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imrllytootiredforthis · 1 year

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Gorgeous

pairing: song mingi x reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: dom!reader, sub!mingi, mingi's called princess a lot, thigh riding, praise kink, degradation, kinda bratty mingi in the beginning, hair pulling, that's all i can think of

a/n: didn't know if i should post this or not but🤷, hopefully you enjoy

it's like a treat ig because i'm probably gonna be pretty inactive for the rest of the week😭(other than queued posts)

It was always hard to fathom how lucky you were.

Lucky to have many things you suppose; a roof over your head, food to eat, clothes to wear.

But most specifically to have him.

The amazing, beautiful man laying across your body on the bed, his torso laying horizontally across your own, creating a cross-like symbol.

Mingi held his phone close to his face, scrolling through something you couldn't quite make out from the position. His breathing steady, looking at utter peace as he lay completely unaware to the admirer he had.

The way the sun streaked across the side of his face, flowing in from the open drapes of your bedroom window like a spot-light just for him.

You could stay like this forever. Watching him, feeling his weight on you, letting the comfortable silence consume the room filled only with your heartbeat and his calm breaths.

Finally he seemed to sense your eyes glued on him, looking back up and meeting your gawking head on with a quiet kind of blush.

Phone forgotten, mind elsewhere.

“Hi.” He whispered, voice low.

“Princess,” You could feel him give a slight shiver at the sound of yours, husky from disuse, almost seductive with the way you let a hand gently brush though his hair and lower then to feel over his cheekbones and nose, paying special attention as your fingers grazed his lips.

He sighed into it, puckering his lips to leave a soft kiss on each of the pads of your fingers before your hand drifted upward again, petting and playing with his hair, him pushing his head into your touch, nearly purring with hopes of more.

God, you were so lucky to have him.

So lucky that you'd ever even met him.

So lucky that on that one day you’d been forced to take a shift at your former job, in a cafe, taking over for a 'sick' coworker.

Tired and cranky and upset with life, but there he was, something to bright up your day. And perhaps the rest of your life.

He came in panting.

Late for whatever he was supposed to be doing, hair a ruffled mess that only seemed to endear you more. A small, almost awkward smile, adorably sheepish across his face as he ordered his drink.

You were pretty sure his shirt was inside out but didn’t want to point it out because you didn’t want to embarrass him. It didn’t matter much though because his friend, a regular named Seonghwa you knew from writing his name on his drink almost every day, joined him a few minutes later, pointing out to him what you had failed to.

He turned even redder when his friend had told him, glancing over to you, hoping that you hadn’t noticed.

Only to see a catlike smile on your face that had him quickly heading to the bathroom to fix himself up.

He stood in the bathroom, looking at himself in the mirror, cursing himself, becoming determined to not make any more a fool of himself than he'd already done.

But when he finally came out, heading back to his table, he failed to watch where he was walking, crashing right into you and spilling coffee all over your clothes and the floor.

He was absolutely mortified. Apologizing over and over, fretting as he tried to help clean up, only proving to get in your way more the poor thing.

Your coworkers came over to help, to mop up the mess and help try to save the fabric of your shirt but Mingi continued to insist until one of them almost scolded him, telling him to go back to his table.

For the rest of the time he spent there, working on his project with Seonghwa you could feel his eyes on you, looking away whenever you glanced back.

Mingi wasn’t a regular, it was his first time there and probably his last after making such a fool of himself in front of the fucking barista.

An extremely attractive barista.

A barista he couldn’t help but stumble over his words with, blush like a schoolboy.

And making you spill the coffee was the last straw....he could never show his face here ever again.

He looked down at his lap when you brought his coffee over, avoiding all eye contact until you were safely back behind your counter only for him to notice something was written on the side.

‘I can act like I can’t see you staring at me, or you can call me later, (insert phone number I’m too lazy to make up)’

After that Mingi became a regular.

And all because of that fucking annoying coworker that fake called in sick so she could skip and hang out with her boyfriend.

Well now you had a gorgeous man laying across you, subtly, maybe even unconsciously grinding up against you.

So maybe you could forgive her.

“Please,”

A single breathy word and you glance down, a moan escaping him, an octave higher than his voice normally is, wanton and full of pure need.

He ruts against the side of your leg, phone pushed over to the end of the bed as he moans.

Looking up at you with eyes that scream ‘fuck me’ in a universal language…but also something more.

He eyes you carefully, watching the way your thighs almost imperceptibly press together. You watch as he raises an eyebrow before it’s quickly gone, replaced by a pout.

“Don't you want me?” You swallow the lump in your throat, watching him slither up your body, coming up so close you can feel his breath across your face. His lips are only inches from yours, your noses almost touching.

His eyes flicker down before he's whining, body languidly moving until he's straddling your hips, tensing thighs pinning you in place and his hard dick pressing against your stomach.

“Jesus christ, fuck all.” You mutter, wondering when the day will come when he makes you finally lose it.

“How ‘bout you fuck me instead?” He rolls his hips against you once more, letting out an over-exaggerated moan like he’s your own personal show.

You groan.

Fuck the way he always seems to get his way.

Fuck your weak willpower.

Fuck him, as he wants.

Your book gets thrown unceremoniously onto the floor as he snatches it out of your hands.

“Well that wasn’t very nice.” You frown.

The bratty look on his face has you wanting to do everything he asks of you and more until he’s a crying little mess, ruined beyond even talking.

“Well it’s not very nice that you’re not fuck-“

Your hands are on him.

Groping and sinful in every way you know he loves best.

Your hands are everywhere and his uselessly clutch at the sheets in tight fists, drowning under your touch, gasping for air like a man being drowned.

“God, please!”

Looking up at you with the eyes of a devil pretending to be an angel.

A smile curls at your lips.

Then your hands are sliding up and under his shirt, cool fingers feeling over smooth skin. Over his abdomen and then up higher until he’s panting.

Running over the blank canvas of his throat, lightly teasing at the prospect of wrapping around it.

Touching, teasing, feeling anywhere you can find purchase, driving him absolutely, maddeningly insane.

One hand brushes over the curve of his ass. Right where it meets his thigh, letting him try to arch into it before squeezing and kneading, making him bury his face into the crook of his arm with muffled noises of pleasure.

You’re in his head, taking over every thought and every little thing. Making him forget anything and everything except for how good it feels. You feel.

He whines, thrusting becoming sloppier, needier.

“You desperate baby?”

He nods, biting his lip in a futile attempt to hold back a groan when you grip his hair, pulling his head up and out into the open.

“Don’t hide from me,” you pout, “wanna see your pretty face.”

A wave of arousal washes over you at how much of a mess he already is. Even more so as he lets himself be maneuvered-practically manhandled-by you.

Because that’s the thing, no matter how hard he’d try to be a brat, no matter the words speaking out of occurrence.

It only ever led to one thing happening.

This. Him. A pliant mouldable thing all laid out and ready-begging-for you to use him however you may like.

Pushing him up higher onto his knees, his body easily being led along by your gentle orders. “Sit on my thigh baby. C’mon, you’ll be a good boy, won’t you?”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, “yes, yes, ‘m your good boy, only yours.” He continues to babble, nodding along as he moves from your hips to straddle your thigh instead.

“Yeah? Gonna such a good boy for me princess” Mingi whines, burying his face into your neck, leaving sloppy open-mouthed kisses up and down the expanse of your throat. You laugh, perhaps at your own expense because in the next second he’s nipping lightly over the one place he knows will drive you insane, in hopes of eliciting a sound of your own.

He gets his way fairly quickly, your moans ringing loudly in his ears, making him all the more worked up.

It makes him so dizzy and hazy, he shakes his head, intent on savouring this. In imprinting this exact moment into his memory.

In remembering your soft gasp as he drags his tongue, hot and wet, over your throat, moaning all the while.

In remembering the way your nails dig into his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair. Rough in context to the soft touch of the tips of your fingers sliding up and down the length of his spine, leaving goosebumps in your wake as he begins sucking a harsh hickey onto your neck that you know you’ll regret letting him leave tomorrow.

But that’ll be tomorrow and you can’t even begin to bring yourself to care about then when you could be right here. Right now.

“Fuck baby,” you breathe, dragging him back by his hair.

He lets out a protesting whine but you ignore it, lovingly looking into his watery eyes, his pace never ending, continuing to thrust into your thigh like a bitch in heat.

You let it slide for now.

Because he’s so cute as he pants, a flush crawling up his neck and over his cheeks.

So fucking adorable the way he covers his face with his hands, fingers slightly parted to see you, squeaking out, “don’t look at me like that.”

If he hadn’t been dry humping your thigh all the while you would’ve squealed and pulled him closer, cooing about how cute he was.

But that wasn’t the case,

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me or something,”

You smile teasingly, peeling his fingers away one by one.

You could simply devour him.

“Have I ever told you just how pretty you are, Song Mingi?” You whisper, fingers brushing over his cheekbones, voice soft as your eyes flicker down to his lips. Plush and slightly swollen and oh so kissable, spreading wide into a heartachingly dumb smile. Then you look up to his eyes, soft and shining with hearts dancing in his lust-blown pupils.

“Yes, all the time,” His words come out in a half pant and slurred as he presses himself closer, eyes lidded, “but you can always tell me again…I don’t mind.”

Your hands make contact with his hips, ceasing his movements all together. He whimpers but stops when you tut him, thumbs slipping just under the waistband of his boxers.

“Pretty,” you whisper.

A loose mewl crawls from his lips, trying to roll down against you. The praise going straight to his head-both of them.

He’s never outright admitted it, but you could always tell what the words did to him.

It was obvious with how his eyes lit up, breath hitching and body stiffening.

You noticed the very first time you’d called him that; pretty, gorgeous, beautiful, any and every synonym.

Fuck, he loved them all.

Loved to be called them, loved the words no matter if they were kind and sweet or envious and jealous or simply downright degrading.

In fact, he seemed to like the last one the most.

“Such a pretty little whore, aren’t you princess?” you pull his head up, contemplating before licking a long strip from his collarbone to jaw. "My pretty little slut."

You sound so possessive, so-so controlling and that paired with your hand in his hair-the other on his hip, squeezing the flesh of his ass while pushing him to move faster and faster, harder and harder and, and-

"Mine. Just for me, right? Such a pretty thing for only me to use, right princess?" You mutter against the skin of his throat.

His heart stutters and you can feel it, almost hear it until it’s covered by a loud keen, arching his back and pawing at your shoulders.

Shuddering and shivering and clutching and whispering "yes, yes, yes, yours, yours, yes yours." Over and over like a mantra as you pepper kisses all over.

He lets out a choked gasp, followed by a breathy little whine, going completely tense around you. Muscles pulled so taught his body trembles in place, his nails digging so hard into your shoulder you can't help but let out a hiss, wondering if he drew blood.

And then just like that he moans out a sigh.

You pull away to look up at him, “Did you just cum?”

His body falls slack, slumping against you with a weight that nearly makes you fall back against the headboard.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck and nods, words failing him, continuing to shiver slightly with the intensity of his orgasm.

He nuzzles closer, whining when even then it’s not close enough, mumbling something tiredly, the words unintelligible.

"Pardon baby, what'd you say?"

Mingi, your angel, your devil, your fucking little brat. You can feel him smile against your skin, placing his lips up by your ear, teeth teasing the shell, breath sending shivers down your spine and warming your body.

“Can you fuck me now?”

You nearly choke, “what?”

He rolls off, laying on the bed right next to you, slipping off his now dirtied pants and boxers, before falling back and opening his legs wide. “Fuck me, please?”

You almost moan out loud.

“Aren't you tired princess?" He shakes his head no. You sigh. "Such a whore.”

He smiles sweetly, looking every ounce of ruined he did only seconds ago with mussed up hair and hickeys adorning his neck, all hard and flushed and begging to be ruined all over again.

Still managing to let that mischievous glint enter his watery eyes and get a smartass quip ready on his lips.

“Only a whore for you.”

---

a/n: i hope this is okay, this is my first fic for ateez so cut me some slack if it isn't the best😭, i'd love your thoughts and feedback to know what you all thought

and lol, just realized that this is my 500th post

my taglist is open here; @honeymooncrz, @d7dream, @lemonhongjoong

(unsure if you two want to be tagged for ateez or txt stuff so just lmk if you don't) @hobihearteu, @imsolovelylovely

#mingi x reader #mingi smut #sub mingi #sub ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #sub!ateez #sub!mingi #dom!reader #dom reader #sub kpop #sub!kpop

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duckytree · 1 year

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current bat games au lore

ok so here is part of what we have so far:

jason is no longer from district 2, he was originally a scrappy orphan from 12; he changed his name to "RED" after lazrus therapy and becoming a gladiator

Nightwing has a notorious reputation in the capitol as vain and bitchy. he constantly gets procedures done to look as young and beautiful as possible and will actively sabotage the new tributes' relationships with the capitol citizens. in reality, he is trying to protect the younger victors from being sexually exploited by putting himself on the front lines as the sex symbol

tim is the newest victor of the games. his mentor was barbara and they are both secretly working for the anti-capitol resistence.

damian is the political baby of a strategic union between talia and bruce to unite their clans without drawing suspicion from the government on why they're working closely. his parents are both big players in the capitol.

the al ghuls are the tinfoil hat conspiracy theorists of the capitol who believe the revolution is nigh. but instead of underground bunkers they prepare for the apocalypse by training their children in several warrior arts

bruce's alter ego is batman, political terrorist who is working behind the scenes to take down capitol corruption (good luck buddy)

the capitol has a capped maximum on how much wealthy citizens can donate as sponsorship because otherwise bruce wayne would sponsor all the kids in an effort for them to live

when jason was thrown into the arena, he had no living mentor and had to fend for himself. batman secretly helped him with tips and advice on how to survive

Nightwing tried to talk bruce out of sponsoring jason in the arena. it wasn't out of cruelty; he just thought it would be a better investment to sponsor a child who is more likely to live instead of a starving little boy from the weakest district bound to die. bruce sponsored jason anyway

bruce's parents were assassinated for the treasonous act of believing district citizens deserved human rights

jason's abundance of sponsorships made him a target in the arena. he got really messed up and had to go through a brutal, traumatic, and experimental rehabilitation called the lazarus project. he came out of it brain damaged and now most of his body consists of lab-grown flesh or robotic parts. (notice his fake eyes and how most of his body is covered up)

the hunger games are like the annual SuperBowl. for the rest of the year the capitol citizens enjoy entertainment like celebrity escorts (Nightwing) or gladiator games, which is basically the WWE but more deadly and no predetermined winner (RED)

gladiators all have a number that is worn by players and fans alike. most gladiators wear theirs on their armour but RED wears his as a corpse identification tag on his ear

tim purposefully makes himself seem boring and unlikable so that the capitol will allow him to go home rather than stay at the capitol like nightwing and RED.

tim is probably on like 10 different government watchlists

damian keeps nightwing around as a friend/babysitter, since he gave every other one he had a mental breakdown

damian keeps jason around as a personal weaponsmith/arms instructor (hired by talia)

talia and bruce have split custody of damian

nightwing and RED are top-celebs in their fields

bruce's name is brucellosis I'm sorry that's just the way it is

bruce stopped sponsoring for a while after jason's injury cause he blamed himself

hunger games sponsors are like gambling or horse race betting. if your sponsored victor lives you get more money back. but it is so costly with such high stakes that most people don't do it

nightwing volunteered for some random kid who he had no connection with because he has no self-preservation and is kinda self sacrificing like that

nightwing's mentor was starfire. he had a massive crush on her and she'd pat his head

RED has a tense relationship with bruce and Nightwing but also trusts them more than anyone else

there are more but they require more context and characters so hang tight. suggestions welcome! just dm me in my inbox

#nightwing #red hood #red robin #robin #batman #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #brucellosis wayne #batfam #hunger games #hunger games au #asks #duckytree

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burningfieldof-clover · 11 months

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gold necklace

@clonexreaderbingo prompt: tech warnings: fluff, tech is cute dedicated to @ilovestarwarsmen725 word count: 793

You hadn’t seen Tech in a few days. This wasn’t abnormal. Sometimes he would fall into very long stints of being holed up in his workshop just creating and tinkering with things. You didn’t worry, though. That was his happy place. He’d come home when he was ready. Either he was hungry and ran out of food in his shop, needed someone to infodump to, or he just finally remembered that he missed you.

This was all okay because you still visit him. There was a spot for you to sit and observe or take a nap just to be near him. If you did nap, Tech would sometimes drape a blanket over you, kiss your forehead, or even take a moment to rest himself.

One night he finally came into the house. He was tapping away on his datapad. His face was brushed with dirt and oil. You smiled. If Tech were to move his goggles even slightly, you’d probably find clean skin underneath.

“Mesh’la,” he says, gaining your attention. “I didn’t realize how many rotations I had spent in there. Did you visit me?”

“A couple times,” you answered. “You looked like you were having fun.”

Tech looked up at you and smiled. His smile reached his beautiful eyes. He caressed your face and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I am so lucky to have you. I never thought I’d be able to find such an effortless balance between work and a relationship.”

The kiss left you with a dazed smile. “It just works out for us. You’re not the only lucky one.”

Tech sat his datapad down on the countertop. “Speaking of us,” he started while reaching into his pocket, “I have something for you.”

You perked up at those words. “What is it?”

“You must close your eyes.”

You did as he asked.

Tech took the gift out of his pocket. You heard his awkward steps approach you and stand behind you. Raising a brow, you were increasingly curious but kept quiet. You felt something cross your clavicle and wrap around your neck with delicacy, ending behind you with Tech’s skilled fingers brushing across your skin briefly.

“You may look.”

Blinking your eyes open, your hands raised to your collarbone to feel the item. You could barely see it. Tech grabbed his datapad then held it in front of you with both of his hands while still behind you. He opened up the camera.

Staring back at you on the screen is the hopeful gaze of Tech, waiting for your opinion, and the mirror image of yourself. You leaned forward to look at the necklace Tech has gifted you.

The tiniest links have been crafted and laced together to make a beautiful looking twist in the chain. There is no charm or centerpiece to this necklace, but it shines so brilliantly.

“Tech, this is beautiful! You didn’t have to…”

Tech smirks and you watch him do it on the camera still pointed at the both of you. “A lot of my projects have been to break down electronics and repurpose them for other things, and since gold is so incredibly conductive, there is a surplus of it in most items I work with. I’ve been keeping the gold set aside for future projects, and I decided to try my hand at making jewelry.”

Your eyes widened at his explanation. “Wait, Tech, you made this? For me?”

“But of course, darling. I hope it meets your standards.”

“Are you kidding me? This is incredible!”

Tech smiled and kissed your cheek. “Would you do me the honor of smiling, mesh’la?”

Since it was a rare sentiment, you obliged. You snuggled a little closer to Tech and smiled into the datapad’s camera. Tech snapped a photo of the two of you, and then another one with him kissing the side of your head.

The photos were such a nice addition to his gift. He was being so affectionate that it was making your heart warm and your body melt.

“Did you know that gold is the third most conductive metal? It pales compared to copper and the more impressive silver. They are not items I come across often. But, the symbolism in this necklace is that I have poured my conductive energy and intelligence into it so that you will always feel me with you. Especially on the days that I am incredibly busy. I hope that you get my meaning.”

You nodded as your fingers brushed across the chain. Tech took a few strides away to find a drink. “Tech?” you called quietly.

“Yes?” he answered without looking over.

“I love you.”

A smile formed on his lips that you could see from his profile. “And I you, darling.”

#the bad batch #tbb #star wars #tbb tech #tbb tech x you #tbb tech x reader #tech x you #fluff #clone x reader bingo #clonexreaderbingo

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souryogurt64 · 6 months

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that was SUCH a nail in the coffin analysis ive always felt weird abt how mcr and their fans have been operating ever since they came back and u put it into words 😭 like i genuinely think mcr is still effectively broken up and only came back bc they missed a) each other/performing occasionally kinda and b) MONEYYYY because a full tour and multiple makeup palette launches with no album out after like four years is insane! (i get that the pandemic mightve shifted their schedule maybe but lets be real) and i think mcr fans are subconsciously hurt by this and somehow the revisionist history of mcr being freedom fighter genderqueer activists that threw the first brick at warped tour makes them feel better about it?? like "oh this band has values so surely they wouldnt come back from a breakup JUST to take my money"

I actually think that back in 2018-2019 the band originally intended to record and release an album and then were not able to follow through. I think COVID probably affected people’s mental health or drawing out the creative process for several years more than originally planned led to the same tensions that resulted in the band breaking up coming back to the surface.

The earliest MCR reunion leak was actually in Spring of 2018 by SWMRS (lol) and had probably been going on for a long time prior to that. They have had plenty of time to record an album, they either just can’t or don’t want to.

The initial reunion announcement had a lot of really stylized and specific imagery that was new and not nostalgia bait at all. It also felt very extra for just a tour. I don’t religiously pay attention to MCR but they have been doing a lot of stuff to try and keep the album hype going as we head into 2024, like flashing a 5 symbol at shows. I feel like that type of thing was more prevalent early on, but it’s been 4 1/2 years (!!!) so it’s hard to remember.

Also, I joined bandom in Feb-March of 2013 and all throughout the hiatus through reunion leaks in 2018 (so 5 years), MCR were constantly doing things. They each had solo projects (Frank several) and Gerard was doing comics and a TV show. Plus, the band released CW, several demos, and merch.

Over the last 4-5 years, they have basically had one tour and that was it. What have they been doing this entire time? Nothing?

Also, an album that was significantly delayed or didn’t pan out would explain Frank’s garage sale fiasco. The FOB reunion was originally prompted by a blog post from Patrick complaining about how he had blown his savings on Soul Punk and it failed— so if Frank had invested personally in LS Dunes banking on a MCR album, that might explain why he needed to auction off sweatbands as well as the band getting snippy on socials about how they can’t “afford” to film a video.

And like, no, nobody is “owed” a MCR reunion or MCR album or “owed” closure and if they want to fuck off and drink virgin Pina Coladas in Tijuana for the rest of eternity and play WWWY and Riot once every 4 years or something they can

But stringing fans along with “cryptic messages” for 5 years and not making any kind of acknowledgement in the press is weird and like you said, I think explains a lot of the obnoxious holier-than-thou behavior from the fandom. During the time MCR have been “back,” FOB, Avril Lavigne, Blink, and probably other people have gone from varying degrees of hiatus to being well into full touring and promotional cycles for new material which has also made MCR less and less special. Those acts didn’t set outrageously high and dramatic expectations beforehand like MCR did either.

I also really don’t intend to be disrespectful or make assumptions but I think Gerard especially has a long history with drug/alcohol issues in relation to performing and doing touring before the album was even recorded may have led them to delay stuff to (at best) prevent any issues arising.

And like maybe their bodyguard is telling the truth and there will still be an album. But planning a reunion starting in 2017 at the absolute latest, recording and releasing a single in 2019+playing reunion shows, and not releasing the album until 2024 at the earliest is not really a normal schedule and at best is indicative that they ran into issues along the way.

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miradelletarot · 3 months

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Part 1: The Dance - The Weave and the Vines

Author's Note: I know I made a poll, but I am gonna experiment with something. Gonna start posting my chapters to my series on here and linking to Ao3 instead of just posting the link. Let's see how that goes. TAGS: Angst, Fluff, Mentions of family member death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, and some mild nudity

Summary:

Despite the looming threat of the Absolute, Sagora still has her grove on her mind. Back home, she would have performed her ritual to its members as a rite of passage. Instead, she attempts the rite before her campmates while attempting to hide the grief welling up inside her.

Gale does his best to comfort her in her time of need, but could there be something more? Words: 3,241 | Link: AO3

Sagora poked her head out of her tent, and offered a quick glance at the sky. A full moon, indeed. She thought.

It didn’t take long for her to gather a small collection of spell components, and the antlered crown she fashioned for this such occasion. It was carefully woven with vines, thin branches, and several flowers yet to be opened. At its center, a small emerald – found on their travels – nestled within. She left her tent, and made her way to Volo with instructions for the music she needed him to play for her rite. He was the closest thing to an instrumentalist they had on hand, and she figured he would suffice for now. Anything was better than silence. They had spent a few days collaborating on the project that Volo felt more than at ease with the task requested of him. Sagora left him to continue practicing and tuning his lute, turning her attention to other matters. Sagora’s final stop was at the campfire. She took the small bottle of moon water she collected, and her various spell components and set them down on a small cloth nearby. By now, everyone in camp started to gather. This rite isn’t something outsiders would ever see, and everyone’s curiosity hung in the air like a cloud threatening to release its storms. Even Lae’zel’s interests were piqued – an uncommon state for her to be in regarding the affairs of others, though her curiosity got the better of her. Sagora stood up from her collection of herbs and vials only to be met with a curious, yet concerned - or was it embarrassed - wizard. “Ahhh…Sagora?”

“Yes, Gale?” She turned to face him. He stammered, clearly trying to be thoughtful and eloquent, but failing abysmally. “So, uhmm. Your outfit choice is rather…ah – unique.” She looked down at her attire. While it wasn’t quite the traditional garb for this occasion, it was the closest thing she could find at the Emerald Grove trader. She wore figure-hugging leggings, and a long, flowy open top. Sagora was otherwise quite exposed despite trying to keep the thin, robe-like coverup closed until the rite began. The airy fabric left nothing to the imagination as the cool air pricked her skin. “Oh, yes, I’m sure this is…unusual. But, this is the best I could find to honor the rite. The attire – and lack thereof – are symbolic.” Gale, trying to stifle the heat rising in his cheeks, couldn’t ignore the curiosity that came naturally to him. “Symbolic? How so?” “This rite is performed in my grove when the first druid steps down…or dies .” She trailed off, trying to casually turn her gaze from him. She crouched back down to her supplies to try and look busy so Gale couldn’t see the pain in her eyes. “The attire, the fire dance, and spells cast throughout, not only represent our abilities and experience, but how we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. We bear our heart and soul to invite Silvanus’ blessing in. It strengthens our connection to the divine, and our performance demonstrates that we are willing to give of ourselves as a leader of the grove. This tradition has been practiced by all of the women in leadership since the grove’s creation.” “And this rite has to be performed by you?” Gale focused intently on his eagerness to learn, and understand. He was a gentleman after all. Sagora lowered her tone, trying her best to maintain control over her words. “Yes. I am the next in line. Assuming the grove hasn’t presumed me dead yet.” Rising back to her feet, she walked around the fire putting distance between her and Gale. The soft glow of the flames accented her features. While reverence filled her stoic expression, Gale could sense there was a note of sadness. She should be with her grove , he thought. This must be difficult for her . * * * “Hey, Good looking!” Karlach’s joyful nature was precisely what Sagora needed in this moment. “I hope you don’t mind an audience, because this shit looks seriously fuckin’ cool.” She practically danced with excitement as she spoke.

“Oh, well, I can’t exactly command you all to go to your tents and ignore the very obvious ritual that’s about to happen.” A small giggle escaped her lips. “I don’t mind at all. I can’t promise it will be the most exciting thing you’ve ever seen, but –” Sagora cut herself off. Another wave of emotion she had to stifle. “ – it’s important .” She picked up the crown she made, and carefully placed it on her head. “I’d offer to tie your ribbons for you, Soldier, but I might catch your hair on fire.” Karlach was genuinely concerned for her friend’s well-being, but always seemed to make her words as jovial as possible. “Here, Darling. Allow me.” Astarion appeared seemingly out of nowhere. With a delicate, and effortless motion he joined the ribbons together securing the small crown to Sagora’s head. “If you’re going to put weeds in your hair the least I can do is make you look good. I couldn’t possibly watch this nonsense if you looked like a disheveled mess.” Sagora grinned. She’s learned that it’s not like Astarion to be blatantly nice. He always had to pepper his words with sarcasm and sass…a mask he wore so casually. Sagora was finally ready, and everyone settled in to watch. “I’ll be casting a few spells during the rite so you all may want to keep a bit of distance. If I do this right, the flowers on the crown should bloom.” She opened the small bottle of moon-blessed water, and poured some into her hand. Setting the bottle down, she painted the water all over her face and neck. Her skin glistened momentarily before the heat of the fire evaporated the remaining moisture. Volo perched himself on a large rock nearby as he prepared for his own part of the performance. Sagora crouched down next to the fire, crossing her arms in front of her. Before lowering her head to her chest, she gave Volo a quick glance to signal that it was time to begin. Volo delicately plucked the strings of his lute. For the ridiculous man he was, he took his part quite seriously.

As the first notes began to play, she slowly and thoughtfully rose as if she was a flower in bloom. She lifted her hands to the sky, and beckoned the moon to join her in her performance with a reverent bow. Her movements flowed around the fire like water threatening to snuff the flames. The careless, flitting fabric of her top flowing like leaves in the wind. Her breasts, framed by the airy cloth, were now fully exposed to everyone – to Silvanus, her ancestors, to nature, and the merry band of misfits in camp with whom she traveled. Everyone gazed with wonder as Sagora danced, her delicate spins, leaps, and kicks almost in concert with the flames beside her. Sagora made her way to the north side of the fire. With precision, she conjured the earth beneath her. It surged higher than the nearby blaze, and stopped with a flourish. Like the wind, she floated to the East. With a few spins, she coaxed the winds to swirl around her. Her arms floated above her head directing the wind up to the sky. Now to the south, she stood tall like an old oak tree, and placed her hand over the fire. Gale watched her with a mesmerizing wonder glazing over his face. She winced as she focused her magic to her right hand to keep it from burning. Gale’s tadpole writhed, and his mind opened as a warm twinge of pain traveled to the palm of his own right hand. It jarred him away from the enthralling sensation he was once absorbed in. Did we connect ? He wasn’t sure if it was by accident or design. He looked back up towards her as the heat dissipated from his palms. She now had a small orb of fire she collected from the flames beside her. Carefully, she split the small fireball into two, focusing on the protective magic that sheathed her hands. Her dance was wild, but calculated, as the orbs turned into fiery ribbons that played around her body. With the streams of fire still in hand, and a gentle leap, she moved to the west side of the campfire. With great force, and a melodic incantation, she threw the fire into the air as rain cascaded from above, he orbs snuffing out with a hiss. Sagora was now drenched as the sudden deluge teemed from the vacant sky above her. Arms still raised, she reached behind her and arched back – her right leg lifting slightly towards the heavens – as she presented herself, once again, to the moon. She continued to ebb and flow around the fire with the music, and pirouetted near where Gale stood watching. His breath hitched as she stopped before him, breasts bare with beads of sweat trickling down her freckled skin. Sagora met his gaze, and extended her arms out wide in anticipation of yet another turn. She was focused, but silently baring her soul to Gale.

Tears . Why is she crying ? His wonder now completely replaced with concern. Sagora retreated closer to the fire, and with a final act of reverence to the moon, the rite was concluded. Now on her knees, folded in on herself, a fragrance filled the air as the buds in her crown opened up, indicating that the ritual was a success. Her campmates erupted in celebrations, but she didn’t hear it. She felt like she was underwater. The only sensations she noted were the sounds of her heart pounding, her tired breaths heaving wildly, and the hot tears that rained from her eyes. Sagora clutched the loose fabric back over her body and mourned silently. “ Thank you, Mother. ” she whispered. Sagora was too deep in her grief to notice the wizard had quietly knelt beside her. He was insightful enough to know that this was not just any ritual. She wasn’t crying from pain, or fatigue. She was mourning.

“Your mother would be very proud of you, you know.” Gale’s words were warm, delicate. Like a secret that danced on his tongue. Sagora sighed deeply. “She died days before I was taken by the illithids.” The words struggled to emerge amid the tears. “I barely got to say goodbye…”

Unsure if it was the right thing to do, Gale cautiously brought his arm around to her shoulder, and encouraged her to lean in. His touch was inviting, and her tired and cloudy mind instinctively drew her closer to him as she collapsed into his attentive embrace. She curled up into his chest like a child and wept. With a pained yet knowing glance, Astarion bowed his head and disappeared into the shadows towards his tent. Shadowheart, noticing his absence, followed his lead and silently gestured at the others to do the same. Only Gale and Sagora remained. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire, and her muffled wails as she heaved streams of tears into his robes.

* * *

Sagora awoke in her tent wrapped in her blanket. In her groggy state, she could tell the warmth coming from it was magical. The smell of eggs, bacon and fresh bread wafting in from outside her tent. She sat up, and stretched. Why do I have a shirt on? Whose shirt is this anyway? Her head pounded, pulling her away from her thoughts. She put her head in her hands to help soothe the ache when Gale’s voice resonated beyond her tent. “Sagora?” His voice was soft trying not to startle her. “Are you awake? I brought you breakfast…if you’re hungry.” His voice trailed off. Maybe I should leave her be – “Ohh…uh, come in.” The pain in her head pulsated, but she appreciated the gesture regardless. Gale emerged with a small plate filled with eggs, a couple slices of bacon, a piece of toast, and some apple slices. He set the plate down beside her so he could present her with the cup of coffee he brought in with it. “I’m sorry, there’s no cream…or sugar…but I hope this will do.” With a distressed look, Sagora thanked him for his thoughtful deed. “Hmm. One moment.” He quickly left, and returned with a small vial of bright red liquid swirling slowly inside. “Drink this...for the pain.” As he pointed to his own head in acknowledgement of her distress. Sagora expressed her gratitude with a gentle nod as she took the tiny vial from him, and gulped down its contents. Gale sat quietly for the few moments it took for the potion to take effect, and for the pain to subside.

He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “I, uhh, hope you don’t mind. I gave you one of my shirts.” His hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck, and heat rising in his face. Sagora blushed. Now that she wasn’t distracted by pain, she could detect the faintest smell of books and parchment from the fabric. This is one of his shirts. Clearly, he didn't have to undress her, but the thought of him tending to her as exposed as she was embarrassed her. Nevertheless, she was grateful for his thoughtful gesture. “Did you enchant my blanket?” She changed the subject, hoping to quell any continued embarrassment.

“I did. Quite silly for me to carry you in here away from the fire with no way to keep warm now, hmm?” He offered her a lazy smirk, and a soft glance trying to ease the nervous tension. Sagora felt more heat rise in her cheeks. Was it possible for her to blush more than she already had? Her face might be as red as her hair by now.

“I don’t remember falling asleep, honestly.” The last thing she could recall was sobbing, and the smell of Gale’s robes. He smelled like a library with an indistinct trace of the salty sea, the smoke from the nearby fire overtaking the delicate scent.

“You…cried yourself to sleep.” His voice was soft, and comforting.

“Oh. I see.” Her embarrassment set in once more as she shifted in her blanket to quickly grab a piece of bacon from her plate. She timidly broke bits of it apart hoping to distract herself from how foolish she felt. “I’m sorry…” She whispered. It wasn’t like her to feel so fragile. “ Please , don’t be. I hope I didn’t overstep your –”

“ – You didn’t.” Sagora was quick to interject. “I’m rather grateful.” Gale’s expression brightened slightly. “You were - are - very sweet, Gale.” A sheepish smile crept over her face, and a warm flush pricked her cheeks. Gale awkwardly cleared his throat again, and his heart began to race. “Oh. Uhm… Thank you .” He smiled, and glanced at her nearly untouched plate. “Well!” He declared as he quickly stood up. “You had better eat. We’ve a long day of walking ahead of us.” “Wait.” Sagora called to him as he turned to leave, and he eagerly turned back as if he half-expected her to call him over. “Would you like to join me?” She timidly pushed her hair behind her ear at the sound of her own request. Gale’s expression brightened. “ With pleasure. One moment.” He dashed out of her tent, and quickly returned with his own plate, a warm coffee, and one of his many books from his collection.

“Shall I bore you with the lovely details of Waterdeep?” He grinned, wiggling the book in his hand. Sagora chuckled. He was quite charming, if not a bit silly. “Please do, though I doubt I'll be bored.” She smiled, leaning in closer as he opened the tome. Taking advantage of their proximity, she drew in a deep, quiet breath, inviting his scent in. “It’s a fantastic city, but this book simply doesn’t do it justice.” He lazily thumbed through a few pages. “I’d love to show you sometime…if you’d like.” Sagora nodded.

“And I could take you to my grove. Uhm, If you’d like.” She smiled, and met his gaze. They were somehow closer than before as if drawn together by an invisible force. The last time they’d had a moment was when Gale showed her how to channel the Weave. She longed to be this close to him since that evening. The experience was intimate, sensual, safe . He made her feel safe...a feeling she hadn't experienced in quite a long time. “I’d love to.”

Gale’s eyes darkened as he leaned in, parting his lips slightly as he inched closer to her. Sagora felt breathless, almost intoxicated by his proximity as she drew closer to him, their foreheads now touching, and the warmth of their breaths mingling in the small space left between them. For a moment, they froze there in a still silence with nothing but the sound of their breathing tickling the air, the world outside of Sagora’s tent no longer existing. “May I kiss you ?” Gale’s request was barely a whisper. Sagora responded with a feather-light caress of her lips against his. He wrapped an arm around her, gently pulling her closer to him as he deepened their kiss. She shifted slightly to unearth part of the blanket she was still wrapped in, and with one arm she enveloped him in the enchanted warmth he created for her. Her other arm left the comfort of her blanket as she reached up to the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers through his wavy, brown hair. The sensation of her soft hands carding through his hair made him shudder. He licked the seam of her lips, coaxing her to open for him. She willingly gave in to the invitation, her breath hitching in her lungs at the intensity of his need. Gale’s tadpole squirmed as it connected to her, flashing his thoughts, feelings, and images of heat-driven breathing. It showed her the way she tasted to him, and she desired nothing more than to reciprocate the voracity with which their tongues danced. Her belly ached with desire, and she felt the damp of her own passions begin to slick her inner thighs. She grazed her hand along his thigh, his breath hitching at her fervent touch. It took every bit of self control for Gale to keep his racing heart in check, as the orb began to emit a gentle glow, though the twinge of pain that Gale tried to ignore in the moment was a grim reminder that he needed to keep himself in check, lest he bring everyone with him to his incendiary end. “ C’mon! Let’s Gooo! ” Karlach shouted to anyone in camp who would listen. She was not one for standing around, waiting for the world to pass her by, the world outside suddenly becoming part of their reality again. Their lips parted, but they stayed close. Gale released a small, breathy chuckle, noting Karlach's impatience. “I think we had better save this for another time. Our companions might start talking.” He smirked.

A sly grin of her own appeared. “If they’re talking that means they’re leaving us alone.” Gale let out a low growl as he scooped Sagora up into his arms. She wrapped the rest of the blanket around them both, and snuggled her small frame into his warm embrace.

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commandershepardvasfuckit · 1 month

Text

A rough chapter 2 for my little personal writing project. Chapter 1 can be found in my pinned post.

This is just me trying to get ideas unstuck from my head, so nothing too polished, but I know there’s some people here into dominate monster men so may as well put this here instead of just rotting in my notes

Wild power imbalance, D/s, spanking, and honestly several other things

The Dragon King does not take lightly to his newest treasure not accepting her place.

Unknown hours passed by as you rested and the sun was starting to set when you finally awoke.

You were alone still in his bed chamber, entirely undisturbed and still warmly tucked under the blankets, but you noticed a box sitting on the nightstand next to the bed with a small note.

‘You will put this on for when I return for you’ was written in a tidy cursive on the note.

The box was ornately detailed, gold pressed into the etchings on it and jewels inlaid all over. You opened it up to find an embossed leather strip, studded with gems and delicate carvings reminiscent of scales and what looked like a dragon’s head in profile. It was lined with soft fabric and as you removed it from from the box you noticed a small lock nestled in the bottom.

Looking at the piece you realized you knew what it was. ‘A collar for a pet’ you thought to yourself. The ends each finished with a metal ring, clearly intended to have the small lock threaded through it.

You ran your fingers over it, it was lovely, but also a symbol of your captivity here and a clear message from the king about your status.

“Ah, you’re awake” came a voice from the doorway. He was dressed casually this time, simple black pants and a black shirt with the top few buttons undone, even his crown was removed.

You had not even heard him enter the room, despite his great size he moved surprisingly quietly and light on his feet as he closed the distance to sit on the bed next to you.

“And I see you’ve found my gift. It will not be your final one, but something for you to wear in the mean time”. His words were gentle and matter of fact, much like all his actions so far, not that you trusted that he would stay like that. There were to many stories of his temper for you to believe this was how he always was.

“It’s a collar” you said, somewhat uneasy.

“Yes, it is. A pretty collar for a pretty pet. Is that a problem?” the tone of his voice told you that it was not actually a question.

“I did not realize how literally you meant it when you called me that”.

His laugh was a deep rumble in his chest, “Oh quite. While you are my newest treasure, you are much too lovely to just be hoarded away. No, your place will be obediently at my side or anywhere else I decide, and this is just a lovely token to reinforce that”.

Truly nothing more than a pet to him. Not that your life before had been anything special, but you had your home and freedom at least.

“Now, I had been hoping to return and find you collared and waiting for me, but I do suppose I will find joy in collaring you myself. Sit up”.

You shrank down in the bed, your mind free from the haze of the wine and resistant to be being claimed like a animal.

“I will ask nicely one last time as this is all new to you, but do not test my patience. Now once again. Sit. Up” his voice dropped into a snarl this time.

Still you resisted him, more frozen out of fear though than in defiance.

Swiftly he grabbed your arm and yanked you upright before depositing you face down across his lap, brushing the cloak aside and the cool air in the room shocked your skin.

“I find no pleasure in this, and I do not wish to harm you if you can believe that, but you will learn to obey one way or another”.

His hand came down on your bare backside, striking you fairly hard and causing you to let out a yelp. Then a second time he struck you, making you cry out again.

“Shhh,” he murmured, “That is all, little one. Two strikes for two acts of disobedience. Now you will let me collar you and you will thank me for the lesson and for the gift. Do you understand?”

You nod weakly, your backside stinging.

“Answer me with your words, and remember your manners when addressing me”.

“Yes, my king”.

“That’s a good girl. I hope you will not need me to repeat this lesson for you” he said.

You felt his hands brush your hair aside and slip the collar around your neck before the soft click of the lock told you that it was done.

“And now what do you have to say to me?”

“Thank you for this lesson and for the lovely gift” you answer weakly. Between the cold of the room and the pain from being struck you were shaking, and still draped across his lap you knew he must certainly notice.

“You are most welcome my little song bird. It is the first gift of many I have for you. I want you to be adorned with precious stones and metals, clothed in beautiful silks that show off your delicate form because as my little pet you are a reflection of myself. You will be taken care of just as any of my other treasures and I will make sure you want for nothing. I do truly want your life here to be happy, this is your home and you should enjoy it. Just say the word and you will have anything your heart has ever desired, as long as you obey me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my king”.

“Now, let us move on from this topic, I do not wish for you to submit to me out of fear of punishment. Rather out of adoration and a desire to please. It would please me to have you at my feet, your head on my knee while I attend to my duties as king and to see you looking up at me full of adoration and love, as such I want you to view our bond as a positive thing: I will protect you and provide for you, and you will submit completely to my will at all times.”

“If I tell you to climb on my lap and grind on me while I sit on the throne and welcome guests you will without question or hesitation. If I tell you to bend over and present yourself to me so that I may take you as I please, you happily will. If I tell you to suck my cock you will drop to your knees that moment and suck me until I fill your belly with my cum and you will thank me. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my king”.

“Good. Now I wish for you to join me in a bath, you need a good washing after your long journey and I could use some time to relax, but first” he gently lifted you into his arms and pulled you tight to his chest, kissing the top of your head softly once he got you situated, “I will relight the fireplace and draw the bath while you wait here. Having you shivering in the cold will do neither of us any good, especially as despite your little act of defiance you did learn quickly to submit to me”.

Before you registered what he meant, he had quickly tucked you back under the covers of the bed and had moved to busy himself with the fireplace.

You watched him in fascination, he was much quicker and more graceful than a human in his movements, even his footfalls were nearly silent despite his size.

In a language you did not understand, he whispered something as he knelt by the fireplace and a shower of sparks emerged from his fingertips, igniting the logs near instantly in a way that a flint and steel would not have been able to.

Magic. With everything else swirling about in your mind the fact that dragons were highly capable of magic had slipped it.

“It will be a bit before the room is warm” he called as he made his way to the bath, “but I trust you’ll be fine in a warm bath until then”.

The sound of running water emanated from the bathroom as the tub filled and several long minutes went by before the king emerged from the room.

“Come here, little one” he scooped you up unceremoniously into his arms, holding you tightly to his chest as he carried you to the bath before depositing you by the tub in the next room.

“Remove the cloak, I grow tired of seeing you wrapped in that ratty thing, it does not become you”.

Obediently you did as you were commanded, slipping the cloak from your shoulders and allowing it to fall to the ground. Once more you were laid bare before him, only it was much worse this time.

In the throne room you were gripped with shock and fear, but the whole process was detached as he inspected you before. This time however he looked over you with great desire, and especially after outlining his expectations for you felt greatly uncomfortable with his searing gaze upon you.

“Undress me” he commanded.

Your hands shook as you reached for the buttons on his shirt, clumsily undoing them until you were able to slip the shirt from his shoulders. He stood before you, lean and well muscled in the candlelight of the room, an otherwise handsome form were it not for his unsettling nature. Scars adorned his chest and arms, something you did not expect to see.

“Continue” his voice interrupted where you had started to become lost in thought.

Your hands returned to him, this time to undo the ties of his pants. You fumbled with the knot and you could hear the same deep, rumbling laugh as before.

“Oh my little pet, how you shake so. Best get used to this” he pressed another kiss to the top of your head.

With some difficulty you finally manage to untie the knot, his pants hung loosely at his hips, revealing a small patch of soft dark hair that trailed down from his navel. You tugged at the edges of his pants, pulling them down past his hips and surprised to find to find a lack of undergarments.

Clearly he sensed your surprise, not that you were particularly good at hiding it. “I do not like clothing, even in this form, let alone superfluous pieces that aren’t even seen. Now continue, unless something has caught your eye”.

Quickly you turned your attention back to removing his pants, trying to ignore his semi erect shaft that was now in your face as you kneeled to fully remove them. The tiled floor was freezing against you bare skin, but you continued on just to get past everything. Once you reached his ankles he lifted a foot, allowing you to slip them off of him one foot at a time, his shoes already removed sometime earlier while he was running the bath.

There he stood, in all his terrible glory. Scars peppered his smooth skin, nearly hairless save for the trail down his navel to his groin and a light dusting of hair on his chest, arms, and legs. He loomed over you, standing roughly two feet taller than you, but feeling especially large as you knelt before him.

“Look up at me” he commanded.

With difficulty you looked up and met his gaze, save for his smirk his expression was unreadable, his eyes betraying nothing.

“So lovely to see you in your place at my feet” he reached down to ruffle your hair. From an outside perspective it might have almost looked affectionate they way he patted you head, but you heard it in his voice, a condescending tone meant to keep you in line.

Wordlessly he reached down and hooked his arms under yours and lifted back into his arms yet again. There was no affection in his actions, just a show of strength of how easy it would be to toss you around should he choose to.

Still, it almost felt nice in a way. Your heart was racing, threatening to beat out of your chest and you were certain he must notice too. But you felt the warmth of his chest against your bare skin, the strength of his arms wrapped around you as he carried you to the tub. Were he anyone else it would have been an intimate moment, your heart racing in excitement instead of fear and anticipation.

Slowly he lowered both of you into the warm waters of the bath, welcome relief from the cool and tile of the rest of the room. He leaned back against the side of the tub and kept you pulled tightly against his chest as you sat on his lap, with his eyes now closed he could have almost be mistaken as human, almost.

“See? Isn’t this nice, my little pet?” he broke the silence.

“Yes, my king”.

“And look, so many nice soaps and oils for your hair and body. Quite nice. Have you known this luxury before?”

“No, my king”.

“Then let me show you” he reached for a bar of soap and after wetting it he ran it along your shoulders and collarbones. It smelled wonderful, strongly of lavender and warm wood. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he worked the soap into skin.

“You do not need to shake so, I have no intention of harming you” he whispered in your ear, but your rear still stung and did not impart much of a feeling of trust in him.

“And for gods’ sake, do not curl up and hide yourself from me” he shifted you roughly in his lap, changing you from sitting sideways curled in his lap just as he carried you to instead turning you so your back reclined against his chest and pressing your thighs down to make you stretch your legs out in front of you.

Now sitting like this you felt his cock press against your backside, very much fully erect this time. From the eyeful you got while undressing him he was already an impressive size when only partially hard, what you were feeling now was significantly more.

With gentle motions he continued to wash whatever of you was above the water, spending an agonizing amount of time on your breasts. He soaped up both of your breasts and quickly moved from washing them to playing with them, alternating squeezing them playing with your nipples, rolling and pinching them between his fingers.

A soft sigh escaped your lips, entirely unintentionally. You did not desire his touch on you, but your body reacted all the same.

“Just let go, little one. Enjoy it, want it” came his voice in a soft whisper in your ear.

You hated how wonderful his hands felt on your skin, how he knew just what to do to elicit more sounds from you.

“There you go, just relax. Be clay in my hands so that I may reshape you into the picture of perfection” his hand drifted lower, tracing circles along your stomach before slipping between your thighs.

You shot up in alarm, splashing water everywhere with your frantic movements, and attempting to climb out of his lap.

His grip on you tightened, clearly he had no intention of letting you leave this position. “Sit. Down.” He snarled in your ear. “You were doing so well letting me play with you like that. I thought you were starting to understand”.

You hugged your legs up to your chest, attempting to shield yourself from his gaze and his touch. Not wanting him to continue and also fearing what he would do next.

“Do not cower like that!” His volume rose, doing nothing to calm your nerves, “I am not a patient man, but I will not force myself on you like a common brute. I wish to explore and feel you, but I will refrain from more than that until you are willing”.

Some of the fear receded, you were still wary of his touch but at least were not in an immediate danger it seemed.

“This attempt at bonding is over. I will wash you so to ensure you are up to my standards. You will stand and allow my touch on all of you so that I may get this done quickly and throughly”.

All of the gentleness was gone from his touch as he wrenched you up by the arm to make you stand. He worked quickly, a slight snarl on his lips the whole time. When he slipped a hand between your thighs this time you did not dare move, though his movements were detached and quick, only scrubbing you down.

“Dry yourself off and wait for me in my bed” he barked at you once he was satisfied with his work. “As you ruined my attempt to relax with you, I will finish this bath without you. I will deal with you once I have calmed down and we will discuss your behavior. Do I make myself clear”.

“Yes, my king”.

“Good. Now hurry along out of my sight before I change my mind. Leave the door open on your way out”.

Quickly you scurried out of the bathroom, drying yourself only enough to not slip on the tile and made your way to the warmth of the fireplace to finished drying off before climbing back under the covers of his bed. You were not about to learn what may happen if you were not waiting where he expected you.

It was not long before you heard the sounds of movement from the bathroom, the sloshing of water and grunting. Even from you spot tucked under the covers you could hear his ragged breathing and moans. You had assumed that he wanted the door left open to keep an eye on you, though now you understood it was because he wanted you to be privy to his little show.

There was clear line of sight from the bed to the tub. You could see his face, his eyes squeezed closed and his head tipped back, his hand moving rhythmically under the surface of the water. He was panting hard, chest heaving and his moans descending into growls, clearly getting close.

“I know you’ve been watching me” he called out.

A flush of red overtook you face, you quickly rolled over and yanked the blankets over your head.

“Shy little thing, why don’t you roll back over and keep watching? It seemed like you may have even been enjoying it”.

Enjoying it was not the correct words, but you had been almost fascinated seeing him in what was a nearly human moment.

“You’re still in trouble from earlier, but I can be convinced to forgive you this time if you’ll roll back over for me”.

The pros and cons rolled through your mind. Avoiding his ire was high on your priority list as you did not think your raw backside could handle another spanking, but the thought of facing him while he stroked himself was too much to bear.

“Make your choice, I’m not going to wait around for you” he sounded so close.

You shoved down your embarrassment and rolled back to face him, only this time he was watching you back. His eyes were only barely open but even from across the room you were again reminded that no matter how human he may look at a distance, he most certainly was not.

“Good girl” his voice was a ragged moan, his breath coming much faster. “You got me so hard, your hands on me when you undressed me, sitting in my lap and letting me feel you, and now I’m thinking about how good it would have felt if you would have let me continue earlier. I would have taken my time to warm you up, make sure you could handle me, then lower you down on my cock and taken you so slowly- fuck”

he hissed, “Now that I crave you so much I cannot guarantee I will be able to hold back when I do have you”.

A string of harsh Draconic fell from his lips, common tongue entirely leaving his mind.

More of his mask was slipping, his inhumanity ever more noticeable and it sent a chill down your spine.

His whole body lurched at his release, a growl leaving his mouth like you had never heard before. “Fuck” he panted, “For your sake, you’d better come around to me sooner rather than later, because the longer I have to wait for you the much less gentle I’m going to be”.

Water and more dripped down him as he emerged from bath, his breath still heaving, though he only chose to towel dry himself despite the mess.

“I see you kept the damned cloak off at least” he said as he gestured to the discarded cloak you had left in the bathroom in a hurry. “A good choice my pet. You’re such a lovely sight collared and tucked into my bed, such a wonderful thought knowing your waiting naked for me”.

In a few long strides he was there with you laying in bed.

“Let me see you” he said as he peeled the blanket off of you. “An incredible sight, laid bare before me except for this” he tugged on the lock of your collar.

“But I need you closer, come here” in another show of strength he pulled you on top of him as he laid on his back. “Now isn’t that better? The intimacy of skin on skin”.

For the first time you saw a true softness in his expression, a gentleness in his smile and behind his eyes.

“Isn’t this better? To be held and treasured? I will give you everything you could desire, treasure and protect you, as long as you submit to me. I promise you will have a happy life at my side, much better than anything ever possible before, as long as you obey me without question”.

You had not said a single word since he dismissed you from the bath, every possible word caught in your throat, your mind racing and unable to form a sentence.

“Does that not sound pleasant? So simple. To be a pampered pet on my lap, no worries of your own ever again. All I require is your obedience and for you to desire me. Surely that is not such a high price for what I’m promising you?”

A life free of struggle, free of worry, living in luxury known only to royals, and it would only cost your free will and dignity you mused. Though what was the alternative? The dragon king was not a man who was know to just let his possessions go, your options were either to warm his bed and sit at his feet, or find out what happened to treasure that did not fit into his hoard.

With you face against his chest you noticed a scent, under the smell of the soaps there was something else: his scent. He smelled like wildfire and musk, a pleasant and warm smell. In your first decisive move you buried you face into his neck and snuggled more into his arms.

“Oh, my pet?” surprise tinged his voice, “Does this mean you’ve accepted your place with me?”

Your words were stuck in your throat, you did not want to truly submit to him or anyone else, but you knew any choice here was merely an illusion. “Yes, my king” your words barely a whisper on his neck.

He clutched you to him tighter, “I did not expect for you to accept it so readily. Such a smart little thing to understand how good this will be for you” he turned to kiss your forehead, “Though I wish you made this decision earlier, I have nothing left to give to you right now. But tomorrow morning, I promise to be gentle. Your sudden change of heart brings me such joy, how could I possibly be rough with you after the great gift of your acceptance that you’ve given me. I will make sure you know such pleasure that after you will crave me. Maybe I will even stay with you in my chambers all day so that you may experience all the ways I desire to have you”.

“If you so desire, my king” your voice still quiet against his neck.

“Kiss my neck, I wish to feel your lips on me”.

Wordlessly you complied, trailing soft kissed from his shoulder up to his ear. It was so much easier to follow his commands now that you resigned yourself to him.

“Good girl. Tonight I hope you rest easy in my arms. You must be tired still from traveling here and everything today. Tomorrow we will start settling you into your place here, but tonight I just want you to rest well”.

You felt him raise an arm and mutter a few words in Draconic, which caused the fire to flicker out, plunging you both into darkness. He shifted under you, pulling the blanket over you both.

“Good night my pet, may you find comfort and safety in my arms and in submission to me”.

“Good night, my king”.

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case-of-traxits · 7 months

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Hi! Fellow Shinra fan! :)

I'd love a fic with Reeve and/or Rufus. Maybe them late night working on projects for Edge? (Together. Maybe begrudgingly, but also appreciative of the other's skill and competence.)

Hah, okay, so funny story. I spent literal years trying to make Rufus/Reeve a serious ship in this fandom. So so many years. I don't want to talk about how many years. I blame The Conscience of the King for sticking in my head so thoroughly (you can find that here [http://www.midgar.net/king/] if you've never heard of or read it, but word of warning, it's so old that it's literally text files uploaded to a website; this thing was distributed via email rings back in the late 90s; needless to say, it does NOT take in any extended canon, only OG stuff). Over the years, of course, I've taken most of them down in favor of my more general Turk-fic, but just. My first love, okay? It was always Rufus/Reeve. XD

Now, I realize you didn't expressly ask for Rufus/Reeve, but uh. Here's what you're getting: my trademarked ambiguous relationship style thing. In my favorite time period, which is ambiguously before the start of the original game. Mostly because WRO Reeve breaks my heart.

Prompted from this post. Still taking prompts! If you'd rather do a ship/character + number prompt or a symbol for a headcanon, I'm still doing those too.

In These Deep City Lights

Word count: 1274 words. Content Notes: Eh. Ambiguous relationship. Characters: Rufus Shinra and Reeve Tuesti. Summary: Reeve finds Rufus looking over one of the Midgar models.

Most people who wanted to look at a model of Midgar went to Memorial Hall on the 60th floor. It was, after all, the most impressive of the models of Midgar, with the oversized Shinra Tower in the middle and the model reactors that flared on schedule for their secondary burn process. But it wasn't Reeve's favorite of the models. That honor went to the one on 34. She was a smaller model, and her reactors didn't have the fancy show mechanics that the 60th floor did, but her pieces were moveable. In the middle of the night, he usually had the model to himself.

That was precisely why seeing someone standing in the room surprised him. They hadn't turned on the overhead lights, and instead, they appeared to be inspecting the model purely in the light from the city itself, pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Reeve had done that himself more times than he cared to count, and he watched the figure through the frosted glass that separated the model from the rest of the office for a few minutes before he finally went to the door.

He opened it to find Rufus leaning over the model, fingers sliding across the tops of the buildings in Upper Eight. Reeve noticed immediately that several of the buildings were missing, and he spotted them arranged on the table to the side of the model nearest the windows. It took him a moment, but his eyes widened as he realized that they were laid out almost identically to the last proposal for Sector Six that he'd sent the President.

He cleared his throat, but Rufus didn't jump. He didn't even look up. He simply made a low sound and moved another building from Sector Eight to the mocked-up representation of Six. He studied it for another moment, and then he finally looked over at Reeve.

"Vice President," Reeve said, and he took another step into the room, letting the door shut behind him. Under the weight of those blue eyes, that felt like a mistake.

"Reeve," Rufus murmured, and he looked back at his collection of buildings.

"I wasn't aware that you came down here," Reeve finally said, breaking the silence. He crossed the room and picked up one of the buildings, turning it over between his fingers.

He watched as Rufus studied the model, eyes intent and focused, as though he could simply will Midgar into existence— compliance— with his gaze alone. He spoke after a few minutes, voice measured and even, "Only when I need to see one of your proposals."

Reeve set the building he'd picked up back down where it went in Sector Four. He supposed it made sense that Rufus would review the proposal— he was the Vice President, and despite the President's attempts to keep the position as something in name only, Rufus had done his damnedest to carve out some degree of control— but he was surprised by how seriously Rufus was taking it.

Especially when they both knew that the President himself would never approve the expenditure to rebuild Six. There had been one chance to build Six, and when it collapsed during construction, it had taken all possibility of Midgar ever being completed with it.

"Is there anything you had concerns about?" Reeve asked instead.

Rufus straightened up, and he brushed his hair back from his face with a careless motion as he met Reeve's gaze. "You've spent a lot of time on this one," he said instead of answering Reeve's question.

Or maybe it was the answer to Reeve's question. He wasn't sure.

He couldn't look away from Rufus though.

"Clearly," Reeve replied, his voice low as he nodded toward the mock-up, "so have you."

A small smile touched the corner of Rufus' mouth, and he stepped in closer to Reeve, far closer than he had to in order to pick up the factory model from Four that Reeve still had his fingers on. Reeve pulled his hand back, yielding the piece to him, and Rufus' smile widened, eyes gleaming in the relative darkness of the room. "I admire that dedication." He turned the factory over in his hand, and then he held it up between their faces. "You've skewed the sector too heavily to production, however."

Reeve's lips parted, and he reached up to take the factory from Rufus. "My proposal—"

"Is bait," Rufus finished for him, raising an eyebrow. Then he waved a hand toward the mock-up just beside him, turning to look at it once more. "You skewed it toward things that make money because you know exactly what would catch the President's attention."

"It didn't work," Reeve pointed out after a second. "Your father won't authorize the construction."

"My father will not be the one to complete my city." There was a steel in Rufus' voice that caught Reeve's attention, and he smiled faintly at that possessive tone. He set the factory back down in Four where it went once more.

"Your city?" he asked, and Rufus' eyes cut over to him, impossibly blue given how little light was actually in the room.

Rufus tilted his head slightly. "Do you think otherwise?"

"No, of course not, sir," Reeve said immediately, dropping his gaze to the mock-up of Six that Rufus was still facing.

Rufus studied him for a long, quiet moment. "You're supposed to say 'yes.'"

Reeve looked up at him sharply, watching the way the smile on Rufus' face looked a little less practiced, a little more real. He hesitated, replaying what he'd said, and his eyes closed briefly as a faint laugh escaped him. "You're right," he said softly. "My duty is to serve the President's vision."

"Indeed," Rufus murmured. Then he motioned toward the layout for Sector Six. "Redo the proposal. Focus on housing this time."

Reeve hesitated. "You know that will never—"

"The President's vision will change eventually."

Reeve’s breath caught in his throat briefly. On the surface, that was an innocuous enough statement, but standing in that room, awash in the glow of Midgar herself, with the way Rufus was looking at him...

Rufus wasn't just the Vice President, after all. One day—

Rufus' hand closed on Reeve's tie— red tie, Shinra red because that's what the President gifted him every year for Yule — and he adjusted it carefully. When his fingers smoothed over the silk, the touch was soft, gentle.

Reeve wasn't sure how long they stood there, watching one another, Midgar the only silent witness to the moment between them. Then Reeve nodded slowly.

"I'll redo the proposal," he said softly, and there was no mistaking the momentary triumph that lit Rufus' eyes.

"Good. I'll review it personally once it's finished." Rufus' hand dropped away from Reeve's tie then. "For now, go home." He didn't wait to see if Reeve did as instructed. Instead, he turned to look out at the city in the darkness.

Reeve wasn't sure he'd ever been dismissed from one of his own floors in the Tower. He glanced past Rufus, toward the model parts scattered across the table, but before he could ask the question, Rufus waved a hand.

"I'll clean up before I leave."

Reeve nodded. "Very well," he said and he lingered for only a heartbeat more before he turned and left. When the door shut behind him, Reeve glanced back, watching the way Rufus was silhouetted in the lights, figure blurry in the frosted glass that separated the model room from the rest of the office.

He wasn't sure he'd ever been dismissed from one of his own floors in the Tower, but he supposed if anyone could do it, it was Rufus Shinra.

One day, the man would rule the world.

#fanfiction #ff7 #final fantasy vii #Reeve Tuesti #Rufus Shinra #Midgar #prompt fic #FF7 Fanfiction

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betasuppe · 4 months

Text

Long ramble / backstory about evil Flint.

So. I'm thinking. Evil Flint came into being. Because Kevin made the big decision to spend time with his family & needed to focus on his huge role at Encom. So Flint basically adopted the Grid because Flynn didn't have the time left for his pet project with everything else he was juggling.

But Flint's really this nobody irl, only know as being like Flynn's little pal. So in growing tired of being an absolute forgettable noone & having nothing else in life that mattered to him & weak from dealing with his health problems, Flint goes into the fresh new Grid & holes himself up there. Never planning on returning to irl.

& no one even notices anyways, so it's whatever.

Flint's a nobody & nothing at all in the real world, but here in the Grid. He's seen as being important just for being a user &. It actually feels nice to have people [even digital programs disguised as people] care about him.

Still. Even as the celebrated god of the Grid. Flint is distant & wary of Tron.

As a memory of his old life. Flint feels unimportant & useless in comparison to the hero, so despite having crushed hard on the program in the past. He keeps himself far away from Tron. & the distance cuts Tron harshly after they were near inseparable before.

Evil Flint. Ruling over the Grid with kindness he wasn't shown irl & strict order as he builds this world into something incredible. He's the center of attention & he matters & programs care for him more than anyone irl did. But. Flint's sure to keep isolated & estranged from the only friend he had in the past because the old, hurt, scared & sad Flint is still alive in Tron's company alone.

And that Flint needs to die.

Everything is running well. & no one seems to even remember how things used to be. & how everything has changed so suddenly. Or maybe they don't care since everything is so wonderful now.

It makes no difference anyways.

But Tron is so confused by the new arrangement & feels he's going mad. With Kevin completely leaving the picture because he has something more important than the Grid in his life. & Flint now running the show, & keeping a hefty cold distance between them. The changes are too drastic & it's impossible to ignore.

When Tron manages to catch Flint alone by sheer chance one day & questions the user about everything. His heart sinks when Flint tells Tron that this is just how it is. They have their own jobs to tend to. & pushes past the program & just. Leaves Tron behind. Hurt & worried for his old friend acting so strangely.

Tron's work is fairly simple as everything is running really well. So he's left with a lot of time to think. & the changes in Flint concern him so deeply. He tries doing everything he can to get his attention & be in Flint's favor again. But while Flint is all smiles & power & glitz & glam around every other program. With Tron, Flint feels small & forgettable. Flint wants that part of himself to be buried & dead, but the moment Tron's eyes land on him. Flint knows that still all he is at his core.

Nobody & nothing at all.

Tron has always been fond of Flynn's sidekick. He doesn't see a forgettable useless nerd here, but a gentle, soft hearted friend who's clearly hurting & trying to kill that kind part of himself instead of addressing head on whatever's eating away at his heart.

So. Tron starts fighting to get back to Flint. Flint who's drowning his woes in everyone's attention & feeling important for once. Flint who no one really knows. Flint who's a symbol more than a living being. Flint who keeps an air of nonchalance to keep anyone from getting close & seeing the wounds cut across him from his life irl

& if he knew how much Tron was fighting to catch his eye, to get his attention, to steal another moment of his time. The sad broken pieces of Flint might become too sharp & cut through the new persona he's crafted. So even though he'd love nothing more than to fall into Tron's arms & cry away the unbearable weight he's been carrying too long, evil Flint turns away & forces himself on & away from his only remaining friend. & the only one who knows the true Flint, at that.

So. Now it's Tron who's desperate for Flint. Tron who would kill to get through to his old friend, not this new user god. Tron, who disguises himself & starts rising through the games to become the champion & to get Flint's attention once again.

& uh. Yeah. That's all I got.

Flint's a major fuck up & useless as all hell & hiding from the truth. Tron comes to realize he loves Flint & needs to save Flint from this new version of himself. & uh. Yeah.

... &.

I'm a fuck up so I relate. I relate hard.

#twizzler & front♡#not important #you dont need to read this shit #i just think #itd be nifty if both t/ron & flint were both hurting #& everything sucks for both of them♡

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chronicallyday · 24 days

Text

Saturday Sneak Peek of Life Was a Storm Chapter Two

you may read the first chapter of this modern au/2000s au in the link above. I am absolutely showing my age by referring to VampireFreaks as a social media site lol also the name drop of a band whose founding members went on to create my fave band (PTV)

Here’s a snippet from Chapter Two below:

It was completely accidental. Serendipitous.

Finn had not gone looking for Annie Cresta. She had fallen into his lap. Or more specifically, his inbox.

He didn’t post selfies, despite everyone else posting them. Finn had mostly started using VampireFreaks as a recommendation from a guy he had smoked with outside of a show to post some of his poems on a forum. He wasn’t even goth, but the alt scene had appreciated some of his work that he couldn’t share with Rio.

Finn hadn’t expected someone to message him about a photo he posted to his account. It was a stupid photo he took at Point Pinos. He hadn’t expected someone to comment on the post.

But he almost had a heart attack when he saw the username HeartThiefOfTheSea. That stupid song kept playing his head.

The message wasn’t anything special. They had only sent a less than carrot symbol plus the number three to make a heart emoticon. But Finn clicked on the account anyway and his heart almost stopped again in less than a minute when he scrolled through the photo gallery for the account.

Some punky-bohemian chick that looked like she could be Stevie Nicks’ edgier daughter had sent the comment. The blue and purple streaks in her dark hair had thrown him off for a second, but he would know those green eyes anywhere. They had only been haunting him since he was two months shy of fifteen.

He didn’t have to respond. It was just appreciation for the photo.

But he responded anyway. And that led to them private messaging each other.

“Someone’s up early,” Finn muttered as his desktop pinged with a new email notification for a private message from Annie.

HeartThiefOfTheSea: guess who’s in trouble

FindingEmo: clearly not u if ur messaging me. what did u do?

HeartThiefOfTheSea: snuck out, trespassed to go swimming, but my greatest offense was calling my brother to come get me at 3am from the side of the road cuz I was too lazy to walk LOL

Finn laughed under his breath. As the eldest of his siblings, he was sure there could be a day that he would be getting those calls. For now, he was glad that his sisters were eight years old. The most trouble they got into was eating the sweets and pastries meant for the BnB guests.

HeartThiefOfTheSea: so…what are you doing up? It’s getting late over there isn’t it?

FindingEmo: ur joking right?? I’m not the one that is up at 3am

HeartThiefOfTheSea: yeah but you’re only 3 hrs behind right?

FindingEmo: yeah. so why r u messaging me at 3am

Serendipitous. They had been messaging each other since May and the messages had been mostly small talk about bands they liked until Annie took the plunge and started asking him for some advice and then they got more personal while being cautious of what they shared with an Internet Stranger.

Although Annie could have been more wary. Not that Finn was one to talk. He was sure his parents had considered putting an ankle monitor on him at some point in his mid teens.

Finn had lots of fun turning her into a fan of a band from San Diego called Before Today. He really hoped their plans to tour the East Coast came to fruition so Annie could go to one of their shows.

He really liked one of the lines in one of their songs Pierce The Veil.

We’ll try, still strong in our chains.

Something about the line reminded him of that dream version of himself. Finn still didn’t have the full picture about that Finnick, and while sometimes he couldn’t say he liked that version of himself, there were more days that he felt for him.

HeartThiefOfTheSea: my ex ambushed me while I was hanging out w/my friends. I ran away lol he tried to tell me he wanted to be “friends”

Finn frowned. He hadn’t liked Annie’s boyfriend when she was dating him and his dislike for him only grew after she dumped him.

Nothing rankled Finn more than guys that wouldn’t take no for an answer and tried to guilt their girlfriends into sleeping with them by using their love against them.

Finn had told Annie that she didn’t need to love the guy to have sex with him. If she wanted to have sex just because she wanted to, that was reason enough to take the plunge. But if she was hesitating because she wasn’t ready or because she didn’t feel that kind of attraction to him that she needed to do what was right for her.

Annie had confessed that she had been using the fact that she was Straight Edge as one of the reasons to ward him off. She had to explain to her ex what that even was, but Finn had snorted as soon as Annie told him that she was actually in fact Straight Edge.

Finn and Annie couldn’t be anymore different.

[ can’t say I wanna wait for marriage but idk it feels preferable than losing my virginity to a HS bf that my friends had to convince me to date ]

FindingEmo: pls tell me u kicked him in the balls

HeartThiefOfTheSea: lol no I didn’t do that but I should have. he yanked my arm pretty hard when I was underwater and it kind of scared me. I dipped as soon as possible and I just know my friends are gonna give shit for just leaving

FindingEmo: if u had to bounce u had to bounce…but next time kick him in the balls

HeartThiefOfTheSea: aye aye captain! now why are YOU up late?

FindingEmo: date

HeartThiefOfTheSea: like a date date or a “date” lol

FindingEmo: the latter

HeartThiefOfTheSea: heartbreaker lol

#odesta #wip #life was a storm

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crypticjackal13 · 2 years

Note

Redson x Demon fem!s/o who's the opposite of him (E.g. Calm and soft spoken) That's just as smart as him and works with him as both a Lab partner and romantic partner, but unfortunately due to her temperament she is often see as a weaker demon when in reality she's secretly (even to Red) super strong, but doesn't show it unless it's a emergency, like turning into a terrifying, giant, multi armed kaiju to protect Red.

Yesssss I love this idea. Had to look up what exactly a kaiju is, and even then I found mostly Godzilla stuff? So forgive me if my descriptions are a little messy as I tried to be more vague

"Where's My Epic Background Music?"(761 w.c)

Redson x Demon!Fem!Reader romantic one shot

Pronouns: she her

CW: little bit of bl00d, some light viol3nce

“This stupid bolt won’t stay in place!” Redson growled, pretty close to just melting the metal back to its liquid state on his own. But y/n stepped in, coming up behind her lover and handing him the fresh set of pliers he’d asked for.

“Red, I can hear you from down the hall. Take a second, alright?” She continued holding his hand that was reaching for the tool, making eye contact. He was stiff, with the ends of his hair starting to become inflamed. But at her gentle tone, he sighed, and she could literally see the steam coming off of him as he calmed down. Slowly but surely.

“Thank you, beloved.” He mumbled, turning away from his newest project. A new motorbike, of sorts, though she knew there had to be a transformation in there somewhere.

“What about we go get something to eat? You’ve been cooped up in here since you got out of bed this morning.” She suggested. The fire demon hummed, looking at the blueprints he’d worked so hard on, and the bike behind him that had taken him the better part of several hours to assemble.

“I guess we can. Where would you like to go?”

“There’s a cafe not far from the arcade, I hear they’ve got some really nice pastries.”

“As you wish. Come, we’ll take my car.”

The pair got their jackets and hopped into the large vehicle, driving from what was essentially Hell to the city. At y/n’s request, Redson abided by traffic laws, though it was tempting for him to absolutely total the stupid little car in front of them that cut them off.

“This is the place!” She pointed to a small building with an alleyway next to it, where there was a chalkboard sign advertising some chai tea drink. It wasn’t overly cutesy, which was probably for the best. Redson would’ve gotten all hissy about being there.

Walking in, nothing was off-putting. The service was nice and much faster than other places y/n had taken Redson to eat at.

The real problem showed up when it came time to go back to the car and head home.

The first red flag of the situation was the stranger standing against the side of the car, which was already reason enough for Redson to get angry at. The person was lanky, though both Red and y/n could see the threatening aura they put off. In these situations, not only did Red take the lead, the problem was usually dealt with in a fast manner to avoid unwanted attention. However something about this just wasn’t right.

“It’s a nice car you’ve got here. Nice girlfriend, too.” The person complimented. Redson had no problem waltzing up to the guy and trying to intimidate them right back.

“Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have places to be.”

In mere seconds, a knife was pressed to his throat, one with symbols written on it that y/n could tell were meant to hold Red in one spot or at least leave an impact if the weapon was to make contact.

But at the same time, y/n was willing to ditch being passive for the sake of her lover. So as soon as she saw a thin line of blood, she jumped into action. She let go of her human form and grew several sizes larger, multiple arms on her torso and primed to tear limbs if needed. She was quite a sight for both figures below her.

Enough to make the stranger drop their grip on Redson along with the weapon.

“Hey, no harm no foul, right?” They tried to reason with her.

“Run. Far, far away, and don’t come back.” She warned. They scrambled to get moving, heeding her words immediately as they took off. Once she was sure that they were gone, she transformed back into her regular form and went up to her partner.

“I love when you get all frightening. It’s fun.” He praised her. He dusted himself off, but then held still as she inspected the cut on his neck.

“Hang on, I have some napkins.” She mumbled, digging in her pockets for the napkins she took from the cafe. When she found them, she cupped his face and moved to clean the small wound that was just beginning to drip.

“Thank you, y/n. Now, shall we?” Redson unlocked the vehicle and opened the door for her. She climbed in gingerly, giving him a smile.

Looks could be so deceiving, could they not?

#lego monkie kid #lmk headcanon #lmk x reader #lmk #lmk red son #red son #redson x reader #redson x fem reader #fem reader #red boy

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somecrocanadian · 5 months

Text

A Volunteer from the Past

So, instead of finishing a final project I wrote this to procrastinate. I hope you enjoy this!

~~~

President Snow sat in his velvet chair watching the reaping ceremonies across the districts, paying special attention to district 12s reaping. He watched as the camera zoomed in on Katniss, the only female tribute. He could tell she was barely keeping it together. Good. Her symbol of hope would be no more.

Snow watched as the overly dressed Effie pulled out the single slip of paper from the bowl, a small smirk appearing on his face.

“Katniss Everdeen!” She called out.

The camera closed in on Katniss’s face as she barely held it together. Snow could only imagine what was going through her head. His smirk only got larger. Checkmate.

Snow was lost in thought he almost missed the sudden turn of events before him.

“I volunteer!” An unmistakable voice called out. One that froze Snow right to his core.

The camera panned to the back of the crowd showing an 80 year old woman, with long white curls, wearing that same dress.

“My name is Lucy Gray Barid,” She said walking forward as the crowd parted before her, “Victor of the 10th Hunger Games.”

“It can’t be,” Snow muttered. After all this time she was still alive. How? He had killed her in the woods with the mocking jays. Why resurface now? Everything was so perfect, why would she resurface?

Snow went back to that day in the woods 65 years ago, a day that he never truly forgot. He remembered getting bit by a snake, shooting at her, watching her fall, finding her earring, then hiding the guns. He never saw a body, he had assumed that her injuries would kill her. There was no way to recover from a gunshot in the woods, especially with his impeccable aim. Either way he sent soldiers to track her down, even if it was just to recover her body.

Snow has to force himself back into the present. He made sure all records of the 10th Hunger Games were erased, that no one even remembered Lucy Gray. There is no way to prove her claims. That’s why Snow was speechless when the mayor came out and tested her DNA with a sample he had from an ancient looking document and it matched.

How is that possible? Snow made every effort, albeit discreetly, to make sure that she was erased. Who missed the mayor's records?

Snow missed the male reaping, too caught up in his thoughts to pay much attention.

That filthy district bitch doesn’t deserve to be alive. She was hunted down. Who confirmed the kill? Why did I never see a body?

The broadcast cut but Snow didn’t move, too caught up over Lucy Gray to care about anything else.

~~~

Once Snow had recovered from his shock he sent someone to confirm that it truly was Lucy Gray and not someone trying to impersonate her, though he already knew the truth. Then he sent someone else to figure out who was on that mission to find Lucy Gray, and to execute every single one of them. He also sent someone to fetch Tigres, if one woman from his past was causing issues he was going to be sure the only other one would be faithful to him.

It only enraged him further to learn that Tigres was nowhere to be found. Maybe she hid Lucy Gray all those years ago, maybe she was behind it all. One final act to stab him in the back after everything he did for her. She’d be dead soon too.

As soon as it was confirmed that it really was Lucy Gray, Snow invited her over for dinner. He would serve her the best meal then poison her to force Katniss back into the games. A small setback didn’t mean the end to his plans.

~~~

“Coriolanus, I’d never thought I’d see you again,” Lucy Gray said entering the dining room.

“Leave us,” Snow said, dismissing the staff before they had fully served the meal. They all knew better than to question Snow and left quickly.

“I go by Snow.”

“Yeah, but I like Coriolanus better. It has a nice ring to it. It’s been a while.”

“Yes, quite. I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sure you sent men after me but I’m quite good at hiding.”

Snow didn’t know how to respond to that, Lucy Gray didn’t need one; “As I starved away in hiding I’m assuming you won that prize of yours and was able to afford as much food as your heart desired.”

Snow stayed silent.

Lucy Gray reached forward to grab the water pitcher, “Though I never figured out who that third person you killed was, and it definitely wasn’t your old self because I see him right in front of me.”

“I’ve killed a lot more than three people, Lucy Gray,” He said, trying to deflect the question. But saying her name out loud distracted him, a small voice in the back of his head was reminding him that this is the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with at one point.

“I know you have, but who was your third? You killed Bobbin in the area, Mayfair, the mayor's daughter, then someone else before you killed me,” Lucy said, now pouring Snow a glass of water, “Who was it?”

“Sejanus,” Snow said, “I sent a recording of his plans to Dr. Gaull and she ordered him to be hung.”

Snow took a long sip of water, this was something he had buried long ago, he didn’t need to drag it up again.

“Really? Your best friend?” Lucy Gray questioned, “All for power and money I assume,” She said, taking a sip of water.

“He was weaker than someone in the capital should have been,” Snow said, but something didn’t feel right.

Lucy hummed in response. Then pulled out an old compact from the folds of her dress.

Snow’s eyes widened in response, “You-”

“Yes, good-bye Coriolanus Snow,” She said.

Snow was speechless, there was nothing he could do to stop this, he was dying and fast. What would become of his family name without him there? He couldn’t go out like this! Not killed by some district scum.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a gentle singing voice.

“Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be,” Lucy Gray sang as both of their noses began to bleed and the room went out of focus, “If we met… at mid-night, in the hanging tree…”

The pair were discovered a few minutes later by a servant, slumped over on the table, dead.

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3fic #the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #lucy gray baird #president snow #what if scenario #lucy gray in 75th hunger games

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emi-writings · 9 months

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Wilbur Soot had never been a man of faith.

It wasn’t out of disbelief in the gods, nor disrespect in them and their power. It had been his own hubris, the confidence that being a child of the Goddess of Death would protect him from any harm. Why should he worship the gods when their blood runs through his veins? But after suffering in Limbo, Wilbur realized why his father worshiped his wife with such devotion. The divine blood in him didn’t cancel out his humanity, and humans were at the mercy of the gods whether they were alive or dead.

So, Wilbur fell back onto the lessons he had been taught as a child and decided to set up a shrine. It was a small one, setup not too far from his burger van, but out of the way enough to not be disturbed by trespassers. Tommy and Ranboo had noticed him gathering materials, but neither of them said anything. Wilbur had no idea what Ranboo believed in – if he worshipped any deity at all – but Wilbur knew Tommy was completely devoted to Church Prime, and he didn’t really want to get into intense discussions about differing religions with his younger brother.

His shrine was a humble one, compared to the temples and altars he had seen dedicated to his mother. But he had a small statue of her, one his father had given him many years ago. Beside the statue were two lilies of the valley, her sacred flower. The altar cloth had her emblem on embodied into it – a symbol that looked like a heart. In font of the statue were three offering bowls Wilbur had gathered, where he left perishable offerings to the goddess. There were other decorations on the alter – jewelry he offered to her, black candles crow statues (her sacred animal), and other small things. Wilbur even wore a pendent with the goddess’s emblem as a sign of his devotion.

“What the fuck is this?”

Wilbur whipped around to the voice. Quackity stood in the entrance to his shrine, wearing a mask of shock and uncertainty at the display in front of him. Wilbur sighed loudly at that, and ran a hand through his hair in a way to calm himself from the headache he was certain would follow whatever conversation he was about to get dragged into.

“Can I help you, Quackity?” Wilbur asked.

“Tommy said something about you sneaking off somewhere with materials and he was concerned, so I offered to look for you” Quackity answered, “I was suspicious, but now I’m just confused.”

“What is there to be confused by?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow at the other.

Quackity gave a slight huff, “I didn’t know you were a religious man.”

“What can I say, death has inspired faith in me” Wilbur replied, “What about you, Quackity? Has anything out there earned your reverence?”

“The kind of worship I get into isn’t the religious kind” Quackity smirked.

“What did I expect from the man who runs a city of sin? Whatever, I won’t try and force anything on you. I came here to pray, not to preach” Wilbur continued.

Wilbur turned back to his altar, a moment of silence followed after. But despite everything, the silence couldn't last forever. Not when the two of them shared the same air, the same space.

“This isn’t Prime, isn’t it?” Quackity commented.

Wilbur shook his head, “No, it’s Lady Death. The Goddess of Death isn’t as popular around these parts, but where I grew up there were plenty of devotees. I was literally raised in her temples when Phil was too busy with whatever he got up to.”

“I’m surprised you can worship anything after you’ve died” Quackity stepped closer as admired the shrine, “I would have been pissed. How doesn’t that shake your belief?”

“Because I’ve seen what happens to you when you don’t have faith. And I refuse to suffer through that again” Wilbur answered.

That left an uncomfortable silence, and Wilbur felt exposed in a sense – like a child who had clung onto toy he was far too old for. He turned his attention back to the shrine, which only made him feel more immature as he tried to hide from his problems. Quackity didn’t comment further, he just admired the shrine further. Wilbur was surprised he hadn’t taken advantage of the vulnerability he expressed; it had been a prime opportunity offered on a silver platter. Instead, the avian just left it to rot.

“It looks nice” Quackity said, voice soft.

Wilbur turned his head towards him, “What?”

“Your shrine. It looks nice” Quackity repeated.

“Thank you” Wilbur replied with slight hesitation.

“I should probably head back and let Tommy know that you aren’t getting yourself into trouble” Quackity stated, “I’m not going to ban any religious practices outside of my city, so I can’t really get mad at you. I guess I’ll see you around, Wilbur.”

With that, Quackity slowly turned and made his way towards the exit. Wilbur felt conflicted at that, he enjoyed having his private and all to himself, but he wanted Quackity to stay. Quackity’s company made him feel alive, more human where everyone else made him feel like a thing. He made Wilbur warm, where everyone else made him feel cold and frigid. He knew it was a stupid idea, and yet Wilbur found himself reaching out as Quackity went to leave.

“Wait.”

Quackity turned, “Yeah, what?”

“Could you help me with something?” Wilbur asked, unable to truly make eye contact, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I just thought… never mind. You probably don’t—”

“Tell me what the favor is first, and then I’ll decide” Quackity interrupted, “But just so you know, I really don’t know much about the Goddess of Death’s faith, so I might not be much help.”

“It’s just a ritual to dedicate myself to Lady Death. I know all the words I need to say and everything, it’s just that it would be easier for someone to do the anointing for me” Wilbur explained, “If you’re not comfortable with it, I can do it myself.”

Quackity nodded, “If you have a diagram, I can handle it. Though I am surprised you didn’t just have Tommy do this for you.”

Rather than answer that question directly, Wilbur instead rummaged through his books until he found a specific one. He flicked through the pages until he found the diagram Quackity would need to follow and passed the book over. Quackity looked at the diagram for a moment, and then his face slowly gained a red tint as he realized the implications of what he looked at. Wilbur tried to fight down his own blush and hoped it was much more successful then Quackity’s own attempts.

“If you’re uncomfortable with it, you really don’t have to” Wilbur repeated.

“It’s fine, it’s not like it’s sexual or anything… right?” Quackity asked as he looked up at Wilbur.

“No, definitely not. If it was, I wouldn’t be doing it in dedication to my mother” Wilbur felt a gross feeling settle in his stomach at that thought.

Quackity looked confused before he brushed it off, “Right. Anyway, I can handle it. You just do what you got to do, and I’ll handle the whole… anointing thing.”

“Right. Okay. Let’s do it” Wilbur said.

Wilbur took a deep breath to give himself courage, walked over to lock the entrance to his personal shrine, and slowly started to remove his clothing. Quackity took great interest in the book before him, a transparent attempt to avoid looking at Wilbur as he undressed himself. The ritual was traditionally done skyclad, and while Wilbur hadn’t had a problem with that before, now that he had roped Quackity into helping him, he was suddenly very aware of that fact.

“Are you ready?” Wilbur asked.

Quackity looked directly into his eyes, “I am. You?”

Wilbur nodded, before he started the prayer, “I am a child of the goddess, and I ask her to bless me.”

Quackity dipped his finger into the blessing oil, and Wilbur closed his eyes as Quackity anointed his forehead by tracing the heart emblem onto his skin.

As he felt the heart emblem take shape, Wilbur continued his prayer, “May my mind be blessed, so that I can accept the wisdom of the goddess.”

Quackity’s fingers anointed the eyelids with surprising gentleness, “May my eyes be blessed, so I can see my way clearly upon this path.”

An almost playful touch to nose had Wilbur fighting a smile, “May my nose be blessed, so I can breathe in the essence of all that is the goddess.”

Wilbur’s breath hitched as Quackity traced his lips, “May my lips be blessed, so I may always speak with honor and respect.”

There was a long pause for a moment, as Quackity gathered more blessing oil for the patterns to anoint Wilbur’s chest, “May my heart be blessed, so I may love and be loved.”

Quackity moved his hands, before gently anointing the tops of them, “May my hands be blessed, so that I may use them to heal and help others.”

Wilbur felt his face burn as Quackity’s hands moved down, though they passed anywhere inappropriate and went to anoint his feet, “May my feet be blessed, so that I may walk side by side with the goddess.”

Wilbur heard Quackity shift and back away. With the oil having already started to dry up, Wilbur was able to open his eyes and turn his attention back to his shrine, “Tonight, I pledge my dedication to my mother, the Goddess of Death. I will walk with her beside me and ask her to guide me on this journey. I pledge to honor her and ask that she will allow me to grow closer to her. As I will it, so it shall be.”

“So, that’s it, right?” Quackity asked.

“Yes. It’s done,” Wilbur replied, as he gathered his clothes.

“I kind of expected this to get a little more flirty” Quackity admitted.

“Ew. Not in front of my mother’s shrine” Wilbur grimaced, “I don’t know if she can see or hear this, but that’s still not something I want to get involved in.”

“Okay, is the mother thing like a title all her followers use or something? Because you’re kind of making it weird” Quackity asked.

Wilbur sighed, “No. Long story short, my father met a god and wifed her, and she gave him wings as a wedding gift. And when an angel and a goddess love each other very much, you get me.”

Quackity was stunned for a moment, “What?”

“Again, it’s a long story.”

“So, you’re, what, a demigod? Wait, your father’s an angel – what’s a half-god, half-angel?” Quackity questioned.

“Well, my mother was in a human form at the time, so I don’t really know how much divine blood I actually have in me? I don’t know how it works out at all; I’ve just stopped questioning it at this point” Wilbur said, “Can we have this conversation later? Preferably a time when I hadn’t just completed a dedication ritual skyclad.”

“I think things about you are starting to add up in very weird way, Wilbur Soot.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, tugging his clothes on swiftly, “Look, I got some weird shit going on, not going to lie. I age differently. I’m pretty resistant all things considered. But as far as I know, I’m human.”

Quackity shrugged, “Sounds like a demigod to me.”

Wilbur wasn’t sure if he should be exasperated or amused by the other’s insistence. Perhaps he needed a bit more faith, but he doubted his mother had left him with a gift quite as valuable as divinity. To be worthy of devotion sounded wonderful, but Wilbur wasn’t convinced that the future held that for him. No, he had little faith that the cards were in his favor.

But Wilbur didn’t feel so bad about that. Because the way that Quackity looked at him sometimes made him feel divine. The other had always been what kept his fire burning. And for Wilbur, that was more than enough.

“I guess we will see.”

#tntduo #quackbur #tntduo fanfic #tntduo fic #tntduo au bingo #deity au #they're both human #but Wilbur is a demigod and refuses to believe it

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dandelion-wings · 1 year

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So @theabysscomeshome proposed an absolutely BANGER concept while we were talking last night, and it’s been consuming me for every waking minute since. It came out of the knight trio all knowing each others’ secrets, but for that, Jean needs a secret, and, well....

---

Edit: now posted on AO3.

---

The Lawrences and their supporters don’t go easily. It’s one thing to have tricked them into handing over the city; it’s another to make them leave. To make them leave, and to make the other aristocrats, the families they had turned into sycophants and servants, either surrender their titles or leave as well. Some turn to violence to try and protect their privilege.

Others never get the chance.

“Lady Vennessa,” Mathilde Gunnhildr says, dropping to her knees before Vennessa and Ragnvindr. She holds her sword skyward before her and bows her head until it touches the bloodied blade. “Sir Ragnvindr. I know that Lord Barbatos stands with you, and that you stand for the freedom of Mondstadt. The clan of Gunnhildr stands thus with you.”

“Lady Mathilde,” Sir Ragnvindr says, his voice low and troubled. “Where is your mother? Such a declaration should be hers to make.”

She looks up at them, her eyes burning with a light so fierce and wild that Vennessa has to fight the urge to take a step back. “My mother hesitated. As her mother had, and her mother before her, even as they saw the abuses the Lawrences heaped upon the people. What freedom might have flourished, if they had thrown their privileges aside and fought for what they knew was right?”

It’s a question that they themselves have asked. Vennessa still feels shaken by the implication. She looks past Lady Mathilde, past the archway into the Gunnhildrs’ courtyard, and is nauseated further by what she sees. The lines of blood painted upon the stone form the symbol of Barbatos’ crest.

“That’s magic,” Sir Ragnvindr, more educated than her, says with growing horror. “Magic such as Ursa’s servants used. Lady Mathilde, what have you done?”

“A binding. The Gunnhildrs will not fail Mondstadt again.” Lady Mathilde looks at them with the mad passion of a zealot. “I have sworn an oath to Barbatos. We are bound now to the city and its ideals. My children, and theirs after them, and any who claim the name of Gunnhildr after, will die serving Mondstadt or die of their treachery.”

“This isn’t an oath Barbatos would want,” Vennessa says with absolute certainty, imagining her cheerful friend’s face at this sight. “He came for the sake of freedom. This is the opposite of that.”

“After we have allowed the people to be bound for so long, it’s only just that we be bound in turn,” Lady Mathilde says. “You may execute me for matricide if you wish, when you have built new laws. But my children will nonetheless redeem our tarnished name.”

Sir Ragnvindr shifts on his feet. Vennessa looks over and he glances at her, troubled but resigned.

“We need the Gunnhildrs,” he says quietly. “If we are to convince the lesser clans....”

His project, as he is of one. But Vennessa has agreed with him since he proposed it--better to spare as many of the clans that the Lawrences crushed under their heel as possible, and let them become part of the new Mondstadt. The Lawrences are the true enemy here.

“We do,” she agrees, but it isn’t for him, or for the mad-eyed woman still kneeling before them with the bloodied blade. It’s for the two frightened children huddled in the courtyard, wound into that circle of blood, looking between their tableau and their grandmother’s corpse. She’ll ask her friend if there’s any way he can spare them. Vennessa doesn’t want to see anyone else in this city made a slave.

***

(He can’t. The oath is in the blood, in their blood, and even an archon can only do so much when someone has called upon powers outside of Celestia and the Abyss alike. But he’s gentle and kind with the children, and plays them his lyre, and tells them tales of their heroic ancestor. A better model for them than their mother, they all hope.

They grow up proud, and brave, and devoted to Mondstadt. One helps found the Church of Favonius; the other becomes Vennessa’s successor in the Knights. Neither of them *seem* bound against their will. Vennessa hopes this is truly what they would have done regardless of the oath.

It seems likely, and the more so as she watches them grow old and teach their own children after them. The Gunnhildr devotion has always come from philosophy and discipline, and from a true love for the people they protect.

Generations pass, and each is taught, one after another: The Gunnhildrs belong, as always, to Mondstadt.)

***

“Grand Master.” The voice is familiar and implacable. “Grand Master. Your knights need you.”

Familiar, implacable, and impossible. For the first time since Rostam had fallen, Arundolyn looks up.

Bruna Gunnhildr had vanished with her company early in the fighting, swallowed together with the monsters they opposed by a misty darkness that the expedition had learned by that example to avoid at all costs. What she’s doing here, now, Arundolyn has no idea. Maybe he, too, is dead. But if that’s so, why does Rostam still lie so still before him?

“Bruna,” he says, and gestures helplessly to the body before him.

“He was a brave man. And he died serving Mondstadt. There is no greater honor,” Bruna says, solemn and cold. Colder than he would have expected; she and Rostam were friends. Perhaps she didn’t love him as Arundolyn did, but still....

Or maybe the hardness in her eyes is for him. Arundolyn looks around, taking in the battlefield around him for the first time since he’d driven his claymore through the twisted creature that killed Rostam and struck it down. No other monsters remain, only black ichor spread across the battlefield, spreading slowly out to cover the cavern’s stone. There are other knights fallen, their own friends mourning them. Gaunt, hollow-checked figures move among them, tending the wounded and organizing those who still stand with brutal efficiency. He recognizes them as Bruna’s company. Starved, many with bandaged wounds, and far fewer than those who vanished, but alive.

A dark mist lies at the far end of the cavern, concealing the entrance they’d originally been fighting towards. Had they emerged from whence they’d come? It seems to be advancing, slowly, inch by inch, stone darkened by ichor vanishing beneath its steady march.

“We must retreat,” he says, surprised at how steady his own voice sounds.

Bruna nods. He looks at her again, truly looks her over, and sees that she’s as gaunt and hollow-cheeked as those she leads. Her uniform is torn; her right arm, her sword arm, is bound across her chest, sleeve ripped away and turned to sling. In spaces beneath the bandages he can see a dark veining running across her pale skin.

“Your arm-”

“It doesn’t matter. I can still serve.” She holds out her other hand, her left hand, to help him up. “Sound the retreat, Grand Master, and we will follow you home.”

Even that doesn’t have any emotion to it. No hope, no anticipation, just a cold, emotionless calm. Arundolyn meets her eyes and shudders. It’s no different than looking into Rostam’s eyes. She stares as if she’s dead.

He’ll take his knights home. Back to Mondstadt. Maybe once they return, the life will return to her eyes. He knows his own will never shine again, not with Rostam dead. But Gunnhildrs are made of sterner stuff.

***

(It doesn’t come back. Bruna nods when he resigns, making no protest, and takes the title of Grand Master when he bestows it upon her. He sees her now and then after that, out and about on business, and her gaze is always still and dead. Even when her children are born, she doesn’t smile.

Neither do they. He is an old man by the time they achieve their knighthoods, an accomplishment that should leave them beaming with pride. He is invited to each knighting in turn, only to see the same cold look in their eyes as in their mother’s as their knighthoods are acknowledged. It’s as if the darkness she’d stepped into all those years ago in Khaenri’ah had seeped into her blood.

Maybe it did; her right arm recovers, but she keeps it always covered, long sleeve and glove over it even on the hottest of days. Arundolyn is not a praying man, especially after Rostam’s death, but he prays to Barbatos that whatever shadow the mist cast over her rises from her children.

He doesn’t live to see it, but the taint of the Abyss does, in time, give way. Gunnhildr children are born with bright eyes again, and learn to smile with their friends. The darkness is overwhelmed and subsumed by a stronger, older power in the blood, one that will not let it turn them into a danger to Mondstadt.

If that older power is shifted in turn, slowly and subtly, by the taint it devours, few realize. It’s natural for Gunnhildrs to rush into danger, to leap to battle with monsters of the Abyss, to tread in places where the air itself is heavy with evil intent. The binding of the blood-oath, always a chain around their minds, grows invisible thorns, and only those who pull against it realize that they’re feeling its bite.

None who hold true to their family’s oaths pay heed to the warnings of those few black sheep who try to balance duty with joy, or turn away from duty entirely. A true Gunnhildr always serves Mondstadt, and the others aren’t worth listening to.)

***

Varka’s heart seizes in his chest when he sees Fredrica, arrayed in her full armor, standing in the training yard with three other knights just after dawn.

She stands as straight as she can, but her stance is askew; she’d never recovered, not fully, from the shattered femur that’s kept her on light duty despite her ire these past few years. The slant of her hips and the counterslant of her spine only bring the lines on her ravaged face into sharp relief. She’s more ill now than she’s ever been, and she’s been more ill than not for years.

“You aren’t fit for this duty,” he tells her, shaking his head. “You know how dangerous this mission is.”

“I know,” she says, raising her chin as high as she can--her neck is stiff now, so she can’t quite meet his eyes unless he bends. He knows how much it will hurt her pride if he does. “You asked for volunteers."

“Volunteers without families,” Varka tells her, letting his anger rumble in his voice. “You have daughters, Fredrica!”

“I have *one* daughter,” she corrects him, cold, clear, precise. “There are no other Gunnhildrs. And my daughter understands.”

He looks back over his shoulder. Jean hadn’t followed him all the way here; she’s stopped halfway across the yard, looking at her mother with pain in her eyes. But when she sees Varka’s gaze upon her, she draws herself up, sets her jaw, and nods.

"I do,” she says, her voice low but strong.

“We both know I’m dying,” Fredrica says bluntly. “Let me die with dignity, in Mondstadt’s service, instead of in bed, in inches, no longer fit to serve. It’s the way a Gunnhildr should go.”

Varka frowns down at her, a once-tall woman made small by injury and time, twisted by her illness. It’s hard to remember that she’s a year younger than him, that he’d once laughed with her as an apprentice knight. She’s aged so much faster. These days it feels as if she’s always been old.

Her mother had died the summer they were both knighted. That formidable woman had seemed ancient to him as a boy, and he wonders now if that was only the tendency of youth to see earlier generations as decrepit before their time, or if she’d gone like Fredrica, years peeling away twice as fast as they should. The second seems ominously likely. He glances back again at Jean, only twenty, but already with faint worry-lines around her eyes.

"May the wind go with you,” he tells Fredrica and the other three, raising his gaze to meet each of their eyes. For them, he hopes it serves as a blessing, one that will bring them home. For Fredrica, it feels more like a eulogy.

***

(Her sacrifice ensures that two of the other three survive. Varka should be proud of that. He pretends to be for Jean’s sake, because she is, or claims to be--he suspects her of clinging to that pride to cover her grief. It’s as if she thinks it’s shameful to weep for her own mother.

Perhaps that’s why she and Seamus conspire to keep Barbara from the funeral. Varka is furious with both of them for it, as he’d once been furious with Fredrica for denying her younger daughter, but neither budge. Barbara, they say, is not a Gunnhildr, and cannot stand with Fredrica’s family at this time. Varka sees the pain in Jean’s face as she says it and manages to temper his fury, but Seamus gets the brunt of it, and he refuses to be ashamed of the way he roars.

Barbara is not a Gunnhildr, Seamus repeats, looking at him with an expression almost of pity. He insists he’d sworn to Fredrica that she would never, ever think of herself as one. Even if it’s cruel, it’s the best thing for her in the long run.

Jean stands alone at the funeral, holding her mother’s sword. Her eulogy is short, and simple, and ends with a familiar vow: her mother died as a Gunnhildr should. For Mondstadt, as always.)

***

There’s so much work to do, once the Grand Master and his expedition are gone.

Jean stands at Varka’s desk and studies the papers spread out over it with a faint, sour desperation at the back of her throat. There’s simply so much to do, so much to be handled, and she has to take care of all of it. She’d had no idea what weight would settle upon her shoulders alongside the mantle of Acting Grand Master. It feels almost physical, bowing her back, tugging at her neck like a chain.

She should sleep. She knows that; Barbara has told her over and over again that she has to get more rest. But as soon as she has the thought, the weight tugs harder, a sharp pain lancing through her. She gasps and puts a hand to her breast.

“Master Jean, are you all right?” Noelle asks anxiously, looking up from where she’s been dusting the shelves.

Summoning a smile, Jean waves her off. “I’m fine. Please don’t worry about me.”

“If you’re certain....”

Ignoring Noelle’s worried gaze, Jean reaches for her quill. There’s work to be done, and she can’t rest until it’s finished. She’s a Gunnhildr. She can *never* rest so long as she is needed to serve Mondstadt.

#this is like 90% summary-of-concept shoved into parentheticals #i just. i love this idea so much i had to vomit this out i'm sorry #someone please give jean a nap #(all the good bits are courtesy of theabysscomeshome i just wrote them down)#ascended fic

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renaultphile · 6 months

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The Charioteer re-read: Laurie’s cruelty, Ralph’s forgiveness, and *that* lie

I think a big theme of the book as Laurie’s slow realisation that Ralph is not invincible. But this time round I was also interested in the power play between the two of them, and I came to the conclusion that Laurie’s path is not linear, but he is on a journey to trusting the instincts he had at 16.

Laurie knew even then that ‘the gods feel pain.’ And within minutes of meeting Ralph again, he has noticed the smile ‘with something curiously vulnerable and defensive in it’. he seems to have constant feelings of guilt, trying to ‘make it up’ to Ralph without knowing how. He tries to get a ‘sensible idea of Ralph’ into his head. I think he is more of a realist than Ralph because although he has a wild imagination, he does know the difference between fantasy and reality. But on some level he feels he has to defer to Ralph, even as he sees through the heroic ideal. Ralph is meanwhile trying to hide his true self, painfully aware of the extent to which he now falls short

of Laurie’s expectations. I think Laurie is slightly surprised at Ralph snapping straight back into head-boy mode and he tries to resist getting pulled in to that dynamic. In the end Laurie feels trapped and feels the only he can ‘escape’ is to use anger, with near tragic results. But even at the end, he can't bear to find out that Ralph has forgiven him. He immediately tries to forget.

But Ralph reveals himself too in chapter two. He says "I've been watching you for a long time. You're on the way to being something, and I don't know what, not for certain. So I'm not going to interfere with it." And he gives just one reason (for a change) for not taking it further “it would mean too much. To me, too, if that's any satisfaction to you” Possibly the most honest and direct thing he says about his own feelings for Laurie in the whole book.

So for me this is also about Ralph’s journey back to regaining his own integrity. He tends to preface conversations about feelings with phrases like ‘don’t waste time’ and ‘it’s such a meaningless question’ and ‘we don’t need to tell each other what we feel’, and he often projects feelings, particularly negative ones like need and distress, onto Laurie. So much of what he says (and boy is there a lot of it) feels like a cover for something else. It’s ultimately what makes the book so compelling. For me, anyway.

There is clearly something special about him that Ralph values, perhaps his intuition when it comes to feelings and his "peaceful mind". But he is constantly trying to stop him thinking. I believe him when he says he doesn’t like people he can push around, and I see the way he berates Laurie/Laertes as symbolic – wanting someone up to his own strength, maybe even someone who will take charge. But he cannot let go for long enough to let it happen.

As for that Renault quote about Laurie lying to protect Ralph’s pride? I get the feeling she was describing, not prescribing. For me it smacks too much of C20th sexual politics where the ‘woman’ takes on the emotional labour of the relationship, to be a satisfying ending.

Laurie is already comfortable with the white lie –with his mother, with Chariot, and with the fake telegram for Reg. If he does what Alec prescribes for Ralph, consistently hiding his true self, where is Ralph’s redemption then? It doesn’t seem credible to me that Ralph has nothing to learn from Laurie. But for most of the book he is either hiding, running or trying to control the situation he is in. The Phaedrus tells us to be suspicious of the written word, because you cannot interrogate it. For me, that’s the reason why she ends it the way she does. It is not an actual quote from the Phaedrus. The reins drop from the driver’s hands. At last the voice of the Charioteer falls silent, and the two horses are reconciled. Yes, it’s up to you now, Ralph and Laurie. Mary's gone.

#Thoughts on the end #the charioteer #mary renault #tc fandom reread

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dubiouscats · 7 months

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Here is the completed fanfic of the dream I had of the DDs being experimented on in the cubicles

Enjoy

It was quite dark in the area. Only the dim white-like lights glowed softly, making out shapes of multiple office cubicles. The place was surprisingly clean, other than just a few oil puddles and splatters.

A tall male drone, with short gray-silver hair that curled up at the end, with a pilot hat atop. 5 yellow round lights glowed, illuminating the brim of the cap. His tail flicked nervously behind him. His yellow eyes outlined with concern as he slowly backed up into a cubicle, staring at a short drone, who appeared different. She had purple hair, a black beanie, no lights on her head, and clearly…not very tall. Her outfit did not have a yellow band on her left arm, showing a serial number. She had both hands covering her visor, giggling menacingly.

“U-Uzi…?” The tall male drone said nervously as he backed more into the cubicle, eventually bumping into the desk connected to the cubicle walls. “Are you…ok..?” He sounded extremely concerned for the short purple drone.

The shorter female drone continued to giggle, eventually parting her hands from her visor, which was glowing yellow with coding.

Solver…? The taller drone thought, now more nervous.

The purple drone then showed a wide grin, razor-sharp teeth revealed. She crouched a bit, hunching; then lunged. The male drone yelped as he jumped onto the desk and swiped at her, but not bringing out his claws though. “UZI!! STOP!!” He shouted, fear pulsing through him.

The shorter drone, who seems to be called “Uzi” continued to attempt to grab the male drones arms, for a better attack, but he kept them close to his visor. Uzi proceeded to attempt to pry open the arms, then froze.

The tall drone had his visor covered for a few more heartbeats, before slowly pulling them away from him as he opened one eye, fear still running through him like adrenaline.

“Uzi…?” He asked quietly.

Uzi’s body then twitched violently, a now odd red symbol projected on her visor. It seemed like the letter “L”, but with a circle on top of the straight vertical line of the letter.

What is that symbol? N thought, now confused. His thinking was broken away abruptly as Uzi twitched more, as she gritted her teeth in pain.

“…N-N!” She managed to spit out in the midst of malfunctioning.

“Uzi!” N said desperately, now reaching out his arms to try to keep her still and calm. He jerked them back as a familiar voice came through Uzi. “Big brother; N?” A female computer-generated like voice said.

N shivered slightly. Cyn.

“I-It-I-I-“ The computer voice stuttered. “It’s goo-ood t-to see y-y-“ The voice immediately stopped. Uzi now stood there, hunched over slightly, the red symbol still on her visor.

“N,” Uzi said weakly. “Stay away…from me..”

N’s eyes were shaking slightly, pure confusion and distress overwhelming him. “Uzi, what do you mean?!” He said, his tone sharp with fear.

“Just…” Uzi began, then jerking upwards. The symbol was now gone, but her eyes were red, hollowed with fear and agony. Her body twitched again. “STAY A-AWAY FRO-M ME!” She managed to shriek before red sparks and coding surrounded her, then completely covering her. Within a heartbeat, she was gone.

N just stood there, horrified, and flooded with some sort of, grief.

After standing there for a few moments in shock. He turned and walked away, weaving through the rows of office cubicles, as if he was searching for someone. It was almost like he forgot that Uzi even existed. Every time he would pass a cubicle, he would glance inside of it as if expecting someone to be there, which he eventually found someone.

Another drone, looking similar to him: the lights on the head, the tail with a cylinder tank of glowing yellow acid with a needle attached to it, the serial number band. She had short hair, which curved inwards at the end. She was sitting in an office chair, facing one of the cubicle walls. Her tail swayed gently behind her.

“V..?” N said quietly to the female drone. “What’re you doing?”

V stared at the wall for a moment longer, then spun around in the chair to face him as N crouched down to eye-level of V.

V just looked at him with her eyes outlined with worry, and exhaustion. Her mouth was a small grin, a small outline of her fang showing. “I-Is she…gone yet?” She said quietly.

Before N could say anything, a bright light, like a camera flash, beamed right at his face. Startled, he shouted and fell to the ground, covering his lights on his head, his visor eyes squeezed shut.

“ACK—ahahaha!” N started to burst out laughing. He rolled over a few times, laughing while swatting his left arm out in front of him as if he could bat the light away as if it were a fly.

Suddenly, the view was shown on what to appeared to be the static-like screen of an older computer. In the corners, showed the date, and time, the seconds adding up. In another corner, it said “REC” with a red dot blinking next to the 3 letters.

Two figures, who were dressed in white hazmat suits, with blue gloves, and with a gray gas mask on, holding a clipboard in their hands. They both sat in office chairs in a small room, with more computers with their static screens showing different views of the areas.

“Why aren’t they killing those worker drones we released in there?” One of the figures questioned, sounding irritated. They then pointed on the screen, their finger laying on N, who was still on the ground, laughing and batting at the bright light that still shined into his face. “And what is HE doing?”

“Fending off something at the moment, apparently.” The other figure said coolly. They shrugged and proceeded to watch the screen and examine the actions that were occurring in the cubicles.

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