#and too lazy to proofread | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heyembry · 30 days ago

Text

Imagine: When They Surprise You

Characters: Embry Call, Paul Lahote

Embry Call

It had been a long week of preparing for finals, working on final projects, cleaning up loose ends in any of your classes, and you were done. You could feel the exhaustion weighing on your body and mind like a ton of bricks, and all you wanted was to flop onto your bed and sleep for the next month. Your stomach growled as you unlocked the front door to your home, and you knew that sleep would have to wait until after you’d prepared and eaten dinner. God, your bed felt so far away.

You threw open your front door and stepped into the house, making a beeline for the kitchen. Except, to your utter confusion, you could already smell the scent of something cooking. No, maybe burning was the correct answer. As you entered the kitchen, you dropped your bag to the floor and stared as your boyfriend pathetically pulled out a pan of charred something from the oven. At the sound of your bag hitting the floor with a thud, Embry turned your way. He gave you a sheepish, apologetic grin.

“Uh,” he looked around the kitchen, desperately trying to find a place to put the pan, but all of the counter space was already taken up by an array of cooking supplies and ingredients. Those sweet, wide eyes flickered back to you. “Yeah, so, I’ll clean all this up. Don’t worry.”

You looked pointedly at the black lump on the pan. “What’s it supposed to be, exactly?”

“Meatloaf?” He tried, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I wanted to do something for you. I know you’ve had a lot going on and stuff, with finals and all. I wanted to make you dinner…” His voice faded as he looked around at the nightmarish scene that was your kitchen. “But…”

You sauntered forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, careful to avoid the hot pan he held in his gloved hand, and you gave a sweet peck to his lips. Embry couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips as his other arm snaked its way around your torso. “I appreciate you trying,” you replied genuinely. “Now, what do you say we clean all this up and give it another go together, hm?”

His grin widened as he pulled you tightly against him, planting his own kiss on the top of your head. “I’d say that sounds like a plan to me.”

Paul Lahote

It was late at night, and you were asleep in your bed, your dreams taking you far, far away from Forks, Washington. In your dreams you moved across the world, from mountains to beaches to big cities, all with him by your side. Paul Lahote, the subject of both your unconscious dreams and your waking thoughts. It was as if he never left your mind, worming his way into the cortex of your brain, taking root there and refusing to leave. Even in your dreams he wore that cheeky smile of his, and you would have damned him for it if not for your unending preoccupation with him and everything about him. Sometimes you wondered if he’d drive you mad someday.

As you slept, a light tap tap taping invaded your dreams, cutting sharply between the sounds of ocean waves and seagulls�� cries. You could feel your brows furrowing as you were being lifted from your sleep, but you clung to the last dredges of slumber as tightly as you could. It came again: tap tap tap. You ignored it… sighed. Tap tap.

Your eyes flew open and were instantly directed to the window a mere few feet away from your bed. With a huff, you threw your legs over the side of your bed and leaned forward, flinging your curtains open. And there, in the darkness of the night, stood your boyfriend, his shit-eating grin nearly pressed against the glass. You had half a mind to close the curtains back in his face and try to resume sleeping, but you knew better. No way would Paul give in so easily.

With a sigh, you unlocked your window and pulled the pane up, Paul instantly throwing his legs over and climbing through the window into your bedroom. Not like he had to ask; he knew what your answer would be.

“Do you know what time it is?” You tried to ask, just about to turn around to look at the clock yourself before Paul’s arms slithered around your waist pulled you against him. His body was so warm against yours that you could instantly feel the sleepiness overtaking you again, despite being so rudely awakened in the first place.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Paul murmured quietly, almost like it was a secret for him to be admitting to such an incapacity. The tenderness of his soft, dark eyes made you relax against him, wrapping your arms around him in return. “I wanted to be with you.”

You sighed again, tugging him with you towards the bed. You both tumbled into the tangle of sheets, never leaving each other’s grasp as you shifted into the warm comfort of your blankets until you and Paul nestled comfortably against one another. He held you close as he inhaled your sweet scent deeply, like it was the very air that he breathed. You thought, in some ways, that probably wasn’t too far from the truth. It wasn’t long before the steady beat of Paul’s heartbeat sent you drifting off to sleep again, and your rhythmic breathing against him meant he wasn’t far after.

#okay so I’m also writing this for Jasper and Alice but I’ll post that one separately hehe #I love these two if anyone couldn’t tell #twilight #twilight paul #twilight scenario #twilight wolves #twilight wolfpack #twilight werewolves #twilight embry #Embry call #paul lahote #twilight new moon #twilight fanfiction #twilight fandom #twilight eclipse #twilight breaking dawn #twilight pack #also I’m too lazy to proofread this oops

47 notes · View notes

morgana-ren · 2 years ago

Note

On the subject of cheating…. How do you think Astarion would react to a dark urges Tav who doesn’t show any disapproval towards him for infidelity but does try to brutally murder all of his other flings

I can’t reconcile if he would be upset about them having too much agency in this situation and stop it or just into Tav being possessive of him in the way he’s possessive of them

He wakes to the pleasant and unmistakable tang of blood.

It's not uncommon for Astarion to greet the morning steeped in the sweet, saccharine scent of blood. Not at all. In fact, it's most welcome upon first waking, ranking among a deep, rich brandy and defiled silk sheets for his favorites. A metallic bouquet of a lovely, robust breakfast just begging to be supped on, just for him. If you were to ask him, there's truly nothing finer in the world.

An indulgent inhale has him sitting up, slipping a lazy hand through his hair and tongue running over his fangs as his mouth waters. The pit of hunger gnawing at his gut isn't quite so terrible as it used to be when he was but a filthy spawn, but he wouldn't ever deny himself the decadence of breakfast served up to him in bed.

The source of the delectable scent lies flopped over on the opposite side of the mattress, and he glances over with sleepy, hazy eyes to admire the sight. Her long, silky hair splays raggedly over her face, one of her arms limply hanging off the edge in what cannot be a comfortable position. The sheet haphazardly wrapped around her only scantly covers her rear, and by proxy, the sloppy mess he'd made between her thighs a few hours prior.

Clearly, he'd worn her clean out.

He chuckles; he can't help it. He's almost proud of himself-- if it wasn't so commonplace, that is. It's so terribly difficult for these weak and paltry little things to keep up with his kingly stamina, and he cannot begrudge the delicate humans that end up beneath him for losing consciousness.

Still! It's time to wake up, as he's remarkably hungry and he will not go another second without sinking his fangs into her swan-like neck.

"Darling, you sucked me dry and left me ravenous," He reaches for her, tracing a teasing claw up the dotted curve of her spine. "It would be positively unacceptable to leave me in such a state before you go."

She doesn't respond to his sentiment, and so after several seconds of testing his patience, he prods at her upper arm, eventually resorting to jostling her lightly with his hand, pinching her flesh between his clawed fingers--

--and it's only then that he realizes that her skin is ice to the touch, and he cannot feel her chest move with her breath in his palm. While that is entirely normal for him, it's not normal for small human women.

The sharp aroma of blood is far too palpable, even for his palace.

His red eyes truly focus on the girl contorted in his sheets for the first time: Her skin far too pallid, her stench far more enticing than it had been hours ago. His hand goes to brush the hair from her face, and there's a slick, wet feeling between his fingers as he does.

He is hit with the subtle yet bitter scent of freshly dying blood. Something that is usually sequestered only to beings beginning a state of decay. Something that should not be in his bed.

Unsettling, he thinks, but mostly irritating. Dead, hmm? He's almost certain he didn't kill this one on accident. Fairly certain. He callously rolls the woman's dead weight onto her back, frowning as he's met with a scene that he's quite certain he couldn't have done accidentally.

What was her throat is now a gaping maw of blood and bone-shine, scraps of gore clearly ripped out from inside. Her mouth-- or what is barely left of it-- is twisted in an eternal wordless scream, her face eternally contorted in some unseen horror. Her lovely eyes are wide and frozen in terror, unblinking and milky. Upon further inspection of her body, there is a hole where he assumes her still-beating heart had once been, clawed savagely free from her ribs by some brutal, unrelenting force.

He scowls, needling his lower lip with his teeth. It's a shame, he thinks with an exasperated sigh. He's sure was a beauty before all of this.

Another vicious, deadly beauty clearly demands his attention now, and he pushes the dead whore off the bed with an annoyed huff, snatching his long silk robe from the bedpost before affixing it around his body.

"Such a pity," He fastens the tie around his narrow waist, stepping carefully around the bedframe to stand in front of the newly made corpse with a grimace. "You were so vivacious last night, dear girl. But you're making the wrong kind of mess of my sheets, and I cannot abide that."

With a careless tug, he rips the remains of the young woman off his mattress, her mutilated body landing on the floor with an uncomfortable, wet thud. He steps over her, striding towards the door, feeling decidedly irritated. He was planning to spend a lazy afternoon in bed, but it appears something more urgent demands his immediate attention.

"Good morning, my lord--" A servant greets him just outside of his door with a sweeping bow and an expertly balanced tray. Astarion doesn't bother to look at him, instead grabbing a morning glass of wine, taking several deep swigs before finally sneering unpleasantly down at the man.

"Where is my wife?"

Another scraping bow, but Astarion doesn't stay to witness it. Rather, he takes off down the hall in search of someone more important. Someone that, he imagines, was rather busy last night after he fucked-- Hells, what was her name? He doesn't remember. Did he ever know?

"In her garden, sire."

"Right," Astarion carelessly tosses the glass back onto the floor, where it shatters to pieces. "There's a rather putrid corpse on the floor in there. Have it taken care of. I want it spotless before I return."

"Yes, my lord."

He tries to recall as he makes his way through his palace and towards the garden, and ultimately decides he doesn't care.

He finds his lovely wife right where he expects to, taking a leisurely stroll in her strangely fruitful garden. The scent of damp, rich soil permeates the air, mingling with odd, exotic flowers he has brought her and lush, fertile plants that she has coaxed into life with her hands. Blossoming organic life from nothing is not something that he imagined was in the wheelhouse of a favored child of Bhaal-- quite the opposite, really-- and yet, she seems to have nurtured a niche talent for it of late.

It irks him that she's grown somehow cold to his affections. She no longer stares at him with owlish eyes and flushing cheeks and a rapidly beating heart; rather she seems to shrug off even his most endeavored attempts at seduction with an ease that, if he didn't know for a fact that he was the most powerful and attractive man in a country mile, might hurt his pride.

She seems entirely at peace and unbothered, gently cradling a small rose between her fingertips, admiring it as it slowly blooms into a lovely, blood-red bud. The placid expression of someone either entirely unacquainted with the art of murder, or a masterful artist with it, and he knows all too well which one. As he approaches, she doesn't acknowledge him with anything other than a brief turn of her head and flick of her eyes.

"Your garden is looking lovely as always," He saddles up behind her despite her aloof silence, gingerly sliding his arms around her waist and leaning to scent along the side of her neck. "As are you, my sweet girl."

She only hums her acknowledgement, her ever-present sly semi-smile unfaltering as he speaks, still clearly far more taken with her flowers rather than his company and flatteries.

A deadly mistake for everyone other than her.

"Been busy this morning, little love?"

"Oh, only as much as usual," She gives him nothing--no guilt, no anxiety, just the hints of a mischievous, murderous smile-- as she releases the flower from between her fingers, turning instead to continue sauntering through the row. "I try to keep busy."

A quick sniff reveals all he needs to know. He doesn't need to get any closer to the freshly filled hole to smell the rancid stench rising from it. Underneath the sopping wet dirt, mingling with fertilizer and fallen leaves is the unmistakable stench of dead flesh; A muscle steeped in still blood, to be specific. Buried beneath soil alongside the foreign seeds lies what is left of the mangled heart of the woman he'd taken to bed last night, now planted in his wife's garden in some macabre ritual to sustain yet another carnivorous horror she's gotten her hands on and is now coddling into growth.

"I can see that," He croons, eying a fresh mound in the dirt, clearly freshly dug. "Is this one new?"

"Just this morning, dear," She lulls softly, a barely discernible playful edge to her voice. "Newly planted."

Dozens more peculiar vines twist up from the ground in various states of growth in nice, even spaces carefully organized into rows. Under the lively essence of plants and sticky-sweet flowers is the painfully apparent stench of decay and rot; Months and months of the still-lingering scent of blood of all the lovers he'd taken, turning spoiled and foul in putrefaction in her grisly little garden. All of their lives ended preemptively by his wife with the same feral glee that a rabid mongrel must feel upon sinking its fangs into a terrified, defenseless creature.

All for daring to indulge in him.

What a senseless thing. Died so futilely and no doubt miserably at the hands of his wife, alone and panicked only feet from their powerful king, and for what? Finding their way into his bed? How absurd. Who could resist him? Who would dare? He almost pities the funeral procession of poor creatures whose hearts have become fodder for the dirt, no honoring of their lives save his consort's nursery, fed and weaned on their innards. Their final moments belong to his insatiable wife's ruthless bloodlust through no fault of their own, and yet--

--Something about her vicious possessiveness over him smolders in his core, igniting a twisted arousal that coils the length of his spine and constricts like a serpent until he simply cannot stop himself. Deadly, precise, perfect little wife of his, so vicious and yet so precious to him. He swears her bloodlust only serves to stoke the flame, and how he longs to devour her.

(How long has she denied him? How long has she teased and tested him, tantalizing him with memories of burying himself inside of her sweet, tight heat with merciless drive, supping from the delectable blood of her soft body, her voice crying his name like a chant to some dark God until she rips what is left of his soul clean from him to take it into herself. She would yield for no one, a primal and ferocious creature beneath the veneer of illustrious, undead beauty, and yet she would heel to only him, letting him lose himself in her warmth, her fire until he burned--)

He reaches around and whirls her to face him so that she cannot feign indifference under his scrutinizing gaze. She knows better than to fight his manhandling and allows him to spin her towards him, though she refuses to wilt under his sultry glower. Her expression remains entirely passive as his hand reaches up to take her chin between two fingers, squeezing hard enough to have her wincing.

"Another one, darling?"

"You dislike the roses?" She blinks big eyes at him, the perfect picture of innocence. She hasn't been innocent a day in her life, and today certainly isn't a start.

A part of him wishes he could remain angry-- or at least a little indignant-- about the fact that she believes she has some overarching and indisputable claim on him, but deep down, he knows that she's right; she does have a staked claim in his heart in a way no one else ever possibly could. Even as his eyes and body might stray from her, he is forced to admit time and time again that nothing compares to his wrathful little lover. The strays he shepherds into his bed don't fill the gaping hole she leaves within him in her absence, her wretched denial of him. It is only silently that he acknowledges his wayward lust is just his spiteful response to her cruel neglect.

"Don't play the fool for me, my dearest girl, you're a terrible actress. Another concubine. Another corpse in your grim little graveyard. Is calling it a well-tended monument to your jealousy perhaps too romantic?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my love," She smiles gently, lifting a hand between their chests and up to her face, slipping a finger between her plush lips. He smells the lingering blood on it and yet he cannot take his eyes off her tongue as it curls sensually around the length of her knuckles and how immaculate it might feel on him. He cannot help himself but think just how graciously daddy Bhaal has blessed him with his beautiful daughter; How fiercely alluring it is to watch his undomesticated little monster clean up her homicidal mess.

It started as all things do: With a seed. A bladed joke bloomed into irritation and resentment. His endless libido and her cresting bloodlust come to blows over priorities. The only woman who dared to gainsay him, her lovely little hands covered in blood and the power of Bhaal coursing through her veins keeping her too wild to be truly tamed by his vampiric blessing. His appetite for domination was insatiable, as was hers.

A child of Bhaal would not be tamed-- even by him.

He craved obedience and reticence-- he craved raw reverence and worship. To be viewed with wide eyes and admiration and blind devotion from some poor, pitiful creature too weak and foolish to resist him; To be seen as a God before a miserable little mortal; For his subject to offer willingly for a chance to taste of his splendor.

It is the only thing his beloved would never give him: acknowledgement of his superiority; submitting before him, allowing him to enforce his will upon her willingly. She is a fanged and clawed creature, wild by nature, and she would not purr her praises chained at his feet. She commands respect-- even from him.

She could never play the fool for him, encouraging him to believe that she was helpless against him, or weak, or pitiful, or foolish. It would insult her pride and her lineage. She is a force of nature in her own right, and he could never truly own her without her consent-- consent she has withheld.

And so, he would tell you that he simply retaliated.

She never spared him a sour word when he teased the waters about bringing other people into their marital bed. She only smiled that damn smile of hers and told him that he can do as he wishes as the king. Hells, she hardly seemed to notice when he first took some pathetic creature into their sheets for some harmless fun. The reaction he yearned for from her, some measly sign of her devotion to him, she wickedly denied him, seemingly knowing full well the impact it had upon him.

It drove him to madness, a spiraling misery fueled by his pride. He refused to beg for her, and she would refuse to kneel before him. He came to believe that truly she did not crave him with the same veracity that he longed for her. He no longer sought her out, and she did not come seeking. Surely, if she loved him, she would show some sign, some indication of caring that his fingers caressed a pale pastiche of her rather than where they desperately longed to be: Tracing her lovely mouth, coaxing her clever tongue, circled around her neck, between her warm thighs--

--And then corpses began popping up like flowers, and his beloved suddenly took up gardening.

She grinds his patience to a fine powder, and something about that gets his fires burning hotter than it ought to. Her insouciant dismissal of him, the absurdly casual slaughter of insignificant sex partners and then having the audacity to seem almost bored of his presence. She clearly cares enough to rip the bleeding hearts out of his inconsequential conquests, and yet, here she stands, utterly unfazed by him, having the audacity to feign indifference.

"If you're jealous, my love, you only need say so," He hushes to her, batting her cheek softly as he forces her to look up at him. "You needn't kill everyone who finds their way into my bed. I would cease if you simply said the words."

"Jealous?" Her brow furrows, head cocking, her lips jutting into a little pout. "I don't know what you mean."

What he asks is simple, so dreadfully simple. So easy, so, so easy--

Acquiesce to me.

And yet, she dares to deny him even as there is blood on her hands from strangling and wringing his full attention from his lover's corpses.

The wall of the greenhouse he built for her isn't particularly comfortable, but he couldn't care less as he shoves her against it, bullying his body against hers with brutal force, slamming her head against the glass with a lightning-fast palm encircling her throat.

"Why do you insist on being such an obstinate little brat?"

She opens her mouth to reply, and he squeezes tighter in response, choking the air from her little neck and stoppering the words on her tongue. There is a flash of something in her eyes once they open again, but he isn't entirely certain which sin it's indicative of: wrath or lust, or some degenerate mix of both.

It had to be her.

"I don't know what you mean, my lord," She croaks as he allows it, her hand clasped on his wrist as he clenches the rounds of her neck. He swears he sees her lip twitch in the ghost of a smirk even as he suffocates her. He holds all the power over life and death over her, and yet she is insufferably calm.

"I warned you not to play stupid, darling. You know very well what I mean." He growls against her ear, frustration and arousal building to impossible levels. Of all the women in Toril, it had to be her-- it had to be--

"Admit it," He hisses, sharp fang nipping at her ear. "Just admit it, and ask-- beg me, and I'll stop."

He feels the chuckle bubble in her throat even as he cannot hear it through the pressure he applies to her windpipe. "Beg what, my lord?" Her eyes narrow, her amusement apparent even as she has a practiced expression of apathy, whispering back to him with a strained voice still somehow full of unmitigated audacity. "Do you think I suffer?"

His lip curls downwards, and he realizes that he has no leverage here other than her violent jealousy, which she will happily unleash upon his unfortunate bedfellows rather than swallow her pride and cling to him as she should. She has no qualms with murder, and he might as well hand-deliver her victims. It has become an inevitable truth that whoever finds themselves romping beneath the sheets with their king won't be leaving alive because the queen would rather die than admit she cares that he spends his affections elsewhere.

"You can't hold out forever," He knees her legs apart and wedges himself between them, grinding his lust into the clothed heat of her core. "You will beg for me. You will acquiesce. You know your place is at my side."

He pushes forward again, lips brushing against her cheek, his warm breath on her neck sending shivers spiraling down her spine. The way she rhythmically gyrates her hips deliberately against where he wants her most has his hands flexing, kneading deeper into her flesh. His nails dig into her deceptively soft skin, sliding one hand up her body to grope gratuitously at her curves before crawling up to thread his pale fingers through her hair. With the silky strands weaved between his knuckles, he yanks, exposing her throat to the mercy of his razor-sharp fangs like a wolf perched over carrion. He'd die before admitting the overwhelming, frantic need she inspires within him, but he swears if he doesn't have her now, he will perish.

She exhales ragged and husky, squirming against him in apparent need, but still manages to stand her ground. "I am at your side, my lord. Your front, to be more specific."

"On your knees, on your back, whatever I demand. Give in to me. Heed my command, my love," He releases his fingers from her neck, both his arms snaking behind her to scoop her ass in his palms and hike her up against his waist, bidding her wordlessly to lock her legs around him. She does it instinctively, throwing her arms around his neck, tugging playfully at his silver hair as she does. He keeps her up with easy purchase against the wall, keeping her prisoner between a wiry cage of eager limbs and foggy glass panes. "Submit to me of your own free will. Kneel to me, your husband and king, and submit to me fully."

His voice is low and husky as he exhales against the shell of her ear, doing his best to swallow down the desire to rip her pretty dress to shreds with his bare hands and ravage her on the filthy ground of her greenhouse.

"All you need do is say the words," He mutters, barely audible even to her, the scent of her driving him to the precipice of insanity. "Say you belong to me, body and soul. Submit to me, girl, and I'll never have need of another."

He feels the derisive chuckle in her throat reverberate against his own mouth and pulls away to observe. Her eyes are glassy and low as they meet his, moist lips parted in a little 'o', trying so hard not to do that hateful little smile of hers. His hand tightens in her hair, jerking his hips ruthlessly against her once again. So close now, he can feel it, he's going to destroy her, ruin her, tear her to pieces only to put her back together and do it again--

She dares to deny him, dares to have the raw audacity to mock him-- he's going to hurt her so badly, sink his fangs into her neck and drain her fucking dry, force himself inside of her until she has to beg him through hiccupping sobs to stop, unable to fend him off in his full power. He will show her who is the master--

"No."

She cranes her head forward just a little and gives him a mockingly gentle peck on the mouth. It's deceptively gentle and cruel in its intention, entirely meant to taunt him. In his shock at her gall, he is stalled, almost paralyzed and entirely unresponsive and numb to the tidal wave of rage and lust that collides in a nuclear cocktail deep in his gut. It's but a brief moment before he regains control over his senses, and when he does--

"Maybe," She flicks her tongue out, licking a small, red stripe up his cupid's bow. "But not yours-- and you can try, my love."

He releases his grip on her hair only to grab her cheeks, digging his fingers into her jaw so hard that he can feel her gums scrape against the ivory ridges of her fangs. Her wince of pain doesn't escape him, fueling the inferno inside of him as he snarls, baring teeth down on her as a predator might.

"You dare to play games with me? You are a miserable, stubborn little whore and I'd see you put back in your proper place!"

It's more animalistic growl than spoken sentence, and even as he squeezes her face, he can see the twitches of a smile on her crumpled mouth. He can smell the blood on her tongue, the utter defiance in her expression, and despite his frenzy of anger, he throbs between her thighs.

--and yet it's him on the cusp of inescapable frenzy, the taste of her now blasting away the dull, gray months and the now; this one fiery moment where she is wholly his, reminding him of the untamable bonfire of desire she stokes within. His beloved consort, his wife, until death take them both or not at all--

It should drive him into a blind, red rage, but it just makes him harder, pulsing against her insistently, his body demanding entrance to what is rightfully his--

"You will always belong to me."

He crushes his mouth to hers so hard it pains the both of them, more devouring gnashes and fierce, hungry greed for her than passionate kiss. His fangs break the skin of her lip, his tongue thrusting between her teeth, determined to taste every inch she offers up to him. She mewls weakly into his mouth, trying to break the kiss to breathe, but he won't allow it; she only breathes by his will and he'd see her reminded of that--

A battle he will win.

"Mine-- only mine--"

He pants it sloppily into her open mouth, still desperately trying to swallow her essence into himself. She manages to tug away from his unhinged fervor, though only briefly, just to heave and whoop air into her lungs, desperate to catch her breath before she speaks:

"Not if you're not only mine."

It's a fool's facade, this game they play. Around and around and around once more, each demanding prostration of the other only to burn themselves on their own encompassing greed for the other. A toxic whirlwind of emerald-green jealousy and blood-red rage, enveloped entirely by hazy, punch-drunk lust. Two titans locked in a battle for dominance, chasing the vulnerability of the other one.

He hard-swallows, using every ounce of strained willpower he has in his willowy body to retreat away from her, casting his savage need into an abyssal pit inside of him and sealing it before it swallows him. instead. Slowly, he manages to peel away, slowly setting her feet back on the ground, doing his best to compose himself despite the very blatantly obvious signs of arousal and his apparent state of both mental and physical dishevelment.

"I won't humor you forever, darling," He purrs, giving her one last squeeze before stepping back away from her, distancing himself from her control over his body that he loathes. "I always get what I want. You should know that."

She blinks up at him again, her lips puffy and skin smeared with swatches of blood that he has to bite his tongue to keep from tasting. "Not this time."

His lips quirk in a condescending grin at her adorable little show of defiance, resituating himself within his linen pants without shame. "We'll see, my dear."

With that, he abandons the 'conversation,' turning to walk out of the greenhouse, only sparing one last glance at her garden of flesh-- and then once back at her. It breaks his willpower in a way he is miserable to admit, but his need for her overwhelms his pride.

One last snarl in her direction, and he turns to stalk out, itching to backhand the smugness from her pretty face. If he does, he knows well enough that he will not be able to walk away from her. He will take her here and now in a maelstrom of blood, violence, and ruthless sex, and he will lose this little game of control, and he cannot have that.

Still, that doesn't mean she is allowed to believe she has any choice in the matter.

"It's been long enough. I am expecting you in my bed tonight. Do not make me come searching for you. You won't like what happens if I must seek you out."

She seems surprised and almost pleased with his minor acquiescence. It comes in the form of a demand, but she knows full well that it's the best she's going to get. She offers him a sweet smile, smoothing her skirts back down her legs from where he'd hiked them up around her still-quaking legs. He can still smell her, the wet between her thighs, the rich, royal blood flowing through her veins, her body that sings to him a siren song luring him to his fall. If he doesn't break something in soon, he is going to combust--

"We'll see."

He traipses back into the palace, body shuddering and shivering in its effort to control the raging hormones. He is ravenous, needing to drain someone dry and be drained dry-- and soon. Another well-trained servant greets in the halls, cautiously approaching upon seeing his dour expression, bowing from some distance away in case his master decides to lash out.

"My lord--"

"A concubine. Now. Sent directly to my chambers. We are not to be disturbed, no matter what you hear. Do not keep me waiting."

#morgana and friends #ascended astarion x tav #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x dark urge #nasty boy stuff and there's a body count in this #don't read if sensitive #lots of tension and a ping pong game of idiots trying to get the one-up on each other #just as toxic as you'd imagine #sorry this is not edited or proofread I was far too lazy #im proud of myself for just getting it out #It ain't great but hey it's what I got in me right now

506 notes · View notes

deepinthegroves · 18 days ago

Text

i stare at the fan whirring at the top of the room, hearing the snores from next to me. there was no aircon in this shitty motel – of course not, we're not big stars just yet, as our label likes to remind us – so we're stuck with that stupid, loud, clunky fan with it's dirty yellow-white blades in a room that smelled like mildew and damp.

"hey," Liam whispers, and i turn. we were wedged shoulder to shoulder, Rowan on his other side and Asher on mine and he was close enough i could see those ridiculously long eyelashes.

"what?" i arched an eyebrow.

"can't sleep?" he grins, and i snort as he reaches out to intertwine our fingers. i don't pull away even though i should, letting him hold my hand loosely and savouring the roughness of his fingers against mine. he had calluses from the drumming practices and they rub against the back of my hand as he shifts closer, lips inches from mine as he whispers, "we should sneak out."

i blink, taken aback. "our manager would kill us."

that doesn't deter him however – in fact, it has him smiling wider. "c'mon, we won't leave the motel, we'll be following his stupid rules."

"we're supposed to be napping-" i hiss, but he cuts me off.

"you can't sleep," he was right, but i didn't need him to point that out. "and neither can i. besides, this is way more fun... and better to warm up before our performance later."

i sighed, biting my lip. "doesn't mean it's a good idea."

"and yet, it's not a bad one," he quips, taking our intertwined hands to press a kiss against it. i sigh, freeing my hand from his but sitting up – a win for him. "where to?"

his victorious grin would almost be annoying if it wasn't on those full lips of his, and he sits up quickly (which causes Rowan to snort and roll over, damn could he sleep through anything) tugging me to the door in seconds. "you won't regret this."

liam was true to his word: we didn't leave the motel at all. instead, we lay on the steps leading up to our room, gazing up at the ceiling. i cross my arms across my chest and he does the same, the both of us silent... till he breaks it.

"nervous?" he turns his head to look at me, and i tilt my head.

"about what?"

he laughs at that, the sound so distinctly him that it has my chest aching slightly. "the concert later."

"if we make it big-"

"when." liam interrupts me, brown eyes fixed on my own. "when, row."

i hide my smile at that, rolling my eyes and continuing. "when we make it big, we're going to face much bigger crowds."

"yeah, but are you nervous about this one?" his gaze doesn't leave mine, and there was this weird intensity to it. he could never just leave me alone huh?

"yeah," i exhaled and he laughs.

"same."

–

context: there are two Rowans in my band: me (Rowan; stagename: Amara) and my guitarist, also Rowan. Liam's my s/o in this dr and at the time that this^ happened, we're still just friends... with stupid feelings for each other we would never admit.

30 notes · View notes

rookinthecrownest · 8 months ago

Text

Bedtime Stories for a Demon, Night 1: The Sleeping Princess (Lucanis x Rook Fanfic)

“Lucanis?”

Some assassin, he thinks bitterly, as Rook’s soft voice breaks him out of his reverie. She finds him sitting at the dining room table, staring at the fire with a cup of now cold coffee in his hands. He didn’t hear her come in.

Caterina would’ve given him at least ten lashes with her cane for letting someone sneak up on him like that.

His mind, lately, was a restless sea. Waves of him and Spite crash over each other, fighting to rise above the din. Fighting for control. And like the moon pushes and pulls the tides at night, Spite’s influence becomes harder to ignore in the waning hours of the evening. Sometimes it was hard to pay attention to anything but Spite rattling the bars of the prison that was Lucanis’ mind.

On most nights he finds himself alone in the pantry, or the dining room, with only a flickering fire and the demon in his head for company. Until a few moments ago that is.

“Rook” he manages a pleasant, tired smile while turning towards her. “You’re up late”

She shrugs and pulls up a chair beside him, now rimmed in the warm orange glow of the fire. “Thought you might want some company – you know, after the whole…” she gestures vaguely in his direction, and he doesn’t need any further elaboration.

He remembers feeling tired, so tired after their last mission. A bone-weariness that only came with the kind of world-ending threats they were becoming entirely too accustomed to handling. Three cups of his strongest brew hadn’t been enough to curb the knife’s edge of sleep deprivation. He remembers sitting upright in his cot and closing his eyes for just a moment. Then, he was in the basement hallway with the Vir’Evas Eluvian, surrounded by Harding, Rook - and the terrible realization that Spite had taken him for a walk.

Perhaps it was his brutal training at the hands of his grandmother, perhaps it was his own stubbornness, but he hated to make them worry. Especially Rook, who already carried the weight of the world on her small shoulders and the voice of an Elven god in her head. Dealing with a sleepwalking abomination was probably the last thing she needed to be worried about.

“I’m fine” he lies, and stares down at his coffee. His grip on the handle of his mug tightens. Rook’s bright green eyes flicker down to his hands, and he knows she doesn’t believe his words any more than he does. “As I said before – Spite is my burden to bear. Please, go get some sleep, Rook”

Her face falls just a little at that.

“Would if I could” she starts, “You won’t sleep, I can’t sleep – I figure we might as well be night owls together. But if I’m bothering you, I’ll go”

He doesn’t know her well enough yet to catch if she is lying about not being able to sleep – but he imagines she has plenty of her own worries big enough to keep her up at night.

When he doesn’t answer, Rook moves to get out of her chair.

Lucanis quickly waves her back down into her seat.

“No, no, no bother at all” He raises his cup to her in a cheer, “I’ll be glad for the company”

He swirls the cold coffee in his cup, before looking back up at Rook.

“Coffee? I’m going to make a fresh pot” he asks, rising from his place. Rook gives an appreciative nod, the corners of her eyes crinkling with another smile.

“I’d love some, thanks”

Rook is silent until his return from the kitchen, with a cup of freshly made coffee – real coffee, in each hand. None of that instant boiled bean water that Neve had a habit of making.

As he hands her the cup, he notices something in her lap that wasn’t there before. A small journal. Its bindings were tattered and frayed, the colour had faded from what he presumed was a bright crimson to a more muted shade of red, and the pages were yellowed with time.

“What is that?” he asks, taking his place in front of the fire once more.

Rook sets the steaming cup of coffee aside on the table, so she can begin flipping through its worn pages. A musty, acrid smell like old mothballs hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, he’s a boy in the Dellamorte estate’s library running wild between tall, marble bookshelves seeking mischief and knowledge in equal measure.

“My father’s old journal” Rook thumbs through the pages more carefully now, and her voice grows soft.

“He was a Bard in his youth. Toured all over Thedas with his troupe. As he went, he wrote down stories from across the continent” She leans her chin against her hand and smiles fondly at the little book in her hand. “Never imagined he’d be collecting bedtime stories for a future daughter”

There was a softness in her voice that he was not accustomed to hearing, tinged with the barest echo of grief. This is the first time in the few weeks they had known each other that Rook mentioned any kind of family. He notes her use of past tense and decides not to pry, much as he finds himself growing ever curious about his new companion.

Companions.

Rook looks down at the book again before meeting his eyes. They were almost pleading.

“I thought... maybe you’d like to hear one. You know, to help pass the time?”

He thinks of refusing, of telling her she needs to rest, that there is little sense in them both being sleep deprived because of Spite. There is something in her eyes that stops him from turning her down. An emotion he cannot quite name but feels akin to longing. Not quite sadness, not quite nostalgia – somewhere in between.

He quickly comes to the realization that this may be as much for her, as it is for him. Lucanis remembers the comfort that reading old stories brought him. He can picture, in striking detail, the book on Wyvern physiology he stole from the Dellamorte library as a child. He knows the contents of each page by heart, because he can still hear Illario's grumbling about wanting him to shut up about Wyverns echoing through his distant memories. He would read it by candlelight until late in the evening, ready to extinguish the flame and hide the book under his pillow at a moment’s notice if Caterina came by.

He decides that if he can help her by simply listening to a story, he will. Rook spends most of her free time trying to fix everyone else’s problems. Always flitting to and from each room in the Lighthouse like a hummingbird, fretting over the team. The Crows were already indebted to her efforts against the Antaam, and she made it a point to help him with both Spite and tracking down Zara. With all that in consideration, he feels it would be a rather poor show to refuse. That and another feeling he didn’t have a name for, keeps him from rejecting her company tonight.

“Alright” He sighs and takes a sip of his coffee before leaning back in his chair. “Let’s hear it”

Lucanis ignores the skipped beat in his chest as she beams widely.

She claps her hands together and straightens in her chair. “Wonderful!”

“So, what tale will you tell tonight?”

“Have you ever heard the old Tevene story about the Sleeping Princess?” she asks excitedly, crossing her legs in her chair like an impatient child about to be served dessert. She’s practically oscillating with excitement in her seat.

Lucanis smiles at that.

“No, I can’t say I have”

“It’s one of my favourites” she gushes, picking up the journal again and flipping to the correct page. Ringlets of rich brown hair sweep over her shoulder as she does so, and he decides to focus on his coffee instead, before he’s caught staring.

“Aha” her brow furrows as she quickly scans the contents of the journal. “Alright, here we go”

Rook sets the journal aside once more and takes a quick sip of her coffee. He doesn’t miss the way she savours the brew. He knew she enjoyed coffee from their meeting at Café Pietra with Illario, but it was nice to know she appreciated his coffee as much as theirs.

He raises an eyebrow when Rook starts cracking her knuckles – and her neck, then readies her hands in the same pose he’s seen her use for magic.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see” she grins conspiratorially.

“If you’re about to throw a fireball at me – “

“Relax, relax” Rook shakes her head, and whispers “Magic has more uses than fighting”

He can feel Spite stirring in the dark recess of his mind and does his best to ignore it.

Rook’s delicate hands begin glowing with blue light, and to his astonishment, a moment later she conjures a fully realized image of a castle, floating in the space between them. He can see the spires, turrets, and even the wrought-iron gates in clear, astonishing detail. Lucanis leans forward to inspect the castle as it rotates in mid-air, giving him views of every side. Even the masonry and statues have an immaculate degree of realism. It was almost as if she had taken a real castle and shrunk it down.

“How …?” He is not usually one to be rendered speechless, but it was not every day he is exposed to new types of magic - and when he was, historically, that hasn't always been a good thing for him. Spite rumbling under his skin reminds him of that.

“I learned to do it back in my Circle days. It was my thesis work – the use of the Fade to create projections of objects from one’s minds” her pride in her castle falls when she continues to explain, “The senior enchanters thought it a waste of effort and I barely passed my final year – they couldn’t see a use for it past getting their children to sleep. I suppose if magic can’t be used to some terrible, destructive end, it gets relegated to a novice’s thesis statement to be buried in the Circle’s archives and never touched again”

“It’s incredible Rook” he breathes. The words leave his mouth before he can stop them. He’s not sure if it’s the warmth of the fire, or something else, but he swears a faint tinge of red creeps from her neck up to her ears.

He desperately wants to reach out and touch the castle, but keeps his hands firmly on his coffee cup, worried he may ruin her concentration.

Rook’s eyes crinkle with her smile, wide and genuine. He’s never seen her smile like that, and it feels utterly disarming.

He brings his coffee cup to his lips again, about to take a sip.

“Thank you, Lucanis” Her voice is sweeter than the coffee on his lips.

“You’re welcome” is all he manages to choke out, leaning away from the castle to give himself some distance to regain control of his faculties.

Rook clears her throat, “I ahh, guess I should get on with the story, hmm?”

Lucanis nods and takes another sip of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through him but he is not entirely certain it’s from the coffee alone.

“I would say you’re burning moonlight, but given where we are …”

He smiles when Rook chuckles at his terrible attempt at humour, and he appreciates it even if it is forced on her end, but it feels genuine enough. Everything about Rook was genuine.

Her focus returns to the castle in front of them.

“Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a small kingdom”

She waves her hands in a fluid motion and the solitary castle morphs into a bird’s eye view of that same castle perched on top of a hill, overlooking a small village.

“And in that kingdom, there lived a King and a Queen, much beloved by their people.”

The castle and village disappear. They are now replaced with two figures sitting on matching thrones upon a simple dais. In the thrones sit a man and a woman, each with a crown decorating their foreheads.

“The King and Queen longed desperately for a child of their own and had tried for many years to make it so. ‘Would that we had a child!’, the King cried, and yet, their child remained a dream.”

As she said those words, the mouth of the king moved in tandem.

He can’t imagine the amount of concentration it must be taking to accomplish telling a story, maintaining an illusion, and making an illusion talk. He continues to sit there in awe, with only his training keeping his jaw from hanging on the floor.

The corner of her lips pull down into a slight frown.

“The Queen would not accept the words of her physician, who told her bearing a child was not possible for her, for there was a sickness in her womb that would prevent it”

The image morphed into the Queen hunched over on the floor, on all fours, sobbing. It looks so real he is convinced he could hear her agonized cries.

Now, the Queen has traded her crown for a traveller's cloak. She floats aimlessly in the air between them, the cloak billowing on an invisible wind.

“The Queen, unbeknownst to the King, set off to seek the knowledge of a Spirit from the Fade. When she eventually finds one,” Rook pauses and waves her left hand to bring forth the image of an amorphous spirit in front of the Queen. “She wastes no time asking the Spirit if it could help her conceive a child”

The spirit continues to float above the figure of the queen, who is now on her knees looking up at it, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“The Spirit asks if she is prepared to do anything to have a child. The Queen fervently answers that she would give up anything – do anything for an heir.” The figure of the Queen bows down to the Spirit in deference. “Satisfied, the Spirit gives her knowledge of a ritual that could provide her with a child. It would take several mages and the sacrifice of an innocent, but that was the only way to cure the sickness from her womb and carry a child. ‘Do this, and your child will grow in grace and beauty. Hair spun in gold, lips as red as the rose. She will walk with spring time wherever she goes. Her song will put nightingales and larks to shame’”

Blood magic. Figures this story comes from Tevinter.

“But be warned” The Spirit holds up a hand, “Should the Princess ever prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and draw blood, she will die”

The figure of the Queen hurriedly nods, before disappearing into nothing.

“The Queen quickly returns to the kingdom and enlists the help of her council of Magi”

The figure of the Queen returns to its original appearance. She is now surrounded by seven cloaked figures, each carrying a stave in their hands. The form of a young woman is chained, on her knees, in the middle of them all.

“They had their sacrifice, and the knowledge on how to perform the ritual” Her voice is quiet, almost strained.

The figures appear to be chanting now. The faint blue glow of the form of the young woman slowly turns red, with some concentration on Rook’s part. A moment later, the form is swallowed by red light and disappears. Veins of red climb like vines and weave their way into the figure of the Queen, settling on her stomach, before fading from sight.

Rook’s frown deepens and her brows draw closely together. The figures of the King and Queen morph into an embrace. And quickly after, they are sitting on their thrones, side-by-side, with the Queen’s belly swollen with child.

“The King had no idea about the ritual. He was ecstatic, of course, at the prospect of finally having a child” Rook said. “And so he didn’t question it when the Queen asked that every spinning wheel in the kingdom be burned to ensure her safety”

The pair disappear, and now, a large pile of spinning wheels, burning with blue flames, takes their place.

It disappears soon after, and the image of a baby is conjured in its place. She is sleeping soundly in an intricately carved wooden cot.

“The Princess, who they called Rosaea, was perfect. And just as the Spirit had said, she would indeed grow in grace and beauty” The form of the baby changes to that of a young woman, with long, flowing hair and a beautiful face. “She was loved by all her people, for she had a kind heart. She lived happily with her parents and was adorned of gifts from her people, the nobility, and suitors alike. But things would not stay that way for long.”

The image of the princess disappears. The scene shifts to the King, Queen, and the Princess together at the gates of the Kingdom.

“Urgent business with another Kingdom called the King and Queen away, and so the Princess was left to wander the castle by herself”

Rook waves a hand and the Princess walks alone, before coming to the form of an old woman hunched over a spinning wheel.

The princesses mouth moves in tandem with Rook’s words.

“You there, madam” The princess says, pointing to the wheel. “What is it that you are doing?’ She asks, for she had never seen a spinning wheel before”

The figure of the old woman turns towards the princess and beckons her closer, “I am spinning, dear girl’, it answers” The figure of the princess moves closer to the spinning wheel. She leans over it, and asks, “What is that thing that twists around so briskly?”

No sooner had she said the words and taken the spindle into her hand, there is a flash of red light, and the figure of the princess is on the floor. Not dead, but sleeping, for he can see the rise and fall of her chest.

The old woman first morphs into the spirit from before, the one that spoke with the Queen, and then it changes again into a twisted creature - all horns, claws, and jagged edges. One he was all too familiar with. A demon.

“The Spirit the Queen had spoken with was no Spirit at all, it was a Terror demon in disguise.” Rook explains, waving her hand through the illusion of the girl and the demon towering over her, erasing it from existence.

It is at this moment that Lucanis realizes he’s forgotten to breathe. He draws a deep breath, and leans forward, resting his forearms on his legs. His coffee sits abandoned on the table, as does Rook’s. Spite is practically vibrating behind his eyes.

“Well, go on” he gestures at her.

Rook grins, evidently satisfied with her work. “Impatient, are we?”

Lucanis smirks, “Spite wants to know how it ends”

“And you’re not the least bit curious?” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, looking at him doubtfully.

He distracts himself with a sip of coffee, miraculously still somewhat warm. “I might be”

Rook chuckles and shakes her head, mirroring him by bringing her own coffee to her lips. She licks her lips and sighs, and he tries to look anywhere but her mouth. For a moment, he finds himself preoccupied with his own shoes.

“Sorry, I was feeling a bit parched there. On with the story” She rings out her hands and brings them back into position. That familiar blue glow envelops them again. He feels its safe to meet her gaze again.

“The Terror Demon’s ritual didn’t just affect the Princess, it affected the whole Kingdom. One by one, everyone fell into a deep slumber, just like the princess”

He watches intently as the castle courtyard morphs into view between them. Figures of soldiers and servants alike start falling asleep in place, dropping like wilting flowers. The courtyard disappears and returns to another view of the entire kingdom. Large, twisted brambles begin enveloping it,He eererere forming an impenetrable wall of thorns encasing everything in sight.

“The King and Queen returned to find their Kingdom gone. They tried rallying support from other kingdoms, but none could breach the Demon’s brambles”

Figures of soldiers and magi alike lobbing magic and arrows and spears at the wall sprang to life. Each volley as useless as the last. She pauses as the image fades, and nothing takes its place.

“And?” Lucanis asks leaning onto his forearms even more.

“And I’m getting there” Rook laughs, flourishing her fingers like she’s conducting an invisible orchestra.

“The Demon’s spell kept the kingdom in a state of eternal slumber. It fed on their fears and nightmares in the Fade while they slept. On the outside, a hundred years had passed, and the King and Queen were long dead. But everyone inside the Kingdom still remained as they were when they were put to sleep”

Two elaborate tombs flickered to life, before fading a moment later.

“Another hundred years passes before a wandering adventurer, pure of heart and mind, and possessing the soul of a true hero, would come to the ruins of the Kingdom, still surrounded by the wall of thorns”

She conjures the image of a handsome-faced young man, in simple chain mail, riding atop a horse.

“But this adventurer was special, you see” Rook whispered and leaned in closer.

Smells like lavender and rosewater, Spite chimes.

“For he had a Spirit of Valor on his side. And the Spirit would see the Terror Demon banished back to the Fade forever”

The figure draws his sword, glowing a bright golden yellow, and pierces the wall of thorns with ease. He continues to cut through the wall and makes his way to the castle.

“There was a great battle between the Demon and the Hero, but the Hero prevails with the help of the Spirit of Valor”

The demon is pierced by the golden sword, and cries out a soundless scream, before disappearing. Now, the entire view of the kingdom is back. The brambles recede like a tide, and one by one, little figures of soldiers and servants begin waking up.

Curiously, when the image fades back to the figure of the princess, she still lies sleeping.

“Why didn’t the princess wake up?” Lucanis asks, his brows drawing together in confusion.

“The Nightmare Demon’s hold on the Princess is stronger than any of the other inhabitants of the Kingdom” Rook explains, shifting in her seat. "It was banished back to the Fade, but not defeated in its entirety. Terror is one of the strongest emotions there is, after all"

The princess and the hero fade from view, and this time, nothing takes their place.

“There has to be more than that” He throws his hands up and shakes his head, before taking another sip of coffee. He nearly spits it out. It’s gone cold. Again. Yet for all his love of caffeinated beverages, the thought of getting up to make another cup doesn’t even cross his mind.

She laughs again, her green eyes twinkling with mirth, “I’m getting there.” She repeats.

“You’re doing this on purpose” He points to her, frowning.

“I have to build suspense somehow!”

Rook raises her hands again, and the figures of the princess and the hero return to view.

“The Hero couldn’t help but be struck by the Princesses’ beauty. He could do nothing else but admire her sleeping form. And he was overcome with the desire to kiss her, for he knew it was love at first sight. He had no way of knowing if it would work – maybe it was his own heart, or maybe it was the Spirit of Valor whispering in his ear, but needed to know if a kiss could wake her from her slumber”

The figure of the prince moves closer to the princess, and hunches over her sleeping form. It leans in and presses a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips.

Both the princess and the hero were soon engulfed in a warm, golden glow. The figure of the princess wakes, and the hero takes her into his arms.

“The princess wakes to find herself in the arms of her rescuer. She and the Hero fall in love. They re-establish the kingdom and ruled together as King and Queen, living happily ever after”

And with a final flick of her wrist, the embracing figures vanish into the ether.

“The End” She says, with a satisfied smirk and a small bow at the waists.

Lucanis leans back in his seat, unable to stop himself from smiling. “That’s it? Everything is fixed with a kiss?”

Rook shrugs innocently, “Aren’t most things?”

He has no time to process that, or the way she’s looking at him while she says it.

“Besides, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was true love’s kiss. Love can be a powerful form of magic in its own right. Just as powerful as Terror - if not more so”

Lucanis frowns. He wishes he could believe that.

“In stories, perhaps” he mutters, swirling the cold coffee around in its cup.

Rook yawns and runs a hand through her wild curls.

“Perhaps” She stands and takes the journal in her hands. She offers him another sweet smile before turning to leave, “Never hurts to believe, though”

As she makes for the dining hall door, Lucanis stands from his chair.

“Rook?” He calls out after her.

She stops and turns, “Yeah?”

“Thank you … for this” he gestures to the fireplace. “For tonight.”

Rook nods, “You’re welcome. I’m glad you liked my story”

“Would you come again tomorrow night?” He asks, entirely too quickly. Convinced he sounds like a lovesick puppy, he wants to kick himself in the shin. Thankfully, he has Spite to do that to his head.

Rooks brows lift in surprise, like she wasn’t expecting him to ask. They quickly settle into a kind expression, one he finds he wants to burn into his memory until its all he can see.

“Yeah, of course” She gives him a small wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow night”

Lucanis returns the wave and returns to the kitchen to brew a fresh pot of coffee.

Meanwhile, Rook leaves the dining hall barely able to keep herself upright.

Being inside the Fade made it much easier for her to draw on her magic, but she’s never used that level of detail and sustained it for so long to tell a story.

Sleep would come easier that night for her from the mana depletion alone.

Lucanis, on the other hand, would stay awake replaying her story in his head over and over again. He would think of how the warm glow of the fireplace cast streaks of orange and gold into her wild curls. How her eyes practically sparkle and the softness of her voice when she tells a story.

But in all the loops of Rook and her story that play in his mind, it escapes his notice that a possessed man is the hero of her tale.

#lucanis dellamorte #lucanis x rook #rookanis #rook mercar #my rook #oc: madeleina mercar #datv #datv spoilers #sheesh guys this took for fucking ever #sleeping beauty was a hard one to adapt #but it won the poll so I had figure it out #be nice its my first fanfiction #dragon age #dragon age veilguard #fanfiction #fanfic #and sorry for any errors 1. english is my second language and 2. i was too lazy to properly proofread this #fic: bedtime stories for a demon

124 notes · View notes

ssongsboo · 8 months ago

Text

─────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────

⟢ 내게 다가와, 다가와 .ᐟ

the dim light flickered in the cramped bathroom at the club, casting shadows that danced along the walls. the loud music from outside blasting in your ears.

gunwook leaned against the sink, a wicked grin plastered on his face, the signature white face paint accentuating the mischief in his eyes. his dark hair was slicked back, and he wore a crisp white button-up, the collar sharp and stark against his painted skin. a loosely knotted tie hung around his neck, the deep purple contrasting his tan skin perfectly. there was something intoxicating about the way he embodied the joker- dangerous, unpredictable, and irresistibly charming. you tried to play it cool, but the flutter in your stomach betrayed you. you stepped into the frame of the mirror, admiring the matching costumes, a playful grin adorning your face. he couldn’t help but stare at your reflection, so pretty and all dolled up- just for him. he saw the looks you gave him throughout the evening. of course he did. the effect his unfamiliar look had on you could never go unnoticed by him.

"come on, you know you want to," he teased, stepping closer, his fingers dancing over your barely clothed waist. you smirked, pulling him in by the tie, the fabric stretching just enough to hint at the playful tension between you two. "who said we can't have a little fun?" he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. his voice is low and seductive, the hint of danger in his tone sends shivers down your spine. in one swift motion he spun you around, pinning you against the cool tiles, your laughter filling the space.

"just a quickie, right?" you murmured, eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. "right," he breathed, leaning down to capture your lips, the world outside fading as you got lost in the moment. your kisses ignited a fire, a chaotic dance of lips and laughter. gunwook’s hands roamed, exploring the curve of your hips, pulling you closer as you tangled your fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss. the thrill of being caught only heightened your passion. you giggled against his mouth, the sound breaking the tension in the air, a playful reminder of the situation you were currently in. "let’s make it a little longer," you suggested, eyes glossy with lust as you nipped at his lower lip. gunwook raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge lighting up his features. "oh? you’re feeling daring tonight?" he teased, leaning back to gaze at you, the flush on your cheeks a perfect reflection of your shared excitement.

"always," you replied with a wink, heart racing as the door rattled slightly with the distant sound of footsteps outside. with one swift motion gunwook lifted you, pinning your back against the cool tiles once more. your laughter mingled with breathless whispers as you surrendered to the undeniable tension that sparked between you. he captured your lips in a kiss once more, time seeming to have come to a halt. the kiss deepened, a wild clash of lips and breath that ignited the air around you. gunwook’s hands roamed freely, one tangling in your vibrant hair while the other found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together. the cool tiles were a stark contrast to the heat radiating between you two. your heart raced as gunwook’s lips moved against yours with an intoxicating urgency, his mouth curving into a wicked smile even as he kissed you. you could taste the thrill of danger in every brush of his tongue- his attitude and demeanor made you so incredibly needy you curiously started grinding your hips against his growing bulge. he groaned into your mouth, sending sparks racing through your veins. “stop baby, you’re gonna get us caught.” he whimpers against your lips, reminding you of the ongoing party outside that door once again "god, we’re in trouble," you murmured breathlessly between kisses, your words barely breaking the rhythm of his tongue against yours.

"and you love it," he shot back, his voice low and teasing, his eyes glinting with a mixture of mischief and madness. he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, suggesting to continue this in a more private space.

119 notes · View notes

sheepalmighty · 10 months ago

Text

Here are the tricky dialogue comic bits for my Chai-tentatively-joins-Vandelay AU -- there are so many speech bubbles in these images. The rest under the read more is focussed on filling in a few of the gaps I haven't covered yet, solely Chai and Kale stuff.

To preface, I apologise for the absolutely stupid and cliche pages - that are supposed to be pivotal for these two - I decided to draw lower down this post. It would not leave my mind and so I had to manifest it.

While this has some linearity between pages I did leave a couple gaps because I didn't want to iron out the dialogue or events (I've been thinking about this almost exclusively for a year but I'm still not sure what to go with) and I've already drawn these two too many times during this drawn-out, self-inflicted, errr, thing. Still shaky on drawing stuff from the game events proper, doesn't sit right with me but nothing really changes (not sure really) because of the motivations of the main characters.

Something that partly influenced this batch was this one yt comment that said that In A Blink's lyrics / vampire theming weren't supposed to be homoerotic and were just about capitalism, and I thought "why not both?". Anyway, thanks for reading.

[They then argue about who likes who for a bit]

A few small things after the above below:

#hi-fi rush #hfr #hi-fi rush spoilers #hfr spoilers #kale vandelay #hi fi rush smidge #hi fi rush 05-KAR #hi fi rush chai #roxanne vandelay #rekka's in there for a panel #and scr-ub too #chai x kale #kale x chai #what determines what i draw for these two is whether i can put something funny in there. i mean i hope this has something funny in it #sorry if they're ooc. i have no idea if any of this is consistent anymore #but not sorry for the poorly justified text because im lazy #i sure did decide to draw two characters im bad at drawing for twenty pages huh #probably should have separated these clearer with titles à la 4komas...#there is only one panel i rendered somewhat and i did clean stuff up more than i thought i would.#my hand achey #i tried to be thorough with the proofreading as well but sorry if there are any mistakes u_u #'tis mine

83 notes · View notes

updatingranboo · 11 months ago

Text

twitch_live

ranboo is live! playing “the classrooms” !

[title: “CLASSROOM MINUS THE CL IS KINDA FUNNY”]

#ranboo #ranboo update #twitch update #main stream #the classrooms #edit I literally proofread the title bc i was too lazy to copy and paste it and there was STILL a typo fuck me

62 notes · View notes

aroaceleovaldez · 1 year ago

Note

the show chb logo was also ripped from fandom, like in the past decade all the official chb shirt had the logo without the circle and then the fandom started doing and the show went for it, sorry your tags reminded me of that

[Link to post/tags in question]

Yeah, I know Delphi Strawberry Service has done more circular-based CHB shirt designs for ages, and I've seen the more circular-based designs floating around for awhile. I think Magicbysab's circular-based CHB shirt designs also predate the show design? Those are just the ones I can think of off the top of my head. I understand on a level that if they did base it off fandom designs, particularly if they're basing anything on widespread fanon or fandom-based concepts, it can be difficult to pin down credit or may even seen unnecessary. But if they're going to be doing that I feel like at least they could hire like, a fandom consultant of sorts? Instead of just ripping off from the fandom, hire someone from the community who produces that already so at least there's some recognition and acknowledgement of where it originated.

Heck, in some instances if you ask around in the fandom it's not hard to pinpoint who specifically popularized certain concepts! I could talk for ages about Cherryandsisters being a driving force behind photokinesis!Will, or Saberghatz with plague!Will (tbh between the two they spearheaded a ton of early Will/Solangelo fanon), and I swear Drksanctuary alone is behind like 50% of Alabaster fanon, etc etc etc. People in the fandom know these things! Heck, we know ReadRiordan company knows how to do that kind of thing! They commissioned Viria for the official art, and the UK Riordan newsletter reaches out to fans all the time to feature their work (with credit, they're one of the better ones)! Though in Rick's book tours he did showcase Viria's art (at least with credit) without asking before she got commissioned, and during the Tower of Nero book tours they actually straight up stole a solangelo edit from Pervysloth with completely zero credit (link is to my canon url readriordan parody blog).

I think it doesn't help as well that Rick and his editor allegedly use the fandom wiki in place of a series bible. The PJO wiki is notorious for putting inaccurate information or fanon onto pages at random and having no sources. (What I wouldn't give for the PJO wiki to have frequent book/page sources a la Warrior Cats wiki...) There are what, now almost 18 books in the main series alone? Of an extremely renowned best-selling series that's 20 years old and now being adapted for TV? And they STILL don't have a series bible? That's like, step 1 of writing a series. This kind of reliance of the fandom for resources and concepts definitely isn't new for them.

It just feels so bizarre as to what it says about how the ReadRiordan company views the fandom and the creatives within it. I understand that trying to figure out how to give credit to the concept of "CHB shirt design, but circular!" is difficult, if you even can find out who did that first or popularized it. But if you're going to rip things from fandom, at least find somebody to try and credit? Show that you put in even the tiniest amount of effort? And if you get it wrong and people know, they'll correct you and that's that! But ReadRiordan just keeps trying to actively obscure these kinds of things, even with their own media, not ripped from the fandom, which makes it feel all the worse when it gets pointed out. And a lot of the time the whole reason those concepts get popular is because they're filtered through big names in the fandom! The fandom is a community! We know these people! We can point to them and explain exactly what they popularized! Remember how Velinxi popularized long haired Piper with the heart-shaped flyaways? Goodness only knows how many fandom designs are heavily influenced by Viria and Minuiko and Burdge (and Indigonite and Fuocogo and Ikimaru and Thecottonproject and Joker-ace and Sixofclovers and Vikingmera and Saber and Cherry and and and-). If you are in the community this stuff is easy to find. But Rick and the ReadRiordan company clearly being ~5 years behind with fanon pretty obviously tells me that they're not in the community at all, and aren't bothering trying.

#riordanverse #pjo #readriordan #pjo tv crit #rr crit #Anonymous #ask #long post //#sorry i am passionate about fandom history and crediting artists #its late and im too lazy to proofread right now so im just throwing this one out there #apologies if it's nonsensical #anyways Rick and ReadRiordan stop ripping off literally everyone challenge #stares pointedly at Rick blatantly recycling his own writing. its not a fun callback my guy thats just lazy writing #percy making a dam joke to himself in SoN? cute callback #solangelo falling into tartarus scene in TSATS being a direct rip of percabeth in MoA/HoH? what the hell man

77 notes · View notes

celestial-letters · 1 year ago

Note

Hey !! may i request ageneral dating hc with vbs boys x fem!reader..?

so the reader is apart of an online group (like nightcord) that makes slower paced songs..? like the song pipopipo by seranji poji or perferably the group lamp ? and she plays guitar and sings (also if possible may the reader also work at a small cafe) thx !!

hey nonnie!! hope u enjoy :3 (also i went WAY over the deadline for this im so sorry ashshshs...)

akito shinonome

This boy is SHOCKED to say the least.

What do you mean you sing??? And you play guitar??? AND you make music online??? Is there anything you can't do?

You never told him at the start of your relationship, and so once he found out he basically became your group's number one fan.

Song premiere? He's there. Cover? He's already in the YouTube waiting room. Merch drop? He's actually refreshed the page countless times, simply to buy a hoodie with your group's logo on it. Song teaser? He's watched it over two hundred times, admiring the pretty visuals, with you in the back of his mind.

Akito though, like he is with most things, would rather explode than admit it.

Akito will bashfully ask if you can sing to him. He just likes your voice, is all. He can't get enough of it.

Will sometimes show up to the café you work at (SPECIFICALLY during your shifts). Akito always asks you for a stack of pancakes and some coffee, just the way he likes it.

Overall, he really loves you and how talented you are.

toya aoyagi

He's actually heard of your group and their songs even before you started dating. He wasn't a superfan per se, he just enjoyed the music. He discovered it while branching out towards other genres of music that weren't classical. It was interesting to him.

Toya was definitely surprised when you told him. Not complete, utter shock, but it was still slightly surprising to him.

Likes to listen to you playing the guitar. He'll even request songs at times, humming along with each string your fingers strike. Same goes for when you sing, he compliments your voice. He chuckles seeing your face turn red at his words.

Like Akito, Toya enjoys coming to your café during your shifts, but unlike Akito, he's more blunt about it. He just had the urge to see you, you know? He always orders the same coffee anyways, so when you catch a glimpse of his hair at the door, you're already preparing the plain black coffee he always drinks.

#youve got mail! wanna open it?💌#akito shinonome x reader #akito shinonome #toya aoyagi x reader #toya aoyagi #project sekai #project sekai x reader #proseka #puroseka #proseka x reader #GOD why was this so long. am i ok. anon i think youve awoken smth in me or something idk #im too lazy to proofread rn so we BALL 💯💯💯💯

71 notes · View notes

updownlately · 2 years ago

Text

5 - why the hell do you love me?

series masterlist

~~~

“Pleaseeee? I’ll do the dishes for the rest of the week?” Alessia pouted, eyes pleading as her eyes kept darting between you and the corner of your shared bedroom.

“Lessi you’d already be doing them anyways…you made that promise yesterday when we were in the exact same situation,” you laughed, leaning against the doorframe.

“But-“

“Baby, it’s not that bad, I promise. You got this!” You grinned, eyes full of mirth.

You couldn’t help but find the situation amusing, you doing your best to hide your constant smile behind the neck of your hoodie.

“I’ll- I’ll…erm…,” head swivelling between both sides of the room, the blonde tried to come up with another trade, something, anything, that would get her out of this situation ASAP.

“I’ll take the blame the next five times we’re late for practice!” She yelped, eyes widening as she saw the slightest movement from the corner of her eyes, head whipping to stare intently at the opposite side of the room, her back to you.

You couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped you no matter how hard you tried. Nearly bent over, hands on your knees, you shook with laughter. Shaking your head as you rose to your standing form, you wiped a lone tear from the corner of your eye. Short of breath, you just barely managed to get the next words out.

“Love, if you stare any harder at it, I won’t even need to do anything here,” you jested.

“It’s not funny…” Looking briefly at you, the striker shot you a desperate look, eyes full of fear as she swallowed hard.

You finally relented, heart melting at just how absolutely terrified she looked.

“I’ll cut you a deal, yeah? I’ll take it out but you have to follow me as I do....”

Apparently that exchange wasn’t as good as you thought it was, Alessia whipping her head to give you an incredulous stare, momentarily forgetting about her woes.

“No! What- Why?” She sputtered out, shooting you a pout before her voice turned sweet, chin tilting up towards you. “Baby, please can you just get rid of it? If you love me?”

Jaw dropping, a surprised look on your face at her antics, her attempt at guilt-tripping you nearly successful, you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“Less, what would you do if I wasn’t here? Like, you’d have to get rid of it by yourself somehow…” You shook your head in faux disappointment, a smile giving away just how annoyed you were (spoiler: it was not at all).

“I’d move out.”

The blonde’s reply was so definitive and quick, you couldn’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Less…” Rolling your eyes playfully, you made your way to the corner of the room, the paper you had been hiding behind your back finally making its presence known.

As you approached the barely penny-sized spider chilling on the wall, you could make out the sound of Alessia’s footsteps behind you, the noise getting suspiciously quieter and quieter with each step.

Turning in your tracks, hands on your hips, you tilted your head as you took in the blonde who was nearly halfway out the door, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Okay and where do you think you’re going?” Eyebrow raised in question, you tapped your foot as Alessia shot you an embarrassed look, no doubt ashamed at being caught mid-getaway.

“…away?” Shooting you a toothy grin, the Arsenal striker took a slow step backwards, testing you.

Unfortunately for her however, you weren’t having it, enjoying her discomfort of arachnids too much to let her escape now.

“Nuh-uh, get back here…or I’m not taking it out,” you threatened, confident that Alessia wouldn’t take that risk.

And you were proven right in your judgement a second later, Alessia despondently making her way to you, shoulders caved inwards.

Grinning toothily, you quickly placed a peck on her cheek in appreciation before you made your way over to the spider, paper held taut.

Doing your best to teach the blonde how to catch spiders on her own, you made a point to show her how to hold the sheet of paper, curling it just enough to give it some structure as you wiggled it underneath the arachnid.

Eyes dancing in amusement, you chuckled as Alessia watched you with wide eyes, stepping back quickly from you as you started walking towards the door, the spider on your paper like it was Aladdin.

“Love, I don't know what they teach you here in England but spiders can't fly....” you laughed out.

Getting a groan in return, your smile didn't leave your face for a second, cheeks beginning to hurt now.

Quickly making your way outside to the garden, you gently put the paper down on the ground as watched as the tiny eight-legged fuzzball scampered away.

Standing upright, you turned to the blonde that had followed you.

“What would you do without me?” You teased, a twinkle in your eye.

“Probably change homes every other day.” The cheeky response had you shaking your head with a smile on your face, eyes rolling at the dumb joke.

Punching the striker playfully, you intertwined your fingers as you led her back inside.

“Please tell me you at least learned how I did that?”

You groaned as the Gunner shook her own head, the smile on her face saying everything.

“Alessia!”

She shot you a toothy grin, bringing your intertwined hands up and placing a gentle kiss on the back of yours. “I guess you’ll just have to stick around for the rest of my life huh?.”

“So I can continue getting rid of spiders for you?”

“Yup,” Alessia smirked, popping the ‘p’.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, y’know?” You smiled softly, liking the idea of forever with your girl.

Pulling away from the blonde, ready to head back to where you had initially been- on the couch reading your book- you placed another quick kiss on her cheek.

“By the way, you’re still taking the blame for the next five times we’re late for practice!”

And with that, you took off, scrambling to get away from Alessia before she could protest, her groan of disapproval ringing throughout your home as you vibrated with laughter.

Maybe a future of being your love’s designated spider catch didn’t sound so bad after all, especially not when the promise of forever was slipped in between.

#not proofread as usual #on a spree of posting mediocre works and i'm too lazy to do anything about it #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #woso #fluff #my writing #part 5 of a 15 part series :)#bpom #blurb #two fics in two days? who am i?

347 notes · View notes