#speaking as a yank myself unfortunately

[crushmeeren]

How the AOT Boys Eat You Out

Levi & Eren

I’ve been telling myself I needed to get out of my comfort zone and write for something BESIDES MHA, so please enjoy my AOT headcannons lol. I’ll probably write some for JJK too, so stay tuned friends!

Master list.

————————————————————————

Levi

Levi, in my opinion, doesn’t have the craziest sex drive. Don’t get it twisted, Levi does thoroughly enjoy having sex with you. He just unfortunately often has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The man’s got a fuck ton of responsibilities and he views sex as messy. As something that he prefers, and needs, to take his time with.

But what Levi does have a healthy appetite for — is eating your pussy.

He can make it quick. He can make your toes curl, leave you satiated, and he doesn’t have to worry about showering or cleaning much afterwards.

Levi especially can’t resist you when you’re fresh out of the shower. Clean skin so warm and so so soft. The way you smell reminding him of summertime. In the way that coconut and sunscreen and the beach only can.

“Levi,” you call out, vying for his attention as you halt in the door frame of his home office. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, gaze flickering over to you.

He remains silent, tilting his head in acknowledgment as he reaches out a hand towards you. Waving you forward with two fingers.

You end up seated in his lap. Straddling him as your large t-shirt bunches up around your bare thighs.

Levi’s thumbs press bruises into your hipbones when you whisper in his ear how badly you want his cock, brushing your lips over his jawline.

He fucking hates his bullshit job even more in this moment.

Levi shifts you around swiftly. Planting you in his chair, encouraging you to hook your legs over the arms to spread your pussy wide open for him as he sinks to his knees.

“Want me to eat your pussy baby?” He asks, voice low and smooth like whiskey.

“Fuck — please Levi,” you moan. Breath shaky on your next exhale as Levi flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue. He hums a sound akin to approval, slipping his middle two fingers into your pussy to keep you full.

The man is nothing if not efficient.

His fingers curl and tap against your sweet spot as he sucks gently on your clit. Alternating between that and licking fast stripes to work you over the edge.

Your fingers card through his soft black hair, tugging tightly the closer you get.

The muscles in your thighs twitch and jump, chewing on your bottom lip as you watch his soft lips close around your clit once more.

His steel gray eyes have fallen half lidded when they meet yours next and it takes you over the edge.

Warmth surges through your limbs and you can only choke on his name.

“Good girl — cum for me just like that,” Levi purrs, letting his sweet words carry you through your orgasm as he presses his fingers deeper.

Once you’ve gone limp, Levi sends you to bed with a promise of what’s to come.

————————————————————————

Eren

If you looked up the definition of hothead a picture of Eren would be in its place.

If you’re being honest, it’s a part of what made you so drawn to him in the first place.

But, he’s an incredible boyfriend, he really is. Loyal to a fault, honest, never afraid to speak his mind — and he’s always taking care of you. Albeit, he is reckless.

That being said, it’s effortless to rile him up. And it’s really fun to turn him on and get his hackles rising simultaneously.

Eren’s messy when he’s mad and you’ll piss him off just so he’ll take it out on your pussy. Taunting him, teasing him, being a brat until his cheeks flush bubblegum pink. Green eyes seething.

You whine, restless where you lay flat on your back in bed. Struggling to unlace your fingers from Eren’s. It only makes him squeeze tighter.

The urge to twist and yank on Eren’s hair while he eats you out is vehement, but he won’t let you go. Your legs jerk to close around his head but his broad shoulders take up all the space between your thighs.

“Stop fucking wiggling,” Eren warns, tongue pulling away from your clit. You’re starting to lose feeling in your fingers.

“But Eren —“

“Hush baby,” Eren demands, leveling you with a pointed glare. “You don’t deserve to play with my hair right now and you sure as hell don’t deserve my fingers in your pussy,” he says, voice harsh and heated. Strands of hair have started to come loose from his bun, sticking to his forehead.

You push your lower lip out at him, weakly attempting to free your hands. Eren looks unimpressed, raising his eyebrows in return. The base of your skull bounces when it hits the mattress in defeat, huffing as you go.

Eren snorts, ignoring your complaints to lick over your clit once again. He gives you slow strokes with the flat of his warm tongue until you’re toeing the line of an orgasm.

You cling to his hands in a death grip, breath hitching and words stuttering as you try to forewarn him you’re about to cum.

Then he just stops, leaving you swollen and throbbing and kicking at his shoulder for ruining your orgasm.

Eren only snickers, winding that knot up behind your bellybutton before letting it fade away twice more before you’re truly pleading with him to make you cum.

Your pussy’s drooling by the time he’s done. Dripping down to your ass as you flex your fingers. Pins and needles tingling through your hands.

Eren will finally satisfy your ache to be split open. Pushing your thighs to your chest and letting his cock do the rest of the work to make you squirt as he chases his own high.

#levi ackerman headcanons #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #levi smut #levi ackerman smut #levi x y/n #levi x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager smut #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren smut #eren x reader #aot x reader #aot smut #eren jaeger headcanons #eren yeager headcanons

[marlynnofmany]

A Peaceful Upheaval

The mutiny started politely enough. This was a courier ship, not some rowdy bandit cruiser, and the dozen or so people onboard approached the situation with all the calm levelheadedness of businessfolks at a board meeting. The captain was new. He was bad at this. He’d only gotten the job because his cousin had recommended him, and she was probably regretting that.

“We will discuss the matter with Captain Kamm when we land,” said Piercing Sunlight, the lizardlike Heatseeker with bright yellow scales. She was taking point in the conversation.

“Kamm doesn’t have to hear about this,” objected Captain Pockap, his green tentacles lashing in agitation. “All of you need to go back to your stations and reconsider how you talk to your captain.” He looked like an octopus with freckles, and he sounded like a petulant child.

“Did you not hear the statement?” Zhee asked with an irritated click of his pincher arms. His patience never seemed lengthy, but now it was getting shorter by the minute. “You are no longer our captain. We have decreed it.” His exoskeleton shone with purple glory, and he radiated annoyance.

The rest of the crew spoke up, agreeing in one way or another. Teeth were bared, and body parts I didn’t have made increasingly urgent threat displays.

I, the only human and the newest arrival to the team, stayed well in the back. This really wasn’t my business. I didn’t have much of a say. And I didn’t like the direction it was going.

When Pockap the ex-captain started yelling, I gave up on playing silent witness and ducked into the next room. I’d seen him pull a tiny stun gun out of nowhere before, hidden among his tentacles, and I didn’t like the odds of him opening fire on the crew.

Just as I thought that, he yelled “Who emptied the charge in this??” Then came the loud slap of a tentacle against someone’s face, followed by insulted gasps and an open brawl.

I edged farther from the door, looking around and realizing I’d trapped myself in the storage room where the extra stun guns were kept. Great choice. Stellar. And there was only one door.

Time to be a hide-and-seek champion, I thought as the sounds of alien violence grew closer. Somebody else gets to wrestle the octopus with the gun.

My hiding options weren’t great: under a table, behind a crate, maybe inside a cabinet, and the ventilation shaft was too small. The table and crate were terrible coverage. The cabinet with the stun guns was close to the door, but the one against the far wall looked big enough. I dashed over and flung it open.

Yup, that’ll do. Only the bottom shelves were full; the top three held just a couple stray tools, and I knew from time spent cleaning that the shelves were removable. I yanked out the top ones, stashed them below, then climbed in to curl up in a space that was roomier than my childhood closet. I crouched among wrenches and whatever, watching through the air slits as I pulled the door shut, making sure to keep it from latching. Locking myself in was another problem I didn’t need.

Speaking of problems, I thought as Pockap spun into the room, his green tentacles thrashing against Mur’s dark blue ones in a cartoonish tumble. I’d never seen two Strongarms fight before. It was kind of funny. They were slapping at each other’s faces and going for eye gouges, which meant neither could see where they were going. They knocked over the table and spread tools all over the floor before anyone else caught up.

When the twin Frillians waded in to break it up, followed by other beefy crewmembers, an unfortunate development happened: Pockap found a stun gun.

“Back off!” he shouted, blasting the nearest Frillian in the face and wriggling free of Mur’s grasp. Mur ducked behind a box while the other Frillian caught her frozen brother before he could hurt himself against the floor. Pockap froze her too, then brandished the gun at everyone else, yelling about how much the stun would hurt when it wore off, and how they had better respect him or else.

I held very still inside my cabinet.

What can I do? I thought. Too bad I can’t call the other ship from here. Nobody’s told Kamm yet. I shifted in place to keep my feet from falling asleep, and nudged the random tools I hadn’t cleared out. I froze at the scraping noise.

No one heard; they were all busy shouting at each other.

What even is this one — Oh hey. I rested my hand on the distinct shape of another stun gun. Whoever put things away last time did a terrible job, and I thank them for it.

I held it up in the dim light. Half power. Good enough for self defense. Or…

“One step closer and you’re spending the rest of the trip as a statue!” Pockap was yelling. “Only thawing out to hurt before getting frozen again!”

I opened the door just enough to snake my arm through, aimed, and zapped him in the back of the head.

Pockap froze mid-rant, and slowly toppled forward. Stunned silence filled the room until somebody saw my hand.

“Ha!” Sunlight laughed. “Is there a human in there? How did you fit? Great shot.”

I opened the door the rest of the way to loud approval, with half the crew exclaiming over the way their tall new crewmate folded up so well, and the rest dealing with Pockap’s mess.

“No amicable splitting of ways for this one,” Mur declared, cradling a sprained tentacle. “I won’t be writing him a reference.”

“No, I don’t think any of us will,” Sunlight said. She gazed at him thoughtfully as I climbed down. “Let’s call Kamm. No point in waiting til we land; she’ll want to know.”

“I’ll put the stun guns away,” I volunteered. “This cabinet is full of things in the wrong place.”

“Thank you,” Sunlight told me. “How did you fit in there? You have bones. Have you practiced hiding in tight spaces before?”

“No more than the next person,” I said. “Though I was really good at hide-and-seek as a kid.”

The lizardy alien blinked at me. “Hide and what?”

“It’s where everybody hides and one person has to find them,” I explained. “Then the last person found has to take a turn as the seeker.”

Zhee tipped the table back upright with his pincher arms. “Half of that sounds like a standard predator game, but I can’t imagine taking turns being prey too. How embarrassing.”

I shrugged. “If you say so. It was pretty useful today.”

“Yes,” Sunlight said with a smile. “You’re only prey until you decide otherwise! That’s the spirit. Well, we’re grateful for your childhood practice today. Let’s get this  unworthy individual locked up, then talk strategy. I have some ideas of how we can improve on Pockap’s business plan that I think everyone will be on board with.”

I had no doubt. Captain Piercing Sunlight would be a much better leader than her predecessor.

She started off by giving me a bonus for putting my skills to good use, so clearly she was very wise.

~~~

The further adventures in backstory for the book! There’s more to come.

#humans are weird #humans are space orcs #hide and seek #haso #hfy #eiad #my writing #the Token Human

[starfellforyou]

imperfect for you ✧⋆｡˚

❛ ༉‧₊˚ featuring: neuvillette x treasure hoarder!reader

❛ ༉‧₊˚ premise: the iudex of fontaine is renowned for his impartiality, objectivity, and unwavering principles. he resolves the court’s cases with precision, wielding a sharp blade of virtue against any misconduct that arises before him. but when a pesky treasure hoarder with a crude tongue and an eye for jewels crosses his path, she threatens to obliterate everything he’s ever stood for…

❛ ༉‧₊˚ genres: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, class divide

❛ ༉‧₊˚ word count: 4k+

♪ imperfect for you - ariana grande (slowed + reverb)

Sometimes, to make a living, you’ve got to get your hands a little dirty.

I would know. The life of a Treasure Hoarder, to the disagreement of many, is no easy feat. I’m not going to act like it’s a righteous path, but it’s the only path for the likes of me; and unlike my fellow bandits, I don’t burn my cash nearly as quickly as they do.

Fontaine is like an open treasure chest, full of twinkling gems and glittering jewels, a realm of luxury and riches. I normally sneak slices of warm bread into my satchel. But I’m tired of always struggling to get by. I’m sick of making ends meet when I could be weaving a tapestry of opulent threads.

I want to steal something bigger. Brighter. Feed my brothers and sisters without having to worry about warm bread.

I hear the Court of Fontaine is stocking up on a sackful of precious goods from all over the nation - and I intend to get my hands on them.

…

Sneaking into the court was surprisingly easy. All I had to do was put on an old hat and pretend I’d been sent to deliver the week’s paper.

“I’m here to collect a stack of news, sir.” I tip my hat politely, a paragon of manners and humility.

And just like that, I’m in. This isn’t my first time breaking into the court; after all, it’s terribly troublesome for non-aristocrats to find themselves welcome in a high-society breeding ground like this one.

I stroll down the frilly lanes of Quartier Narbonnais, taking my time to avoid suspicion. Parasols and silky dresses line the streets, hushed chatter and gossip filling the air like the incessant chips of Bluecrown Finches. Something to the left catches my eye.

It’s a child standing on the tips of his toes, arms outstretched towards a small roll of sapphire-blue ribbon on a tall wooden shelf. I realize I’m standing in front of the Chioriya Boutique. Huh. Such beautiful dresses… The boy’s clothes are slightly tattered, his skin marked with dirt. My heart pangs with sympathy at the thought that this child is just like my little brother; anxious, alone, and with nothing to his name.

I point a finger towards the bushes next to the shop and shout, “Look! Over there!”

The ladies looming nearby gasp with curiosity, craning their necks to get a good look of whatever it is that’s caught my eager attention. I yank the roll of ribbon off the shelf without making a sound, a devious act that only one with years of practice could master. her 

Handing it to the boy, I ask him what he needs it for and pull him to the side.

“My sister’s dress is missing a blue ribbon. I figured I’d find her a replacement…” He trails off, uneasy. “Unfortunately, I don’t have any money to pay you, mademoiselle…”

“Consider it a favor.” I pause. “You owe me one, that’s all.”

The boy nods, his adorable features lighting up. I ruffle his hair and tell him to scurry off.

“Make sure you don’t get caught, little one!”

“Caught doing what, exactly, young lady?”

A deep, commanding voice speaks from a few feet behind, startling me - though I do not show it.

I turn to face the man in a relaxed, casual manner. His face surprises me even more than his voice does. He’s an elegant, poised man, tall and intimidating, yet not in a bad way. He does reek of sophistication, nevertheless. I curse myself for being so careless. What are you, an amateur?

“Why, by his sister, of course! Children these days, always running about.” I chuckle for effect.

It doesn’t seem to faze him.

“I have reason to believe you have stolen something from this establishment, miss. I’ll have my officers take you in for further questioning immediately.”

What a jerk! I can hardly believe such cold-hearted individuals exist. I glance over his fanciful robes and twinkling accessories with disdain, remembering exactly why I proclaim law enforcement in Teyvat to be a terribly corrupt system run by frauds. I need to think fast if I want to make it back out of the court alive.

Criminals like me have no place in a respectable region like this.

“Of course, my lord. I will obey your orders without a word of complaint.” I bow to him despite myself.

“Very well then. Come with me.” He starts forward, footsteps strong and chin held high. “You must be from the villa–”

I’ve snuck behind the nearest bush and climbed up a wall, as swift and soundless as ever. Watching from above, I giggle at the officer’s notable confusion.

“Show yourself!” He shouts, eyes frantically searching his surroundings but to no avail. Clearly frustrated, he curses under his breath, attracting the attention of the ladies nearby, who swoon once they meet his gaze.

“My apologies.” He mutters under his breath, eyebrows knitted together in a scowl.

He storms off into the crowd.

…

It isn't until I return to base that I realize that was no ordinary officer. The way he was dressed, the power in his voice when he spoke to me… It all seemed very peculiar.

“The Iudex. You spoke to the Iudex of Fontaine. There’s no way.” My younger sister seems to be in a state of shock.

“The Chief Justice? Nahhh. It couldn’t have been him. I mean, what’s he doing next to a women’s boutique?”

“Based on your descriptions, I think it’s safe to say that it really was him. I have heard that he enjoys strolling amongst the locals.”

I have a hard time believing it all. Indeed, my sister has always been the most well-read of us, but surely if I’d come face to face with the Iudex of Fontaine himself, I’d have known, right?

It all just seems absurd.

But I guess anything is possible in the Land of Justice. Now that I’ve found myself on the Chief Justice’s radar, it would benefit me to be more careful with my thieving endeavors in the court.

A minor inconvenience isn’t going to stop me now.

…

In an ornate, oversized office, Neuvillette sits by the fireplace, pondering.

He’s infuriated that someone dared defy his word in his presence. He’s puzzled about the thief’s identity, her next move. Most passionately of all, he feels foolish.

Utterly ashamed that he let a young woman escape with her pride right under his nose.

He calls out for a servant. “Have a Melusine troop assembled by tomorrow morning. I must catch this thief if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Of course, sire.” The servant hesitates, unsure. “Don’t mind my prying, sire, but this girl seems like nothing more than a petty thief. Why are you so hung up on bringing her in?”

Neuvillette rests his head on a gloved hand, elbow propped up on his polished spruce-wood desk.

“Because no one… escapes from the law.”

…

No one, of course, but me.

I spent the next two weeks stealing all sorts of interesting artifacts from within the court, some that sparkle and some that whir. With the money I’ve been bringing in, my siblings are finally able to have meals that contain more than just mushrooms and a few slices of bread.

Multiple times a member of the Iudex’s troop - occasionally the Iudex himself - managed to catch me, but each and every time I got out unscathed. I think I enjoy this life of crime.

Or rather, I enjoy the look on his face when he realizes I’ve slithered out of his reaches. The thrill of coming this close to facing him again, each and every time.

I received word that a masquerade ball is being hosted at the Vasari Passage tomorrow night, and that many fine ladies and gentlemen of society will be there. Naturally, I decide that my next cause of action is to “borrow” a pretty ball gown for my grand entrance.

I choose the most exquisite of gowns from the shop’s dusty attic - a rich purple shade to match my eyes - and brace myself for a possible run-in with the Iudex. I can’t risk him capturing me again. There’s no way he’d still recognise me. It’s been ages. Besides, I’m sure he has other bandits on his list.

…

The ball is an extravagant affair; I’ve never seen this much Hydro in one place - on land, of course. I have to admit, it really is quite enchanting.

Throughout the evening, I’m careful not to expose my face. I must be the most wanted petty criminal in Fontaine. In the unlikely event that anyone should identify me as the thief that’s been stealing their goods, it would only mean more trouble for me. With grace and finesse I whisk through the crowds, yanking one pearl necklace after another from the necks of oblivious aristocrats, stashing my finds safely away in the pocket strapped to my leg.

Just as I’ve gotten my hands on a marvelous emerald bracelet, I bump into someone I didn’t notice was standing right in front of me. As I recover, I’m struck with the familiar sight of flowing sapphire robes, a head of long hair as pristine and pure as snow. Oh, Archons.

Before I can even begin to protest, he grabs me by the waist with a firm hand and pulls me into a back garden, far enough away from the bustle of the ball. A glowing waterfall splashes gently to my left, and a couple dozen fireflies light up the Romaritime bushes that surround us.

I watch him carefully as he flexes his jaw. Though his face is partly concealed by a mask, I can tell he’s been driven mad with contempt - no, irritation. He’s been waiting a long time for this moment.

“It’s you.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my lord?”

“Enough of your games.” He spits out the words as if they’re poison on his tongue. “You cannot run forever. I know people like you well. It never ends well for them, running from the law.”

This pisses me off.

“Because the law protects the high and mighty, like you. Like the people out there. There’s no room in the law for people like me. Those who have to fight to survive. Those who can’t find work. Those who can’t put food on the table without stealing it.”

I watch as he falls silent, seemingly at a loss for words.

“What you are doing, while worthy of sympathy, is still illegal. It is my duty as Iudex to uphold the law and bring justice to all.”

“What about my family? What justice do they receive then, you bastard?”

He seems taken aback by my choice of words, a small frown written across his brows. Did I just insult the Chief Justice? I try to think of a way out of this situation; it’s gotten far too messy for my liking.

But a part of me doesn’t want to leave him here. This game we're playing - it excites me. Sometimes, it feels as though he lets me go on purpose. And while I do credit myself for being an excellent thief, I can’t help but feel as if I’ve gotten myself entangled with the law in more ways than one.

“I must take you in immediately. You will return all of the items you’ve stolen, precious or not. Fontaine is no place for such thie–”

I take a step forward and kiss him on the cheek.

Just a peck; a gentle act of intimacy that lasts no longer than a second. It shocks me as much as it does him, and I swear that beneath his mask, I can see his cheekbones flush a deep crimson red.

“P-Pardon me, my lord.” I take the opportunity to flee, leaving whatever just happened in the garden behind me.

He must’ve been too disgusted to follow me.

…

The following days passed with little to no thievery. I couldn’t explain it, but a part of me felt… guilty, for the first time in my life. Maybe not for stealing all those things from the hands of the wealthy, but for kissing him the way I did, in an attempt to save my own ass.

But that was the tricky part; did I really kiss him just to save my own ass?

I shake my head, desperate to prevent these frightening thoughts from clouding my judgment. I still have a family to feed.

I’m just about to sneak a sack of berries into my satchel when I feel his presence wash over me, watching me. I spin around to survey my surroundings, and sure enough, there he is. The Iudex in all of his dignified glory - staring at me from across the street. I return the sack to its position in the pile and walk over to him, my footsteps light and quick.

“I didn’t steal.”

“You would have.”

“But I didn’t.”

He sighs, exasperated. “I have been lenient to you. Whether or not you agree, I have shown you kindness by not exacting harsher measures in response to your… intemperance.”

I suppose that is true, especially after what I pulled that night. I remain silent.

“And despite every fiber of my being telling me to put you behind bars this instant, I wish to ask you a few questions before I do so.”

“And what’s in it for me, wise-ass?”

If he’s offended, he’s doing a great job concealing it. “I’ve called off the search. And, you’ll get to ask a few questions of me.” He tilts his head cautiously.. “Something tells me you would find that most enticing.”

He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

“Fine. Shall we head to somewhere more private, my lord?”

…

For some reason, he brings me to his office in the Palais Mermonia. We enter through a secret entrance hidden from the public eye, and manage to remain unseen. He’s very serious about keeping our arrangement confidential.

The building is lavishly decorated, its shiny walls a reflection of its equally shiny inhabitants. At every turn I’m awed by the sheer magnificence of it all; by how I’m likely to never set foot in a place like this again.

“Please, have a seat.” His voice is low. He almost looks uncomfortable.

“So. What’d you wanna ask me?” I lift both feet and rest them atop his desk, crossing my right leg over the left. This is my first and last time in a room as cushy as this one, after all - I might as well make myself at home. “If you don't mind, I’d like you to answer my questions before I answer yours.”

He doesn’t object. I continue, “Why are you so unwilling to turn a blind eye to a few measly scoundrels? The people they’re stealing from already have far too much - and yet, you are complicit with their greed.”

There’s a distant look in his eyes. “Ever since I’d been issued the position of Iudex, there’s been an immeasurable… weight on my back. To uphold the law, standards of safety, fairness… That has been my job for as long as I can remember. I have dedicated my life to ensuring that Fontaine is the splitting image of perfection.”

“You speak as if you are old.” I scoff, feigning sophistication in my voice. “You’re a young man yourself. Shouldn’t you, of all people, understand that achieving perfection is impossible? Not when there is so much filth and corruption manifesting beneath the surface?”

My words seem to have struck him. “...I suppose there is truth to your words.”

“So stop. Let me and my people live as we have been. We don’t go around attacking the rich unprovoked, you know, despite what most people think.”

We share a pleasant silence for a moment. It feels as if I’m getting to him; as if we’re beginning to really see each other.

“You really do have the most exquisite eyes.”

This takes me by surprise. Did the Chief Justice of Fontaine just compliment my eyes? I try to suppress the redness growing across my cheeks.

He speaks again, his unfaltering gaze fixed on mine. “I never quite got your name, Miss…”

“Y/N,” I answer hastily. “And, you are…?”

“Neuvillette. My given name.”

Neuvillette. It’s never occurred to me how much I don’t know about the affairs of the city. About him.

“I have another question, Neuvillette.” He nods. “Why are you so intent on bringing me in? Are there no other criminals in Fontaine that demand more pressing attention?” I push further. “And why are you talking to me now, rather than locking me up?”

He looks speechless, as if troubled by something. “Because…” My heart stutters as I anticipate what he’s about to say. “Because I have something to ask of you.”

I deflate. “Oh. What is it?”

“I’m willing to offer you a job - an esteemed position in the Maison Gardiennage. You’d be an excellent addition to the team, and you won’t have to worry about a single piece of Mora from now on–”

My heart stops stuttering. It sinks. “So that’s what this is about.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You pity me. This whole time–you’ve been trying to recruit me for your–your–battalion! To use me!” I feel betrayed. Blindsided. I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.

I rush to stand up, and he gets up just as quick. “I assure you, that is not my intention, Miss Y/N–”

“You just want me taken care of so I can stop stealing and you can go back to your precious duties.” And to think that maybe we shared something. “I thought you were different. I really did. Now I see I was mistaken.”

“Miss Y/N, you must not keep stealing.” He sounds desperate, as if about to lose the composure he so carefully maintains.

I can’t do this. I swing the door to the hallway open, fuming. “You call us Treasure Hoarders, but you fail to realize that the ones who hoard treasure are yourselves.”

I spin around one final time, taking in the sight of him. He’s standing less than an inch away from me now. I notice that it physically pains me to be this close to him. “I hope I’m not spotted, for your sake. Archons forbid what being seen with me might do to your reputation.”

I slam the door behind me.

…

For the first time, Neuvillette doesn’t have a solution for any of this. He can’t let her keep stealing, that’s for sure. But is that really all that’s troubling him? Is that the real reason why he’s so worked up about all of this?

He swats at an invisible thought in the air. Focus. A royal auction is to be held tomorrow evening, and there’s a lot to be done.

…

I can’t bear to stay in the court for much longer. Everything is just… too much.

If I am to stop stealing in the court, all while ensuring that my family is fed and happy, I’ll have to end my business here with a bang. Steal something truly valuable that’ll guarantee I’ll never have to steal again.

Therefore, when I receive news of the Annual Court Auction being held the following day, I can hardly contain my anticipation.

This will be the heist of all heists. My family’s lives are on the line.

I must sneak in unnoticed, snag the one-of-a-kind Hunter’s Brooch from wherever it is backstage, and sneak back out where I came from. Make sure I avoid running into Neuvillette, at all costs.

…

As the clock strikes six, the auction begins. A dense crowd fills the ballroom, the stench of elitism wafting through the air.

I managed to steal a servant’s uniform while he was distracted and put on my disguise, determined to get the job done once and for all. As I pretend to refill my tray, I listen closely as the auctioneer projects his booming voice. “Going once, going twice… SOLD to the lady in pink!”

The Hunter’s Brooch is up next. I glide through the crowd, offering tiny pastries and shot glasses to the haughty noblemen as I pass.

“Next up: the Hunter’s Brooch!” The crowd oohs and aahs, captivated by its remarkable beauty. “Do I hear one-million?”

I inch closer and closer to the stage as bidders furiously compete with one another for the brooch. I hear numbers I have never heard in my life.

“Do I hear fifteen-million? Going once, going twice…” The crowd falls silent, seemingly bested.

“Twenty-million.”

My head whips around so fast I almost drop my tray. Neuvillette.

“SOLD to our Chief Justice!”

I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves. Seeing him from afar is somehow a thousand times worse than seeing him up close.

I remind myself what I came here for. I attempt to ignore the pounding in my chest and sneak past the guards in front of the stage. There it is.

The brooch sits on a cushioned plinth backstage, sparkling despite the darkness. I yank it from its display in the blink of an eye and stuff it into my satchel. Hugging it under my arm, I latch on to the wall behind the stage and begin climbing towards the landing on the second floor.

Just as I reach the surface, I pick up a swarm of hurried footsteps headed in my direction. I try to steady myself as hastily as possible, but by the time I look up, it’s too late.

Guards.

They grab me by the arms and pull me away from the auction. From my grand plan. From my dreams of never having to steal again.

…

A trial. I’m to sit in front of the Iudex tonight and face him for the first time in days. I’m to relive the embarrassment of getting caught, of encountering my first defeat. I’m to look him in the eye as he finally decides to throw me in jail for good.

Time passes rather quickly in a holding cell, contrary to popular belief. Before I know it, I’m sitting in a courtroom, anxiously waiting for the Iudex to walk in.

My pulse quickens when the thick ivory doors swing open.

He remains the paradigm of grace and regality; able to command an entire room without ever so much as uttering a word.

Despite all the guilt, all the shame I’m feeling sitting in this chair, I can’t seem to take my eyes off him.

He moves to take his seat on the elevated throne in the middle of the room, and for a moment - just a tiny sliver of a second - we lock eyes. He looks conflicted, tired, as if he hadn’t slept a wink last night.

The trial proceeded as one normally would; everyone was represented by someone, though the loaded old man I’d stolen from had obviously hired a greater amount of skill.

It’s now time for the final judgment to be made.

The Iudex’s eyes are downcast, his forehead creased. His gloved hands seem to be restless and unsure. Please, Neuvillette. Don’t do this.

A pause that stretches on for an eternity passes, and he whispers something unintelligible to the court orderly standing next to him. A bewildered expression appears on the orderly’s face, but Neuvillette has already gotten up to exit, halting all further questions.

He charges out of the courtroom, leaving hushed exclamations and gasps of surprise in his wake. Neuvillette… Did you betray me? We all look to the court orderly.

“The Chief Justice of Fontaine has declared the defendant… not guilty.”

…

“So does that mean you’re free to go now?”

“Yep.” I smile at my sister with a sigh. “I’m never going back there again.”

“What? Why not? I thought you said the city was our golden opportunity.”

“It was. But I’ve come to realize that I can’t keep stealing from the hand that feeds me. It’s too much. It’s not… fair.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my sister?” She wriggles her eyebrows at me.

I give her a hard nudge, playfully. “There are other prospects, you know. I heard Liyue possesses treasures beyond even our wildest dreams. We shall aim to relocate by the end of the month.”

“Not yet done with your scheming, Miss Y/N?”

No. It can’t be.

I jump to my feet so quickly my sister flinches. “Hey, could you maybe…”

She runs off towards the camp, leaving the two of us standing face to face atop the most beautiful hill in the region.

“I wasn’t expecting you.” My voice comes out shaky, as if I haven’t spoken in years.

Neuvillette searches my eyes, vulnerable and sincere. “Did you really think you could hide from me for long?”

Inhale. Exhale. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you lock me up? Why come all the way here after two weeks?”

“You must know…” He trails off, stares at the setting sun just above the horizon. “My every waking moment is plagued by thoughts of… of you.”

I stop breathing.

“At night, I dream of you. The criminal I cannot seem to capture. The thief I cannot seem to subdue.” He takes a step forward. “Your words echo in my mind, your eyes pierce my soul. Your insolence, obscenity, rebelliousness… All of it. It-It vexes me.” Another step. “You are a thief, Y/N, for you have stolen more than just precious gems and sparkling jewels.”

I’m rendered speechless. All I want to do is run into his arms.

“Please. Don’t leave. I beg of you.”

My heart feels so… so full. I rush to close the distance between us, beaming so widely it must look strange.

“Only if you promise to let me keep stealing your stuff.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your wish is my command. I suppose it will do the nation some good if all of its inhabitants remain healthy and fed.” I smile. “You’ve made up your mind, then? No law enforcement work for you?”

“Actually… I’ve yet to give it any thought. You sure you’d want a Treasure Hoarder amongst your ranks?”

“You make a good point. But right now…” He’s staring again, lips mere inches away from mine. “All I want… is you.”

“But my lord, surely that’s against the law,” I tease.

“The law has no place here.”

And he kisses me, hungry and passionate.

For the first time in ages, I finally feel well off.

❛ ༉‧₊˚ author's note: i had to stop myself from writing a commentary on class divide and remember i'm in love with neuvillette lol (two things can be true at once) hope you like this one! typically this would've been a multiple-chapter fic on ao3 but oh well here goes nothing

✧ starfellforyou

#— ‧ ₊˚ 𝘴𝘧𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘺 🌸✩ #genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #neuvilette genshin #genshin neuvillette #fontaine

[umbra-mayhem]

Fools in the Rain

Ghost is spending the fourth night of his leave alone in his apartment, whittling mindlessly while an old sitcom plays in the background. A storm rages outside, so loud that when Ghost hears the knock at his door, he almost mistakes it for thunder. His head raises slowly as the realization dawns upon him that the sound was in fact a knock….and that he wasn’t expecting company. He’s never expecting company. He’s never even had company. Wouldn’t know what to do with company. Doesn’t enjoy company. 

So something must be wrong.

He rises slowly…silently….his hand reaching for one of the many guns he keeps tucked around his apartment. Another knock, louder than the first, confirms his suspicions and spurs him to quicker movements. He dashes to the door, taking a breath before peering through the peephole. 

Soap is standing on the other side, shifting his weight back and forth under the small awning as his heart races. Despite his body being drenched by the rain, he can still feel sweat creeping down his back and pooling in his palms. Sweat just has that distinctive feel. 

Ghost unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door as far as the chain lock will allow. He eyes Soap as he demands over the cacophonous rain, “What’re you doing here, Soap?”

Soap’s eyes shoot up as Ghost cracks open the door. The rain, unfortunately, had not reached the confines of Soap’s mouth, leaving his tongue dry and his voice cracked. He swallows nothing and admits, “….I haven’t been able to sleep in days. Ever since we started leave…I’ve been….plagued….haunted with thoughts….they’re there when I’m awake, there when I try to sleep….”

A stone settles in the depths of Ghost’s stomach. He stares at the soaked man for what feels like an eternity, swimming in Soap’s bloodshot eyes as he searches for answers he has no idea how to find. Thankfully, Soap continues:

“I consider myself a strong man, Ghost. I’ve suffered things no person should experience. I’ve been beaten and shot, held hostage and interrogated and tortured. But this….this is a torture I cannot endure…..”

The desperation in Soap’s voice, the utter weakness in his shaking frame…it chills Ghost to his core.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. What you’re doing. Where you are. How you’re feeling. I-I keep worrying. I feel like every nerve is on fire when I’m not near you, I—”

His words die in his mouth as Ghost abruptly closes the door. Soap can’t help the tears that instantly well in his eyes. Tears that proceed to fall upon his rain-soaked cheeks as the door remains closed. In his stunned state, Soap can��t even raise a hand to wipe them away as they tickle his face, mocking him for thinking that this was ever a good idea. 

Meanwhile, Ghost is on the other side of the door, his mind even more tumultuous than the storm outside. He places his gun down on whatever surface is closest. He paces as hopeful thoughts bubble up to the surface of his consciousness; he shakes his head with the rise of each one, hoping to quell them. 

It doesn’t work. 

Soap is frozen, tears no longer trickling. No, now they’re a steady stream. His mouth opens and closes like a fish drowning in open air. He hopes maybe he’ll be rewarded for his foolishness with a strike of lightning—something to end the pain coursing through him, leaving him breathless and yearning for death. 

Ghost tears off his balaclava and tosses it aside. As he paces, he runs his hands through his hair, feeling the tremble of his fingers against his scalp. And then, before he even realizes what he’s doing, he unlocks the chain lock and yanks open the door. 

The sight of the state he’s left Soap in is worse than any bullet, Ghost thinks. The two men stare at each other, stunned by the sight of the other. Ghost knows he has to move, to speak, to do something. Soap has left himself bare, disemboweled himself and placed his guts at Ghost’s doorstep. So he has to do something. 

Ghost takes a step forward through the doorway. Soap takes a step back, mistaking Ghost’s intense gaze and advancement as a sign of aggression. Ghost takes another step forward, and Soap responds with another step back, leaving the shelter of the awning and walking backwards into the rain. As Ghost takes yet another step forward, he reaches out and cups Soap’s face, freezing him in place once more. 

Ghost draws into Soap, bringing his other hand up to mirror the first. He brushes his thumbs over Soap’s cheeks, determined to wipe away the tears before the rain does. To somehow fix what he’s done. 

Words have always been special to Ghost. He doesn’t speak much not because he doesn’t like to, but because he wants what he says to convey exactly what he means. Ghost handles his speech like a knife, knowing that with his words he carves in ways that can either create or destroy. He plans what he says carefully, steeping his thoughts like tea before pouring them from his mouth:

“I am a fool…for ever letting you feel the way you feel now…forgive me, please…”

Soap blinks the concoction of rain and tears from his eyes. He slowly raises his hands and grasps Ghost’s wrists, holding them like they’re a buoy. But for once in his life, he stays silent, much to Ghost’s distress. 

“Please, Johnny…please say something….”

The sound of Ghost’s voice, as warbled and watery as the puddle drenching their feet, stirs Johnny to speak. The corners of his teary eyes crinkle as he smiles through his words, “You are a fool…but you’re my fool…isn’t that right, Simon?”

Simon chokes back a sudden sob and nods, pulling a laugh of relief from Johnny. He leans his forehead against Simon’s, tightening his grip on the man’s wrists. 

Simon wrangles together his nerves and forces himself to be brave. “Can this fool kiss you?” he asks, the surprising sweetness in his voice melting Johnny like candy floss in water. He nods and Simon softly presses his lips against Johnny’s, tasting tears and rain. 

#cod #cod fanfic #call of duty #call of duty fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #ghost x soap #soap x ghost #ghoap #ghoap fanfic #i’ve never played cod #i know cod is military propaganda but goddamn i cant get these men out of my head #goose is honking

[atxxokirina]

You're My Mirror.

Lo'ak x Omatikayan fem reader

warnings ;; slight bullying/mention of bullying, reader being insecure, some fluff near the end.

quick author's note! ✧ okay, so! I have 12 fingers irl, and i relate to lo'ak so much when it comes to him being self conscious about his hands, so i just had to write this. not only for myself, but hopefully for anyone else who feels outcast. <3 (i used y/n instead of my name to make it feel more inclusive. enjoy!)

-

You were born differently. The usual Na'vi has 4 fingers, but you? You came out with 6 instead. Your parents hoped everything would be fine with you, even after the Tsahík at the time insisted that you were perfectly fine and healthy, and that it was just an unusual mutation.

The festival was in full swing as the clan celebrated the newly mated couple. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and were dancing and laughing.

But you were not having fun. Instead, you're standing in the back corner, arms folded, trying to hide your hands. You hated that you always hid them away, but you knew better. You knew that if you didn't, all eyes would be on you, and conversations would start up about you again. It had been that way ever since you were a kid. Either you were teased for having 6 fingers, or being accused for being not being full Na'vi. No matter what- it was always something.

As you watched some people form a circle, holding hands and dancing together, you felt a pang of envy.. You had wished to join in, so badly, but you were much too afraid of allowing your hands to touch with anyone again. Your mind flashed to when you were young. The vivid memory of being called a freak, being called an alien, and the absolute hell of others threatening to sever your extra fingers off.. as if you weren't right in front of them.

Your deep thoughts were interrupted by Mo'at approaching you. "Y/n, come join us." She holds out her hand for you. "Do not let your past consume you. Allow yourself to have fun. With us, with your family."

Your eyes dart to hers, a soft gasp escaping your mouth as she startled you. You listen to her words, hesitant first at but eventually giving in after some thinking. She was only right, you can't live like this forever. You took Mo'at's hand and joined the circle. For a while everything felt fine, you had let your body relax as you let the fears you had fall away. You closed your eyes and danced, hips swaying with the music as you formed hands with the other people in the circle.

The music was beautiful, and the voices around you were soothing. You feel an abrupt yank on your hand and instantly opened your eyes, your tail going alert and ears perking up. You see Aonung and his friend Nashvi on each side of you, grinning at each other. "Ugh, fuck off!" You say in an attempt to pull your arms away from the two boys.

"Oh, now why are you struggling so hard? Trying to hide something from us aren't you?" Aounung teases. You whine and pull back again, already knowing the direction this is going in. Ever since you'd arrived to their village with the Sully's, Aonung and his friends would make it their job to bully you daily.

The two chuckle as Aonung lifts up your hand. "Look at this! What do you even call this freakshow? She's fucking gross, isn't she?" He yells out, pulling your arm and holding it in the air. The space around you goes quiet, all eyes now on you. You see some faces recoil as shame fills your body. "Stop! Just let me go-"

"..what the fuck is that?"

"Does she have- six fingers?"

"Ma Eywa.. I've never seen anything like that.."

"So unfortunate.. poor girl... I feel bad for her parents"

You begin to hear multiple voices murmer around you as tears well in your eyes.

"Oh great mother.." Neteyam speaks under his breath, watching everything unfold.

"Huh? What's going on?" Lo'ak questions while stuffing his face with Teylu that Neytiri had made. He looks up to see a group of boys pushing you around and messing with you.

"6 fingers? Really? Eywa could've made you a simple freak with 5, but she just had to keep going!" Aonung says as him and his peers continue to laugh at you.

".. fuck" Lo'ak mutters, making his way toward Aonung and pushing him by his shoulder. "Leave her alone, fish lips. I'm not gonna ask you again." He sternly demands.

"Ohhh? Two freaks now, I see.. Just makes this freakshow even better!" Aonung ignores Lo'ak's warning. Lo'ak slaps Aonung and grabs your arm, pulling you next to him and gripping your hand.

"I'll beat your ass again if I have to, bitch. Don't make me fuck you up." You stare at Lo'ak, impressed at his confidence.

With your hand still in his, he walks you over to a secluded area on the shore and sits you down as the bioluminescent plants around you move with the wind. You cry out, covering your face with your hands. "What's wrong with me..? Why can't I just be normal, like everyone else.." Tears stream down your face while your heart consumes itself with pain and humiliation.

Lo'ak places his hand on your shoulder, feeling empathetic towards you. "I know how you feel, y/n" he says softly. "I have an extra finger too, remember?" You looked at him, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "I know.." You sniffle. "I just wish.. I wish they'd accept me, you know? Ever since I've been here.. I have nothing but nice to them.. and I get this in return? I'm tired of it, Lo'ak. I'm so fucking tired.." You speak through broken cries and sniffles.

"You're not alone," he continued. "And you're not gross or weird.. You're just different, just like me." He cups your face and wipes your tears, giving your wet cheek a soft kiss. He intertwines his fingers with yours as he turns your head to face him. "And after tonight, Aonung and his friends will never bother you again okay? I promise."

"W-what are you gonna do?" You ask, a shuddered sigh coming from your mouth while looking into his eyes. "Doesn't matter, mama. All that matters is that I'm gonna take care of it. You know I've got you." Lo'ak reassures, patting your head. Your eyebrows narrow as you smile, bringing Lo'ak into a hug and resting your head in the crook of his neck. "Thank you, Lo'ak.."

He rubs his hand across your back, holding your shoulder and pulling away from the hug, wholeheartedly gazing into your eyes. Lo'ak licks his lips, opening his mouth to say something, visibly nervous. "..I see you, y/n."

Your pupils widen, tail flicking back and forth in excitement and content after hearing his words. A great feeling of ease washes over you, it feels as if you've finally gotten the one thing you have been waiting for. You look back into his eyes with a soft, loving gaze.

"I see you, Lo'ak."

oh my lord , this is lowkey the first fanfiction i have written in awhilleeee, so i can't tell if it's as good as i think it is. all criticism is welcome, just be nice and don't hurt my feelings pls! 🫶

as always, my writing style/layout (?) is heavily inspired by the queen herself, @pandorxxx <3 love you bae!

#avatar #avatar fluff #atwow #avatar the way of water #loak fic #ff #fanfiction #fics #imagines #neteyam #aonung #loak sully #neteyam sully #loak x reader

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

The Sacrifice Douma x Reader prologue

Ugh this gif is just mwah chefs kiss.

Pairing: Douma x reader (you)

Summary: You are a sacrifice for Douma

Warnings: Mentions of injury and physical abuse, reader is a slave.

****************************************************.You lied there shaking like a leaf on a stormy day. The burlap pulled over your head obscured any sight, only thin streams of moonlight shown through the scratchy material.

With your vision basically lost your other senses we’re heightened. You could smell the freshly fallen rain. Although you didn’t need your nose to tell you that, the droplets had soaked your clothes throughouly.

Crickets chirping and the occasional owl kept your surroundings from being completely silent. A small blessing. You’ve always hated silence.

The rope around your wrists burned. You could only imagine how they looked.

You willed yourself to stop the tears but they always came anyway. No matter how many times you’ve been in the same situation and told yourself tears wouldn’t solve anything, they still came.

Although this time you suppose you really did have a reason to cry, being sacrificed to a demon wasn’t exactly a daily occurrence .

It all happened so suddenly. One moment you were scrubbing the floors and the next you heard the thundering steps of your master. He yanked you up, muttered something about finally getting rid of you and tied you to the back of his horse.

You figured if he was getting rid of you you didn’t need to fear him for much longer so you braved asking him where he was taking you. Usually if you were being sold off, you were taken to the market or someone would come by to peruse the “merchandise”. So you had a bad feeling.

Eventually when you pissed him off enough with your questions he clicked his heel and forced the horse to go faster which resulted in you being dragged like a rag doll through the rough terrain.

Finally he stopped, laughed at your sorry injured state and told you you were being sacrificed to appease the demon lord of the land.

Something about a deal between the villages and so on. Unfortunately you couldn’t quite catch everything as your head was ringing.

Sometime later he dismounted, threw you to the ground and tied your rope to a tree.

“Finally I’m able to rid myself of you. Always causing me trouble, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong heh, I was merciful too you but you best not behave that way with the Demon Lord, he’ll end you in seconds… heh although he’ll probably kill you anyway soon. So long slave”

Merciful? Were beatings merciful?

Hoof beats softly disappeared and was soon replaced with gentle rain drops. How ironic, you’ve always loved the rain but now each drop felt like a sharp icicle was being driven into your skin.

How long were you going to be here? You’d probably freeze to death soon. Although maybe that was the Better alternative than being eaten by the Demon Lord.

In all your years you’ve somehow managed to stay alive. The hope that one day you’d be free kept you going. No matter how much pain you endured you never were close to death, not really. But now?

Was this how your pitiful life was going to end? Being dinner for some monster?

The tears you she’d had caused a pounding headache. Your whole body was aching and surely bruised and bleeding. And you were shivering cold.

“Oh dear what have we here?”

A stab of panic rose in my chest. Fully alert I tensed at the new voice.

“I was sure I told that man to bring you unscathed”

You heard the crunching of grass get louder.

“You’re alive aren’t you?” The voice, somehow airy and melodic, like a lullaby was just a few feet from you.

You were too afraid to speak, could you play dead?

A rush of panic surged through you as the material that had been obstructing your vision for hours was pulled away.

You should’ve closed your eyes.. you really should have.. because nothing could’ve prepared you for the piercing gaze you were met with.

An unsettling smile, hair that seemed to gleam in the moonless night, and those eyes…

Predatory

Like little balls of every fire were trapped inside glass orbs. If you weren’t so terrified you might have called them beautiful.

“Ah so you are alive, although I must say my dear you look like death”

You might’ve laughed had you not fainted right then and there.

Part 1

**************************************************

Lemme know what you guys think:)

#douma x reader #doma x reader #Douma #kny douma #douma fic #douma x y/n #demon slayer #demon slayer fic #x reader #douma x you #kny #douma smut #demon slayer smut #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #upper moons #upper moon fic #upper moon x reader #akaza #Akaza x reader #love triangle

[after-witch]

"KUNIKUZUSHI! Don't you dare ignore me, I don't care if your henchmen hear me yelling!"

notes: yandere, forced marriage, some misogny and classism

You would never claim that your husband was known for his delicacy, yet the word delicate is what comes to mind as his entire being immediately pivots and begins stepping towards you in one fluid, horribly graceful motion. His steps are light; almost a mimicry of ordinary steps, doll-like, and if it weren’t for the bells on his hat, no one would hear him coming. You aren’t the only one who has been surprised on occasion by his sudden appearances.

Yet the delicacy of his movements are utterly betrayed by the ugly frown twisted on his beautiful face. You only have the luxury of focusing on it for a few moments before he grips the collar of your dressing gown and yanks you toward him in one harsh, swift movement.

“Have you lost your senses, woman?” The words are hissed low. “I did not give you my name so you could shriek it out like some ragged pauper screaming at her chickens.”

Your lips press together in a grim line. Oh, yes, you were used to his insults about your heritage, all wrapped in his unfortunate desire to present you to the world--but mostly to himself--as some sort of ethereal noblewoman’s wife. All quiet grace and charm.

Yet it wasn’t the life you were born into, nor did such lofty manners come easily to you. They seemed rather pointless at times, especially since you eventually realized that he liked you best when you were at ease in private, eager to engage with him on a more intimate level than any noblewoman would ordinarily do for her dear husband. It was all a show, one you both put on to different degrees.

“Yet you did give me your name to use,” and the small dip of your head as you speak is both a mockery of the manners he’s instilled in you and a gesture ingrained through months of tedious, irritating training. “And I saw fit to use it thus, since I was speaking to you as my husband, and not my lord.”

“Am I not both?” He muses, and his voice is tight, but the fingers gripping the fabric of your gown loosen anyway. “You certainly know better than to raise your voice to your lord and husband. Are you so ill-trained?” He lifts your chin with a finger, chiding, but there’s a bit of warm teasing in his voice that contrasts against the  coolness of his skin.

You know enough about Scaramouche to know that the situation is on its way to defusing significantly, if not entirely, and you know exactly how to present yourself to soothe the electric irritation you’ve sparked with your outburst.

You lean your chin forward, guiding him to take your face in his hand, and he does. Your eyelashes flutter and you look at him with as much pleading as you can summon.

“Will you answer the question I asked, then, instead of leaving me without another word?” And if your tone becomes softer, if your voice is tinged with something akin to neediness and loneliness, it’s not entirely for show. “Please, my lord, my husband…” 

You wait, for effect, before dealing your finishing blow in a tone far sweeter than the one you used to keep him here earlier. “Kunikuzushi?”

He regards you with eyes that have taken in every inch of your body a thousand times. Sometimes you wonder if he has the power to read minds or to see inside souls. You don’t ask, because the answer might just frighten you.

“All right. We’ll pass through your village once. I expect there to be tributes. And don’t imagine that you’ll be staying for more than an hour or so.”

Your smile is far more gracious than the limitations he’s placed on you, but you don’t mind. Perhaps you can talk him into more later.

“Thank you, my lord.”

He gives your chin a harsh squeeze before letting it drop.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. I’m not a fool. I agreed only to spare myself more of your shrewish behavior.”

“Of course, husband,” you say, watching him leave.

He is not a fool, it’s true. But neither are you.

#yandere scaramouche #yandere genshin impact #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere #afterwitch writes #requests aren't open just doing old ones i hoarded

[of-a-chaotic-mind]

A Drunk Mind Speaks A Sober Heart Part 2

Summary: Reader and Buck wake up hungover but manage to make it family breakfast with the team and their families. The videos from the previous night are exchanged between the two and everyone is excited that they’re finally together 

TW/CW: Evan “Buck” Buckley x Reader, (Y/N) = Your Name, best friends to lovers finally made official, alcohol consumption mentioned, gets kind of spicy toward the end, swtiches POVs so look out for that. 

Requested?: No 

Word Count: 3,062 

A/N: If anyone wants a spicy third part lmk. I’m kinda down to write it lol. Not sure how good it would be tho. Again I say, I’m so proud of this. 

Prompts: None 

A/N: Absolutely gorgeous he is.

Part 1 Here

(Y/N)’s POV 

The sun coming through the curtains wakes me from my slumber but upon opening my eyes, I immediately shut them again because the sun is so much brighter than it should be. I roll over to find a bottle of water, some Asprin, a note, and my phone on charge. I don’t half remember last night to be honest. I know I got shitfaced in Maddie’s livingroom and look around me to find myself in one of her spare bedrooms. I reach over and pick up the note and read it, “Take two and chug. Don’t forget about breakfast at Athena and Bobby’s -Maddie” I do as directed and then check my phone to find a text from Hen that reads, “’A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.’ -Jean-Jaques Rousseau” there’s a video attatched so I make sure my volume is low so that it doesn’t burst my eardrums before opening it. I watch myself confess my feelings for Buck and flop back over to my back groaning once it’s over. I take a few deep breaths before getting up from the bed. 

I mentally thank Maddie upon finding my duffle bag and shoes at the foot of the bed. I struggle out of last night’s clothes and into clean ones, yank on my shoes, and venture downstairs in hopes of finding my keys and slipping out without waking Maddie, Chim, or the kiddo. Unfortunately, no such luck as they have already beat me out of bed. I tip toe around the corner into the kitchen only to find Maddie standing at the counter sipping coffee as she lovingly watches Chim play with Jee-Yun. I sigh in defeat as she notices my entry and picks up my keys from the counter beside her, “How’re you feeling?” she asks as she tosses them to me.  

“Like I got ran over by a train,” I laugh, “And embarassed,” I blush. 

She smiles, knowing exactly what I’m referring to, “It’s alright. We all knew, we were just waiting for you to figure it out,” she winks. 

It’s now that oblivious Chimney joins us with his adorable daughter perched on his hip, “Are we ready to head out?” Maddie and I nod so the four of us depart for the Grant-Nash residence. The entire way there I am contemplating just going home to avoid knowing and teasing looks from Maddie, Athena, Hen, and Karen all day but force myself to stay en-route because this has become a long standing tradition. One Sunday a month, the whole fireteam, their significant others, and their children gather at Bobby and Athena’s for a good old fashioned family breakfast. I ponder if I’ll even survive this one as I pull into the drive way and put my car in park but am quickly dragged out of my safety zone by Athena’s waving hand at the front door. 

Buck’s POV 

I shouldn’t have drank so much last night, I realize as I roll off the couch with a loud thump. From the kitchen, Christopher and Eddie giggle before Eddie cheers, “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. Better get your ass up and get some Asprin in you and clean clothes on or we’re gonna be late to family breakfast.” I groan but know he’s right. I swipe my phone off the coffee table before making my way to the kitchen for Asprin and then to the bathroom to change clothes. I have a text from Eddie that reads, “Maybe just show her this since you can’t ever figure out how to tell her yourself,” attatched is a video so I press play to listen as I change clothes. By the time the video ends, I have my hands pressed to the counter and am staring down at my phone in shock. Maybe Eddie’s right. Apparently drunk me has a talent for explaining how I feel that sober me does not. 

I grabbed my phone and exit the bathroom to make my out of Eddie’s place, declaring to him on my way out, “Don’t say a word,” feeling his amused look on the back of my neck I feel a blush creep to my cheeks, “Stop it. Don’t give me that look.” Soon, the three of us arrive at the Grant-Nash household and I have to elbow Eddie in the ribs when we see (Y/N) getting out of her car due to the grin on his face. 

Third Person POV 

The breakfast gets along almost as it always does. Lots of chit chats and laughter. The ladies send teasing looks toward (Y/N) when Eddie asks how their night went but (Y/N) ignores them and they simply say it was quite interesting and elaborate no further. Eddie saw the looks though and makes a mental note to ask Hen or Maddie about it later. Several times Eddie caught Buck glancing or staring at (Y/N) and shot him a teasing grin over Christopher’s head. Buck brushed it off with a glare everytime.  

As mentioned, things aren’t quite the same as usual. As is normal, Bobby sits at the head of the table with Athena to his right followed by Harry, May, Karen, Hen, and (Y/N). To his left is Jee-Yun in a high chair followed by Chimney, Maddie, Eddie, Christopher, and Buck. Usually, Buck would playfully kick at (Y/N) under the table and she’d snatch food off his plate, mostly his fruit. They would get carried away in their own conversation and their fits of giggles and laughter would ring out over the other conversations happening but when anyone would look their way to question what is so funny they’d be too distracted to give an answer. Everyone always got a kick out of their playful behavior. However, today there was no playful kicks under the table or food snatched off of plates. The two couldn’t even look each other in the eye, too embarassed by their confessions last night that the other had no idea about. Although they did sneak glances toward each other when the other wasn’t looking. When Christopher has Buck’s attention or Buck is arguing about how a call went with Chimney over three heads, (Y/N) watches him out of the corner of her eye but pretends to be focused on something else or collects a bite of food if he happens to look anywhere near her direction. When (Y/N) is watching Jee-Yun giggle as her father makes airplane noises circling a small bite of pancake toward her mouth or listening in on the conversation between Hen, Karen, and May, Buck admires her subtly over the rim of his coffee cup but as soon as (Y/N) returns her gaze to her plate or someone near him he too distracts himself with something else. This odd behavior did not go unnoticed by the other adults at the table or even Christopher who would normally be too busy giggling at the pair’s antics to eat.  

The young boy also happens to be the first and only one to call the two out on the peculuarity of it all, “Buck? Why are you not kicking (Y/N)? And you haven’t stole any of his fruit,” he adds looking to her.  

The adults all grin as Harry also chimes in, “Yeah you guys have been quiet.” 

May nudges her brother and shakes her head as their mother speaks up, “I think they just don’t feel too good today. Maybe they didn’t get enough sleep.” Christopher and Harry exchange a look that says they don’t believe that one bit but a different conversation is picked up by the adults to shift the attention off of the two.  

(Y/N) risks a glance at Buck, wondering what his reaction is but he had also taken the same risk. The two lock eyes but quickly look away. In attempts to escape the situation and catch the breath that had been stolen by looking into his bright blue eyes (Y/N) excuses herself from the table saying her still bruised ribs are bothering her and she needs to stretch.  

Once safely in a bathroom, (Y/N) stares at herself in the mirror trying to decipher what it was that she saw in his eyes. Buck always has shown exactly how he feels through his eyes but today she can’t quite make out what exactly that is. She sighs heavily just as someone knocks on the door. 

Out in the dinning room, Buck has excused himself as well giving no particular reason but the adults need not ask because they know exactly why. As soon as Buck is out of earshot, Eddie leans forward to look at all the ladies in turn before asking, “What exactly happened last night?” The women all look at each other seeming to silently debate about spilling the beans.  

Chimney and Bobby look at each other as well before Bobby adds, “I would like to know as well but you seem to have something to share too.” 

May giggles, “It’s like a Mexican stand off of exciting stories.” 

Chimney retrives a coin from his pocket, “Heads, Eddie is up first. Tails, one of you ladies are gonna have to spill.” 

Everyone nods as Maddie looks down the hall, “Might want to be quick and quiet about it.” 

Chimney flips the coin and it comes up tails so Maddie wiggles in her seat and props her elbows up on the table, placing her fingers together. She takes a dramatic pause despite her warning to hurry up before explaining, “(Y/N) got plastered last night and we now have video proof as confirmation that she has feelings for Buck.” 

“I knew it!,” May whispers excitedly. 

Eddie lightly smacks Maddie on the arm, “You’re telling me they both confessed on the same night to separate people but have no idea?” Everyone looks to Eddie in shock, “Yeah, he had a few drinks last night and apparently drunk Buck has an easier time with putting his feelings into words. I got it on video” 

Hen laughs, “A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.” 

Everyone excitedly yet still remaining quiet cheers before Bobby settles them down, “Those videos stay with those who took them and we don’t mention this around them. Understood?” Everyone nods except Eddie and Hen who give Bobby a guilty look. He responds to their looks with one of suspicion, “What did you two do?” In unison the two videographers confess that they sent their video to the corresponding subject. 

Hen adds, “I figured if she had the video she could just show it to him when she’s ready.”  

Eddie nods in agreement, “I literally told him it might be an easier way of telling her if he can’t find the words while sober.” 

Bobby grins and shakes his head as Athena chimes in, “We’ll see. For now, let’s talk about something else so they’re not suspicious of us when they come back.” 

Back in the bathroom, (Y/N) responds to the knock at the door, “Who is it?” 

“It- it’s me,” comes Buck’s voice from the other side. 

(Y/N) takes a deep breath before unlocking and opening the door to let him in. She hops up to take a seat on the counter as he enters and closes the door behind him. They both stare at their hands, nervously fidgeting with anything they can until they both speak at the same time, “I’m sorry, I’m just-” They stop, staring at each other with red all over their cheeks. 

Normally, Buck would be a gentleman and let her go first but he just had to get this off his chest before he chickened out, “So, I got drunk last night. You know that saying drunk words are sober thoughts?” (Y/N) nods thinking back to the text Hen had sent with the video just this morning. Buck continues, “Well, Eddie caught my drunk words on video last night and... well,” he pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it and navigates to the video Eddie had sent before handing it to her, “Just watch it. Sober me 100% agrees with every word.” He looks at her with such scencerity on his face that it makes her heart skip a beat. The two sit in silence as she watches the video. Buck shifts nervously on his feet, scanning her face for her reaction and she smiles. His heart soars with hope that she feels the same way.  

When the video ends, she hands his phone back to him before retrieving her own from her back pocket, unlocking it, navigating to her own video and then, “Drunk words are indeed sober thoughts and drunk me is pretty damn good at sharing things that sober me can’t. I too agree with every word she said,” she says, handing her phone to him. He watches with a massive grin on his face as one plasters itself on her’s as well. There’s not an ounce of fear or nervousness left in her after having seen his video. She thinks to herself that if she has the honor of marrying the man in front of her one day, it’s only right that Eddie be his Best Man and Hen be her Maid of Honor. 

Once the video ends, Buck places her phone on the counter beside her and leans in close with a grin still on his face only now it has a slight hint of cockiness to it, “I guess the only thing to do now is ask you to be my girlfriend. So will you?” 

As he hooks his finger under her chin and lifts it to align their lips, the distance between them shrinks even more. He can feel her breath on his lips when she affirms, “Obviously,” so he glances down at her lips before looking into her eyes. She inches closer, encouraging him to close the distance, and he does. They share the same thought as the slow, love filled kiss takes place and that is, “I love you.” When they begrudingly pull apart, and make eye contact, there’s no need to voice the thought as for one, their drunk selves already did but also, it’s seen in their eyes. 

Buck pulls even further away before placing his hands on her hips. He leaves them there for a moment, observing her reaction and somewhat looking for a nudge to continue his movements. She tilts her head, “What?” 

He says nothing at first, simply sliding his hands from her hips to place them on either side of the mirror on the wall behind her caging her in. He leans in close and brushes his nose against her’s, making her eyes flutter shut. When she opens them he’s just barely retreated, tilted his head, and is grinning from ear to ear. Feigning forgetfulness he asks, “What was that you said you wanted to do? It was something to do with my arms. Maybe you could remind me?” 

A mishevious grin with a hint of shyness to it replaces the look of curiosity on her face but is quickly replaced with a false sense of innocence as she lays her head over on his right arm. She stays there for a moment reveling in the eye contact between his now sultry eyes and her own wide eyed innocent ones before turning her head slightly to nuzzle her mouth and nose against his arm. A breath catches in Buck’s throat as she suddenly opens her mouth to lay her tongue against his bicep, slowly dragging it up before recoiling it back behind her teeth that she uses to nip softly against the skin covering the toned muscle. The sound that left his throat is one that she will remember for years to come and want to elicit from him again many times over. However, she simply lays her head back against his arm with a teasing look on her face, “We should get back out there before they come looking and find us in a scandalous situation.” 

Buck huffs, knowing she’s right and stands up straight removing his hands from the wall to help her down from the counter. (Y/N) quite likes it when he lifts her by her waist to place her feet on the ground and has to stop herself from wondering what it would be like for him to toss her into bed as he takes her hand in his. He doesn’t exit the bathroom just yet but instead tugs her close, hooks his finger under her chin once more to whisper against her lips, “Fine, but you’re sitting in my lap to cover the situation you’ve caused in my pants.” She giggles and nods before opening the door herself and tugging him along behind her.  

All eyes are on the two love birds as they reenter the dining room causing blushes to creep onto both of their faces and Buck to discretely scoot just a little closer behind her in hopes of hiding the afforemention situation better. He takes his seat, promptly pulling her into his lap which makes everyone whoop and holler in excitement. Eddie passes Maddie a twenty dollar bill which provokes a confused look from both (Y/N) and Buck.  

Maddie grins triumphantly, “I bet that the videos would be exchanged today. Eddie didn’t think you guys had it in you.”  

Eddie rolls his eyes as Athena calms everyone down, “You two didn’t... in the bathroom did you,” raising her eyebrows to insinuate naughtier acts than just exchanging videos. (Y/N) and Buck shake their head no immediately to which Athena replies, “Good.” 

The conversation soon returns to things other than the new couple at the end of the table. (Y/N) has an arm around Buck’s shoulders playing with his hair while his arm is wrapped firmly around her waist. His other hand is placed on her knee, even though he wants it to be higher, and he leans in to whisper in her ear, “You’ll have something in you if we can ever sneak away. I just didn’t bend you over in there out of respect.” (Y/N) slaps his chest with her free hand but Buck simply returns his attention to the group around the table and includes himself in the conversation. Under her, (Y/N) can still feel the situation and knows he’s not joking. She has to fight to keep from imaging what all they could get up to today. 

Masterlist

More Evan Buckley Imagines

Taglist:

#tv: 911 #911 imagine #911 imagines #911 buck #evan buckley 911 #buck 911 #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley imagines #evan buckley #911 buck imagine #911 buck imagines #buck 911 imagine #buck 911 imagines

[kindoffruity]

Smitten - Chapter Three - Aonung's POV

Mild Warning: Non canon compliant :P

Smitten - Chapter Three - Adore - Aonung's POV

The ride back on Neteyam’s Ikran had been brutal, the pain settled in on his body, there wasn’t a part of him that hadn’t been aching. But Aonung learned fast that the more he reacted to the pain the more Neteyam seemed to be worried.

So Aonung sucked most of it up until they arrived back. 

Unfortunately, their parents had been gathered in a line to meet them, Ronal and Tonowari seemed to be a mixture of angry and concerned for their son. “What is this! Why do you look like this? Was this you, demon?” Ronal seemed to accuse Neteyam as she practically yanked her son towards her inspecting him. 

“No ma’am..” Neteyam immediately looked down, not wanting to upset Ronal more. He dismissed his Ikran, looking like he was struggling to find the words to describe what had happened. 

“Neteyam saved me, please do not disrespect him.” Aonung pulled away from his mother, he looked more insulted than Neteyam had been. “I am fine, I would probably be dead by now if he had not shown up, he deserves respect for that.” Aonung corrected his mother and it was a feat that left many stunned. 

“What happened?” Jake asked Neteyam after inspecting his son and not seeing a scratch, “The altercation earlier.. I followed those boys from the Ta’unui clan, they mentioned they would get their brothers and teach Aonung a lesson for embarrassing them. I tried to go back to warn Aonung but I couldn’t find him. So I got on Etera to search.” Neteyam explained to his parents.

Aonung watched from the corner of his eyes, he hoped that Jake and Neytiri would not find some way to blame Neteyam. 

“Why didn’t you tell anyone else before you left? You could have been hurt. I’d expect this recklessness from Lo’ak but not you.” Jake huffed and looked disappointed in Neteyam. Neteyam nodded his head and looked down at the sand before looking back up at his father. “I am sorry sir, it won't happen again.” Neteyam apologized, Aonung wanted to scream. How could they blame Neteyam?

“But I do not regret it.” 

Neteyam’s words stunned everyone at this point, even Aonung was taken aback by his words. Despite this, there was a small smile tugging on his bruised lips. It wasn’t like Neteyam had disrespected his parents, but Aonung respected that Neteyam finally said something.

“Excuse me?” Neytiri asked, completely full of disbelief that her oldest son had spoken out of line. Aonung could see the twist of emotions on her face, his mother had mirrored the same emotions earlier. There was anger, hurt, and confusion all brewed into one look. 

“I reacted completely appropriately for the situation, had I taken any longer or detoured myself, who knows what could have happened.” 

Aonung couldn’t even hold back the smirk, Neteyam had finally spoken, a small chuckle escaped his lips and Tonowari gripped the back of his head and pushed in down to bow towards the Sully’s. “Your son speaks the truth, I apologize for any inconvenience my son may have caused, and I thank you for protecting my son.” Tonowari’s words were enough to put an end to the bickering. 

“Yes, thank you, Neteyam.” Aonung looked up, a smile adorning his lips as he took in Neteyam’s appearance. His posture was tense, like he was trying to seem strong but Aonung knew he was probably shaking inside from being anxious. Aonung did catch his eyes for a moment, the second they locked they seemed to share a silent moment.

 They were thanking each other for different reasons. 

Aonung was thanking him for saving him and finally speaking up for himself. 

- - - - 

The next few days were particularly difficult for Aonung, the injuries he had received and the entire talking back situation had his parents keeping him on a short leash, he wasn’t able to sneak out in the evenings and see his Forrest boy.

Aonung was struggling with just looking at Neteyam during dinner, his mother kept him attached to her so there wasn’t much he could do besides exchange longing looks with one-another as they ate. 

It wasn’t much but at least seeing Neteyam was enough to make the day bearable until he had been all healed up. 

The Ta’unui clan brought forth a series of topics with Aonung’s parents that he truthfully wished to avoid: Mates, Iknimaya and Olo’eyktan.

“Tane, while he may not have handled it correctly, he had the right idea. You will be Olo’eyktan one day, you must get serious about your Iknimaya to become an adult within the clan. You need to search for a strong mate who will continue our way of life.” His father, Tonowari, spoke to him at dinner. 

Did this conversation need to be public? Why speak of this at dinner when the Sully’s were at the other side of the room. Aonung tried to look at Neteyam for.. Guidance? No, that wasn’t it. Maybe confirmation? Could he be bold enough to claim Neteyam as his own at their communal dinner? 

But Neteyam didn’t look up at him, he hung his head low as if trying to hide himself. 

“I will focus on my Iknimaya, but I will allow my mate to choose me.” Aonung knew who he had in mind as a mate, but claiming Neteyam now without properly courting him would make him just as bad as the men who had sought after his sister's hand. 

The dinner progressed, it seemed like it was dragging, and then Neteyam excused himself from dinner. 

Aonung took that as his opportunity to escape as well, he didn’t know where Neteyam was heading but he could only imagine he would find him at the end of the beach where he went to clear his mind. 

“I knew you’d be here..” Aonung called out as he moved to sit next to Neteyam, his tail almost instinctively wrapping around Neteyam, his finned hand resting atop the others. “I have missed you, my mother worries too much when I am injured and puts me on bed rest.” Aonung felt a need to explain why he hadn’t been around, he grabbed the other's slender hand and pressed a gentle kiss to it. 

Much to his surprise, Neteyam slowly pulled away his hand. 

“Nete..?” Aonung looked confused, had he done something wrong? Was Neteyam upset with him? His mind ran through all the scenes, he couldn’t recall what he had done wrong. 

“You will be Olo’eyktan one day.” Neteyam started to speak, a tense silence filled the gap, “This...This cannot happen.” Neteyam referred to their potential relationship, his hands at his side. 

“I do not understand you.. Do you not wish to be with me? Did I do something wrong?” Aonung turned his body to face Neteyam entirely, his hands grabbing both of Neteyam’s and squeezing them gently in the middle of his hands. 

“No.. You have done nothing wrong. I think it will be best for us to end this now,” Neteyam couldn’t even look at Aonung in the eyes, his hands were shaking and Aonung couldn’t help but feel hurt that Neteyam would even suggest they stop this relationship now.

“You must be someone of your kind, a strong Metkayina, someone who understands the way of water.” Neteyam’s words were rushed, as if he didn’t want to give Aonung the opportunity to speak. 

“I want you,” Aonung felt frustrated immediately, was this why Neteyam wanted to end ‘this’. It was a terrible excuse. 

“You must be with your own kind- they will never accept me.. Aonung, you will be a great leader one day, you mustn’t waste your time with someone like me.” Neteyam tried to plead with him, but those golden eyes were saying otherwise. 

“You are a strong Metkayina. You are one of us now.” Aonung spoke, he knew he had to keep a level-head otherwise his irrational emotions would get the best of him. 

“Aonung.. I am Omatikaya, when the war is over I will return home..” Not even Neteyam believed his own words, Aonung knew it, there was hesitation in that voice. Neteyam’s voice was usually confident when he believed in his words. 

“You have been ingrained in me, I do not wish for anyone else but you. I will become an Ole’eyktan worthy of you.” Aonung’s eyes were locked on Neteyam’s, he was looking to see if Neteyam had made his decision. 

“Please.. As much as I have enjoyed this time together, and you’ve made me happier than I have been in a long time.. Your parents-” Neteyam was fumbling with his words, they were full of hesitation. 

“Then look me in the eyes and tell me you do not wish to be with me, I will not accept this otherwise.” Aonung cut off Neteyam’s fumbling words, Neteyam looked up for a moment in shock. 

“I.. I do not..” Neteyam could not look him in the eyes, he tried though and immediately those golden orbs spilled the truth. “I want to be with you.. But you need to be with-” Neteyam started again and Aonung huffed in frustration. 

“I do not want anyone other than you, I have every intention to court you.” Aonung cupped Neteyam’s face with both hands, forcing him to lock eyes and look nowhere else. 

“I adore you.” 

Aonung’s words must have struck heavy with Neteyam because he nodded, his braids bouncing around as he did. Aonung could only take it as Neteyam had accepted his words and would dismiss this thought of ending ‘this’.

“Why must they look like they are in some tragic love story everytime we look for them? I swear your brother better not hurt mine. I’ll rip off that fish tail of his.” Lo’ak asked at the other end of the beach, he had been sent to gather his brother for bed. 

Similarly, Tsireya had been tasked with the same thing. “Perhaps their relationship is troubled..I wonder if ours will be like that.” Tsireya spoke softly, tilting her head as they walked through the sand slowly just enjoying their time together. 

“I would fight Payakan for you,” Lo’ak said seriously and Tsireya couldn’t help but giggle at that. “You would not need to do that, but I do appreciate the thought.” The two locked hands as they decided to give the couple at the other end of the beach some much needed alone time.

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#aonung x neteyam #neteyam x aonung #aonunete #aonung #avatar #avatar the way of water #I love this ship #They love each other #more slow burn #lo'ak is a fighter

[midnights-dragon]

Nightingale's Lament (Azricrow s3 speculation ficlet, 1.8k)

Crowley has to drive Aziraphale somewhere in the Bentley. They aren't talking. The Bentley is not going to stand for that.

I love the forced proximity trope, and by Neil’s ‘they aren’t talking’, it seems that that may be where we’re headed. And so I raise to you, a thought I had while driving and pulled over to write out. Obviously I've just gone completely insane over that one (1) thing Neil Gaimen said, as well as the s3 confirmation, so enjoy this brain-child one-shot that I had WHILE DRIVING and PULLED OVER MY FUCKING CAR to write it on my phone. Comments very appreciaciated for my own sanity as I am sacrificing the studying I should be doing for my final exams tomorrow in order to obsess over these tragic little gay men (gn). [Ao3 link if you'd prefer]

Crowley, as unfortunate as he may find it, had been tasked with driving himself as well as Aziraphale to someplace in Scotland. It's where the Second Coming is meant to happen, eventually, and so they're meant to be scouring out the lay of the land.

He also suspects that it's a ploy from Nina and Maggie, as well as Muriel, to force him and Aziraphale to work together with just the two of them. And to that he says, the three of them underestimate how stubborn he and Aziraphale can be.

Crowley storms from the bookshop (where most of their planning has been taking place, especially since it's conveniently close to the elevator to Heaven, where Aziraphale has to return, sometimes; he hates it, Crowley can tell, not that he would ever care, right?) and, with a sneer that he slips on as a mask to cover the real emotion stretched across his face, he yanks open the door to the backseat.

He tells the angel to sit there, more or less. Not with his words, but rather, with glares out of the corner of his eye beneath his sunglasses that he never takes off; with a flourish of his hand and a wave of dark-painted fingernails in Aziraphale's reddened face; with the way he blocks the passenger's side door with his lean frame, and clearly jabs his thumb towards the back.

You've lost your place at my side, he seems to say, even if he is not talking aloud, even if he does not look at Aziraphale as the angel obeys the silent command and slips into the backseat of the Bentley. He doesn't mean it, not really. What he means to say is, I want you to sit beside me, but I don't know what I would do if you did. What he means to say is, I can't control myself, being so close to you, being alone. What he means to say is, I need to keep up with this not talking, because if I don't, if we don't, then I don't know how I could bear it.

But he doesn't say any of those things, and Aziraphale does not hear them. They aren't talking. Sometimes they'll speak (usually in gestures, rather than words), but even when they do, they aren't looking at each other. They aren't talking.

Crowley gets into the driver's seat and is silent. He says nothing. He throws the car into drive more aggressively than necessary, and almost feels bad about it, but doesn't, when he catches the flash of white that is Aziraphale adjusting himself for Crowley 'going too fast for him' in the rear-view mirror. The demon growls a little, grinding his back teeth together, and then speeds down the streets of Soho until he makes it to a winding back road that will take them to their destination.

They aren't talking. The car is silent.

As it happens, the car does not appreciate that.

As Crowley turns down the road at a speed that is very illegal, the Bentley jolts, and the demon suddenly finds himself unable to pass forty on the speedometer. He blinks, slow and confused, and his eyes are smoldering behind his sunglasses.

"The fuck?" He growls, low and rumbling, and he smacks at the dashboard repeatedly, pressing his foot down all the way as he bares his teeth and hisses at his car. In the backseat, Aziraphale flinches at the sound of the demon's voice — it is raspy and gravelly, almost smoky with how unused it has become, how deadened.

The Bentley hums (cars couldn't sound smug, logically, but it was a very near thing), seemingly unconcerned with Crowley's frustration that is rapidly accelerating into rage, and then begins to softly croon a gentle ballad of a song from the stereo, the peaceful sound of it filling the silence of the car with a song that both Crowley and Aziraphale recognize all too well from countless nights out at the Ritz together.

There was magic abroad in the air There were angels dining at the Ritz And a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square . . .

In the rear-view mirror, behind his sunglasses, Crowley's gaze flits to Aziraphale despite himself — only for a moment, but a moment that says enough. Aziraphale is frozen, and his own eyes are shining brightly with things left unsaid. His eyes — his eyes — his eyes that are violet. 

His violet eyes, which yanks Crowley out of whatever stupor he was in. His violet eyes, because he had made his choice, and it wasn't Crowley. His violet eyes, because he was sitting in the backseat for a reason, and they weren't talking, and Aziraphale never even looked at him anymore, which was a relief, honestly, because Crowley didn't know if he could take looking into those goddamn fucking violet eyes for a moment longer.

Crowley slams down hard on the brakes and rips the keys from the ignition, his chest heaving, his hands shaking. A car behind him blares its horn and swerves around him (thanks to a well-placed miracle from Aziraphale, not that Crowley would ever admit it). Crowley flips them the bird, uncaring and angry, and grieving and hurt and not wanting to listen to the goddamn fucking song for a moment longer, not wanting to see Aziraphale's goddamn fucking violet eyes in his fucking rear-view mirror for any second more. He slams his hand down on the dashboard, again and again and again, over and over, his claws digging into the leather, his eyes squeezing shut and a pained, strangled noise clawing its way up his throat as he slams his palm down, again and again and again.

He is grieving, and he is hurting, and he is angry.

Behind him, Aziraphale is looking away, his goddamn fucking violet eyes welled up with tears not unsimilar to the ones in Crowley's serpentine gaze, white sclera swallowed up by yellow. Aziraphale is looking away, and he is not talking, because he never looks at Crowley anymore, never talks to Crowley anymore, and Crowley both is grateful to him for it and hates him for it, because he wouldn't be able to bear it, but god, he wants to.

Crowley grieves, and hurts, and rages, and Aziraphale cries silently, and does not speak, does not look — and still, their song continues to play defiantly on.

The streets of town were paved with stars It was such a romantic affair And when you turned and smiled at me A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square . . .

"I'm — I'm — I'm not fucking doing this right now," Crowley snarls at his car, hissing between his teeth, blinking hard and fast and willing the tears culminating and burning at his cheeks to just fucking leave him the fuck alone. The Bentley simply hums her engine (despite the keys being gripped in one of Crowley's hands, decidedly not in the ignition, why the fuck did he make her sentient, again?), and the music becomes impossibly louder, and Crowley thinks he could cry, but he cannot, he must not, because — because he couldn't do that now, he couldn't, couldn't bear it, couldn't take it —

I still remember when you smiled and said Was that a dream or was it true? —

And then, above it all, by some cocktail party effect bullshit, because the car was practically screaming with that fucking song —

"Crowley."

Aziraphale said his name. Aziraphale said his name, and Aziraphale is looking at him, and Aziraphale is talking to him, and Crowley had sworn he wouldn't look back, wouldn't talk back, couldn't and mustn't and every other thing in the goddamn world, but fuck, he couldn't take it.

Crowley's gaze flits back to the rear-view mirror, and he thinks that he might choke when he sees the raw grief in Aziraphale's eyes — his violet eyes, he reminds himself, his violet eyes, but — but he can't bring himself to even care, because it's Aziraphale, and he's looking at him, even though they're both grieving, and angry, and afraid.

"Don't — don't be too angry with her, my dear," Aziraphale whispers, and he's still looking at Crowley, still talking to him, and the words my dear seemed to reverberate around the sudden quietness of the car, because Crowley could hear nothing, see nothing, but Aziraphale, who was looking at him, and talking to him. "Or, erm, try not to, I suppose." Aziraphale was wringing his hands together, and his gaze had gone downcast, but he was still talking. "She's — well, she's only trying to help, after all. Only trying to — to make things good, yes?"

Crowley opens his mouth to speak, and chokes on his words. A horribly strangled noise rasps its way from his throat, and he does look away, then, forcing himself to because he can't bear it, and he rests his forehead against the wheel of his car. He's shaking.

He's so tired.

He's grieving, and he's angry, and he's afraid, and he's so goddamn tired.

"I know," Crowley whispers at last, his voice broken like gravel, shattered like glass. He doesn't bother fighting the small, strangled sound that comes out as a whimper and spills from his trembling lips. "I know."

He leans down, and twists the key back into the ignition.

The engine hums appreciatively, and the song continues to play, looping back from the beginning.

That certain night The night we met There was magic abroad in the air . . .

Crowley lifts his head, lifts his deadened, dull gaze, and allows himself one sinful glance back at Aziraphale. The angel isn't looking at him anymore; he's staring down at his hands, and his violet eyes have welled up with tears that cast a pale sheen and makes them look almost blue, and he looks so tired. He looks like he is, just as Crowley is, grieving, and angry, and hurting, and so, so goddamn tired, in every sense of the word.

Crowley sighs. It's an exhausted, broken sound, and it speaks more than he could say in a thousand words of finest poetry.

"I know," he repeats, and he isn't talking about his car.

And then he leans back, and gently presses down on the gas, and continues to drive with Aziraphale sitting in the backseat, their song playing softly over the stereo. They don't talk to each other, and they don't look at each other. But that one single moment with their song, the acknowledgement of a nightingale, of their nightingale, of what their nightingale represented, even with so few words, it — it meant something.

It meant that perhaps, one day, they would be able to rest. Together. Past their grief, and anger, and fear, and hurt, and exhaustion; finding peace, and home, and love, in each other's arms.

And perhaps, as they rested, a nightingale would sing faintly in the distance. They wouldn't hear it, and nobody would know. But it would be there, all the same.

But for now, they did not speak, and they did not acknowledge anything past the nightingale, and for now — until they could rest with peace, with each other, with their love — that would have to be enough.

I may be right, I may be wrong But I'm perfectly willing to swear That when you turned and smiled at me A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

#the beginning of the end #they both just really need to rest #in each others arms #good omens #good omens 3 #good omens s3 #crowley x aziraphale #ficlet #good omens ficlet #crowley fanfic #aziraphale fanfic #ineffable idiots #the bentley #good omens angst #good omens fanfic #good omens fandom

[fe-fictions]

Could I please request a Seteth fic where he has to choose between saving Flayn or saving Byleth?

(This one was so much fun to re-write!! I miss the dragon family so much ;;; A ;;; I really need to write for them more often!)

In the heat of battle, it was imperative to make difficult decisions in a split second. There is little time for hesitation. So when you are in love with someone who must fight alongside you, the threat of having to choose between them is a threat that is real and always looming in every battle.

Seteth was faced with an equally impossible task; to make that decision should something happen to his lover, Byleth, or his daughter, Flayn.

He had prayed every night on that campaign that such a decision would never have to be made.

But eventually, unfortunately, it did. And it was as though he were watching a nightmare unfold in slow motion.

His wyvern jolted suddenly, trained to listen for the sound of Flayn’s voice. He scanned the field for her, spotting the swathe of green curls flung about wildly as she struggled to fight. A small battalion had snaked their way into the backline, and were going after the suppors.

He all but yanked the beast around, driving himself toward while shouting commands to others that the healers were under attack.

He was about halfway there, when his eyes caught something in the corner of his peripheral.

The glint of a blade he was far too familiar with, and found himself following the blurry action. Your sword had nearly been struck from your hand- you were fighting a losing battle against one of the generals present in the fight. Seteth’s body seized, eyes wide when he realized the dire situation you were in.

There was blood all over you- and he knew that it wasn’t all the enemy’s. He could see the exhaustion in your desperate movements, how you were running on pure adrenaline alone. 

You all were; but this…this was getting exceedingly serious.

His wyvern keaned beneath him, reminding him that Flayn still needed help. 

That he was still the closest to reach their little troupe of healers. But that you were also in front of his eyes, fighting for your life. Support for the Archbishop was not nearly as close as it should have been. 

They were being pushed back by the general’s pawns.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. The world went silent around hi, only the thundering of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

His eyes flicked from his place between his lover and his daughter. The Archbishop, and his child.

“Seteth, we need to discuss this sooner or later.”

“I know you speak the truth, but surely we can table it for another day-”

“No. We have to make this decision clear, here and now. I love ou, and I love Flayn. But if a situation should arise between the two of you, I know what decision you would have me make.”

Seteth’s eyes narrowed, pulling his wyvern’s reins and driving the beast into down the frantic path to rescue.

“I would never ask you to choose between the two of us.” He could hear the words over and over in his mind. He could remember the vivid displeasure in your expression.

“But should such a situation arise, you would have me choose Flayn over you, wouldn’t you?”

His knuckles went white, roaring towards the enemy.

“And Seteth…should you ever find yourself in a similar situation…I want you to choose her first, too.”

His axe ripped through the armored plates of the invaders, forcing them out of the backline. He could see bright green eyes, wide with confusion and relief.

“Byleth, you cannot ask me to make such a choice- if you were to be harmed, or worse, because I wasn’t there to- I-I could not live with myself.”

“If I’m honest with myself, dear…I couldn’t, either. But I am not your wife. And I am not your family…Flayn is. You’ve sacrificed so much to protect her and support her.” I would never dare ask you to prioritize my life over hers.”

“Byleth-”

“There will always be another Archbishop, Seteth.”

He remembered the sad smile clearly, as he reached down, grabbing his daughter up from the ground and protecting her from another blade.

He couldn’t look back when he heard the shrieks of panic, the cries that the Archbishop had been struck down. You were hurt.

“But there will never be another Flayn. And I know that if you were in my place…you would gladly have e choose to save her over you in an instant.”

Seteth’s rigid frame kept Flayn in place as she struggled against him.

“No- no, Father, we can’t-!! Go back!! Byleth’s hurt!! We have to go back!!”

You were right. There would always be another Archbishop.

“Please, she needs us!! We have to help her!! Please, Father!!”

But there was only one Byleth.

And he had just condemned you to death.

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

When the battle finally ended, the campsite was grim. No one was feeling any sort of joy, despite the enemy having been routed.

Their fearless leader, the undefeated warrior, had been bested.

And the Archbishop was in critical condition. Seteth was inconsolable. No words of reassurance, no sympathies were to be spared for him. He turned them all away.

If they had time to worry about the Minister, then they had time to worry about the Archbishop, about the Church, about anything else more deserving of their time than he.

The man who let you all but fall to your death.

The only person who was welcomed into into his audience with a worthwhile conversation was Flayn.

The young woman who stormed into his office, furious with her father.

“How could you?”

He did not look up from his hands, folded tightly atop his desk.

“How could you let Byleth be hurt like that?? How could you prioritize me over the woman who is working to unite the entire continent?!”

Seteth’s grimace deepened. He could not provide her with a worthy answer.

“I…I saw where you were. I saw you freeze- I wanted you to come to me, I knew you were going to save me! But when I saw Byleth-- I realized why you’d hesitated at all. You were trying to help both of us, and then you chose me!!”

“Flayn-”

“But you chose me over Byleth!! A-and we both know that she’s not just the Archbishop to you. We both know very well that she’s you’re in love with her! And you still chose me over her?!”

“It is not so simple.” He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did not realize how much his fingers were trembling, before. “I had to make this decision, because it was mutually agreed upon by both of us.”

“What?” She stared at him in utter disbelief. He nodded, carding a hand through his hair.

“We decided, a long time ago, that if there should ever be a scenario in which your life hung in the balance or one of ours did…we would both prioritize your safety.”

Her mouth fell open, but no words could escape. She stared at him, speechless, struggling to understand what he just said.

“Why…no, no…why?”

“Because you are my daughter.” He looked at her, finally, and what little resolve he could manage to find had met her gaze with a mountain of grief behind it. “And I swore to protect you, above all others. Byleth would do the very same for you, because she knows that my priority has been, and always ill be, the safety of my child.”

“But- but I’m not a child anymore. I’m an adult! I’m a fully capable being that doesn’t need you or Byleth to protect me!! Gods- gods, you had the Archbishop prioritize my life over hers?! I can’t believe that!”

“It’s true. And if I were the one in danger, Byleth would have made the same choice.”

“But- but that’s not- I know how much you care about her. I know that you love her, and that you want to be with her!! For once, can’t you prioritize your own feelings? Can’t you prioritize Byleth??”

“I…do Not know that I am worthy enough to make such a decision. But it matters not- I am a father, first and foremost. I will always put you first. I can only ask that you understand.”

Flayn exhaled sharply, her hands balled into fists. “I understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s right!! You have to prioritize yourself sometime. You have to prioritize Byleth. Especially if you love her. And if she comes out of this alive…you’d better tell her that.”

The word “if” echoed in his ears, reminding him just how serious this situation was. The pale color of your skin, the shallow breaths….the glimpse of your broken form he had seen was not just a hypothetical.

Seteth could actually lose you. That was what terrified him. He did not regret his decision. He could never regret protecting his daughter. But at the cost of not protecting you….it tore his heart into pieces.

A full day would pass before any word of your condition arrived. You had made it through the night, mercifully, and you were no longer in danger of death . They had patched you up successfully, and wrapped the wounds in such a way that they would not be reopened provided you remained in bed long enough to let them heal properly.

It would be six hours after that relieving update was provided that he was informed that you were awake.

Not only that, but you were asking for him, specifically.

He had never moved so quickly in his life. His legs carried him faster than his thoughts could form, all but sprinting to reach your side and ensure that he was with you after far too long apart.

It would give him the opportunity to apologize. To beg your forgiveness, to hope that you understood why he made the decisions that he did.

Eventually, he hoped you would find it in your heart to forgive his transgression against you. But if you did not…he could not find it in his heart to disagree. It would make sense, after all.

The prime minister was at the doors in no time, knocking tentatively on the old wood and hoping the healers would let you in.

Mercedes was the one who opened it to him, her expression cool but her smile at least marginally positive.

“She asked for you as soon as she woke up, Prime Minister.” She said softly, “If you’re of a mind, she would like to see you for at least a little while.”

“O-of course. I would not dare keep her waiting another moment. May I…may I see her alone?”

Mercedes glanced back, considering the state of her patient. “Very well. I can give you a little while, but she’ll need close monitoring over the next few days.”

“I understand. Thank you.” He stepped into the medical bay, taking a deep, shaking breath. It did little to steady his nerves, nor to keep the guilt from bubbling over.

But when he saw you lying there, staring out the windows and bound heavily with bandages…he was not certain if there was anything he could say.

You turned your head when the door was closed, finding Mercedes was gone and the dragon man stood in her place.

He didn’t know what to expect; he deserved to be shouted at, to be reprimanded for abandoning you, to see angry tears fall and a declaration that he had broken your heart, that you never wanted to see him again.

Instead, you smiled.

“Set…Seteth.” You raised your hand, either to beckon for him or to ask him to hold it. Either way, he was striding to the bed and kneeling down at your side within a single breath.

“Byleth-” He could barely choke your name out before the sorrow threatened to spill over.

He took your hand in both of his, squeezing your fragile fingers tightly. He stared at you, the worry and guilt written all over his face. It was impossible to miss, especially as the woman he loved.

“I’ll be okay.” You whispered, your gaze far too warm and loving given the state you were in. 

Seteth swallowed thickly, his eyes running over your frame again and again. 

“Are you in pain? Are you uncomfortable in any way?” He asked worriedly, searching for something to fix.

You shook your head, wiggling your fingers that he grasped so tight. “No…I’m not in any pain. Mercy…treated the most pressing wounds very well. And…and she gave me some healing tonic that’s quite strong….I feel more numb than anything else.”

“I-is it supposed to be numbing??” He asked, the alarm breaking through the guilt, “I’ll go and fetch her right away, I’m sure sh’es just outside the-”

“It’s supposed to.” You assured him, “It’s that or…the pain and discomfort you asked about.”

“Oh…I see. Very well.” He cleared his throat, steeling himself with a deep breath. “Then…aside from your physical state…how are you feeling?”

“You mean, how mad am I at you?” You corrected him jovially, though he did not seem to appreciate your humor.

“You have every right to be furious at me, Byleth. I let you be harmed. I did not protect you.” He sighed, looking down. It was far too difficult to meet your eyes. “You should be shouting at me, and I imagine you would be if you weren’t in such a sorry state. A position that I condemned you to, that day…I…I know my words hold little meaning in this situation, but I must apologize to you, profusely. I am so, so sorry that you were hurt.”

“Ou shouldn’t be apologizing.” You shook your head, trying to free your hand from his. When he realized you were trying to slip away, he quickly removed his hands, clasping them tightly in his lap. Of course you wouldn’t want to touch him.

At least, that’s what he thought. But then warm fingers brushed his cheek, cupping his face with a tenderness he could never deserve.

“You did the right thing.”

“I-”

“You swore to protect your daughter. We both agreed…to put Flayn first. How could I ever be upset with you for protecting your family?”

“I-I do not regret my decision to protect Flayn. I could never regret that. But I cannot help but feel that I have betrayed the woman I love, as well. That I abandoned you in that moment.”

“You didn’t abandon me.” You shook your head again, smiling softly, “You were keeping your daughter safe. And I will never hold that against you. I know you would not if I did the same.”

“I wouldn’t, no. But I’m also not the Archbishop of Fodlan. Your position holds great influence, and to see you wounded when I could have prevented it…the blow that the whole army took when you fell was severe.”

“It wasn’t their decision to make. We  made it. It was ours, and ours alone. It may be callous to say this as the Archbishop, but…frankly, I don’t care what they think when it comes to those I love.”

“I cannot believe you still have the strength to say such things,” He laughed, though it was clipped and bitter, “I am not deserving of your love. You should want nothing to do with me after I risked your life.” It would be safer for you to cast me out.”

“But I won’t, because I love you. I will always love you. You and Flayn are like family to me. I’d do anything for both either of you. Even if it means sacrificing my life to protect you.”

Seteth did not register the tears down his cheek until you wiped at them, still cradling his face with your frail little hand.

He bowed his head, covering your hand with his.

"I do not deserve you. Nothing I have done in my life could ever make me worthy of you.” His voice trembled,  turning his face to kiss your palm. “You are not like family to us, Byleth- you are our family. You are  our world…And it is desperately important to me that you know that.”

“I do.” You whispered, all but beaming even in spite of your exhaustion. “I know, and I feel the very same way. So don’t ask forgiveness, Seteth- there’s nothing to forgive.”

He did not wholly agree with you on that point, though. He was quite certain that you were more than deserving of affection and attention from your family, and he didn’t consider himself worthy enough to be that to you, yet.

So instead he decided to shift his plans up, from waiting until the war was over, waiting until the continent was secure and rebuilt, to make you a fully fledged member of his family.

Instead he took Flayn’s advice; as soon as you were healed and back on your feet, he whisked you up to the north tower, and proposed to you on the spot.

A proposal you readily accepted (and naturally earned the cheers of your soon-to-be stepdaughter, who had snuck after her father when she saw the ring in his hand earlier that evening).

While it was an absolutely joyous moment, you did have to agree to Flayn’s demand that from now on, you and your husband must put yourselves first; protect one another above anyone else. 

Otherwise, how else would she get a little sibling?

#seteth #byleth #fe 16 #fe three houses #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #seteleth #seteth x byleth #hurt and comfort #critical injury #critical injury angst #we love a protective seteth #it would be such a hard choice to make #but hey at least you get a proposal out of it LMAO

[the-goya-jerker]

I would like to submit one of my favorites, Four Talks by Laurie Anderson (2021). Unfortunately this is image is missing a wall, and missing some of the full effect without the audio (think, like, a speak and spell running in the background at times, saying things from off the walls if I remember it right). If you would like to see the other wall, I can pull those up.

Here’s a little more information if you would find it interesting: https://hirshhorn.si.edu/exhibitions/laurie-anderson-four-talks/

Hm... this is kind of hard for me. I find this work just a little overstimulating, personally. I feel my eyes pulled constantly in every direction. I find myself wanting to read every word at once, take in every picture at once. I can see this being distracting while trying to yank one out. I think this sort of art feels best experienced in person as well, which does make that gesture difficult in the first place.

But, speaking purely to the eroticism, I think there definitely is some present.

Some of these pieces are just common phrases, others quotes, others more original phrases. The tying of the raven to Noah's arc, the references to death behind it (the quote about dying three times, the quote about books being how the dead talk to the living, the bit about "when my father died"). I do find that to have erotic themes, but there's difficulty focusing because of how the new words tug you around.

In another portion of the room, the art discusses a lawsuit about the moon, uses Beatles quotes (forgivable, Black Bird is pretty good), and a Freud quote. This is a lot to take in and it all just batters against your mind.

Honestly? Overall it's not for me. This feels a lot like what it's like inside my brain sometimes, jarring and jumbled thoughts mixing around and creating tangential connections.

I think it's really cool! But as jack off material for me? 2/10

#Laurie Anderson #Four Talks #2/10 #art review

[earthling55]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spilt Blood

The taste of copper fills my mouth as another blow strikes me.

I won’t be able to show my face for weeks after this, he’s making certain of that.

I’ll be stuck in here, even more a prisoner than I already am.

‘Is this what you do!?’ He screeches at me, vile breath suffocating my lungs as he crowds my face.

‘Go and open your legs for just anyone?!’

‘I’ll ask you one more time,’ his voice is deadly, the poison in it, or spit, at this point I can’t really tell the difference, hitting me each time he speaks. I imagine it’s staining me, turning my pale skin dark with its grime until there’s no part of me left untouched.

‘Whose cloak is this?!’

His yelling rings in my ear. I make no move, no notice to say that I’ve heard him. It’s a mistake, as the next thing I know there’s a searing pain through my head.

He yanks my hair, and it take everything in me not to scream as I’m hulled upwards.

It will only make things worse.

The object of his ire is thrown in my face. Daemon’s scent hits me like a punch in the gut before it falls, slipping away from me even as my hands try and grab it. To keep even a small momento of my life before this.

It’s what started this whole mess.

If only I hadn’t taken it back with me.

He gives me one last shove before he marches out, throwing the cloak in the fire as he does so.

I watch it burn.

Imagining all that’s burning with it.

Broken promises and stolen dreams. Any hope of returning to a different life dashed, burnt up with the remains of his cloak.

I crumble softly and quietly, like a proper lady. The words mock me. Cutting into my like a knife. It hurts worse than the punches.

All I’ve ever done is be the proper lady. I married my husband because it’s what I should do.

I lay with him, I do my wifely duties, even as it breaks me, bit by bit, piece by piece.

I wonder how much longer I’ll last like this.

My only solace is the fact that no children will ever be born of our “love.” My maids nightly visits to Fleabottom for moon tea make sure of that.

As I watch the fire, the smoke of it turning thick as it feasts on the cloak, I take a moment to imagine myself as I could have been. Thickening with child over time, welcoming a family, The love of a husband as it should have been.

I can see the image in my minds eye. A perfect picture staring back at me from some non-existent mirror.

Me, with my hands on my growing belly, eyes smiling down at it as if I can already see the child in my arms.

My mirror self looks up then, sharing a look with the man who's hand is on my shoulder.

It’s not the face of the man whose chambers I share. No, the hand on my shoulder is not my husbands.

It’s Daemon’s.

As is the make-believe child in my womb.

A knock at the door sounds in the distance, and with a few long blinks, my eyes clear.

In front of me, lies, not a mirror, but my twisted, unfortunate reality.

I can feel the blood run down from my busted lip. It drips onto my hands, making their pale color stand out even more against its deep red.

My hands begin to shake, my breathing speeds up, and suddenly, I'm full of anger.

It courses through my veins, and I let it. Opening up each and every block so it flows freely into my frantically beating heart. The sound of which pounds in my ears, a steady beat I am finally allowing myself to dance to.

I struggle off the floor, shouting a strangled "who is it?' towards the door.

My voice cracks, and I pray that whoever it is doesn't notice.

They only bang louder at my response.

Holding on to the wall, I stumble over to it. 'Who is it?' I call again, hesitant to open the doors looking the way I must.

I don't need to look in a mirror to know it's worse than it's ever been.

I used to always be able to recognize myself. It was something that gave me comfort, even on the nights where it was the worst.

But now? Now, I know I won't recognize her.

'Y/n let me in!’

I shrink back as I recognize it. It's Daemon's.

Oh no. No no no no, this is not good.

‘Uh, this isn’t really a good time.’

I flinch back as I approach the door, hesitant to open it even as a crack and unleash the dragon that lies right outside.

‘Open this door or I’ll break it down.’

His tone is quiet. Too quiet.

My mind is going in circles, thoughts flying 10x a minute as my shaky hands clutch at the doorknob.

‘I’m…I’m indecent,’ I call out softly.

It’s the first lie that came to mind.

The wry chuckle that comes through the door makes me cringe as I close my eyes in defeat.

‘I’ve seen it all before,’ he sighs out. The longing clear in his voice.

‘Though I am very interested in seeing it all again.’

‘This isn’t a good time, Daemon,’ I try again, the unease clear in my voice.

‘How can that be? I just saw your husband leaving. He looked to be in a right fit, but…’

The first fist to the door has me jumping in fright. And my hands rush for the locks as they continue.

‘Ok, ok, I’m opening it. Don’t break it down.’

There’s a smile in my voice as I say it, but it fades as I realize what he’s about to walk in to.

I turn away as it opens, all but marching towards my seat waiting by the fire before a strong arm grabs mine.

Pain sears through my arm as the strong grip puts pressure on my fresh bruises, and I yank back as if I’ve been burned.

Daemon stands before me, wild eyes taking in my bruised and battered form.

‘Daemon…I’m okay. I promise you, I’m okay.’

I can’t tell if my assurances are working or not, as all he does is stand there, breathing heavily with his eyes glued to one particularly heavy bruise on my cheek.

Then, stiffly, he moves closer to me. It takes everything in me not to run and cover myself up as his hand moves to cup my chin.

He turns my head to meet his, hand moving to trace the outlines of a bruise before cupping my cheek.

His thumb traces the outer curve of my lip, and I sigh out in pure bliss as he asks,

‘How long?’

‘What?’ I ask, but it comes out more of a breathy whine.

‘How long has he been doing this to you?’

‘Not lo…’ the words die on my tongue as Daemon’s eyes flash to mine.

‘Don’t you dare lie for him!’

His voice shakes my world, fear pulsating through my veins at the volume.

‘Take it off.’

Confusion laces through my features at that.

‘What?’

My voice comes out a whisper. Pushing my previous fear aside, I bring my hands up to palm his cheek even as he repeats it.

‘Take it off. Your dress, take it off.’

I make no move to comply, and in one swift motion, Daemon simultaneously holds my hands captive in one arm and grabs hold of my dress in the other.

He takes a moment to watch my neck as he pulls it lower, purple eyes almost glowing as he growls at each newly revealed bruise.

Rrrrrrrippppppp

I stare down at my chest in horror as it all becomes uncovered in one fell swoop.

My hands fly up to cover myself even as he makes haste to do the same to my shift. He keeps going until I’m completely bare in front of him, dress now lying in tatters that hang low off my hips.

I can feel his eyes zero in on the bruises there. Deep purple marks that can only be fingerprints imprinted on the soft skin.

His hands ghost over me, starting at my neck and making their way down. His touch is barely there, a ghost of a promise that leaves goosebumps on my skin even as he moves away from me completely.

‘Never again.’

His tone is commanding, leaving no room for questions as he bundles me up in the rags of my dress.

‘What?…Daemon’

‘Never again.’ He begins to lead me towards the door before he stops and turns. His eyes are bare to me, showing every drop of pain he’s endured in my absence.

It mirrors the pain in mine.

‘He will never touch you again.’

I exhale shakily even as relief floods my bones.

‘What are you going to do.’

‘That’s none of your business’

‘But it is,’ I cut him off. ‘He’s horrible, yes, but even I don’t want him de..’

My words are swallowed by his lips on mine. They're firm, like his tone, and again, leave me with no room for questions.

I drink him in. He’s like wine, fruity, forbidden, and...absolutely intoxicating.

We make it all the way back to his chambers before we stop.

That's where he leaves me, lips softly bruised with the promise that while I may have a bad past, and an even more unfortunate present…

...I will have a better future.

I may or may not write a part 4 for this. It’s currently undetermined. Thoughts? Let me know!

Requests here: I am very much in the mood to write about my og love here on tumblr (Tolkien's elves), so if you have any requests, do send them in!

@mirandastuckinthe80s @waifu4lifeu @fulla02 @fallingforunrealisticromance @kindaslightlyacidic

#daemon fic #daemon targaryen fic #daemon prince #daemon targeryen x reader #hotd season 1 #house of the dragon fic #fanfic #dragons #dance of the dragons

[kayssweetdreams]

The Perfect Finale Ch8

Even EARLIER that Day...

Kaylo had told her parents about the plan to go and stay with Balan until Prim was caught again. Surprisingly, not only did her entire family agree to the plan, but they also decided personally tell Balan what was going on. "Balan and Lance won't mind. You are the closest friends out in this world to them." Thea said. "Just remember to make sure no one follows you." Stefan said.

"I will Mom! Promise! I'll call you as soon as we get to the theater!" She said. The pink haired girl packed up a bag filled with the Essentials, before she began to hear her mom and Grandmom arguing. "...She can't go! Something feels wrong!" "Mom! This isn't up for debate. She HAS to go with them until Prim is caught!" "No! I can feel it! Something terrible is about to happen!" "Mom! I almost lost my daughter once, I won't do it again!"

Kaylo tensed up from the argument. She knew her mom and Grandmom argued sometimes, but this seemed serious. She crept downstairs to see the two of them getting into a very heated argument, with Stefan trying to calm down his wife. "Um...is everything OK?" She asked. Krista and Thea turned to her. "Um...Yes dear. Everything is fine." Thea said, getting a glare from Krista.

"O...K...I'm just gonna finish packing and-" She was cut off by the shouting and yelling from Thea's security detail "MISS BRUNO! MISS BRUNO! YOU NEED TO HIDE NOW!!!" A security guard shouted before his scream of terror echoed from outside. "Kaylo. Get to the attic now." Thea said, her voice tight, but filled with fear. The pink haired girl didn't need a second thought as she darted to the attic.

The 3 adults huddled together. But while Stefan brought out a emergency rifle he kept on hand, Krista and Thea began to speak in Balanese, their hands glowing as they did. "Stefan. Be ready dear." Thea said. It was silent for a moment...too silent. The security detail didn't ever say another word, which left them in the house alone...maybe the threat was-

BOOM!!!

The sounds of wood and cement crashing down were heard as a red figure slammed down from above. The 3 of them waved away the smoke and dust to get a clear view of their attacker, when Thea was raised up from the front of her shirt. "Where is She..." the figure said "Where. Is. Your. DAUGHTER." They gritted out. Thea didn't back down. "I won't tell you." She spat.

The figure threw Thea to the ground. "Fine. I'll find her myself. I don't care if this poor excuse for a home collapses to the ground." They said before darting back into the air. Thea scrambled to her feet as the figure began making massive holes in the house, in search of her daughter. She just hoped that she found a place to hide.

Kaylo meanwhile was holding her breath in fear. The loud crashing and constant shaking of her home made her tremble in fear. She was just grateful that whoever was attacking the house hadn't-

"Found You."

A sharp Yank at her hair made her cry out as she stares at the one responsible for damaging her home. The figure was very tall and thin...and almost reminded Kaylo of what a maestro looked like "I need you Descendant of Mirabella. You are the Key." They said, angry Wonderworld symbols in their eyes as they stared her down. Grasping her arm, they then shot back up into the air, this time with them throwing her over their shoulder.

Kaylo panicked, but luckily she saw her friends down below "GUYS!!! HELP!!! HELP!!!" She yelled.. unfortunately, Leo had made the poor choice of throwing a rock at him. This made them slam back down into the ground, and made the ground crack around them, trapping them there. "You will not interfere." They said.

And that was the last thing Kaylo heard before her vision went red, and she passed out...

#Balan Wonderworld

[hollowsart]

I’d love to know more about your Electra, sandwoman, and lady Octopus spidersonas. They’re all so cool I can barely limit myself to three!

yes!!! okay!! lemme relay what I have:

(long post incoming!!)

All names given by The Daily Bugle, JJJ.

Lady Octopus:

There was some kind of testing for technical aids for people who have acrophobia and other issues like that that can cause problems, it was free testing, and Acedia was like.. one of the volunteers for one such device that looked more fun and enticing. and something obviously went wrong.

Actuators aren't fused to her, but they refuse to release her. there's a little special pad thingy that sticks to the back of her neck just at the base of her head, a neural reader that isn't invasive (aka, like a needle jabbed & directly tapping into her brain), and that little pad sends little signals to and from her so she can control the arms how Otto instructed when he hooked her up for a volunteer demonstration. (it went fine for a while, but then something went wrong with the actuators. Otto panicked and tried turning it off, shutting the whole thing down, but it was too late)

Luckily Spider-Hero!Beck was there to help her.

unfortunately, due to the fact the neural reading can send signals TO and from her.. the actuators latched on and can use that to hack into and control her for themselves. temporarily, but they can find power sources to keep their control going for a bit longer.

Acedia is puppeteered against her will and completely unaware of what the actuators are making her do. eventually they learn to speak through her and that becomes one heck of an experience for Otto, the creator of the actuators. on one hand he's amazed by how the coding and """"ai"""" has managed to do this remarkable feat of learning and evolving-- but on the other he is absolutely horrified by what this entails for the future and he needs to reprogram them, remove these features and prevent them from learning further and causing harm to others and especially harm to Acedia whom he is having to take care of and watch over.

Beck, the resident superhero, is helping care for her, too and bonding with Otto via helping Acedia be eventually freed from the actuators. They're all learning a lot, about each other, and about the actuators themselves. and through this learning, Acedia eventually gets the hang of it and learns to control the actuators herself.

the actuators still have control over her, but the battle is slowly becoming a losing one for the arms. Otto & Beck are slowly winning by working together!

if Otto tries to use force to remove the actuators from Acedia, like using drills or whatever to cut through the device.. it could hurt her and cause worse harm. which is why the harness with the arms stays on.

eventually, when full control over the actuators has been regained.. they can safely remove the actuators from Acedia. Finally free from the waking nightmare

Electra:

Me as Electro but my origin story is I touched a plasma ball while it was active inside a lab during a cool free tour and in my panic I instinctively and reflexively yanked my arm back, but I smashed into something else and ended up getting zapped unconscious. the plasma ball exploded in the process and didn't help with the electricity.

Can you blame me tho when it looked like this?

most realistic origin story: I did something dumb

she has "powered up" and "powered down" forms. powered down is just her looking completely normal, the neck piece to the full-body (minus the head) suit is also latched/clicked together. it helps keep her powered down and contained.

Sandwoman:

I don't actually have anything for Sand!Acedia.. (forgot to list her on the post oops) I just really liked the green sand. but I think Sand!Acedia would probably have been in the wrong place at the wrong time as a few of these sinistersona designs are in how they became what they are.

Lol I'm just really unlucky

green sand is real and very beautiful:

#//long post #spidersona #tagging for my blog.

[lizbethborden]

i just looked up your new url and am fascinated. please spill your thoughts!

There's a few different things I'm really enamored with re: Ermine:

She's one of the few lower-class women in history to leave something behind for us. The majority of women across time have been poor, which very often meant illiterate, and leaving virtually nothing behind in the historical record; we might have some little things in the material record, i.e. objects that they owned, but we very rarely get direct experiences of their thoughts or voices. Ermine is, unfortunately, mediated for us through Jean le Graveur, her confessor, who had political and personal goals of his own, but despite that she comes across as having a distinct character, concerns, and interests and gives us a sense of what a woman of her time and class might have known and understood about the world. For example, she apparently knew enough about the Schism of 1378 to have an interest in Jean de Varennes, a controversial and charismatic hermit of her time who preached to large crowds about the divided papacy. One sequence that Jean le Graveur records is evidently him using a veneer of demonic visitation and intervention to cover up the fact that Ermine, of her own free will, went to hear Jean de Varennes preach.

The character of her demonic visitations is so interesting and shows a really deep concern with sexuality and the body. Ermine wasn't a lifelong virgin or celibate, unlike many holy women; she was a widow who had been married for years before the death of her husband. She has visitations from demons who have sex in front of her, who lie in bed with her and either try to have sex with her or sometimes just sleep naked next to her (as, one imagines, her husband used to do), male and female demons both try to entice her into sex etc. Her ascetic practices also point to a preoccupation with her body as a focus of self-loathing/disgust/sin. She tied a rope around her middle and cinched it tightly so it would hurt, and wore it for so long that it went past the point of just rubbing her skin raw: her skin actually started to grow over it. Wack! She had to tie the end of the rope to a door and yank herself away to get it out, partially flaying herself. This one really freaked out Jean le Graveur.

I have kind of a working theory on something I'm calling the "hysterical dyad." I started talking (to myself) about it after I read The Haunting of Alma Fielding, which is a nonfiction book about parapsychologist Nandor Fodor, who got sucked in by a hoax medium named (what else) Alma Fielding in 1930s England. I'm really interested in and curious about the pattern, throughout time and in different cultures, of the "hysterical" (or holy, or demon-visited, or ghost-struck, etc.) woman and her male interpreter (confessor, doctor, psychologist). I think it speaks to the very old divide in, I guess you'd call it Euro-western culture (and I talked a bit about this in the ask I answered a while back about Angela Carter) which separates woman onto the side of emotional, material, body, feeling, and man onto the side of rational, logical, culture, brain, such that it's been the male role, when it comes to unique, astonishing, or unusual women, to interpret them into intelligibility. This is also related to the male power of naming. It's an interesting, I suppose I would call it, literalization of the patriarchal male role throughout culture, which is to reorganize and subordinate the world, i.e. nature, i.e. woman through naming, articulation, analysis, and definition.

Thank you for asking!

#body horror / #ermine de reims