abou’dat price, Nancy, sweet gal in ya office, she said I could save a few bucks unloadin’ the truck maself,” Merriell’s eyes flicked away as he concentrated on his phone call, and you knew you shouldn’t have interrupted. Afterall, it was your money, too.

But you were so needy and today was supposed to be your day, and the end result of having a beautiful home just seemed so inconsequential when Mer was right here in front of you, one hand wrapped around his phone and the other idly twitching on the top of his thigh.

Those fingers, you thought, your body pulling you toward them, pulling you toward straddling Merriell’s thigh, pulling you to sink down onto his hand and to rub your pussy over his thick, strong fingers.

He stuttered again into the phone, but when his eyes shot to your face, there was no warning—warnings were over.

When he got off that phone, you were gonna get it.

His gaze was so severe that you actually faltered in your little game, but as you stood and released his hand, he used it to lock you into place, your pussy pressing harshly against his jeans as he held you down by the hip. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass and it hurt.

Unsure of what else to do, you crossed your arms and pouted, scowling at him until he finally ended the phone call. Mer bucked you off his thigh and stood quickly, grabbing your wrists to steady you.

“Exactly what the fuck are ya doin?”

You narrowed your eyes and jerked your wrists, intending to march back into the house and give him the silent treatment until neither of you could stand it any longer.

“Oh no. Ya wanted to play? Well, now I’m ready to play.”

His breath was hot in your face and you felt arousal pool between your thighs at his words.

“Such a slut for me ya couldn’t even wait five fuckin’ minutes. Pathetic.”

Your mouth popped open with a slight gasp and Merriell pushed you against the railing. You looked around wildly, feeling very exposed, but he didn’t care. Your ass dug into the wood and Mer pressed his entire body into yours until there was no telling where he ended and you began.

“If I reach between dose thighs a yours, are ya gonna be all wet for me?”

“No,” you said obstinately.

“Dat so?” he said, and as he raised his brow, you were so close to his face that you could see the bleached blonde hairs peppered into the dark brown thanks to the Louisiana sun.

Merriell still held your wrists tightly, but he lowered your arms, bringing them down to your hips and letting you open your palms against the railing for balance. He kept his much larger hands over yours and leaned in, the pressure uncomfortable as your breathing picked up.

“Ma guess is dat ya are a lil slut . . . and a big big liah.” He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth before he pulled back and gave you a searing look, one that made you shiver, and then he leaned forward and kissed you proper, kissed you until you were a panting mess.

When he pulled back, he tucked his lip between his bottom teeth before letting it pop out again.

“Get to the bedroom. Do nothin’ other’n wait for me.”

Your eyes searched his, and despite the command, a slight smile spread across your face—

Mer reached up, lightening quick and grasped your face.

“Nothin’ funny bout botherin’ me when I’m busy. And there’s really gonna be nothin’ funny bout what I’m gonna do to ya tonight.”

The idea of “tonight” made you shiver.

He didn’t make you wait much longer than it took for him to pour himself a shot, then another, then decide to take the bottle of fireball whiskey with him. When he appeared in the bedroom doorway, he was without a shirt and his jeans barely clung to his narrow hips. He leaned against the frame and raised the half-empty bottle to his mouth to take one more swallow.

You loved the taste of that cinnamon whiskey on his lips and he knew that, so he eyed you as you watched his adam’s apple bob, and as his face pulled into the slightest grimace as he swallowed the fiery drink. He licked his lips and approached, reaching out to the dresser to deposit the bottle on top.

When Mer reached the edge of the bed, he held out his hand and you let him pull you into a sitting position. Your feet found purchase on the edge of the bedframe, allowing your legs to stay parted. He slid between them, one hand sliding around the base of your head and the other across your upper back.

His eyes burned into yours for a moment before he kissed you, lips against lips until you reached out to taste the cinnamon remnants of his whiskey. He opened for you, staying fairly still as you massaged your tongue over and around his, then explore the ridge of his mouth before pulling his upper lip into your mouth and sucking.

But when you reached for him, your fingertips grazing over his torso, he wound his hand in your hair and pulled hard enough to make you gasp.

As you looked up at him, he didn’t speak. He only looked down his nose at you, every fiber of his being in perfect control. He let you have that kiss, you realized too late.

He let you have that kiss, and now, you belonged to him.

“Lie back.”

With your legs still spread, you did as instructed and watched with rapt attention as he popped the button on his jeans. They started to slide down his legs before he even lowered the zipper halfway and when they reached the floor, he stepped out of them, kicking them to the side. His eyes never left your face, watching the hunger grow just as his cock was growing harder without so much as a touch from either of you.

Merriell placed his hands on either side of your mound, his thumbs massaging your pussy without yet dipping between the folds. He could see your arousal, and he smirked, knowing he had been right.

“Mmm,” you moaned, your thighs unconsciously moving closer together to compliment the sweet pressure from Merriell’s fingers.

“Ya like dat?”

“Yes,” you sigh.

Merriell used his thumbs to spread your lips and bent to lap at your core, licking your inner lips and dancing his tongue in and out of your entrance before sliding up to flick your clit. His hands slid over your thighs to push them farther apart and when you looked down at just the top of his curly head as he buried his face in your pussy, your breath hitched and you felt a fresh wave of arousal flood your core.

“Yes, Mer! Fuck yes.”

When he slid a finger into you, you shuddered. When he slid in another, you moaned, low and feral.

Your chest flushed and your breathing an erratic staccato of pants, Merriell continued to work you with his tongue and his fingers. Just as you felt that tell-tale sign of release, that tightening in your lower abdomen that made your breath pause as your orgasm came to the surface, he removed his fingers and stilled his mouth.

He stood up and looked down at you, his lips and chin wet, his curls mussed, his eyes half-lidded and wicked.

Your mouth opened and shut, and your brows lowered as anger swept through you at such a blatant denial of your orgasm. Sure, Merriell had teased you before, stopping to prolong the inevitable with a smirk and a smattering of giggles as you thrashed under him and begged, but this—this was something else.

“S’matter? Think ya deserve to come after interruptin’ me? After lyin’ to me? I warned ya, didn’t I?”

“I thought it was—”

“A joke? Oh no, baby girl. Ya bout to find out how wrong ya were.”

Switching tactics, you relied on what had always worked in the past.

“Please, Mer. I need you so much. I just miss you, you know? I . . . I miss your cock inside of me,” you said as you sat up on your elbows and lowered your eyes, looking like the very picture of innocence.

“Why didn’t ya just say so?” Mer asked with a quirk of his brow as he leaned over you, kissing you as he guided the tip of his cock to your entrance.

You swallowed as much of the kiss as you could, relishing in the taste of the perfect mixture of the cinnamon whiskey and your arousal.

“Dat betta?” Mer asked as he yanked your ass to the edge of the mattress and began to fuck you slowly, only about half of his dick disappearing inside of you with his shallow thrusts.

“Oh, yes. You feel so good, Mer. Fuck me, please.”

Since your eyes were closed as you concentrated on the feeling of him moving inside of you, you missed the sinful grin that flicked across his face and lit up his eyes.

“Mmhmmm,” he echoed, pulling out to run the tip of his slickened cock over your throbbing clit, alternating between rubbing and tapping lightly before he moved back to your entrance and slid in again with the same shallow thrust.

“More,” you begged. “Fuck me harder.”

And at your request, Mer pulled his cock out again and repeated the same motion, teasing your clit, running his length through your lips instead of pushing back into you.

Frustrated, you reached down with your hand and tried to move his cock back inside of you, but Merriell grasped your fingers tightly and said, “I don’t fuckin’ think so.”

Growling, you wriggled your hips and sought to chase more contact, but Merriell just used both of his hands to still them as he slowly slid the tip of his cock back into your entrance only to pop out and tease your clit again.

You felt like every muscle in your body was wound to its maximum, aching for release.

When Merriell slipped back inside of you and resumed his shallow thrusts, he brought one hand back to rub circles over your clit, the swollen bud so desperate for release that it almost hurt to have him touch you. You gritted your teeth through that burn of overstimulation and just when you were entering that phase of sweet release again, Merriell pulled his hand away.

“No!” you cried out, shock and hurt and pleasure swirling over your features as your eyes filled with tears. “Please, Merriell. Oh my god, please let me come.”

“Shhh,” he soothed as he pushed all the way into you, bottoming out and making you moan at finally having all of him inside of you.

You marveled at his self-control as he steadily fucked you, this time, working the inside of your body with the angle of his dick. He pulled your legs up and let them rest on his shoulder as he fucked into you, sweat beading out along his brow as you watched his face, silently begging for this to be it—for this to be the last time he brought you to the edge and denied you.

“Ya feel so good. So wet for me. So tight.”

“So good,” you echoed him, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes at their own volition.

Merriell’s hips stuttered as he saw the results of his edging, and as he watched the tears fall down your temples, his heartbeat quickened and his orgasm took hold of him.

He moved your legs apart again and thrust deeply into you for a few more strokes before he pulled out, your cry strangled from the loss of him as he reached down and stroked his cock, thick spurts of cum shooting up to your chest and landing on your stomach and on your mound.

You watched him come, his mouth twisted into a beautiful oh of ecstasy, his eyes bright and locked on yours as his hand slowed, then stilled. His eyes moved from yours and trailed down your body, observing his mess.

“Mmm . . . gardes don,” Mer said with a slow shake of his head and a smirk. “Ya wanted me. Ya got me.”

With a light smack to your thigh, Merriell moved from between your legs and bent down to grab his jeans. He kept his back turned to you as you sat up on your elbows, your mouth hanging open in disbelief.

The zip of his pants rang in your ears as he walked out of the bedroom door.

You waited, your frustration boiling over as you finally just screamed, “Petit enculé!”

A deep chuckle sounded just outside of the bedroom door and you bolted into an upright position, glaring as Merriell popped back into the bedroom.

“Ya really think I was gonna leave ya like that?”

You grabbed his pillow and wiped his cold cum from off your chest and stomach and scrambled to get out of the bed. Still laughing, Merriell grabbed you and pushed you down, pinning you under his weight.

You struggled against him, glaring as he said through his laughter, “Come on. Ya know ya wanna get off, yeah?”

You continued to glare.

“And nobody can do that better than me,” Mer said as he started peppering kisses over your face, licking at the salty trails of your dried tears.

“Whaddya say, ma chèrie?” he murmured as he kissed down your neck, his jeans pressing into your clit in a way that instantly reignited the sparks that had been stoked then quelled for well over an hour.

“Please, Mer. Please.”

Without teasing, he moved directly between your thighs, his mouth hot and welcoming as it encased your battered clit. His fingers slipped inside of you, and working in tandem, he brought you to a wide-eyed, open mouthed orgasm that had you seeing stars long after your breathing returned to normal.

* * * * *

Gardes don (pronounced gahd-A daw(n)) is a Cajun idiom that means “look at that”

Petit enculé : there’s a lot to unpack with this one, so if you’re in the mood for a good Google, go for it. Essentially, it’s used here to say little fucker/cocksucker.

ma chèrie: my darling

#Merriell Shelton #merriell shelton x reader #female reader #merriel snafu shelton #snafu x reader #snafu #SMUT #Merriell Shelton smut #Rami Malek character

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Note

Directors cut - tell me about Camp Crystal What. EVERYTHING. Pretty please.

I was originally gonna pick the opening scene but I wanted to discuss Jason being a complete and utter brat. :)

“Exactly, why am I in the back?” Jason whines, unfolding and refolding himself, not quite sure where to place what limb in the cramped back row of the SUV.

There’s several reasons why he’s in the back:

Dick ‘ You could play Bartok - Violin Concerto No. 2 on my heart strings’ Grayson did not have the heart to separate Damian from his friends.

Faust is a good navigator and she’s pretty good at keeping Dick awake enough to drive.

Jason refuses to stop putting his feet up in the dash board.

Damian glares back at him for you, in an oddly protective gesture

Protective Dami is best Dami. I take no criticism (well).

Jason, looking positively annoyed, unfolds himself and violently settles his feet on Tim’s lap. Tim yelps then says something close to a swear word. Jason grins lazily looking more like a cat as he leans back.

Even to your right, Damian seems amused if not outright gleeful at seeing Tim’s misery.

Once again Jason is a brat. Shocking hahahahahaha. Poor Tim stuck with his brothers tormenting him. This part was a semi reconstruction of something that happened to me on a road trip. Imagine going on a road trip for 4 hours with 5 kids, 2 irresponsible adults, and 1 responsible adult. Also the foot thing is something I occasionally do to annoy my sister when we spend time on the couch together.

There was always something difficult about interpreting social signals. It was so easy to get them wrong and when you add in the complication of being a vigilante you just found yourself frustrated. You slump into the seat feeling the frustration writhing under your skin. Jon noticing your frustration eases up and gives you a little more space.

This is just me ranting about my experience with social cues. I am fairly bad at understand facial expression even if they’re blatant. I either over think it. In this fic, I kind of tried to project all of my weird ticks as a child. The inability to wear some clothing because of the texture, being unable to play with others cus they’re too loud, wanting to be alone because interactions were too stressful, and the difficulty with social cues.

“Well, Dicktopus here insisted on the authentic road trip atmosphere complete with bad cell signal, a map, and oh right, getting lost.” Dick gives her a look which Faust just shrugs it off.

We used to go on a lot of roadtrips and we didn’t have a GPS and I just wanted to complain about it. Road trips in the US are pretty different from what we did in the Philippines so I had to double check.

“It’s old but gold,” Dick defends fervently, earning him an indulgent smile from Faust and a withering look from Damian.

“So much for your taste in movies, Dickens,” Faust teases, poking a finger at Dick’s shoulder.

I love their dynamic sue me and the fact that Faust has even worse taste is terrible.

Playing along, you each gave varying sounds of agreement til Dick finally threw his hands up in exasperation. "HEATHENS!”

I just love how loud Dick’s gestures can be. He’s such a fun and expressive character. The fact that everyone is ganging up on him is great.

You all bask in Dick’s misery. You even catch Jon giggling at Dick’s frown despite himself. The rest were completely unrepentant.

We can all agree the Dick suffering is a great fic genre.

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nomazee · 4 years

Text

Designated Driver (2)

☆ akaashi keiji x reader; bokuto koutarou x reader

word count: 1700+

content: themes of unrequited love, personal development, angst/fluff

cross-posted on my ao3

PART ONE

(here’s the second part!!! sorry for taking so long with it, the week’s been a bit hectic for me.

i think this is up there on my list of favorite things i’ve written (which is....unsurprisingly, very short). i really hope you guys like this final part, and feel free to tell me about anything you liked/didn’t like!

ALSO!! reminder that requests are open!! please read my request rules before sending one in <3

happy reading!!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

You told Akaashi that night over the phone that you would talk to him tomorrow. That was a blatant lie.

The day after the party was one of those days where you didn’t share any lectures with him, so you didn’t naturally bump into him at any point throughout the day. On top of that, you were a little bit frazzled with reviewing the coursework of your weakest class to allot any time to text Akaashi and the male himself hadn’t done so, either.

You let it be. All things happened for a reason. And having a break from him for a little bit would be beneficial to you, you figured.

On the other hand, you and Bokuto grew closer and closer by the day. Neither of you were great with tutoring, but studying separate subjects in each other’s presence was good enough for both of you. Any free time that you were willing to lend him was spent either going out to newly discovered diners or cooking (very chaotically) at the chosen person’s apartment of the night. (Though, on top of this, Bokuto made sure to let you have time for yourself, careful not to overcrowd your schedule of just him all the time.)

It was a bit new, adjusting to this temporary lack of Akaashi Keiji in your life. But Bokuto was a really good friend. You were surprised (and a little disappointed in yourself, to be honest) that you didn’t allow yourself to get as close to him before this whole thing happened. You two were still friends before--you, Bokuto and Akaashi could be considered a sort of “friend group” but you were significantly more comfortable with the latter than the former. You had times where you hung out with both of them and times where you only hung out with Akaashi, but until now you’d never individually spent time with Bokuto.

Neither of you had addressed it out loud, but you knew Bokuto was really doing his best to try and take your mind off of what had happened at the party. Occupying you with things distinctly unrelated to Akaashi, trying to fill up time spent alone with his presence--all of that was his attempt (successful attempt, at that) to make your mood better.

And to make you stop relying on Akaashi so much.

You hated to admit it--who liked admitting their own falsehoods?--but you really were reliant on Akaashi for a good majority of your happiness. You always seeked his validation and used the time he spent around you to assure yourself that, ‘yes, I am a likeable person, and him being my friend proves it!’

You cringed a bit just looking back on your old mindset, though the flinch of your inner thoughts was easily subdued by the mental comparison you made between how you lived with Akaashi constantly present in your life and how you lived now, with a different person and a different mentality.

Bokuto was sure to not turn into a sheer replacement for the hole Akaashi left in your head. The time he allotted for you to spend by yourself was entirely intentional--something that was, yet again, an unspoken intention but one that you were both entirely aware of. Emotionally intelligent as he is, Bokuto ensured that you didn’t build up yet another reliance on an individual person. Every time you spent a night by yourself, he’d make sure to send you a text, like, “take some time and just relax tonight! use the bath bombs you got for your birthday! :)” or “i’ve watched that movie before! i think you’ll really like it” before telling you to turn off your phone and enjoy yourself.

It was very different, now that you thought about it. The time you used to spend alone, without Akaashi, was always a bit empty for you, no matter how many new dishes you tried out or what series you decided to marathon. Now it was much more fulfilling--you knew how to divide your time fairly between social events (read: cooking spaghetti with Bo) and individual relaxation.

Reminiscing on your mindset made you feel a mix of emotions. It was a bit sad how tightly you latched onto someone you weren’t even in a relationship with. You were relieved you could move past that phase, though. Here you were, developing a sense of individuality in only a few weeks of time. It was a drastic change, but one that you were proud of. (Bokuto was proud, too, though he never outright said it and preferred to show it in the small gifts he gave you from time to time.)

You did occasionally wonder if you should text Akaashi, but left that up for the black-haired male to decide for himself. You were content either way, no matter how much your old conscious resurfaced and nagged you to text him back.

It was a bit of a shock to hear a knock on your door on a late Saturday afternoon. You and Bokuto promised to meet up somewhere, so he wouldn’t have shown up at your apartment like this.

Your expression turned curious from your place in the kitchen, where you’d been sipping on water and scrolling through your phone while waiting to leave. You placed the glass down and walked over to your door, opening it.

You were right in thinking it wasn’t Bokuto. But you really weren’t expecting Akaashi to be here, either.

Surprise was evident in your expression. Akaashi met your eyes before looking at your doorframe and shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. You took the initiative to start talking.

“Hey, Akaashi. I wasn’t expecting you to come over. What’s going on?” He looked at you properly now, lips fluttering open and closed in an attempt to grasp cohesive words together.

“Can I come in?” Was what made it out, and you obliged to his request. He seemed a little jumpy in your presence, only making you more concerned as time passed.

“Did you… need something?” His hands clasped together and he began picking at his cuticles habitually. You couldn’t help the downturn of your lips at the action.

“No, I’m fine. I just wanted to talk with you. And see if maybe you wanted to hang out today?”

Oh, you thought. That was nice of him. Though he could’ve texted you first before showing up at your house spontaneously. (You tried not to read too much into that fact.)

You gave him a gentle simper, happy that he was finally beginning to try and reconcile with you after everything. Better late than never, right?

“I’m glad you’re talking with me again, Akaashi.” His expression softened at your words, mirroring your own smile. “I can’t do it today, though, but I should be free next week if that’s okay?”

The expression of elation on his face faltered the slightest bit at hearing you were occupied today. “Yeah, that’s fine. You’re going somewhere right now?”

You checked the time on your phone--five minutes until you should leave. You nodded at him, “Yeah, I’m going to that new diner downtown with Bokuto. We heard good things about it, so… we figured we should try it out.”

Akaashi’s expression--you could only describe it as owlish. His eyes widened and he blinked at you questioningly. “Oh. I didn’t know you were both so close.”

A fond countenance appeared on your features at the mention of your bond with the male. “Yeah, after everything… happened,” you couldn’t help but flinch after bringing it up, assuming the wound may still be fresh on his part, “we just started hanging out a bit more. He’s really nice.”

You said that last part as an afterthought, really, but Akaashi noticed how it came so naturally to you to describe his friend in that way. He felt like he was overthinking, but it seemed like you were doing just fine without him. Like you didn't miss him at all.

“Are you guys dating?” Internally, he chastised himself for being so straightforward. A beat of silence passed, and he was preparing himself to apologize when you spoke up.

“No, we’re not.” And that was it. A simple answer, no elaboration, nothing to further clarify--vague enough to let Akaashi continue his overthinking.

His eyes flitted up to yours. Your ears were tinted with a soft pink. An ache persisted in the back of Akaashi’s throat at the implications of your expression. Fuck.

You checked your phone again. It was time to leave. You relayed this information to Akaashi and let him walk you down to the parking lot so he could leave at the same time.

Making your final steps to your car, you turned around to face him and say goodbye when you were pulled into a tightened, warm embrace.

A sound of surprise left your throat, and Akaashi pushed his forehead into the crook of his shoulder, like he was searching for comfort in the cotton of your cardigan and the floral smell of your skin. He felt like he was choking in your body wash, but thought that wouldn’t be a bad way to die.

Instinctively, your hand reached up to the crowd of his head and tangled itself in the depths of his hair (unruly, you noted, like he hadn’t bothered to really keep up with his multi-step haircare process that you always teased him for).

“I’m sorry, [Name].” His words, genuine and painful to release on his part, buzzed through the skin covering your trapezius and you suppressed a shudder at the feeling. “I’m so sorry.”

The crack of his voice made a similar attack to your heart. “Akaashi… it’s okay.”

Both of your words were simple, but they were heavy. The head on your shoulder turned to stone and you felt the need to rid yourself of the weight before you succumbed to your old routine. You released the arms you wrapped around him in return, and gave a gentle push against his shoulder.

Glassy blue eyes stared back into yours. You nearly drowned in them, but stopped yourself before you could. You thought that wouldn’t be a good way to die.

“I’ll see you.” With the lack of response on his part, you gave him a gentle smile--as reassuring as you could get it--and made your way into your car.

Akaashi watched you give him a parting wave from behind the tinted windows of your car. He struggled to reciprocate, but did so nonetheless.

You seemed happy enough. It hurt that he wasn’t there to see it. But he figured it would be a good way to live, for both of you.

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mirroralchemist · 3 years

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Untitled FFXIV Writings pt.7

Fandom: FFXIV Pairing: Haurchefant/WoL Word Count: 3684 Notes: So this is the completed version of my little snippet I did last post. Something feels off about it so I haven't uploaded it to AO3 but I wanted to get it out there since it's been on my docs for a while. So enjoy this raw writing.

The loud warks and chirps sounded through the stables as I placed a hand on his beak. I tried to pet in a soothing manner, which only seemed to distress the creature further.

“Come on Yusuke…” I muttered, “It’ll only be for a short while. I will not abandon you.”

He seemed unconvinced of my words and only flailed more at my attempts to calm him. I let out a small sigh at it all. It was quickly apparent that I would need means of flight to travel around. Which, to my unfortunate realization, my chocobo does not have the ability to. In turn it led to my decision to stable him in Ishgard for the time being.

Yusuke, being by my side since he was first issued to me in Ul’dah, did not take well to said arrangement.

His cries only seem to grow louder at my insistence.

My pets only seem to make the bird even more anxious. Admitting, my knowledge of Chocobos was lacking; only knowing the basics of how to care and train them. I was almost at a loss on how to soothe him. I really didn’t want to stable him either, if I was perfectly honest but the Black Chocobo given to me by Lord Haurchefant would be better suited for the journey ahead. At least for now.

“Having some trouble dear friend?”

I turned towards the sound to the very man himself, Lord Haurchefant. His face seemed relaxed as he made his way towards me. Belatedly, I realized that Yusuke stopped his flailing to stare right at the Elezen. I held on to his reigns a bit tighter, in case he was ready to attack. Lord Haurchefant didn’t look worried as he approached us. I couldn’t help the blush that started to appear on my face, remembering that this is the first time we’ve been alone since that night in Camp Dragonhead.

“Ah, a bit.” I admitted, “My partner is not agreeable to being stabled while I’m away. I wish I could take him with, but he cannot fly.”

At the mention of the dilemma Yusuke started back his distressed cries. I frowned at the creature, while trying to pet him once more. Lord Haurchefant seemed amused by the scene, if the mirth expression on his face was an indicator. A gloved hand reached out and touched Yusuke where the cheek met the beak. Careful pats slowly reached up to his head.

“There, there.” he cooed, “It’ll be alright boy.”

The gentle pets across Yusuke’s yellow plumage with his soothing words quieted him down to gentle warks. Lord Haurchefant’s smile widely at his work. And me too. I stood in awe of the man. He had done something that I tried for minutes to do.

“There, he should be more amenable now.”

The awe never left my face as Yusuke became more like his docile self. Lord Haurchefant turned to look at me, bemused by my open expression. His hand had touched my shoulder.

“I can understand why he would be so anxious. The unknown feeling if the one you hold dear will return hale and whole? ‘Tis a sobering thought.”

It’s sometimes easy to forget that he is a leader of an outpost. Maybe it is not new to not welcome those under his care. His hand soon moved from my shoulder to the small of my back, bringing me close to his person. My blush became more pronounced as we were just less than an ilm apart.

“Thank you for the black chocobo.” I spoke, “I am undeserving of your kindness thus far.”

“Perish the thought. You are more than worthy of it and then some.”

I looked up at him, only for him to meet my stare as well. Watching him, my heart tightened just a bit.

“What ails you?” he asked.

My eyes had widened before looking away. Now remembering in full what happened between us before I left for Ishgard proper, it tightened my chest a bit more. I was not ashamed of what happened. But it made situations awkward when I would see him.

“It is nothing.” I started to say.

I wasn’t sure if he believed it.

He was silent as his hand stroked along the shape of my spine, sending small shivers in response to his touches.

“Why?” I began to ask, “Why did you indulge me that night?”

“Because you are a cherished friend, Love.” he answered with no hesitation.

He seemed so sure of himself as he answered. I was at a loss for words. A feeling settled into my chest. The same feeling as we talked that night. It wasn’t the unease of being around him, but rather unease that I could not identify this feeling.

“Pray, forgive my forwardness but witnessing your feats to save my brother and then the trial by combat against two members of the Heavensward to clear your companions’ names has caused quite a stirring in my chest. If I may, may I kiss you?”

For a long moment, I was silent. To let his request sink in. The blush became more pronounced as I soon realized what he had asked of me. Thinking on it, it was not that outlandish of a request. Quite tame considering what we had already done together. Slowly, I nodded. He beamed at my acceptance as he lowered himself to match my height.

And we just stared.

Just looking at him made my heart stir. That feeling welled up just a bit more. He moved his head towards mines, closing the distance. So close, in fact, that I could feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. In a flash our lips touched. Despite the chill of skin from the winter-like air, it was pleasant.

It was a brief peck; as if he was testing my reaction.

I found myself wanting more.

Lord Haurchefant’s hand rose to touch my cheek, the chill from the leather clad hand causing a slight shiver to course throughout. His thumb idly stroked the length of skin. I leaned into his touch finding comfort in such a simple gesture.

“Haurchefant,” I spoke, “I would like that again.”

His brows rose in surprise. From me asking for more or so readily dropping his title, I could not confirm. But he seemed satisfied all the same. He leaned in once more taking my lips into his, this time not separating so quickly. The air felt different, more charged. My mind raced as it came to realize what I was doing and I was content. His hand left my cheek to caress the back of my head; ministrations leaving my body in pleasurable tingles. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to just feel for the moment.

I couldn’t tell when it happened, but the kiss became deeper.

My hands found a way through his hair, grasping at it as my body was pulled closer to his. I still wanted more. Soon wandering hands roamed down the back of my body, deliberately pausing to grope at certain parts. I would usually protest at such blatant actions, but I liked how it felt. A surprise mewl escaped my mouth as I felt myself suddenly lifted by my thighs, matching Haurchefant’s full height. Instinctively, I grabbed on by his neck to brace myself. He chuckled at my reactions.

“I confess, I had been wanting this for a time,” he said.

I could only nod. To hear him say such things was a touch embarrassing. I had never been the object of one’s feelings such as this. It was aweing to know it. Suddenly, I felt my back bump against one of the wooden beams. I was preoccupied in my own thoughts, I did not realize he had moved us for better leverage.

“It is hard to restrain myself when your reactions are so genuine Love.”

He soon returned to my cheek, peppering light kisses along my jawline. Each one brings a tickling warmth in my stomach.

“Pray, forgive my lack of restraint.”

I shook my head. I was in actuality quite content at the situation before me. I knew he would immediately stop if I showed discomfort, I felt safe around him. I wrapped my legs around his waist. Being so close, despite our layer of clothes, I felt the faint outline of his need. That in turn fed into my own needs. I held on to him tighter, slotting myself in the middle. A heavy silence settled as he began to sense my intent. His mouth gaped open in clear shock before I saw the tips of his ears tinged pink.

“Ami are you sure?”

“I am. Besides, you put me into this state.”

He gave a light chuckle before pressing himself firmer into me. He made it known that the arousal was quite mutual.

A gentle wark brought us out of the moment.

It had suddenly hit that we were being this intimate in a chocobo stable. My blush reached a new high as I loosened my hold on Haurchefant. He kissed at my temple before letting me down. I gave a wince at the crumpled state of my clothes.

“If you are still willing to continue, mayhap I recommend a place where we are not so easily disturbed?”

He had asked this of me, still ever considerate. He still let me choose the pace of this course. I nodded. He returned it with a smile before grabbing my hand. There was a comfortable silence as we walked out of the stables and through the less populated streets of Foundation. My heart beat faster in excitement of what was to happen. Now that I could clearly identify my own needs, it didn’t feel as daunting to deal with.

I confess, running around discreetly as if I was a youth was a touch embarrassing.

Our steps slowed as we approached a small outpost. He had opened the door, it creaking as it swung away. The layout was fairly simplistic; a table, unlit lantern, and a cot adorned the inside. It looked to be able to house one occupant at any given time.

“These small outposts are stationed throughout the city for our soldiers to rest through the more rigorous guard duty,” Haurchefant explained, “This particular one is seldom used nowadays so it should be suitable enough for our needs.”

A part of me had wondered how he knew this information so readily. Regardless, I nodded as he closed the door and drew the lone shutters shut to grant us true privacy. As soon as he was satisfied with the surroundings, his lips descended upon mines once more. My hands found wanting to do something so they reached to his back to attempt to unlatch the metals of his armor. He laughed in the kiss as he took off his gloves; throwing them on the lone table. Bare hands soon went lower, reaching the hem of my top. Going underneath the garment he grasped at my bare skin. Those same bare hands crept upwards to cup at my chest.

I had gone without my support wraps this time, not expecting to be in battle this day.

He seemed surprised at my choice as well. Without the bandages, I could more distinctly feel the textures of his hands. They still held a slight chill at the fingertips and a roughness that years of fighting brings. They ghosted over the sensitive skin in a gentleness like he had over my bruises that night. I groaned at how much pleasure it brought me.

At last my hands found the fasteners that kept his armor together.

We had only separated for him to place the armor away so it would not get damaged or we tripped over it. It was in those moments I got to look at him sans armor. I had truly appreciated his form. Even with the long sleeves of his undershirt, I saw the firmed muscles of his undershirt. Our eyes had met and he had smiled. It was always endearing to see him smile regardless of the situation.

“Do let me know if I’m too hasty Love.”

I nodded once more.

It was almost as if he had never parted in the first place. Being placed against the wall, I could take in his full presence.

“Come Love, I would take full responsibility for bringing you into such a state.”

He lowered his head to capture my lips once more. Slowly he made his way down my neck, making sure to lavish what bare skin was there. I took deep breaths to calm my senses, fruitless as it was as it didn’t silence the mewls that escaped my throat. My body relaxed to become more pliant in his hands. His leg is situated in the gap between my legs effectively letting me sit on it. He touched my hips and looked at me, asking for permission in silence. I gave him a nod, punctuating it with a firm seating on his thigh. He hand kneaded at the muscles, a rush of familiarity coursing through me. I moved myself against his thigh, relishing the friction it brought. The familiar coil of heat tightened just like that night. I would glance at him, noticing that he stared at me. I almost slowed down at the movements before I felt a squeeze on my hips.

“No, don’t,” he said, “I am quite delighted to see you like this.”

“To see me so debauched?” I asked between rocks.

“To see you become yourself.” he corrected.

I stopped completely at my motions to fully stare at him. I started to say something, but stopped. He looked at me in concern.

“Speak your mind, Love.”

I shook my head. It was the realization of the truth of his words that caused me to pause. How he had spoken it with such conviction to me. That I had to just be. I reached out to his face to bring him closer to kiss. There was no doubt that my actions were clumsy at best. If he was disappointed at my experience, he didn’t show it. He seemed eager to return my affections. His hands firmed in their grip as he nudged at me to continue. I separated from his face enough to give a nod as I pressed myself harder on his thigh. The soft groans that accompanied me with each movement seemed to spurn him on. He had started to help me in my endeavor to get off, angling his leg in a way that it would hit just the right spot. His hands glided along the length of my body eventually finding my bare skin again. The groans came quicker as he did not hold back at groping my chest. While I hadn’t been ashamed of them, my bust had always been a bit on the larger side. Feeling Haurchefant able to touch them directly was a bit embarrassing. Despite that, they sent tingles down my body directing in at my core. I felt myself dampen the more we kept going.

The craving for more began to manifest.

Haurchefant must have sensed this too for he stopped in his motions and carried me to the cot. With a soft bounce I landed on said bedding and Haurchefant hovered over me. We stared at each other for the briefest of moments before he had descended upon my bare neck. His hand slowly moved downwards towards the fastener of my pants. His hand rested there, waiting for my permission. I stilled in the moment. I nodded. He had given me a smile in return before loosening my bottoms. A hand slid into said bottoms, under my small clothes to touch at my mound. It was my turn to blush heavily as that hand felt around. I glanced down only to witness the telltale lump of Haurchefant’s hand exploring.

“Have you ever done this to yourself before?”

I simply shook my head.

“N-no.”

He had taken his time exploring me. He had watched my expressions carefully, making changes if his actions caused a worrying reaction. It was difficult to discern if the ministrations were good or bad as never having a reference point before now. But I hadn’t disliked what he was doing. There was more of a heated feeling, steadily rising with each passing motion. My body broke out in a light sweat as I squirmed. Just as it nearly felt too much he had stopped. The involuntary whine that escaped me made Haurchefant chuckle as he pressed a quick kiss on my neck. His hands wandered to the tops of my pants and with some shimmying on my end removed them. Not long after I heard the tell-tale clinks and shifting fabrics of his own bottoms being removed. I covered my eyes to give some measure of privacy towards him.

Even if in response he gave an amused chuckle.

I felt his presence directly on top of me. Opening my eyes once more, I met with his stare. There was this sort of serene expression on his face as he leaned in closer to me. I felt the heat radiating down below as his member rested on top of me. Even if I wanted to, there was no hiding the intense blush that seemed to appear all over my skin.

“I’ll be careful Love.” He murmured.

I gave him a small nod as I didn’t trust my voice.

Small whimpers squeaked out as I felt him rub against the sensitive skin below. As his tip started to prod at my entrance, thoughts began to course through me. I had expected there to be a size difference. Considering I was a Hyur, a midlander at that, the difference was much more daunting against an Elezen. He had attempted to push inwards and my body jumped at the motion. A free hand had massaged my shoulder. It took a few moments but my body had calmed down somewhat. I felt he had attempted to gently push inwards again. My entrance would just not yield to the attempted intrusion. A strained whine left my lips. Slowly I felt him withdraw as he looked towards me. There was that clear concern on his face. I appreciated the gesture as I always had when it came to my dear friend. But frustration started to settle within myself. I had wanted this. I wanted to be with Haurchefant in this manner. And yet my body refused for one reason or another. The corners of my eyes began to prick at tears trying to fall at my failure for such a simple act.

“Shh, it’s alright.” he cooed.

He had taken his free hand to run it through my tousled hair before letting it rest on my cheek. His thumb had wiped idly at those minuscule tears that formed. Despite his words, I still felt guilty that somehow I had led him on with no reward.

“I can do this.” I told him, “I just need to relax.”

He shook his head.

“It is quite alright, I am content like this.”

“But-”

“Ami,” he spoke with a sudden seriousness, “You needn’t have to force yourself on my behalf. I would not have a precious moment to be marred with such pain. Pray, do not misunderstand, ‘tis not an outright rejection. Mayhap in the future we can try once more, if still willing?”

I only nodded. That serious expression faded into his more usual smile. He pressed another kiss on my forehead. The thought again of why Haurchefant hadn’t been spoken for course through my head. Even knowing the context that his being was seen as lesser in proper Ishgardian society, my friend would still be a great partner to whomever he chooses.

That aside, there was still the very noticeable issue that we were both still too aroused to just stop.

My hand glided down the side of his body to stop at his hip. I gave the skin a gentle squeeze and a push towards me. I had hoped this gesture would hint at what I wanted since our initial plan didn’t happen. He only let out a soft chuckle as he lowered his hips more flush to my own. Just like within Camp Dragonhead, we started this movement against one another. My arms found their way wrapped around his chest as his hardened length thrust forward against me. Feeling it rub against my body makes me groan out in appreciation. That coiling feeling tightening at my core. I shifted my body upwards to give him some more of that pleasant friction. Occasionally I would feel his tip graze at my opening; never enough to cause my body to shut down. I could scarcely recall how long we were like this. Just an unending flow of pleasure I was partaking with a dear friend. I felt myself let go as the pleasure became too much to contain. A deep moan rumbled from my own chest as I placed a hand through Haurchefant’s hair. He pressed a soft kiss on my forehead as he followed soon after me.

We laid in mutual silence completely wrapped up within each other. I found comfort that in these private moments with Haurchefant, I can just be myself. I knew that soon I would have to go back to wearing the mantle of being the Warrior of Light. I leaned in closer to my friend, taking in his presence as we embraced into each other’s arms. I lifted my head towards him, only noticing he was looking at me as well. I could easily see the fondness and contentment in his expression. It made my own heart thump at how clearly I picked up on it.

“Are we due back yet?” I asked.

“We can stay as long as you need to be Love.”

“You have my thanks, for everything. May I be a little selfish and ask for one request?”

He nodded silently, waiting for my request.

“Once everything has settled down, I want to try this again with you.”

#shit writing #writing things #fan fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #Final Fantasy XIV #Final Fantasy 14 #FFXIV #FF14 #Haurchefant/WoL #originally I was gonna have them do all of it in the stables #but thought better of it #Oblivious dumbass Sprout!Ami strikes again #I'll eventually upload this to AO3 once I figure out why it's even more garbage than usual #I kinda wrote it for me but you can read it too I guess

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delldarling · 4 years

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always, we return | hyrian

This was March’s Story of the Month over on Patreon! Can you tell that the weather sometimes influences the subject of my stories? non-binary rain elemental x gender neutral reader 2.5k words sfw | one showing of blatant interest, mention of drinking, but otherwise read more is for length!

The sound of the rain is making you strangely drowsy.

It shouldn’t be. You’re cold as hell, sitting on the front porch of your new house at midnight, nursing a drink one of your roommates made to celebrate. The false heat the alcohol had made inside you seemed a little too hot, so you thought that stepping outside might give you a jump to your system Might wake you with the snap of the cold. Instead, the heavy rain pouring into the yard and onto the street has you blinking your eyes furiously to keep them open.

The droning noise is just so soothing.

You suck in another deep breath, trying to relish the sear in your lungs - maybe you are fighting it - but then you’re distracted by the figure in the rain. They walk slowly, like they’re walking with something heavy on their legs or their shoulders, the rain bouncing off of them, creating a strange kind of misty aura. You… You can’t see them. Just their shape, the splash of their feet in the growing puddles, some kind of walking stick in their arm that they swing back and forth. They’re invisible. Their clothes, their body, the stick in their hand- everything about them is invisible.

The lethargy builds, until you’re swaying in your seat on the porch stairs, eyes narrowed as you try to focus, because- because that can’t be right? Can it? And then you feel the weight of their eyes, can see a spark-like gleam where their eyes should be and wind chimes seem to echo in your ears-

You wake, finding yourself back inside on the couch. Cold morning light fills the living room and casts shadows over one of your roommates, sleeping soundly on the floor next to you. Obviously they’d drawn the short straw and remained nearby to make sure you were alright.

“What the fuck was that?” You whisper into the silent room, heart racing loud enough to nearly drown out your words.

Outside, the rain continues.

Once everyone is awake and recovered from the previous evening, you fully expect someone to bring up what happened. To make some kind of mention as to how they found you outside and hey, what were you doing out there anyway? But no one says anything. It’s almost 2 in the afternoon before you finally breach the topic, clutching nervously at a glass of water on the counter.

“Did I pass out on the porch last night?” You ask, forcing yourself to take a sip. The motion helps, even if you don’t feel thirsty, which is, frankly, odd. You were drinking last night, you know you were, but you haven’t felt any kind of ill effects at all. Everyone else has been doubling up on water or gatorade since they got up, and here you feel… Normal.

“Did you?” One of your roommates asks, but that feels like it’s going to be the extent of the conversation until you keep talking.

“Yeah? I mean. I’m pretty sure I fell asleep out there. And I saw something really weird.” As soon as you get the story out, as soon as you explain the strange chiming noise you’d heard and the abnormal drowsiness, everyone treats it like some half remembered story.

“It sounds like some kind of fever dream. Or maybe you were just really drunk - though I swore you didn’t-” Your roommate trails off, and then brings up a prior appointment, rushing through a goodbye to you and then calling out goodbyes to your other housemates before they’re out the door. When they leave, you see the rain still cascading over the street, filling the gutters, opaque where it reflects the heavy clouds above, and then the door closes, leaving you staring at nothing but pale paint.

The rest of the day, all you can think about is the continued rain. You check the weather multiple times, half afraid that the rain will clear up before nightfall, before you can slip outside unnoticed. Even though part of you does wonder if it was some kind of hallucination, brought on by drink and tiredness.. You also can’t help but wonder if seeing what you did requires some kind of special stipulation. Maybe it’s like those fantasy or sci-fi shows where only one person can see the ghost because they ate strawberries or they’re distantly related. Regardless, seeing the figure felt special, and you really would like to see it again, if only to prove that you weren’t imagining things.

As soon as it’s dark, and you know that no one else is going to be coming and going through the front door, you slip out onto the porch. You’re not as warm as you were the night before. This time you aren’t bolstered with alcohol in your veins, falsely warming you from the belly outward, and the rain has been going for long enough that everything is vaguely chilly. You want to go back inside and grab a blanket or a coat, but in the back of your mind, you’re almost convinced that the moment you do is when the figure will appear once more. You’ll miss it, them, their cold eyes shining through the sheets of rain, their body obviously solid, but invisible to your eye. You stay outside until you’re tired and aching, staring out at the downpour without any kind of excuse to keep you here. There’s no strange lethargy rolling over you either tonight, just a steadily growing grumpiness from subjecting yourself to such discomfort.

“I suppose that’s it then,” you whisper, letting a yawn well up and close your eyes. “Time to go in,” you add, turning and reaching for the front door handle. As soon as your fingertips touch the cool metal, a sudden intangible weight seems to drag at your heels. Faint chimes echo amidst the rain, growing louder as you turn your head to glance back over your shoulder- And then you see them.

They’re in the street again.

This time they aren’t moving. They’re still invisible, still only noticeable because of the rain bouncing off of the seemingly empty space of their body. And their eyes - like cool sparks or the reflection of passing headlights on hidden bits of polished metal. They’re watching you, tracking your every movement as you turn to face them, shocked into silence for an extended period of time. What are you supposed to say now?

“Am I dreaming?” You can’t help asking, breath coming fast and sharp, the chill of the rainy night making your fingers ache the longer you watch them. You clasp your hands together, trying to chafe them into some semblance of warmth when there isn’t any kind of immediate response. You’re not sure as to whether you expect them to answer - maybe they’ll just keep on going? Or maybe they can’t speak, and then you’ll have to pick out clues that they share through mud puddles or- It doesn’t matter. You’re still not sure as to whether this is even reality, because honestly, you’ve never even heard of something like this- But then their voice fills your ears, watery, eerie, every punctuation to their words a well timed drip into a puddle or splatter over the rooftops.

You walk the waking realm. And you See.

Their words are.. Balanced, between irritation and awe, like they should be unhappy with this information, but have found themselves strangely, unexpectedly, amused instead.

“It’s… Good to know I’m awake,” you say, and then stop, blinking, ready for them to vanish from sight. “And, yes? I do see you.” It seems like the most obvious answer in the world, but then they’re walking closer, the cold gleam of their eyes growing clearer. You still can’t see them, not the entirety of them, their body or their features, but their shape is there, visible in the rain. “I- does that mean that others generally can’t? Or that your presence makes people forget? Because I have a few ques-”

Can you Touch? They ask, overeager, and you’re fairly sure their hands are curled around the railing on your porch now. The moisture on it is vanishing, leaving behind two dry shapes like handprints, though they’re oddly shaped and look to have three fingers each.

“Touch what?” You ask, wanting to kick yourself, or to take back the words. A myriad of follow ups fly through your mind - do they mean yourself, or the rain? You finally settle on the idea that they must mean them, can you touch them, but you’re a tad too shy to give voice to it.

They aren’t shy though. They don’t answer at first, but rain splatters the porch railing again, and then their hands are curling around your wrists, cool and fluid and- their touch feels like raindrops. You’re still dry, and there’s definite weight to their hands around your wrists, but it’s as if their heartbeat is so strong against their skin that you can feel it with every brush, in time with every pitter-patter of rain across the ground, on the street, on the tree tops. The taste of fresh rain permeates every breath you take, and their eyes grow closer and closer, until they stop just shy of your face. They don’t blink, but a second pair of hands smooths over your shoulders and then strokes back up to your neck until they’re cradling your face. The rain is coming down harder.

Too few can Touch and we miss it. The warmth. The brightness that humans bring.

“We? Are there more of you?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder, worried suddenly about the second pair of hands belonging to someone you’d yet to notice, but they keep you focused on them, still cradling your cheeks, touch just strong enough to keep you still.

Water, they say. Rain. We journey across the world, we scatter, but always we return to the sky. The sound of their voice and the way they speak is so rhythmic, that you’re fairly sure their speech was what sent you to sleep yesterday. It was slower then though, and softer, harder for you to actually make out the spoken words… They might have asked you a question, now that you think about it. Once, they continue, rain drop touch trailing over your parted lips, humans recalled their connection with Us. But so few of you carry Us now-

“Carry us. Carry. Okay, uh, do you… have a name?” You ask, freezing when your tongue brushes over what feels like a water droplet on your lower lip. They don’t admonish you though, or even acknowledge that you might have licked something of their body. Heat still zips through you like lightning though, and you would be looking away if you could see any kind of expression on their face.

Hyrian, they murmur, sighing as they pull away. You can still see the spark of their eyes, can still taste the clean rain on the air, but you have to cross your arms over your middle, concerned about touching them without invitation. Part of you is highly tempted to look up stories of invisible people now, if only to know how to navigate conversing with.. With Hyrian. With rain.

It has been an age since we have been Seen. Would you be opposed to us returning? To courting?

The question leaves you staring, minding spinning with worried thoughts about whether or not you’re looking at their face or whether you’re just staring past them. What if- what if they think you can actually see all of them and you’ve accidentally lied?

“I- Okay, so wait. I can see your eyes, your- the shape of you. Like a shadow, or an outline, but not you entirely. I swear, I’m not trying to lie, and if you’re asking because you think that I-”

Hyrian laughs and the tree branches and power lines near by rattle and shake as water cascades off them into the street. Worry not, you see us correctly. If we took more form we would still not be.. Solid. Perhaps more opaque.

“Ah. Awesome, and then.. well, we’ve just met, and you’re- You’re magic? I’m not sure why you want to court me.” You try, hoping that isn’t offensive.

Hyrian’s voice turns wistful. Once humans would seek us out, would journey into the wild places looking for us, if only to spend a night in our company. We’d only just met them, Hyrian reveals, almost teasing in tone. Let us attempt to court you, to show you why those humans would come back from the wilds rejuvenated and carrying tales of being loved by wind or water itself.

“I need to think it over,” you blurt, but you don’t sense any kind of unhappiness from them. The rain is still steady and their eyes, unblinking, are still focused on your face.

The sweet sounding wind chimes echo through the street again, finally turning Hyrian’s attention away from you. You don’t know what the chimes mean, if they’re summoning Hyrian, or if they herald some kind of arrival, but it keeps them facing away from you for longer than a few seconds. When they turn back, their eyes look smaller, tired, but no less kind.

If not for courting, then for friendship, let us return? We will not press to be your suitor, but we do crave companionship and speech. Humans are so much brighter, you see.

You might not know how to feel about a rain spirit asking to court you, but you do know that you want to see them again. You don’t even have to think twice about their question this time, you stick out your hand, pulse pounding and offer them a smile.

“I would like that, Hyrian,” you say warmly. That drumming beat of rain held captive under their skin has you shivering. Two of their hands close over your one, gentle in grip, but strong, and even after they let go of you, the thrum of their touch lingers.

Then we shall return. Look for us at the next crest of clouds, we will be close behind.

And then the rain slows. You can still feel them, can still see their eyes gleaming, but the less rain there is, the more they truly fade into nonbeing. For the second time in two days, you grow drowsy out on your porch, listening to the chimes on the air, but this time you watch Hyrian fade from view. Even after they’re gone, you stay where you are, eyes searching the now quiet street, the only sounds that of cars far off in the distance, the last remnants of water rolling off of eaves and drain spouts. You make your way inside and into bed, this time all on your own merit, and start drafting up the questions you have for Hyrian. You can’t forget their touch though, the buzz of it lingering on your hand and forearm. The sensation follows you, even into your dreams.

#monster lover #exophilia #elemental x reader #rain spirit x reader #d.darling writes #hyrian

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eliotquillon · 4 years

Text

the h.i.v.e timeline

(this is going to end up massive, so sorry in advance to all my none h.i.v.e followers).

obligatory disclaimer that while i’m trying to follow canon fairly closely here, i know i might have missed some details; this is a writeup of a google doc i made immediately after my feb reread and while i have reread books 1 and 2 since then, i haven’t had the time to double check anything from dreadnought onwards. there are also canon elements that i am deliberately ignoring/reordering, and i will make it clear that i am doing so when those details come up.

part one: student ages

currently, we only have two canon ages: raven, who is thirty-one in deadlock (or thereabouts; i’m basing this off her being 16 when she tries to kill nero and that being in the 15 years ago flashback), and otto, who we know turns thirteen just before he is sent to h.i.v.e (the specific age comes from the blurb of book one). we also know that nero taught diabolus and duncan cavendish as students, and that h.i.v.e was founded in the 1960s, which seems vague but actually gives us a lot to work with; cavendish’s records being faked implies that h.i.v.e does provide public examination results for its students, and that h.i.v.e’s entry year was deliberately chosen to parallel the english private school system (which, unlike the state system, is split into pre-prep, prep, and senior), where entry to senior school coincidentally takes place at the same age of entry to h.i.v.e

when it comes to making age estimations for students during the various points of the series, i’m making three assumptions:

1. all students in otto’s year are thirteen when they start h.i.v.e, just like otto.

2. otto turns thirteen in august 2006, making him one of the youngest students in his year, assuming the h.i.v.e school year starts in early september like most british schools. most of the ‘age’ section of this hinges off otto, because he’s the only student who is given an age and is seen celebrating a birthday.

3. the six years spent at h.i.v.e span what would be year 9-13 + the first year of university in the british system. in the american system this is grades 8-12 + the first year of university. therefore, students graduate at the age of nineteen.

h.i.v.e:

every first year alpha is thirteen.

the overlord protocol:

this is still set in first year, but is months after the events of book one. otto is still thirteen, but we can assume that, at this point, some people have turned fourteen. my money would be on wing, shelby, and possibly franz as being the older kids in their year (and therefore fourteen), but the semantics don’t really matter.

escape velocity:

this is the first book with a sizeable time skip - we see otto trying to steal the end-of-year exam for second years. this means everyone is now at least fourteen, and because (in my personal experience) late july/august birthdays aren’t very common, i’d wager that shelby, wing, laura, and franz are all fifteen; i’m excluding nigel here because i think, based off his physical description, he’s probably one of the younger kids in his year, and otto is obviously still fourteen, nearly fifteen. this is supported by raven telling otto that she was almost exactly the same age as the core four when she went on her first mission; we know from deadlock that she was sixteen, which would only be a year (max) older than the alphas at this point in time.

dreadnought:

dreadnought is set at the start of third year; we know this because the 93-percenter is specifically a third year field trip. this means that everyone, including lucy, is fifteen.

rogue:

rogue is where our perfectly constructed timeline slips, because it seemingly ages otto backwards - it is set thirteen years after we see otto being cloned in the tank, which would make otto thirteen even though he ends dreadnought at fifteen. there are multiple potential explanations for this - i favour the idea that otto is registered as older than he is biologically because he’s a clone/genius and was left at the orphanage with no birth certificate - but either way, i’m still going to say that otto is fifteen and that everyone else is a third year and either fifteen or sixteen. side note: otto’s benjamin button trick here is one of my least favourite ‘slips’ of the series and ruins what is otherwise one of my favourite entries.

zero hour:

there is a year between rogue and zero hour, meaning zero hour is set in fourth year and that otto is sixteen (and again, everyone else is either sixteen or seventeen). in my original doc, i made a note saying that apparently everyone is still in third year, but based off a quick search for ‘three’ and ‘third�� in the ebook, there’s no proof for that. lucy dies when she’s sixteen/seventeen.

aftershock:

there’s another short timeskip here, and based off the fact that this is when penny and tom join and that it’s the introduction of new security chief dekker, we can guess that this is the beginning of fifth year (incidentally, the fact that nero and raven are available at the beginning of the book to go meet joseph wright in london does appear to suggest that nero wasn’t needed to teach that day, meaning that there is some form of summer holiday at h.i.v.e). i also think it’s likely that this is fifth year because penny and tom a) had time to gain relative notoriety for their thefts and b) would’ve needed to be at least sixteen to leave school and local authority care (although tom is apparently a year or two older than otto and penny according to book one) and it being fifth year sets everyone at seventeen. seventeen is actually pretty old for the alphas to be taken to the glasshouse (raven went at age eleven), but i think it does make sense that the hunt was targeted, and not the third years on the 93 percenter; tom and penny actually had time to go to lessons pre field trip, and lucy didn’t, meaning that the 93 percenter mostly likely happens in the first few days of the school year and was organised before dekker became a member of staff, which wouldn’t have given the disciples the necessary time to plan and execute a retrieval. also, laura was obviously in fifth year and not third, making the hunt a far more attractive choice for anastasia to target.

deadlock:

deadlock is similar to rogue in that it fluffs an important timeline detail, but it’s not relevant to ages here, so i’ll revisit it later. it’s set several months after aftershock, but seeing as no other students are recruited to pad out the three left in the alpha stream and that aftershock was only set in the first month or so of the school year, i think it’s safe to assume that everyone is still in fifth year at this point, so either seventeen or eighteen. my gut feeling is that shelby, franz, and wing are all eighteen, and that’s because they’re allowed on the mission to break into the glasshouse; obviously we see them get into danger/be involved in plans before this point, but this is the first time we see nero actively sign off on them being allowed into a tactical situation with a known risk to life (and i’ve made a shitpost on this, but raven does say that nero would “have her shot” if she brought thirteen year old otto into a tactical situation back in the overlord protocol, so i think the only way nero would’ve allowed this to happen was if the remaining alpha students were all legal adults). the exception to this is otto, who would still be seventeen, but seeing as he isn’t an enrolled h.i.v.e student at the time of the mission, i don’t think nero’s no-student policy applies to him.

book nine:

obviously none of us know what’s going to happen, but i think it’s safe to say book nine will probably be set in otto’s final year, when he’s eighteen.

part two: adult ages

really, i should just be transparent and call this what it is, which is just blatant nero age speculation. while it’s implied that nero is immortal in book one, this is also literally never mentioned again, and the only physical indicator we know is that he has a streak of grey in his hair. however, i do have a bunch of info that can give some clues at how old nero really is.

1. nero taught diabolus, and is implied to have been headmaster of h.i.v.e at this time. we’re not really sure how old diabolus is, either, but seeing as he has a teenaged son and was old enough to have had a considerable career and be made head of g.l.o.v.e, he can’t be any younger than his late thirties by the time he pops up in escape velocity, and i’m guessing he’s inching towards fifty purely because he isn’t described as being particularly young when we see him in hong kong with nero 15 years before the events of deadlock. (i am, however, aware that this means nothing, because walden sucks at describing people). that means nero’s been teaching some forty years, which lines up with him co-founding h.i.v.e with his father in the 60s, and seeing as h.i.v.e is nero’s great passion project, i don’t think he could’ve been any younger than 25 when h.i.v.e opened in the original icelandic facility. basically, this tells us what we already know: nero is old as shit, and doesn’t look it.

2. the duncan cavendish thing interests me a lot more, because we see that nero actively switched cavendish from polfi to alpha. again, it was already implied that nero was headmaster from the beginning, but this shows that nero was always running the show and wasn’t just initially his father’s apprentice as deadlock almost seems to hint at.

3. nero has a doctorate. “well duh”. but again, if nero had that doctorate when he founded h.i.v.e, he has to be nearing seventy. he could’ve gotten it earlier, sure, because nero is a very intelligent man, but he’s not otto-levels of academic genius. i don’t think he could’ve been any younger than 15/16 when he got his phd.

i did say that this would be an ‘adult ages’ section, so i’ll do a bit of background on raven, the only adult with timestamps. her being thirty one in deadlock makes her twenty seven in book one (if we follow the logic of otto being seventeen in deadlock), and because i personally believe the h.i.v.e timeline starts with book 1’s publication in 2006, this means raven was born around 1979 (which, if you subscribe to the theory that raven is elena and nero’s kid, makes her born after h.i.v.e was founded, which has some interesting implications about the origins of the glasshouse).

i know we’re all in mutual agreement about the soviet training being a bullshit throwaway line that walden wrote in before deciding to make raven a major player, but i’ll do the work of disproving it anyway: if raven was born in ‘79 and she came to the glasshouse at 11, that means she started her training in 1990. the soviet union officially fell in 1991, but the berlin wall fell in 1989, and the cold war was pretty much over by the time raven came to the glasshouse thanks to gorbachev’s new policies and military cuts. there is absolutely no way that the furans were soviet-funded, or that raven was trained by the soviet government. in fact, the only feasible way raven could’ve been trained by the soviet union in, quote from book 1 here, “their cold war prime”, would be for her to have been born almost a full 20 years earlier in the early 1960s, which would’ve made her middle aged in book 1. but, like, you tried walden.

part three: overlord

the overlord incident - the one that led to the destruction of the chinese facility and inadvertantly led to wing’s birth thanks to wu zhang and xiu mei shacking up together - is probably the most crucial part of the h.i.v.e timeline. without it, number one never would’ve been corrupted, otto wouldn’t have been born/manufactured, the seed code for h.i.v.emind wouldn’t have existed, cypher never would’ve launched his assault on h.i.v.e and nero (or felt the need to come into existence at all), and, of course, overlord himself wouldn’t have been the world’s most annoying LED lightshow for five books (because book one hardly counts). but even though raven had nothing to do with the original overlord incident, she’s still strongly linked to it. i’ll explain.

the overlord incident had to have happened before raven met nero. i can’t stress that enough, and this is the conflicting detail that i mentioned in deadlock. the nero’s internal monologue in the fifteen years before flashback appears to indicate that the overlord incident hasn’t happened yet - but that can’t be true, otherwise wing wouldn’t exist.

like i’ve laid out, wing is thirteen in late august 2006, and most likely eighteen (but at least seventeen) in 2010/11, aka deadlock. this gives him an approximate birth year of 1992/3, and all roads lead back to raven, who would’ve been fourteen when wing was born. already, that makes her too young to have met nero pre-overlord incident. but even more importantly, wu zhang and xiu mei only ended up together because of the overlord incident. like i said, if it weren’t for overlord, wing would not exist. we don’t know when wu zhang and xiu mei‘s friendship turned to romance, but if xiu mei got pregnant in 1992 (which fits with either of wing’s birth years - either he’s late ‘92 or early ‘93), i’d wager they got together in 1991 at the latest. raven would’ve been twelve.

i’m putting the overlord incident at a tentative year 1990, which would’ve allowed plenty of time for xiu mei and wu zhang to escape china together and fall in love before wing’s birth, and also gives overlord a handful of years to start corrupting number one to convince him into cloning himself to make otto (who was dropped off at the orphange in august ‘93). raven came to the glasshouse in 1990. there is absolutely no way she could’ve met nero while he was still making arrangements for overlord, unless wing was born after 1995 when raven tried to kill nero, in which case wing wouldn’t have been at h.i.v.e at the same time as shelby and laura (and nor would otto, come to think of it).

anyway, i’ll do a tl;dr with the final timeline below.

TL;DR (final timeline)

1960s: h.i.v.e is founded.

1979: raven is born.

1980s: both duncan cavendish and diabolus darkdoom presumably attend h.i.v.e during this period. the zero hour contingency plan is drawn up.

1990: overlord is created in a lab in northern china, and is destroyed by number one. it then takes up host in his body. there are three named survivors: nero, wu zhang, and xiu mei. raven is sent to the glasshouse.

1991: wu zhang and xiu mei move to japan and rename themselves as the fanchus. they fall in love around this point. this is also the year where raven tries to escape from the glasshouse and claws out pietor’s eye.

1992: overlord/number one starts work on cloning himself. xiu mei falls pregnant, and possibly gives birth.

1993: otto, shelby, wing, nigel, franz, laura and lucy are all born at varying points throughout the year. this is most likely also the year where dimitri is shot by anastasia furan, and raven is forced to murder tolya.

1994: presumably the year when h.i.v.e’s original location is compromised, and plans start being made to relocate from the icelandic facility.

1995: nero meets with the architect/his father to discuss his plans for the new h.i.v.e facility. raven tries to kill him. the first glasshouse burns.

1996-2005: construction on h.i.v.e 2.0 is completed. overlord slowly takes over more and more of number one’s body. survivors of the overlord incident start disappearing. xiu mei dies of unknown causes. nero receives his half of the amulet. lucy’s parents die of natural causes and she is sent to italy. gregori leonov’s son, yuri, attends h.i.v.e and graduates. cypher pops into existence around this time. diabolus darkdooms fakes his death.

2006: otto, wing, laura, shelby, franz, and nigel start attending h.i.v.e (cue the events of book one). duncan cavendish becomes prime minister.

2007: cypher launches his assult on nero after successfully convincing the contessa to join his cause. after cypher is captured and his identity is revealed, nero keeps him alive unbeknownst to number one. by august, everyone is fourteen.

2008: cue the events of escape velocity. number one and the contessa die. diabolus darkdoom is elected leader of g.l.o.v.e. cue the events of interception point. otto turns fifteen. lucy joins h.i.v.e at the beginning of september and the events of dreadnought take place. otto does not return to h.i.v.e.

2009: events of rogue. cypher and pietor furan die. otto turns sixteen at the end of august. laura’s baby brother, douglas, is conceived.

2010: douglas is born. the events of zero hour occur. lucy dies. overlord is destroyed. nero becomes leader of g.l.o.v.e and fires the ruling council. duncan cavendish steps down. construction of the new glasshouse is completed. otto turns seventeen. penny and tom join h.i.v.e. the events of aftershock occur, and otto is expelled.

2011: the events of deadlock occur. raven turns thirty one. tom dies. the new glasshouse is destroyed. the countdown for the disciples’ new batch of clones begins at 99 days. the artemis project discover the existence of h.i.v.e. at the end of year, otto is eighteen.

2012 onwards: otto turns nineteen and hopefully graduates h.i.v.e.

#h.i.v.e #otto malpense #the overlord protocol #escape velocity #deadlock #rogue #zero hour #aftershock #long post

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