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kookslastbutton · 3 months

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what love feels like ༓ myg (m)

✑ Summary: Being a mother to a beautiful baby girl and wife to an adoring husband is the most rewarding feeling in the world. But you also work a full-time job, are overtired most of the time, stressed, don't have any alone time, look very different than eight years ago, and sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs on you until one day, all of your deepest insecurities rear their ugly head–that your husband might not love you as much anymore and someone could take him away from you.

Pairing: husband!yoongi x reader

AU/genre: angst, fluff, smut, marriage au

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 6.7k+

Warnings: swearing, both Yoongi and oc are in their 30s, mom and full-time worker!oc, reserved!dad!yoongi, lack of intimacy, mentions of body insecurities post-pregnancy, mentions of fear of abandonment, mentions of jealousy. irrational worries, built-up stress, light fighting, silent treatment, stubbornness, lots of reassurance, nightmares, cute backstory of how they met, a lot of ily, Yoongi and oc being good parents 🥹, Yoongi calls oc doll, and explicit sexual content

sexual warnings: swearing, kissing, neck kisses, pleading, banter, dirty talk, doll petname, asking for consent, b**b squeezing & sucking, hair threading, penetration, f*ngering, big d*ck!yoongi, growling, missi*nary, eye contact, tearing up, c*ming together

Now Playing: Breathing by Anne Marie

a/n: Okay this was for Yoon's bday. Based on the poll, husband!Yoon won. Was intended to be a Drabble but well...heh 😅 Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and Yoon is just such a good hubby for responding well to these very relatable insecurities. (Low-key love this couple...) I'm sorry for any typos or warnings i missed! I checked and double checked but a few might have slipped. Enjoy! Anyway please enjoy! 🥰

“So, you're Jia's father, huh? I don’t think I've seen you here before, and I’m sure I would have recognized you.”

With his back straight and arms folded, Yoongi gives the woman in front of him a quick once-over. Mid-40s, freshly single, and definitely in need of some companionship. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out; she’s been talking his ear off for the past twenty minutes like he’s some kind of remedy to all her problems.

Honestly, he just swung by to pick up his four-year-old from daycare after another grueling day at work. But the moment he walked in, it was as if all the single moms latched onto him like a flock of hungry geese. This one’s name is Sandra in particular.

It reminds him of his college basketball days, how the cheerleaders all too eagerly swarmed around him after sinking the winning shot at the championship game. Shame he was too busy eyeing the girl in the stands to care, her face buried behind a book twice as big as her head. Who reads an 800-page novel during the playoffs anyway?

Fate, as one may call it, intervened about a week later when his best friend became said girl’s lab partner. Yoongi didn’t make any sudden moves at first, but well, he did make her his wife three years later.

“It’s just so nice to finally meet the father of such a sweet child. Especially considering how many dads tend to take a backseat in their child's early years.” Is she still going on? Yoongi does his best to stay present, though it’s proving unsuccessful. “And Jia truly is an angel! It’s clear you’re doing a wonderful job raising her, even with a full-time job and all.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows knit together at the somewhat odd choice of words. “Thanks,” he drawls out, noticing her pupils dilating with every breath. “Most of the credit goes to my wife though. She’s a great mom to Jia.”

“Jia’s m-mom?” Sandra stutters, her mouth slightly agape. Yoongi senses the gears turning in her head as she struggles to process the unexpected presence of his wife. Tempting as it is, he holds down a smirk. Of course, he’s a happily married man–for nearly eight years now.

“Yeah,” he replies simply. “She’s usually the one to pick up our daughter from daycare, but she’s been working a lot of overtime lately. I thought I'd come instead so she can get some rest."

“Oh, well that’s very–“

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re here!” The sound of a familiar high-pitched voice, along with a light pattering of feet, diverts both adult’s attention.

“Hey kid.” Yoongi effortlessly lifts the small child once in front of him, securing her in his arms. “Have fun today?”

Jia gives an enthusiastic nod, bright red ribbons in her hair bouncing cutely as she does. Proudly, she shows him the drawing she made.

“See? It’s me, you, and mommy!” She makes sure to point to each part of the picture with her pointer finger.

Yoongi gently takes the artwork from his daughter’s hand and lets out a soft chuckle. “Now this is what I call a masterpiece! Mommy’s gonna love hanging this one on the fridge. How about I hold onto this and you go grab your backpack, okay?”

As soon as Jia’s feet touch the carpeted floor again, she races off to her cubby in the far corner of the room. Yoongi shoots Sandra a final glance before slowly following behind. “We got to get going, but nice meeting you.”

“You…too.” Sandra’s response is more than disappointed as she watches the father-daughter duo make their way out of the building. Evidently, Min Yoongi isn’t the single dad she originally assumed. Funny, she swore there wasn’t a wedding band in sight. Maybe she missed it.

“No, I’m sorry but I’m certain we haven’t used any of your services in the last six months. My husband canceled it in late October.”

With one hand, you grip your cell phone up to an ear while the other pops open the dishwasher. You’ve been on the phone with the cable company for half an hour, trying to make sense of an unexpected charge that appeared on your bank account this morning. You consider yourself more patient than most, yet after working all day, a pile of laundry waiting to be washed, and dinner threatening to burn on the stove, the last thing you have time for is arguing with your old service provider.

“I understand, ma’am, and I apologize for any confusion. I’m taking a look at my records and they’re all showing me that—oh wait a second.”

The young man on the opposite end of the line interrupts his own thought, piquing your concern in the process.

“What did you say your last name is?”

You answer and in an instant, you’re met with a thousand rushed apologies; something about getting the account names mixed up in their system. It’s difficult to decipher everything you hear with the front door being thrust open that very moment.

“Mommy, where are you? We’re home!” Your daughter not so subtly announces her presence from the foyer. She kicks off her shoes, hangs her backpack on the designated wall hook, and then rushes to the kitchen upon catching a brief glimpse of your shirt.

“It’s alright, these mistakes happen.” You hang up the call and turn around to find Jia only steps away, a big goofy grin on her face. Infectious, you break out into a smile yourself and swoop her up.

“Hey honey, I missed you so much!” You kiss the side of your daughter’s head as she wraps her small arms around your neck. “You look so pretty with all these ribbons in your hair! Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?”

Being that you were called into work earlier than usual this morning, Yoongi was the one who got Jia dressed and ready for daycare. You’re delightfully surprised by the results.

“Mmhm,” Jia nods, twirling a couple of strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “But Daddy pulls too much!”

“Maybe if someone had listened and stopped fussing when I told her, I wouldn’t have accidentally yanked on her hair when I was reaching for her favorite Hello Kitty scrunchie.” Yoongi joins you both in the kitchen, walking over to press a quick peck on your lips while tenderly caressing the small of your back. The gesture soothes you of your earlier frustrations. “Who was that on the phone? Cable company?”

“Yeah, they canceled the charge. Wrong account.” As you reiterate the entire mix-up, your eyes wander all over your husband. He’s especially handsome tonight, given his perfectly tousled black hair and navy blue blazer flowing over his body. It’s tastefully oversized with a clean, white top paired underneath. You, on the other hand, are sporting a raggedy old t-shirt and stained sweatpants.

There was a time when you used to put a shit ton more effort into your appearance. It was before you got pregnant with Jia, back when you and Yoongi were going out on weekly dates. Neither of you has that kind of time anymore, or energy for that matter. You didn’t believe the other moms when they told you the romance takes a nose dive after you have your first kid. Yet here you are, proven wrong again.

Being parents to a beautiful baby girl is likely the most rewarding feeling in the world for you and Yoongi. You don’t remember the last time the two of you got real quality alone time though. And sex? Well, that hasn’t happened in weeks. The gravity of the situation weighs more on you with each passing day to be honest. Sure, you’re not the same person you used to be eight years ago, but shouldn’t you and Yoongi still make time for at least a little intimacy?

“How was picking up Jia by the way?” You look at Yoongi who merely shrugs nonchalantly in response.

“It was fine. Nothing too out of the ordinary,” Yoong gives you another peck before heading up the stairs to your bedroom. “I’m gonna go get changed. Why don’t you show Mommy the drawing you did Jia?”

“A drawing?” You shift your attention to your daughter whose eyes sparkle like diamonds upon mention. “We should put it up on the fridge then. Let’s take a look hmm?”

“It’s in my backpack! My new friend and I were drawing together. Her name is Mi-Sun.” Jia continues telling you all about her friend Mi-Sun as you make your way to the front door where her backpack hangs. You’re fully engaged until the very end. “Daddy made a new friend too!” she joyously claps her hands together, not realizing the depth of her remark.

“Oh, who’s Daddy’s new friend honey?” You ask, staying as calm as possible.

“Ms. Cho! They were talking for a really long time today.”

Ms. Cho? You think back to all the moms you’ve met at daycare. Somehow you can’t recall ever hearing or meeting a Ms. Cho. She must be a single mom, you deduce. Was she new? What did she look like? And why didn’t Yoongi mention her when you asked?

This has to be nothing but a little small talk, an acquaintance at most. Besides, the moms at Jia’s daycare are quite a chatty bunch and Yoongi wouldn’t dare overstep any boundaries.

“Do you know what they were talking about?” You don’t enjoy asking your child for details about your husband, yet you can’t seem to help it this time.

“I dunno,” she shrugs her shoulders. "Daddy was laughing a lot."

Suddenly, the self-assurance you gave yourself earlier slips away; seemingly useless given the queasy feeling building in the pit of your stomach.

For the remainder of the night, you purposely dodge every attempt your husband makes to kiss, touch, and hold you. You’ve even begun responding to his questions in one-word answers and at times, with nothing at all.

Yes, you’re being petty; more than usual. The silent treatment frustrates Yoongi to no end and it isn’t very mature of you, but neither is refusing to tell your wife that some single mom was flirting with you in front of your kid! Okay, so maybe that's an exaggeration. Maybe it all sums up to a harmless conversation, but it’s not like you know either way with Yoongi being as reserved as he is. It brings you back to your early dating days when he wouldn’t think to tell you about various aspects of his day; who he ate breakfast with that morning or the one classmate of his that wouldn’t leave him alone for two semesters.

Truth be told, you're simply hoping that your husband will bring up the topic first, without having to be the classic nagging wife. You’re a jealous person by nature so it’s not a simple task. Even now as you fold the first batch of laundry on your shared bed, him on the other side doing the same, you struggle to keep from blurting everything out.

“So,” Yoongi fluffs up a clean pillowcase before sliding it onto one of the bed pillows. “How was work?”

What a basic question, you grumble internally. Is that all he’s got? “Was okay,” you reply. “The usual.”

“You must be tired from the day. Did you get to lie down at all?” Yoongi picks up another pillowcase, repeating the process as before. When he glances your way, it’s clear something’s on your mind. You’ve started pairing Jia’s socks far more aggressively than normal and you’re holding back your responses. “Did you hear me, doll? Or am I going deaf here?” The sarcastic chuckle distracts you from your task, forcing your attention.

You’re about to respond when your eyes briefly flicker down to his hands, his left one in particular. Where's his wedding ring? Yoongi always wears it no matter what. The same sick feeling from before returns tenfold. No wonder that Ms. Cho was all over him–she must have thought he was single.

“No, I didn’t get to lie down Yoongi. I worked all day, came home and made dinner, called the cable guy to get that stupid bill figured out, and now I’m doing the second load of laundry. I’m really just not in the mood to chat.” It comes out a blur as you snatch the empty laundry basket and head for your washer and dryer, your eyes welling up with tears.

“__, wait.” Yoongi tosses the last pillow near the headboard and stops you in your tracks, his hand firmly gripping one end of the laundry basket. The intensity of his stare softens as he speaks. “I'm sorry if it seems like I'm forcing you to talk. I know you've been losing a lot of sleep recently between work, Jia, and upkeeping the house. We just don't get a lot of time to see each other anymore and I miss you…I miss talking to you."

With every ounce of self-control remaining, you hold back any tears that risk spilling out. You don't know why you're acting like this, why you're crying over something that seems so small and insignificant to the rest of the world. Yoongi loves you. He's said it a million times and proven it to you over and over again, for eight years now. He wouldn’t cheat on you, yet you still get so worked up about the idea that someone could take him away from you. Someone half your age, more attractive, or hell even the opposite sex if it means fewer dark circles under their eyes.

"Why- why aren't you wearing your ring?" Your naturally confident voice dwindles to the whisper of a mouse. It's completely out of character, nevertheless, here you are.

"I..." Your husband's voice wavers. His gaze flickers to his left hand, where his ring should be, but isn't. "Shit...I took it off in the shower this morning," he confesses, frustrated by his forgetfulness. "I was in such a rush to get Jia to daycare, and me to work, that it completely slipped my mind. I'm sorry—I fully intended to put it back on." He pauses, then perks up. "It's still in the bathroom. I'll be right back, okay?"

You watch as he makes a beeline for the master bathroom, eager to rectify the situation as soon as possible. You should have kept silent what you say next, but you don't.

"No wonder the moms at Jia's daycare were so drawn to you."

"What?" Yoongi stops in his tracks. The dumbfounded expression on his face tells you that you've caught him off guard again.

"Jia told me about someone named Ms. Cho," you reluctantly continue. "The two of you were laughing and talking and–"

"Baby, don't worry about that." Seizing his chance, your husband walks back over to you and sneakily pulls the laundry basket from under your arm. He sets it on the ground after, then reaches to take your hand in his, but stubbornly you cross your arms.

"Her name's Sandra," he starts explaining. "She's a new mom at the daycare and she didn't know anyone, so she started talking to me. I got the sense she was a little overly friendly but it was all small talk, nothing more."

Still largely unsatisfied, you remain unmoved. "If it wasn't a big deal then why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because nothing serious happened. The majority of the conversation was her venting about her ex-husband and me wishing you were right there next to me. Please believe me. All I could think about was finally being able to come home to you after a long week with Jia in our arms."

"Really?" Well, now you're feeling guilty for avoiding him in nearly every way tonight. Guilty for believing such wild assumptions that he'd leave you for someone else over one measly conversation. Guilty for letting yourself get so worked up over a situation you, quite frankly, knew few details about.

"I mean it doll." This time, when he reaches out to grasp your wrist, he succeeds. He intertwines his fingers with yours and leads you to the edge of your bed, gently pulling you down to sit on his lap. "Do you really think I could look at anyone else the way I look at you? Or think about you the way I have for the last eight-plus years we've been married and known each other?"

You hesitate your answer, averting his eye contact. "I know but…"

"No, don't finish that. Look at me," he intercepts. "You and our daughter are the only women on my mind–24/7. I can't get either of you out of my head and I don't want to. I'm so sorry I forgot to put my wedding band back on this morning, and again tonight. I feel awful about it and I'll be more careful from now on. And another thing, when Sandra and I were talking I mentioned you multiple times. So, it's clear to her that I'm a happily married man."

The last bit of information manages to perk your ears. "You talked about me?" Your eyes widen as you finally shift your full attention to him. Yoongi eyes widen with you, amused by your sudden change of heart to look at him.

"I said my wife is an amazing mother, works too hard for her own good, and needed to rest today. Give or take a few words."

That's all? You huff to yourself. Would it been nice if your husband also thrown in that you were beautiful or stunning in that mix of compliments? Yes, yes it would have–again, you're pettiness clouds your better judgment. You're not as pissed off as before, but rather semi-irritated.

"Okay…well I guess it's fine then. I'm sorry for being short with you earlier. I shouldn't have made those rash conclusions about the ring and that woman from the daycare. It wasn't reasonable of me." You get up from his lap, yet Yoongi isn't entirely convinced that you're okay.

"There's still something you're not telling me. I can tell."

"No, there's nothing else." You waive him off, placing your hand on your bedroom doorknob "You told her you had a wife so it's fine. I need to switch the second load of laundry.”

"Come on, doll. Let's not leave things unsaid now."

Sighing at his plead, you find yourself giving into all your repressed thoughts and emotions. It swallows you up, like a tidal wave you can't stop. "Look at me Yoon. I'm sweaty, I have dark circles under my eyes, stretch marks, love handles, my hair's a mess, and all I wear are old sweats covered in stains. I'm nothing like I used to be! No wonder we aren't intimate anymore."

Yoongi rises from the bed at once, offended by the sudden digression. "Is that what this is all about? It’s not even about that single mom from daycare is it?" The truth of the matter sinks in as he speaks.

"I guess maybe so…though I'm still annoyed about that too." Great, you're back to square one again.

"Come with me, I need to show you something." Your husband gestures you to follow him, which you slowly concede to.

"What are you doing Yoon?" You both walk into the master bathroom, stopping in front of the large mirror above the sink.

"I'm showing you the woman I'm in love with and have been in love with for nearly eight years now. Sweats and all." Yoongi makes you face the mirror directly, hands around your shoulders. You have trouble stomaching the sight.

"Yoongi please, I can't. The laundry ringing off." You avoid looking into the mirror and make a move to leave the bathroom.

"Just stay with me a minute, please?" Your husband refuses to loosen his hold on you, turning your body so you're looking eye to eye. "No, you're not the same person as you were and neither am I. We're parents to a beautiful daughter now, who we love and adore. We're also overtired 90% of the time, juggling a million things at once. But there's one thing you can count on to always stay the same–my loyalty to you. I'll always be in love with you __, no matter what age you are or however way you look. There's nothing you can do to change that, so why fight it?"

Dammit. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in his heart-melting speech. It's not his words alone, it's the sincerity behind them. How he's repeated similar countless times before throughout your entire relationship.

"I love you, Yoon..." you choke out the words, composure fleeting.

"I love you so much, doll." He wipes the wetness of your tear with his thumb. "As far as us not being as intimate anymore, that's my fault. I don't ever want you to feel like I don't desire you every day. Why don't we send the kid to my parents this weekend and let me start making things right hmm?"

"I don't know if we can this weekend. Jia has a playdate on Saturday."

"So, I'll ask Mom to take her. She'll be happy to, trust me. We can finally watch that movie you've been dying to show me since what? December?"

"You're serious?" Your eyes light up at the mention of what is essentially a movie date. The show Yoongi's referring to is one you've been craving to see for months, yet neither of you has found the time to watch. "I've been talking about it for so long, Yoon."

"I know you have, it's why I suggested it. I've been wanting to watch it too with all the trailers you keep sending me. Plus, I'll be able to keep my beautiful wife in my arms for over two hours. That's a lot for us, especially with you being such a busy bee. I can never get you to light in one place! What's up with that, huh?"

Feeling your natural self re-emerging, you throw a playful swat to his arm and scowl at his teasing comment. "You're one to talk! You're basically a workaholic! Besides, you knew who you were marrying when you met me."

Yoongi chuckles and brings both hands to cup your cheeks, squishing them slightly. "A cutie who reads 800-page novels at a basketball game?"

"Stop babying me!" You pull his hands off your cheeks and rub them, trying to regain some composure. "I don't regret my choices, I like books. It's why I'm such a boss at work!"

"Okay, boss," he laughs. "What about what I suggested before then? I can call Mom tomorrow and ask her if she could watch Jia for the day. She'll take her to her playdate, then they can spend the rest of the day together."

It does sound nice, having the whole day with your husband.

"Okay," you agree. "Let's try."

"Good." Yoongi slides his hands down to your hips and pulls you flush against his chest. "How about we seal it with a kiss now?" You nod and he leans his head down, pressing an amazing, tender kiss to your lips. It makes you both giddy on queue.

"Read one more story, Daddy!" Jia leaps off her small, twin bed and bounds for her bookshelf. She lets out a series of giggles when a large pair of hands catch her, lifting her high into the air.

"I already read you three books kid," Yoongi says, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Bedtime." He then tucks her into her fluffy comforter, plugs in her teddy bear nightlight, and closes her bedroom door.

The next second, Jia comes running out of her room, latching onto his right leg. "I don't wanna go to bed. I wanna play!" Figures she'd be hyper at this hour.

Yoongi sighs and picks her up. "Daddy told you to go to sleep, it's not playtime. You'll have lots of time for that tomorrow when you get to see your friend." He then carries her into her room, yet she fusses in his arms; thumping her tiny fists into his chest.

"No, no, no, Daddy. I want to play!"

Sighing, Yoongi looks at his child with sharp eyes. "Jia–"

"Hey," you interrupt, entering your daughter's bedroom upon hearing the commotion down the hall. "What's going on?"

"Kid doesn't want to go to bed."

You give an empathetic look and saunter over to the pair, gently taking Jia into your arms. Yoongi places his hands on his hips as he watches you reason with your daughter.

"Jia, you know tomorrow's a big day right? You and Sana are going to go to the playground together." The child nods. "You don't want to be tired when you're playing do you?"

"No..." She shakes her head. "I want to be awake!"

"Then you need to listen to Daddy and go to sleep. That way you'll be full of energy tomorrow when you and Sana go on the swings or slide down all the big slides." You smile as Jia starts rubbing her drowsy eyes, yawning in the process.

"But I...okay," she slowly concedes, eyes fluttering shut as she gives into her sleepy state. Unsurprising to you and Yoongi, she was tired all along. But like most kids, hated going to bed.

"See?" You lay Jia in her bed and pull the covers up near her chin, giving her a light kiss on the side of her head. Yoongi bends down and does the same after you. "You just gotta talk to her a little, she'll typically fall asleep on her own."

"But I read her three of her favorite books." Yoongi shuts off the overhead light, along with the door to Jia's room, and follows you to your bedroom.

"That's different Yoon," you argue back. "Books excite her."

"She takes after you that way then." Yoongi pulls his t-shirt off, leaving him bare-chested, and climbs onto his side of the bed. You join him shortly after with your head resting on his chest and an arm thrown around his waist.

"I'm so exhausted," you yawn.

"Go to sleep, baby. I'm right here." Your husband places a hand over your wrapped arm, sending you off into a deep slumber.

Well this is just ironic. Almost 2 A.M. and you're wide awake.

What initially started as a nice, relaxing dream quickly turned into a terrible nightmare. In the dream, you woke up alone. Yoongi was gone. Jia was gone too. You can't exactly make sense of it, except for a vague memory of Jia calling another woman 'Mom'. You couldn't see her face very well, so it could've been anyone. You couldn't speak either, so even when you tried approaching the three, they couldn't hear you. You've had nightmares plenty of times, but this one is new. It's a clear projection of all the underlying concerns upheaved from earlier; insecurities, abandonment, loss, and it has you unsettled.

You glance over to your husband's side of the bed. He's fast asleep, no longer cuddling you due to you both flip-flopping in your sleep. You decide to slide closer to him, needing to watch him for a while. It might sound weird, but you love watching him sleep. He's so handsome and you feel a great deal of comfort doing so. Maybe if he was awake, you'd tell him about what you dreamt. Then again...maybe not.

"I love you Yoon," you whisper as quietly as you can, tracing his every facial feature with your eyes.

"'m, I love you too."

Is he-was he awake? As if caught red-handed, you quickly flit your face away in favor of the blank ceiling above. You weren't expecting him to answer at all, and in such a hoarse voice too. You're a little turned on by it to be honest.

"Can't sleep?" he speaks up again, eyes still closed.

"No, I''ll be okay though. You can go back to sleep. Don't worry."

He grunts, a tad unhappy with your dismissal of him. "Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?"

You whip your head in his direction. "How–" You pause, seeing his eyes blink open.

"I didn't meet you just yesterday, doll. I know they keep you up. Just know, I'm always here okay? Always." He reaches for you with delicate fingers as he continues. "Now, come here. Seems we got separated in our sleep."

You accept the offer and cuddle into him again. This time your noses nearly touch and his arm wraps around your lower waist. You feel the growing urge to kiss him, wanting to forget your nightmare entirely. But perhaps silly, you ask permission first, seeing as he's close to drifting off again.

"Yoon?"

"Mm."

"Can we kiss?" Your cheeks flush a little at the request. Why are you acting like this? You've been married for years.

"Sure, 'm tired but I could go for a make-out right now." A small smirk graces his lips as he teases you. You give him a classic 'Yoongi!' in reply. "I'm kidding. You don't ever have to ask me that," he finishes.

"Hmm, maybe I don't want a kiss anymore." You feign stubbornness, just to see his response. And a response he gives you, more than you're prepared for.

"You're ridiculous," he grumbles, capturing your lips in one fell swoop. He moves his lips against yours as the hand on your waist grips tighter. The tiniest of moans escapes your lips.

You attempt to break the kiss first, thinking it will only last for a few seconds. Yet Yoongi slips a hand behind your neck to bring you into another kiss. One that's deeper than the last. You feel your breath being taken away little by little, especially when his tongue licks into your mouth. God, you haven't kissed like this in an eternity. A wetness soon gathers between your thighs.

"'m, Yoon," you gasp when his cool fingers sneakily make their way under your shirt, tickling your bare skin. They travel the expanse of your waist, stomach, and up along your back. "So cold."

Yoongi pulls away from the kiss and retracts his fingers. He then lazily moves his body until his chest hovers over your own, rolling you on your back in the process. He's a bit of a blur due to the dimness of the room, yet you can see the whites of his eyes a bit better than before.

"Help me warm them then," he says, folding his hands on top of yours from where they rest on your stomach. "You're really burning up, doll."

His observation is right. Ever since you woke up, you're body's been hotter than normal. The stress is clear and it's only increasing due to the unexpected turn of tonight's events; your husband seemingly wanting to make love to you in the middle of the night.

"So I am," you reply, staring straight into his eyes. "Must be because of all the sudden surprises today. My body's finally responding to it all."

Yoongi nods, following your implication. "Well let's do something to calm it down, shall we?" He waits for your final go before making any abrupt movements.

"But...you haven't seen me–"

"Naked in a while?" he predicts your next words, unfazed. "I've seen it all, each time better than the last because I love you. You're beautiful to me, no matter what. Let me love you __. I've missed you. I've missed us."

"Okay...please," you sigh, desperately needing his touch. "It's been so long since we've been this close."

Neither of you has it in you to delay another second as you dive into another fiery kiss, your hands wandering up and down each other's bodies. You love his hair the most, so you run your fingers through it repeatedly. Your husband's soft grunts remind you that it's as pleasurable for him as it is for you, and as if to counter, he latches his lips to the curve of your neck.

"Yoon," you moan, shivering at the feeling of being peppered in open-mouth kisses. Your eyes automatically roll up as well.

Yoongi nips at your jaw next, featherlike, yet deadly to you nevertheless. He doesn't allow himself to linger more than a second, though, preferring to keep you on your toes. So with careful fingers, he begins lifting the bottom of your shirt.

"Can I?"

You hum in approval and lean forward for him to remove it.

With your nipples now exposed to the brisk air, stiffening due to arousal, Yoongi brings both his hands up to caress your boobs. He's incredibly gentle, telling you how beautiful you are once again until his thumbs start circling your peaked nipples. A rush of sensation shoots up your spine as he rolls them harder, flicking them once in a while.

"Fuck," you swear.

"Feeling good?"

All you do is nod fervently in response, which Yoongi takes as his signal to lower his head to your chest. He squeezes both breasts in his hand before wrapping his mouth around a nipple, licking and sucking relentlessly. He repeats the same to the other.

"Yoongi, I need you. Please." You're core tightens, thighs struggling not to rub together, as you plead with your husband to relieve you. You are so wet and getting wetter.

"I'm here, doll, I got you. Fingers first hm?"

He pushes part of the comforter towards the foot of the bed, then gestures for you to raise your butt. Any shred of mystery of how worked up he's gotten you slip away as he pulls your underwear and pants down your legs. They both get tossed on the floor, per usual.

Bare pussy exposed, Yoongi guides your legs further apart and brings a hand down to your entrance. One of his long, slender fingers traces up your folds so smoothly that you buck your hips upon the touch. He smiles lightly at the subtle response, pleased that you're finally enjoying yourself; too often you put your needs last. His finger slowly sinks into your well-lubricated pussy, velvety walls clenching around it.

"Oh, g-god," you give a shaky moan as his finger pumps and curls in you, stimulating your g-spot. "Need you now, Yoon, so bad."

"Mm not yet, we need to stretch you out. You haven't taken me for a good three or four weeks," he smirks at your eagerness, sliding a second finger next to the first. "This pussy is drenched but not enough. I need you to come. Can you do that for me?"

Fast, quick movements follow suit as your husband works you up to an orgasm. Oh fuck, oh fuck, you chant in near whines. Your pussy is spasming around him, walls tightening with each push and pull. You know when he draws his hand out that it's covered with your come. Messy, sex is messy and both of you are too far gone to care; the pleasure sweeping over you.

Finally, in what feels like an endless tease, you have your first orgasm of the night. You feel your body relaxing into the mattress again, yet your breath remains short. Yoongi, on the other hand, groans seeing your release dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets. For a split second, there's a slight darkening in his eyes while he takes in your post-orgasmic form. The two fingers that had been inside you are sensually brought to his lips, slipping between the seam before being cleaned off.

You're taken aback by the action, though you've witnessed it before. Something about watching your husband willingly follow through with a gesture so lewd makes your head spin–you want him to fuck you right this instant. He must share the same feeling because you don't even need to sound the words due to his hands already making quick work of his pants.

"You drive me mad, you know that? Can never get a break with how sweet you taste. Your lips, your come. All of it makes me go mad." His full length comes in view, hard and tip leaking with pre-cum. You try not to let yourself stare at the thickness but hell, you must've forgotten the extent of your husband's size. You don't remember it being this big before.

"Well," you gulp. "You're not making it easy on me either, looking like this."

Yoongi climbs over to you again, settling into a straddled position, and looks deep into your eyes. "Who's fault do you think that is?"

"It's your fault." You bend your legs and wrap them around his mid-section. You can feel the tip of his cock tease at your entrance. The anticipation is beyond grueling.

"No," he says, aligning himself up to your weeping hole. "it's yours." He then thrusts his hips forward, his length sinking into you so perfectly it has you completely satisfied.

"Y-Yours," you whimper out, unable to form a steady sentence.

"Fine." He picks up his pace. "Let's just agree we both fuck each other up on a daily---ah fuck!" Yoongi growls and gives you a suspicious look when he feels your pussy suddenly clench around his length.

"I didn't do it on purpose this time! You're fucking me too good is all."

"Really? You're not just teasing me?"

Yoongi is slow to believe since you've purposefully clenched countless times before, simply out of playfulness. Tonight is different than those nights though because you're telling the truth–he's truly fucking you so good.

"What the hell," he concedes. "You feel so fucking fantastic, I don't even care." He continues his movements, thrusting into you with deep groans and labored breaths. His fingers grip the mattress harder with the veins in his neck bulging out.

Both your bodies move in sync as the familiar sound of skin slapping on skin echoes off the walls of your bedroom. You do your best to keep your moans low, not wanting to risk waking up your daughter.

"Yoon, fuck! I need to come, it's gonna-fuck-happen soon," you swear, pussy throbbing at the feeling of being so full after weeks of abstinence. You can tell you're reaching your high with the bundle of nerves in your core threatening to snap at any given moment.

Of course, you're wet too, extremely wet.

"I'm. Nearly. There." He barely sounds the words out, jaw clenching. "Just another minute, and we can finish together."

Your eyes, which haven't left his since he entered you, begin to glass over with tears. It's overwhelming; his love for you. No matter the doubts that tell you the opposite, you can't give in to their ugly lies. You'll continue to struggle, naturally, but you won't ever let them win. Yoongi's never once given up on you, and neither should you.

"I love you, Yoon...I love you with all my soul," you choke the words, falling apart all at once. "I'm sorry for today. How jealous and irrational I got."

"Don't apologize, doll. I shouldn't have let it go so far, our lack of intimacy and alone time. I promise we're going to make it all right okay?"

Giving you one last thrust, you both have your release at the same time. Yoongi helps ride your orgasm out by lazily continuing to grind into you. Yeah, you might need to shower and switch out the sheets after tonight, but you don't regret it one bit.

"In all seriousness baby," Yoongi speaks up, guiding your legs back on the soft mattress until you’re comfortable. "Don't feel like you have to apologize for everything. I understand your feelings and where you were coming from. I will say, the silent treatment kills me though. I'd rather you yell at me than not talk to me at all."

"It's not easy for me to raise my voice like that, Yoon." You throw your arms around his neck and sigh softly. "But I can try talking to you more, or at least tell you I need some time to process before I'm ready to have a conversation. I don't know, am I making sense?"

"Plenty of sense. I'll share more about my day with you and who I'm talking to as well. We'll also carve out time to have together. I love our daughter, but I don't see the harm in reaching out to our friends and family to babysit once in a while."

"Well, this sounds good to me," you hum.

"Me too." Yoongi smiles wide and goes in for another warm kiss. Your eyes flutter shut in unison.

This is what love feels like.

a/n: LMK what you think 🥰

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #bts imagine #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts au #fic:whatlovefeelslike #kookslastbutton

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meanbossart · 4 months

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Oh boy, VaM is kind of a trial and error experience LOL I couldn't really show you how to use the interface and stuff without a whole video or something, but it's not THAT difficult to get a hang of if you just give yourself a day or two to play around, not to mention the number of tutorials you find out there. Luckily, if you only want to use it as a reference software that makes the process far easier (to this day I have no idea how to animate on that thing, since that's not what I use it for)

As for how I use it, it's pretty self explanatory - if there's a complicated pose I want to draw but I'm either having trouble with it, or just want to double-check angles/anatomy, I will use it as a resource! I use for most of my "proper" pieces (y'know, the nicer looking ones) and every once in a while for my silly comics if I'm having trouble with a pose.

Lets use this drawing for example (the character on top of DU drow belongs to @namespara )

I don't draw a lot of mud-wrestling (shocking, I know) but I had an idea of the kind of pose I wanted them to be in. So the very first thing I did was make a rough sketch of what I was envisioning:

I often do a rough sketch first, even If I know I'm going to be pulling the program up because A) It's less tedious than adjusting the models over and over again until I pick a pose and B) because sometimes I'll decide I don't need the reference, after all, and so that's 30 minutes I'll have spared myself of playing around on the software.

Now, this is a pretty complicated pose! It's in a weird angle and the bodies are making contact in ways I'm not used to depicting, so I did choose to whip out VaM for this one. I went into the program and after some messing around, I flopped my little dolls together like this:

Now something really cool about VaM is that you can completely customize your models, and if you have the patience, I would definitely encourage you to do so! Obviously, you don't have to make picture perfect replicas of every single character you have, but as you can see here I have made a DU drow "decoy" to help me better understand some of his features when I draw him: he has a strong brow, a short nose, a square jawline - these are all going to look a very specific way from certain angles, and I might not always be sure of how to draw it right! So it's useful to have models that bear SOME semblance to the character so you can better understand how different viewpoints will affect their bone structure and mass.

Also thank fucking god for the elf-ear slider. Figuring out how to draw those shits from certain angles was a huge pain in the ass when I started drawing DnD races.

So, with the reference in hand, I go over the sketch again:

Now you may notice that I don't stick to the reference 100%. There's three reasons for this:

posing on VaM is tedious as hell. You can get something incredibly natural looking and picture-perfect to reference from if you wish, but it's going to take you hours to do. So, for the most part I just slap guys together until the results are "close enough" and use that.

In my opinion, you should always aim to ENHANCE your reference material, not replicate it exactly!

While VaM is a PRETTY DANG GOOD source of anatomical reference, it isn't perfect, I often supplement it with further reference from real life resources or make tweaks based on my own knowledge where I catch it falling short (and, antithetical to what I just said, I sometimes fuck the anatomy up further on purpose if I think it looks better that way LOL it's all jazz baby).

Then lines, color, yada yada. I don't have a tutorial on that and I don't think I could make one, because my process is chaotic as hell, but I do at times use Virt-a-mate as loose reference for lighting too when coloring - waaaaayyyy less so however, because that process is even more tedious and I feel like I often get better results by just winging it. It is a feature of the program though, and I'm sure it would be helpful for someone who has a difficult time visualizing lights and shadows. I only started using this program a few months ago, so I happened to already have a pretty good understanding of that kind of thing and just don't personally feel like I get much out of that particular mechanic.

Here's a few other examples of pieces that I made reference for (WARNING: Suggestive)

Now, for the question many of you may want to ask:

"Can I trace this junk?"

And to that, I say: Buddy, you can do whatever the hell you want with the reference material you created.

However,

If your goal is to learn and improve your art, and to recreate realistic proportions and anatomy from memory, tracing won't help you.

Developing your own style, your muscle memory, and personal technique will all be hindered by choosing to trace instead of drawing from observation, so I would encourage against it. Hell - even when tracing is employed as a technique, it's usually by high-skill realism & concept artists who are looking to either cut some corners, save time, or just double-check their own proportions in order to improve further - if you try tracing as a beginner, you will most definitely find the result to still look stiff and "off".

So trust me, there is so much more to be gained from drawing from observation. Make note of tangents, compare proportions, use all the elements of the picture to dictate where and how things should go - it will be a far more rewarding experience.

Hopefully this has been helpful! VaM is a really cheap program (you get it on the guys' patreon for I think 8 dollars, just google it!) and it's definitely been worth my money as an artist since I found it. Learning to use it can be a little intimidating at first glance, but as I said above you only really need a day plus one or two tutorials to get a hang of the interface.

A fair warning though, IT IS A SOFTWARE MADE FOR VIRTUAL SEX/ADULT ANIMATION So when looking it up expect to see a some spicy content.

#Funfact THIS is the post that got me flagged last time so i'm really tempting fate right now LOL #ask #art #tutorial #resource

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dat-physics-boi · 7 months

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I gotta talk about Tensura

Before i explode, because it's hyperfixation time again apparently.

Brain has decided, i am powerless.

You know, this guy:

I absolutely adore this show, but if you only research it instead of watching, you might get the idea that it's your run of the mill gimmick isekai. And in terms of setting, i would completely agree with you. Even most of the characters are pure stereotypes to be honest, with one singular exception: The MC, Rimuru himself.

-First off. Adult. Not a teen, the dude was in his late 30s when he died. And that shit shows in the maturity of his decisions.

-Secondly, while he's op as fuck, a standard for an isekai really, that isn't the focus. No, that part is treated as the set dressing that it is. The actual story points? They're about diplomacy. About connecting with people. About grief, and how to move through it. About conflict, and how it can be resolved. And about how sometimes it has to be resolved by violence, but that that's never a good first response, only a fallback if all else fails. And about how to enjoy life despite it all, about never being too old to have fun with your friends.

-Third, while this is a headcanon, it's pretty easy to conclude from a couple lines in the first episodes: He's aromantic, though probably also bisexual? You don't tend to see that in media, ever. Or, at least, only if you want to make a character seem evil and heartless, which Rimuru is the polar opposite of.

-Fourth... Look again at this creature and try to tell me he isn't adorable and huggable.

Or look at him with his newly acquired sentient pet friend and humanoid form:

He was such an awakening for me in terms of being aromantic, and arguably also agender. Like, all i had seen before were aros who lamented not being able to feel romantic attraction, or who were called heartless and internalized it.

Or aromantics who argued that they could still have a partner, even if they didn't feel romantic attraction. Which, while true, isn't what I want from life.

Or agender people with really strong dysphoria, who needed to change their body asap. Which, again, while totally understandable, isn't the situation i find myself in.

On the agender part, Rimuru doesn't really mind all too much that his human form is sexless. Sure he makes a comment about it once, but he does have the option of shapeshifting into a different form if he wanted to. And he doesn't take it. I found that incredibly relatable.

Sorry, i know i'm rambling, but i just... needed to express that.

This show, this character, they've arguably changed my life.

This animation gave me a look at realistic optimism with the story it told, and in the same stroke a character i could relate to incredibly well.

#queer #aromantic #agender #that time i got reincarnated as a slime #tensura #rimuru tempest #rambling #you guys i don't think i can really properly explain what they mean to me #both the show as well as the character

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offtorivendell · 5 months

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Is an oily residue corrupting Azriel's hypothetical mating bond and making him feel off kilter? Is it related to Valg-type magic?

Disclaimer: this theory is a continuation of a few of my others that I've been too lazy to post until now - first I was going to post it for Elriel Month 2023, then Azriel Week 2023... it never happened - but like everyone else I'm having massive FOMO before HOFAS, so here we finally go, even though I know I've forgotten something lol. As usual, this makes no claims of being accurate, it's just theorising for fun.

A massive thank you goes out to @wingedblooms, @tswaney17, @silverlinedeyes, @psychologynerd, @ladynightcourt3, @cassianfanclub, and anyone else I've forgotten (sorry!) for all of our discussions that finally became this post. Love you guys. 💜

Spoilers: this is a Maasverse post, and draws from the ACOTAR series, CC 1 & 2/HOEAB & HOSAB, and the TOG series. It is CC 3/HOFAS spoiler free, as I'm waiting to read it in its "original English" 🤓 on the 30th of January. Please be respectful of that if engaging in the comments before it's published!

Plenty of people, including @silverlinedeyes, @icedflames and myself, have posted our thoughts on mating bonds in the Maasverse, and this theory builds on those previously established - though again, as yet hypothetical - ideas. Specifically, this post about the use of “oily” throughout the ACOTAR series is recommended reading.

What we do know is that:

Mating bonds contain threads, and so do spells.

Mates are the song/music of the soul, and their laughter is likened to music.

Different fae, and magics, contain different scents, be that personal or regional

First, let's go back to ACOWAR, when Feyre described the Ravens' entrance into the library as being like an off-kilter chord:

I felt it at the same moment she did. The ripple and tremor. Like … like some piece of the world shifted, like some off-kilter chord had been plucked. We turned toward the illuminated path that we’d just taken through the stacks, then to the dark far, far beyond. - ACOWAR, chapter 30

Initially, I had wondered if the King of Hybern had had Jurian use the Harp to infiltrate Velaris, but it was @merymoonbeam (I think) who theorised that the Cauldron might be mimicking the Harp, and maybe not doing the best job of it. Which made me wonder, could it do the same with mate bonds?

He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. - ACOSF, Azriel's bonus chapter

Looking at her now … She was pale, yes. The vacancy still glazing her features. But he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once. But even as shame washed through him, the words, the sense chanted, Mine. You are mine, and I am yours. Mate. - ACOWAR, chapter 24

What if the Elucien bond, as either a spell or piss poor Cauldron-Made approximation of a bond, causes Azriel - and maybe Elain, possibly Lucien - nausea when Lucien is around because it's constantly changing, or reverberating over the top of, what remains of a hypothetical Elriel bond?

What if it's making the Elriel bond off-kilter, out of whack, imbalanced?

Does this make Azriel feel sick, nauseous, or simply overwhelmed/overstimulated?

When people are feeling off-balance, for whatever reason, they can feel sick or nauseous. It's one of the symptoms of vertigo, which can be triggered by severe headaches such as migraines. And guess who rubs their temples? Azriel!

Alternatively, certain chords played loudly enough on a string instrument can really mess with your chest - and where do mating bonds attach - if you're standing close enough for them to vibrate through you (at least, they do for me haha). It can be weirdly disconcerting, and I'd imagine that if Azriel or Elain feels something like this, no wonder he describes such severe discomfort that he needs to leave, and she shrinks away from Lucien, the unintentional cause of her pain.

Same with the smell; if the magic of the Cauldron, in whatever way, is messing with the smell that should be there? Contaminating it? Unbearable.

Is this too crack for you? Well, let's get even crazier.

I have previously suggested that the Cauldron's actions throughout the series could be tracked, in part, by SJM describing a feeling or quality as “oily,” and I've also wondered if the dark maker of the Cauldron - Koschei? - could have hijacked it in some way, as the Book of Breathings being made from leftover iron gave me “One Ring” vibes. I still stand by that, but with a clarification (and here is where the TOG and CC spoilers come in, FYI). I think it's only half of the magic belonging to the Cauldron that is "oily":

Throughout TOG, the Valg are heavily associated with “oiliness,” in terms of their blood and magic. The smell “reeks” and always results in the involved characters experiencing extreme revulsion, including headaches. Sound familiar?

Wyrdstone has an oily, hideous aftertaste.

Even in CC 1/HOEAB, Danika was described as oily when she came into Griffin Antiques.

Celaena looked at the sealed door, her stomach turning. A half-dried pool of blood lay at the base of the door, so dark it looked like oil. She crouched, swiping a finger through the puddle. She sniffed at it, almost gagged at the reek, and then rubbed her finger against the pad of her thumb. It felt as oily as it looked. - COM, chapter 45

“What the hell is that?” Rowan demanded, kneeling beside her, sniffing her outstretched hand. He jerked back, snarling. “That’s not dirt.” No, it wasn’t. It was blacker than night, and reeked just as badly as it had the first time she’d smelled it, in the catacombs beneath the library, an obsidian, oily pool of blood. Slightly different from that other, horrific smell that loitered around this place, but similar. So similar to— “This isn’t possible,” she said, jolting to her feet. “This—this—this—” She paced, if only to keep from shaking. “I’m wrong. I have to be wrong.” There had been so many cells in that forgotten dungeon beneath the library, beneath the king’s Wyrdstone clock tower. The creature she’d encountered there had possessed a human heart. It had been left, she’d suspected, because of some defect. What if … what if the perfected ones had been moved elsewhere? What if they were now … ready? - HOF, chapter 45

The overseer roared, thrashing as her magic swept into him, melded with him. But there was nothing inside to grab on to. No darkness to burn out, no remaining ember to breathe life into. Only— Aelin reeled back, magic vanishing and knees buckling as if struck. Her head gave a throb, and nausea roiled in her gut. She knew that feeling—that taste. Iron. As if the man’s core was made of it. And that oily, hideous aftertaste … Wyrdstone. The demon inside the overseer let out a choked laugh. “What are collars and rings compared to a solid heart? A heart of iron and Wyrdstone, to replace the coward’s heart beating within.” - EOS, chapter 15

* Side note, it's giving Tamlin and his stone heart.

Danika didn’t just look like she’d been rootling through the garbage. She smelled like it, too. Wisps of her silvery blond hair—normally a straight, silken sheet��curled from her tight, long braid, the streaks of amethyst, sapphire, and rose splattered with some dark, oily substance that reeked of metal and ammonia. - CC HOEAB, chapter 1

The Hind held Ruhn’s gaze as the game began. She was the spitting image of Luna, with her upswept chignon, the regal angle of her neck and jaw. As coldly serene as the moon. All she needed was a pack of hunting hounds at her side— And she had them, in her dreadwolves. How had someone so young risen in the ranks so swiftly, gained such notoriety and power? No wonder she left a trail of blood behind her. “Careful now,” the Harpy said with that oily smile. “The Hammer doesn’t share.” The Hind’s lips curved upward. “No, he doesn’t.” - CC HOSAB, chapter 33

I think the dark maker of the Cauldron could have been Valg, whether that's Koschei or someone else I don't know though Koschei currently makes the most sense. I also don't know when the dark maker would have had the chance to influence the Cauldron; was it always made from dark and light, or - as @fawnandshadows theorised a while back - did Koschei bastardise it after the fact? Where the Valg would fit in with the Daglan and the Asteri is also a mystery, though my current train of thought is that they could be family names or allegiances, like different clans of the same parasitical species, thanks to the description of Danika in HOEAB.

But, back to Azriel and his severe reaction to the Elucien bond.

I know I'm not the only one who wonders at the very Valg-ish themes with which Rhys and Azriel's powers have been described - maybe one day I'll post my thoughts about the possible link between lightsingers, shadowsingers, daemati and the Valg (but it is not this day lol) - and how that may have come about. For example, are the Valg interwoven, genetically, with the Avallen people, or is it because the Princes of Hel are also involved, and have similar magics? Are the Princes of Hel a similar species as the Valg, Asteri and Daglan, or completely different? Ugh, let's stop this spiral here.

Oily: the obvious train of thought being that oily things are slippery, which can lead to an imbalance… ie. becoming off-kilter.

Sounds like Azriel could be suffering from some sort of vertigo, of which symptoms can include nausea; severe headaches, such as migraines, may trigger an episode… and who rubs his temples enough that Elain noticed it?

Maybe Azriel can sense the corruption in the bond, either the current Elucien bond, or the hypothetical original bond between Elain and himself; if like calls to like, and his shadows are Valg-ish, maybe it is because his OG bond was fucked with. So, what if:

Azriel's shadows can slip away from spells and binding magic (Slippery > oily > Valg).

The guards at the prison know what he is.

Valg magic making Azriel nauseous and Elain sourcing/making a healer's powder for him? It's giving Chaol and Yrene. Especially since Elain (and Mor) make his shadows brighten.

So, we have in-text mentions of Azriel feeling overwhelmed due to the proximity of the Elucien bond, as well as Elain shrinking from Lucien - an action that parallels Azriel hanging out in the doorway, and even Lucien retreating to the human lands, if he feels any bond-related discomfort around Elain. But what about his initial response to seeing Elain, and thinking she was the most beautiful female he'd ever seen? The quote that sent me down the “oily” rabbit hole to begin with?

Well, Aelin felt oily disgust at the thought of marrying someone who wasn't Rowan:

“There are no allies,” Darrow said. “Unless Her Highness decides to be useful and gain us men and arms through marriage”—a sharp glance at Rowan—“we are alone.” Aelin debated revealing what she knew, the money she’d schemed and killed to attain, but— Something cold and oily clanged through her. Marriage to a foreign king or prince or emperor. Would this be the cost? Not just in blood shed, but in dreams yielded? To be a princess eternal, but never a queen? To fight with not just magic, but the other power in her blood: royalty. She could not look at Rowan, could not face those pine-green eyes without being sick. - EOS, chapter 5

This example from Aelin could describe Azriel and Elain’s potential future if Elain accepted a theoretically Cauldron spelled bond to Lucien, but also for Lucien and Jesminda, if they were originally true or fated mates before she was murdered.

Some final thoughts:

We know from TOG that healing light is known as the Valg executioner. In a parallel to Yrene killing Erawan with her healing light in KOA, Elain killed the King of Hybern - who I suspect was possessed or assisted by a Valg, as Feyre described his magic as a “galaxy” in his palms - with Truth-Teller, which had recently devoured the (her?) sunlight; does this mean that Elain could heal or purify Valg possessed things, with or without the magical, Made dagger? Could this be extrapolated to Azriel's magic, the Dread Trove, or even the Cauldron (possibly with Feyre and Nesta for the bigger ticket items)?

If the Asteri are the same species as the Valg, and the Valg somehow had a hand in making or twisting the Cauldron, it could follow that they used the Cauldron to create offspring bonds for a more powerful food source. If this pans out then Elain, bright light, could hypothetically heal the Cauldron. Maybe that is why Azriel describes her with purity language? Not because SJM wants to display Azriel's apparently toxic thoughts about her (🙄), but because she, along with her sisters, will be his/their salvation? Rhys once said as much to Feyre!

@mrspettyferr has suggested that Azriel's shadows ability to hide him from binding magic - see: the High Lord's meeting in ACOWAR - could have prevented his true bond from snapping with Elain when she came out of the Cauldron. This could be supported by any Valg/shadow link.

Thank you for reading! Please don't mention any CC HOFAS spoilers in the comments or reblogs until after it has been officially published. 💜

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desultory-novice · 1 month

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Marionettes' Pavane Bonus Story

"Style Savvy" (3 Pages)

“MariPav” is a strangers to friends to ……… fan comic about Marx and Magolor’s meeting and their zany adventures in the days before Return to Dream Land. It was written before RtDL DX came out, so expect inconsistencies with current game lore!

[Previous] [Main]

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AN: It is finally upon us. The promised "costume change."

I debated with myself for a while about whether I even wanted to change their costumes, since these were based so heavily in their canon designs. If I changed them, would they still look like Marx and Magolor? (As much as they do now, at least.)

But I also designed these costumes back when I was ju~st starting out as an artist, and in many ways they're unrefined and clunky. And even though, or perhaps because, I'm better at drawing, I find the old costumes slow me down and trip me up in annoying ways.

Plus, I think MariPav!Magolor and MariPav!Marx have distinguished themselves enough in five chapters that they'll still be recognizable!

(And not only does this addition help narrow the gap between MariPav!Magolor and RtDL DX!Magolor, who is an obvious fiend for fashion with the number of different outfits he sports, it opens the door for further dramatically-timed costume changes! ^_-)

Speaking of changes, you might notice that everything looks approx 30% lighter than it did before. Been studying screen tone (even though I didn't use it here ^^; ) and this was a test on my part. Kind of hoping that this is a) makes the dialogue stand out a little more b) lets me fool around with more dramatic shading options and c) keeps the characters from blowing out the background elements due to contrast. Right now, it feels slightly easier on my eyes overall, but we'll see if I stick with it. (I do want to work more contrasty colors back into the comic once I know how to use them better. That's what happens when you dive in on a major project at the same time that you're trying to teach yourself everything about art from zero. ^^)

With that done, it's onto Chapter 6!

[Previous] [Main] [Next - coming soon]

#kirby gijinka #MariPav #Magolor #Marx Kirby #kirby #Marxolor #...at some point in the future at least #(Although Magolor's already picking out his CLOTHES so!)

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strwbmei · 8 months

Note

I'm sending this anonymously but i am one of your mutuals (guess who >:3) and I wanted to request a Vertin X shy!S/O fluff cause i'm completely in love with her (hint: i like a certain pink haired girl and i love Italians)

pairing(s): vertin x gn!reader

a/n: Hello!! Truth be told, I could tell just from the ">:3" emoji alone haha, it's always such a joy to talk with you (:

I'll get to all of the thirsts in my inbox I swear, I've just been really in the mood to write fluff lately

Vertin with a Shy!Reader

: ̗̀➛ Vertin isn't really shy, just more of an introvert who has a hard time expressing what she feels. Because of her past experiences and the people she has lost, she never really saw the point in building a relationship with someone whether it be platonic or romantic.

: ̗̀➛ That said— one thing that the Timekeeper has always been is curious. Your naturally shy and closed-off character piqued her interest even more so than the others, and she wanted to know everything about you.

: ̗̀➛ It's in her nature to be inquisitive and prying about everything; you, in particular, are no exception. Although it's true that her that this has gotten her into trouble more than a few times, she can't really bring herself to care if you're involved.

: ̗̀➛ After a while, her curiosity wasn't only for you and everything about you, but also for herself. Poor girl is usually so rational and calculated, but once she's in your presence all of that is completely gone. She believed herself to be a person who's very self-aware, yet you have her questioning everything as she knows it.

: ̗̀➛ Why does the world, usually so dreadful and miserable, feel so much more colorful when you're around? Why can't she take her eyes off of you? Why is it that whenever there is danger, her first concern is if you're alright? What is this... thumping in her heart that just can't seem to stop whenever you so much as look at her?

: ̗̀➛ It's love. Vertin was well aware of that fact, and it scared her. Scared that you might not feel the same way. Scared that the two of you will go back to being strangers once you find out. Most of all, terrified that you'd be put into danger because of her actions.

: ̗̀➛ You may have been shy, but you're not oblivious. You're aware of how she treats you differently from the others and you can feel how she gazes at you with unbridled love from across the room. You also know that Vertin would never tell you how she truly feels because of her fears.

: ̗̀➛ Sure, confessing your love to her despite all of that might have been a selfish move, but do you regret it? Not at all. You're prepared for the worst— as long as you're facing it with her. The process of the confession, though? The two of you were bumbling idiots who couldn't properly articulate their feelings even though you both have thought of this exact scenario a million times before.

: ̗̀➛ Still, it was worth every second. Vertin might not show it, but she's completely over the moon. Suddenly, the world isn't such a negative place— suddenly, she has hope. It's just a spark, but it's enough to keep her going.

: ̗̀➛ She's very patient with you. She knows that all of this about relationships and feelings is entirely foreign to you, and while that may also be true for her, she makes sure to put in the effort to be extra understanding since she knows of how timid you are and all she wants is for you to be happy and safe.

: ̗̀➛ Of course, she also tries to improve her ability to communicate. You're the only one who she feels like she can be vulnerable with and finally let the walls she's built around herself down. It's the first time she's felt so... secure and loved in someone's presence, and she wants to make sure she's the best version of herself for you.

: ̗̀➛ Until she's done with that though, expect random shows of affection throughout the day. Mostly her just remembering she hasn't kissed you or shown you love in the past 30 minutes and spontaneously deciding she needs to give you a peck on the cheek.

: ̗̀➛ Her sudden touches surprises you sometimes, but it's cute! You're just happy to see Vertin getting more comfortable because both of you were very hesitant to even hold hands at the start of your relationship.

#・❥・strwb inbox #・❥・strwb fluff #reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 x you #r1999 #r1999 x reader #r1999 x you #vertin #vertin x reader #vertin x you #reverse 1999 fluff #r1999 fluff

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mikodrawnnarratives · 7 months

Text

TW IMPLIED CHARACTER DEATH

TW BLOOD

(Just like last time, it isn't really graphic but I'm tagging just so you know)

@naffeclipse

Part 1 | This is Part Two | Part Three | Extra

It. Probably won't need a part 4

I'm doing this all on one cps file so I sure hope so kjlfdkfljs

i'm at like- 750+ layers i'm so sorry my file

...there might be a part 4 but it'll be small sketches and aftermaths

Once again, long post under the cut:

I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt.

I've been searching for a trail to follow again

Take me back to the night we met

- The night we met by Lord Hurdon

Alright, I didn't make too much of an effort to hide it but how many of you guessed it was gregory and how many of you didn't see it coming?

Gee I wonder who Gregory's companions are

Okay if you don't have a nugget of who these companions are then my rambling below makes it a little more obvious

Anyway, this little comic of self indulgence to mend my broken heart says "YO what if Gregory and other characters saved Vanessa like they did in canon"

It certainly would NOT be easy for Vanessa once she wakes up to that realization. But there are factors that make it a little bit easier for Vanessa to cope compared to other children.

Since Gregory and others proved they could fight and free her as Vanny, it gives her mind a little reassurance that they aren't completely helpless.

Plus, I like the idea of the GGY story (Dr Rabbit) existing as this au's equivalent of the same experience, that would mean Gregory has had his own bad experiences with Glitchtrap and so it wouldn't be like some random kid going against a threat he was unfamiliar with

She still distances herself a lot earlier on and the more time passes, the older Gregory gets, the less he looks and sounds like a kid.

Those make it much easier for Vanessa to stand being around them as time goes by. Earlier on, she only really interacted when absolutely necessary. But she did grow a small soft spot for them.

She remained pretty closed off about herself over the years and never delved too deep about her past. Ness left frequently for her own hunting jobs and at one point Gregory asked where she went. Somethings made it seem like these hunts weren't just random and different

He didn't get an answer of course. But later that day, Vanessa told him about Y/n. In vague terms. This is the most information he ever gets about Vanessa's past.

So Gregory's got no idea who to expect to see showing up to the gravestone ltr on and is just like

Gregory: cool, ur mysterious enough for it to be believable ur related to my mysterious older sister/mentor figure Wanna hear a story

Y/n: ...yes.

Forgive him his brain is ever so foggy from grief and no slep

Anyway, Y/n picked a day to visit Vanessa when they knew they were stable enough not to lash out and attack any humans that may happen to also be visiting the graves. They had eaten pretty recently but not so recent that they were vulnerable.

It's pretty early in the morning where it is still dark and the rain provides some more protection.

If you couldn't tell before, many MANY years have passed since Y/n has been human. Think somewhere between 20-30 years. And while, they still hate who they are now and aren't mentally okay, they've gotten a semi-solid understanding of their limits and what they can and cannot tolerate and when.

And, even though they are nervous, they can manage to have this conversation with Gregory for now.

Why are they talking to Gregory so willingly? despite the risks?

well

the next part will explain that

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qiutls · 1 year

Text

TNGDH 010

The first day of the Northern festival dawned.

It was noisy all over the place. I woke up early in the morning and sat up on the sawdust with uneven hair.

I'd love to sleep more, but I had a lot of work to do. First of all, it was necessary to increase the miracle value to further increase the duration time of "Summon."

I'm at a loss on how to fill up the remaining percent, but at least I know I can't fill them in this house filled with damn mealworms and crickets.

Yeah, let's go out.

It is also good to go out and grasp the atmosphere of the castle, and check what happens in < Heart of Winter > at this time. And if possible, I may change some of the events and slightly raise the miracle value.

I only have 30 minutes a day, I really need to use it well…

[ Should I use "Summon" now? (｡❛ᴗ❛｡) ]

'No!'

Not now, I don't have any clothes!

Ugh, but there's no better time to go out than now. It has only been 10 minutes since Kyle went to survey the castle for the festival. It would take an hour to complete one roundtrip.

If only there's other clothes available, except for the clothes the magicians picked up…

'Ah! That's right!'

Just then, a wonderful thought came to mind.

The space where Sen found me and chatted along with the other maids. It was the place where they do laundry. In other words, I can get the clothes that servants wore.

Let's just get one of out the pile. Even if it's a bit uncomfortable to know that someone has already worn it, it's way better than being naked.

You never know, I might be able to wear a sleek, and well-washed butler's uniform… Don't you think it'll look good on me?

I had a pleasant imagination in my own way before using "Summon" in the corner of the room.

[ Good luck! (ෆ`꒳´ෆ) ]

However, there was another problem that I've never anticipated.

"I've really lived…"

Originally, life was something you were supposed to know when you've actually lived once, but if you were going with this kind of development, you should at least give me a preview.

I sat with my legs spread out on the stone steps in the corner and put my elbows on my knees. And with an infinitely gloomy look on my face, I stared at the maid's uniform in amazement.

"….."

I should have expected, all the people gathered then were maids. There was no such thing as the butler's uniformed I imagined earlier. Shirts, vests, pants, and shoes are nowhere to be found.

The best I could find was an ankle-length black skirt and an ornamental white apron, and for now, it was the only clothes I could choose.

I screamed silently ruffling my hair with my hands, how can I walk around like this! What do you mean I have to wear maid clothes, I'm a man!

"What's the difference between this and running around naked!"

[ Do you want me to turn off "Summon"? ]

No, don't! That's not what I meant. On second thought, this is not that bad. It's warm and I can move freely, it's even a bit nice… Damn it.

"It's hard to make ends meet."

With this outfit, it's best not to be caught by maids. No, it's best not to be seen by anyone. Hey system, do you have any transparency skills? I'm going crazy here.

Even though I hated it, I had to move anyways. I only have half an hour a day, I need to make the most out of it. I shook myself and went downstairs.

"It would be nice if we could hold the banquet sooner."

"What kind of clothes will do you think His Highness will wear this time?"

"Do you think there'll be more people than last year?"

I tactfully intermingled with servants here and there and heard stories of this and that.

The Northern festival is held only once a year, and it lasts for a week starting from the day when the night is the longest that year. It was no exaggeration to say that it was the grandest even held at the Blake's estate.

The usually dull and cold Blake Castle was now animated and people kept bringing in food from the storage. You can see that the merchants also brought a full carriage. 'Indeed, a festival is a festival.'

The last memory of a festival I remember in my old life was drinking makgeolli at the university festival and suffering from a massive hangover the next day.

At that time, key information suddenly fell into my ears.

"I hope this year goes by without any problems…"

"That's what I'm saying, why am I so nervous? Last year, aristocrats who were in favor of the prince came and bothered me, but this time apparently, the prince himself will attend the banquet."

"Is the rumor really true?"

"Is the prince really coming personally here in the North?"

I crept up behind them with my ears perked up. Of course, I didn't forget to use the broom I got to pretend to sweep across the floor and move.

They went into the banquet hall, loaded with goods, and soon began to decorate the place with flowers and moved the tables around the central dance hall.

"I know right, when this land was a wasteland, he didn't care, even when his subjects asked for his help."

"But since Lord Kyle came, things have improved remarkably. Didn't they say, the reason why the prince never came even thought there was a festival here every year, is because of the bad relationship between brothers? Isn't that the famous story?"

"They sent him to die, but he didn't. Tsk. Tsk."

"Apparently, His Highness Belial will also come, along with the previous Serena, who's on bad terms with Duke Kyle. Their age difference is also…"

the one on bad terms with Kyle is Belial and not the previous Serena, which is a different Serena from Sen

Oh yeah, this is the kind of gossip I want to hear.

'As expected, people who are preparing for the banquet, know the most.'

I should get closer to them, let's step around these servants who are contemplating what to do with the old chandelier, and try to hear more information…

"Woah! That scared me!"

Just in time, the worker who was complaining about the old and loose chandelier ring, turned around and our eyes met.

Wow, you have a really loud voice, thanks to you I was surprised and almost jumped.

"Wait a minute… I don't think I've seen you here before."

… Oh dear.

The skill "Summon" uses my original form and face. I don't know how the system brought my life's data into this world, because if I asked it would never shut up, but right now this person is seeing a face it has probably never seen before, a Korean's face.

In other words, it's a face that doesn't fit this world.

I turned around as naturally as possible and kept sweeping.

Just be natural…

"Hey you!"

It felt like my joints were squeaking whenever I moved.

Indeed, I have zero talent for acting. During the school festival, I always played the role of a tree or a stone. Of course, I didn't want to play that role but for some reason, everyone left it up to me.

The man who looked at me suspiciously, tried to reach for me. But just before he reached my shoulder, I started to move.

I don't care about acting or anything, I just know if I get caught here, it's the end.

"Hey system, how many minutes are left for the skill?"

[ "Summon" will end in 7 minutes. ]

There's less than 10 minutes left.

I can just run until the skill ends.

"Isn't that, that guy?"

It's just your imagination. It can't be you'll know it's me from looking at the shoulders and the height right?

"I'm going crazy."

I only had those clothes to wear. What was I supposed to do in that situation, technically I'm a victim too.

"Wasn't it a few days ago, a guy sneaked into the Lord's study and event took his shirt?"

"Ho, is he that.."

"There, that brown haired guy, just stand there and don't move!"

Ah, I can't hear you. I can't hear anything.

I started fast, almost as if I were running. The soles of my feet felt so cold and numb, but I couldn't help it, there were only socks in the laundry room and no shoes.

'I feel so uncomfortable, I'll wash my hands and feet as soon as I get there.'

This time, after washing my feet, I'll turn the bowl over instead of leaving the dirty water inside, or else they won't change it to new water.

I left the banquet hall, climbed a floor, and fled frantically to the left corridor, it's been a long time since I threw away the broom I held.

'I should've worked out.'

I overestimated the physical strength of an office worker. But at least, I wasn't as weak as before since I rode a wheel desperately to become human.

Thump.

"… Ah!"

I bumped into someone as soon as I turned around the corner of the hallway. You're lucky I'm letting you off the hook today.

"Sorry-"

Obviously I was walking quite quickly but this person didn't even move a bit when we collided, yet I bounced back like a ball.

"Are you okay?"

His voice, low and grave, a voice I'm quite familiar with.

… That's right, it's a voice I hear everyday.

'I'm doomed.'

[ Kyle Jane Minehardt. The Great Duke of Blake. ]

I know. I know. You don't have to tell me.

I turned around and looked at him.

It hasn't even been seven minutes yet and it was weird to end the skill right in front of him. You said I'd be lucky enough to become human? Are you sure it's luck or bad luck?!

[ (◐▽◐);;; ]

'Fuck it.'

I started running away from Kyle and he started chasing me.

His heavy boots banged on the floor and sounded loudly as he approached me. It was like a horror movie. I kept running like before, yet he was just walking. The distance between us gradually got less and less.

"Hey."

I don't know what to do. I'm never running away from him again. When I looked back secretly, his shadow was hanging around my feet.

'….. Crazy'

He's not the Duke of the North for no reason.

Now I really started to give my all into running. The ankle-long skirt started to get in the way, so I held them up with my hands to move my legs easily.

Ah, shit, I don't even have shoes. What kind of situation is this!

"Stop."

'I don't think I will.'

I gasped and tried to breathe in as much air as possible and squeezed out the last drop of my strength to ran further away. When Kyle saw I didn't listen to his orders, he also started following me quickly.

Why are his steps so big? If you're tall, you do everything bigger is that it? How can you make me feel this miserable?

Step. Step. Step.

The sound of bare feet running like crazy and the sound of boots irregularly stepping on the floor. I felt all the emotions I was bottling rise up as I continued to run on the cold floor.

Hey! Stop following me! It's time to give up.

[ "Summon" will end in 1 minute. ]

I shouldn't disappear suddenly today, and it should bring me back to the hamster house once the time is up…

he's talking about the hamster form

Before I knew it, Kyle was right behind me, at this rate, he'll catch up even before a minute passes.

I ran all the way here with the thought of being able to escape, but now it seems like I can't help it. But it seems like I have no choice but to wait for the skill to end and recall back to the hamster house.

Running straight down the corridor, I turned towards the stairs and went down the steps.

"Uh…"

My body leaned forward greatly as I was about to fall when a large hard pulled my arm and causing me to sway back into the ground.

I turned around and saw the owner of the hand, I looked at Kyle with my eyes wide open. My heart was already falling down the stairs, yet my body was held in place with his hand.

"Who are you?"

I can't answer if you ask like that.

[ "Summon" will end in 10 seconds. ]

'It's almost time anyways.'

You're right system, there's no such thing as bad luck.

I laughed and held onto Kyle's arm but still not straightening my tilted body. I wasn't intent on making a good impression. So, I spoke in a sarcastic tone.

Who am I? Me?

"I'm your companion-"

note that companion used here can mean a lot of things, can be friend, associate, partner or even lover, Soohyun was going to say "I'm your companionship hamster" but it got cut off XD

Just then the 10 seconds was up and white light came out of my body. Kyle frowned at the blinding light that flashed before his eyes.

And the me that was covered in that light, became a hamster.

… Who was back in the hamster house.

―…….

I turned my head around and looked at the familiar sawdust and the transparent glass and the duke's study.

Hey, if you're gonna take me back! Take me back after I finished my words! How can you end it before I could say I was a companionship pet. A pet!

I jumped in anger and threw myself on the floor. Great, now not only am I a clothes thief, I'm now a pervert who dresses as a woman and confessed to the Grand Duke.

― Squeak! [ Ahhh! ]

I think it's better to keep living as a hamster. Right? Right. Should I just live like this? That thought easily vanished as I saw the bowl full of mealworms.

Kyle's POV

The flash slowly died down and Kyle opened his eyes. His view was still blurred, perhaps because it was directly hit by the light earlier, but fortunately there was no difficulty in identifying the object in his hands.

The problem was, there was only clothes and the man who had just been in his hands was gone.

A unique face, and thin brown hair that have never appeared in this land. And such light weight, that he was able to hold the man with one hand.

All that disappeared in an instant and all that was left was the maid uniform that he was wearing.

"… Is he a magician?"

But when he disappeared, he didn't seem to chant any incantations. Rather, the last words he said before he disappeared was that he was my 'companion'.

Above all, I definitely saw him for the first time today, yet I felt a strange sense of familiarity. Even though no one I know has no hobby of dressing as a woman.

Kyle raised his eyebrows and picked up the clothes properly. Even when he said he was my companion, why did I just stay still and keep holding his arm.

"I'll find you…"

Even if what you said was just nonsense, I want to find you again.

T/N: this part of the novel is illustrated and made into a promo which you can find in the masterpage for this novel. tysm for everyone who's reading this! and thank you for all the likes, follow and ko-fis <3

novel ⠀✿⠀ next

#tngdh

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thelordofgifs · 6 months

Text

the fairest stars: post vi

Beren and Lúthien steal two Silmarils, everything spins out of control, et cetera: we are 78k words and 30 parts into this monster bullet point AU now! Masterpost with links to all previous parts on tumblr and AO3 here.

Part 31: on saving people.

Lúthien finds Maglor in the rose garden.

"I came as soon as I heard," she says, sitting down beside him.

(It isn't a lie – she knows Maglor needs a friend right now. But it is true, also, that Barad Eithel is easier at the moment than thinking of the dull unhappy look in Beren's eyes as they departed Morwen's house, and begged shelter like outlaws with others of the Hadorians.)

Maglor does not look at her. He is staring at his lap, very still.

"Maglor," says Lúthien. She dares to put an arm around him, and then tenses, thinking of Morwen's blank and silent grief, and how she rebuffed all Lúthien’s attempts at comfort.

But Maglor shivers, when she touches him, and then leans against her gratefully.

"I didn't know," Lúthien says. "I'm sorry – I would have stopped him, had I known—"

"How could you have known?" Maglor asks, very heavily. Maglor does not wear his grief gracefully: it is an awful frozen thing, numbing his tongue and coarsening his tuneful voice.

Lúthien thinks of those dreadful days after Beren died, and her heart twists again with pity.

"I did not know, either," Maglor says. "You would think – you would think I would have known, if anyone had."

"I am sorry," Lúthien breathes. "I am so, so sorry."

Maglor manages the faintest of smiles for her, but says nothing else.

They sit in silence for a while.

Lúthien does not want to ask the question burning on her tongue, but ask it she must. "Have you any idea where he might have gone?"

"Do you think I would be here, if I did?" Maglor asks, wearily.

He and Fingon have spent hour upon hour pacing around Fingon's study, fruitlessly turning over the same half-questions: why and how and could we have— before returning, inevitably, to the most pressing of the lot: Where is he, where is he, where is he?

They do not know. They have no idea what Maedhros was thinking in the hours before he disappeared, which frightens them almost more than the rest of it.

Lúthien takes a breath. "Do you think – is there any chance – might he have gone to Doriath? My father still has the Silmaril he took from you."

Maglor barely flinches at the reminder of that past failure. "It's possible," he says. "What makes you think of it?"

"He spoke to me," says Lúthien, "just before I left. He asked me if I might not try to persuade my father to relinquish that Silmaril – for your sake."

"For my sake!" Maglor says. He laughs, bitterly. "For my sake! How very considerate of him. What did you answer him?"

Lúthien meets his gaze unhappily. "That I would not try," she says. "If I had only spoken differently..."

“If only, if only, if only,” Maglor says. “Do not blame yourself, Lúthien. Fingon and I have gone down that path too many times already – but the truth is that I do not think anything could have stopped Maedhros, once he had made up his mind.” He shrugs. “Or perhaps I did not know him as well as I thought.”

“You speak of him as though he is dead,” Lúthien breathes.

“He could be,” Maglor says, matter-of-factly.

“You are very angry,” Lúthien murmurs, “are you not?”

Maglor is quiet for a moment. “This is the third time Maedhros has left me to go after a Silmaril,” he says. “In Mithrim, when Morgoth made his false offer of parley. In Menegroth, when he went hunting for Carcharoth. And now this! Yes – yes, I am very angry. It is the Oath – were it not for the damned Oath—”

“I asked you once before,” Lúthien murmurs, “if you would un-swear it, if you could.”

Maglor looks at her with anguished eyes. “I would,” he says. “In an instant, if only I knew how – look what it has taken from me!”

His breath catches. Lúthien puts her arms around him again.

“Maedhros loves you,” she says quietly, after a moment. “He was – I do not think he was very well, when I spoke to him – but even so it was clear to me how well he loved you. You must not doubt that.”

Maglor thinks of Maedhros whispering, What would it take, to make you hate me? and his own low voice answering, If you left me.

How much easier it would be, he thinks sometimes, not to understand! How comforting bewilderment would feel, to say, I know not why he has done this – what a burden, to know Maedhros as he does, to know what drove him to leave and know that it is, at least in part, Maglor's own fault, that Maglor, utterly trusting, handed his brother the very weapon he turned against him.

Useless, all useless: for all that matters is where Maedhros is now, and he does not know that.

"If he did go to Doriath," he says, attempting to return to Lúthien's question, "he would not have been able to get through your mother's Girdle, anyway." He means to explain, He left the Silmaril with me, but his voice catches halfway through the sentence – he who has always claimed such mastery of words – and all that comes out is, "He left – me, he left me, he left me."

"Oh, Maglor!" Lúthien exclaims. She flings her arms around him again, and Maglor hides his face in her shoulder until he has recovered some of his composure.

(Important, these days, to be composed, to show Fingon's shocked and doubting court that the sons of Fëanor can yet be relied upon – and Maglor's world might have fallen to pieces around him, but he is still good at performing.)

“You must not lose hope,” Lúthien says. She squeezes his hand. "He lives yet, does he not?"

"We cannot tell," Maglor says dully. "He has closed his mind – to me and Fingon both."

It is an awful, suffocating thing, to reach instinctively for the part of his heart that belongs to Maedhros and come up every time against nothing but a smooth impenetrable wall – to cry out, again and again, Where are you? Come back to me, and receive only endless uncaring silence in response.

"I am sure he lives," Lúthien says resolutely, "and you will see him again."

"I have thought him dead once before," says Maglor, "for thirty years, I thought him dead. He was not – and yet—"

Fingon, his voice flat and strange, said once, Makalaurë, is there any chance – he could have – there is a Silmaril in Angband still—

Don't say that, Maglor cried, quicker than thought, don't say that, Finno!

Neither of them have mentioned the possibility since; and so it has lingered, as unspoken things tend to, lurking just beneath the surface of every frantic circular conversation.

"It was not a happy homecoming," he says, "when he was returned to me."

"But he was returned!" Lúthien says. "And he will be again – I am certain of it."

Maglor says, his voice very dreamy, "Celegorm used to shout at me, in those years Maedhros was lost. He said I was a coward, for not attempting a rescue." He shrugs. "He was not wrong – and perhaps little has changed. Am I – am I always to be left behind, waiting for him to return to me?"

"You do not have to be," Lúthien murmurs. She thinks of Hírilorn, and pacing helplessly between its great boughs while Beren lay suffering in Sauron's dungeons.

"Perhaps," Maglor says, "that is the way the story goes, after all – and there is nothing I can do about it. Perhaps unshackling the chains of doom are not as easy as you made it appear, for us."

Lúthien looks at him. "I do not think you really believe that," she says softly.

Maglor meets her gaze, his eyes bright with despair. "I do not believe anything, any more," he says; and when Lúthien, her heart aching, presses a kiss to his cheek she tastes salt.

Meanwhile in the Halls of Mandos:

Withdrawn into the depths of the Halls, where he can nurse this new hurt in peace, Finrod is surprised to sense another approaching him.

For a moment he thinks Celegorm has come to apologise for his harsh speech; but the resemblance between the two spirits is merely superficial.

"You are hard to find, cousin," says Amrod. "I began to think you had taken Mandos up on his offer, and returned to life after all."

Finrod laughs hollowly. "I swore to remain here," he says, "and so I shall – until the breaking of the world, should your brother have his way."

"Is forever always forever?" Amrod asks, dreamily. "Queen Míriel once swore that she would never leave these halls; but she had taken up her body again by the time I arrived here."

"The line of Míriel," says Finrod, "is rather more prone to faithlessness than I."

He regrets the words as soon as he speaks them; barbed, unkind things, more suited to Celegorm than himself.

But Amrod looks at him with pity. "Don't let him make you cruel, Ingoldo," he says. "He did not win when he forced you from your kingdom – nor when he threw all your mercy in your face – but he will, if you grow to imitate him."

Finrod makes an effort to follow this advice. "I would have thought you would be on his side," he says.

"I am," says Amrod. "Why else do you think I want you to save him?"

"I am not sure that is possible, anymore," Finrod says bitterly.

"Neither am I," says Amrod, with a shrug, "but you did swear to try."

Finrod hesitates.

Amrod's story has always horrified him. How bitter a monument to the folly of the sons of Fëanor – how incriminating, that they did not realise after their brother's death that their Oath was pointless, their project Doomed before it could begin!

But Amrod was not just a morality tale: he was Finrod's little cousin, too.

And they have both suffered at Fëanorian hands.

"Why did you stay on the ship?" he asks. "Did you think the Valar would show you mercy, if you returned to these shores?"

"No," Amrod says neutrally. He offers Finrod the edge of a smile. "Only that I had to try."

"I didn't," Finrod says quietly. "I could have turned back with my father, after Alqualondë. I think it would have been better if I had."

"Beren would have died, then," says Amrod, "in the darkness in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. To say nothing of what other good you wrought in Middle-earth."

Finrod thinks of Lúthien, who thanked him for his sacrifice.

"To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well," Amrod muses. "I knew what I was facing, when I decided not to set foot on the beach at Losgar! Not – not that my father was already so consumed by madness – but I did not expect any mercy from the Valar, no." He laughs slightly. "And now here I am. Tyelko tells me it was all for nothing."

"He might not be the best judge of that," says Finrod.

"The brother I remember was kinder than this," Amrod says, thoughtful. He worries at his fingernails as he talks. Sometimes the light, such as it is, shifts and his form becomes that of a charred corpse, his skin crumbling away to reveal the blackened bones beneath. "Was it the Oath that made him so, do you think?"

"The Oath was his own folly," says Finrod. "You do not need to delve so deeply for his motivations: he told me himself that he cast me out of my kingdom because he wanted to, and he does not regret any of it."

“Yes,” Amrod says with a sigh, “it was our own folly, was it not? I was afraid of it, in truth. Afraid of what it might make me become – what it had already made me become, in Alqualondë. And poor Tyelko has gone much further down that dark and lonely path.”

“He killed you,” says Finrod, “and yet you pity him.”

“He killed you, too,” says Amrod, “or as good as – and you pity him too, I think.”

“I do,” Finrod admits. "But he will not accept any pity from me."

Amrod looks at him carefully, and then says, "You ask me why I was willing to turn away from my Oath. Why are you not willing to turn from yours?"

Finrod bristles. "What?"

"You didn't have to go with Beren," says Amrod. "And you didn't have to vow not to leave Mandos until Tyelko can. What made you do it, then? Is it naught but pride – let them add more verses to their songs about Finrod the Faithful, so pure of heart that he forgave his own usurper?"

"No!" Finrod says. "No."

"A hard thing," says Amrod, "to pity someone who does not want or deserve it."

"Quite," Finrod murmurs. "Perhaps that is why I pity him."

"It is a difficult task you have chosen," Amrod warns, "and a thankless one, with little hope of success: even I his brother can tell you that."

"So was the path you chose, when you stayed aboard the ship," says Finrod. "All the same – I have to try. For my sake, perhaps, as much as his." He looks at his cousin again. Amrod's spirit is a pale, flickering thing. "And yours."

"Mine?" says Amrod, sounding truly surprised for the first time.

"It matters, does it not?" Finrod says softly. "That you grieved your deeds – that you were willing to turn back, and face the consequences for them."

"It didn't do anything," says Amrod. "It didn't save anyone."

O for the solidity of a body! Finrod would clasp that small unhappy form to his own, if he could, and squeeze his shoulder comfortingly.

"Then let me save you," he says instead.

Amrod's smile is sad. "I don't think it's that easy," he says.

Back in Barad Eithel:

Before she leaves, Lúthien seeks out the High King.

Fingon is expecting to find one of his lords at the study door, ready to harry him some more about his terrible life choices; so seeing Lúthien is something of a relief.

Even so, he is very tired.

"Is there something I might help you with, lady?" he asks.

"I rather thought I might help you," says Lúthien, tilting her head and offering him a winning smile as she sits down. "But first I owe you my thanks."

Fingon thinks, absurdly, of his abortive promise to behead Curufin. "For what?"

"We have never really spoken, you and I," Lúthien says slowly. "And yet we have rather a lot in common, I think." She smiles at him again. "It was the story of Thangorodrim I was thinking of, when I saved Beren in Tol-in-Gaurhoth."

"I am glad some good came of it, then," Fingon answers bitterly.

Lúthien's eyes on him are sad. "I thought you might say that."

Fingon forces a smile. "Do not mistake me!" he says. "I was pleased indeed to hear how you saved Beren: and pleased, too, that you avenged Finrod my cousin in doing so."

He breaks off. Lúthien's face has filled with sudden pain, hearing Finrod's name.

"I mourn him, too," she says simply, noticing the question in his eyes. "I wish I could have saved him."

At some point you will have to learn that you cannot save everyone, Maglor told Fingon, during the fall of Himring.

Afterwards Fingon thought it mere Fëanorian dramatics; Maedhros had survived the battle, and against all odds so had Maglor, and even Curufin's head was still attached, after all.

Now he thinks perhaps there was a grain of truth to his cousin's words.

Maedhros' distant half-smile and his wide bright eyes and the little tremble in his mouth when Fingon kissed him that last evening—

How did Fingon not see it? How could he have been so blind?

"It is all very well," he says wearily, "to go into the dark armed only with a song, and free one you love from his chains."

Lúthien shudders. She can smell the blood – can feel it, warm and sticky, lapping about her ankles.

"But what can I do," Fingon continues, "if he goes back to the shackles? Am I to break them anyway, against his will?"

"Do you think he has?" Lúthien asks. "Do you think he went to Angband?"

"I don't know!" Fingon exclaims. "How can I not know? I have told myself – I have told him that we are as good as wed – but it is not true! I don't know where he is. How am I to find him, if I don't know where he is – if he has hidden himself from me, deliberately?"

"You can," says Lúthien. "You will. You found him on Thangorodrim, after all. Oh, you of all people must not lose hope!"

"No," Fingon says hollowly. "A High King must not be allowed to despair, after all."

Easier, these days, to understand what drove his father to the breaking point.

"Believe me," says Lúthien, "I know what it is to give your heart to one set on his own destruction." She offers him a faint, comradely sort of smile, but Fingon cannot bring himself to return it. "But is not love about following whether you are wanted or not – about saving them, as many times as it takes?"

Fingon looks at her carefully. Maglor speaks highly of Lúthien, and so did Finrod, but Fingon thinks he would take a liking to her even were it not so: beneath all her ethereal loveliness it seems to him there is a spirit rather akin to his own, both cheerful and practical.

"You do not understand," he says, and closes his eyes.

How is it that this dull defeated voice is his own? Look what you have done to me, he might tell Maedhros; look what you made of me. But the truth is that he left bruises on Maedhros too, with his grasping, over-eager fingers.

"It is not," he says, "it is not merely that I do not know where to follow him this time. It is that – how can I even know whether he wishes me to find him? How do you save someone who does not want to be saved?"

Lúthien thinks of Beren, who heard her singing outside Sauron's tower, and lifted his own voice in response.

She thinks of Maglor telling her that perhaps he need not be bound forever.

"I don't know," she admits.

Fingon tries to master himself. Lúthien may be trustworthy, but all the same he cannot afford to grieve too openly these days.

Is this Maedhros' vengeance on him, to make Fingon's proud and foolish declaration of love into a public stain – to have branded on his cheek, The High King is bound to a traitor?

(There are very few people in Barad Eithel who view Maedhros' disappearance without suspicion.)

"Your story is a happy one, and I am glad of it," he tells Lúthien. "But in truth I know not if its like will be told again – and not of the Noldor, certainly."

Lúthien looks at him unhappily. "Yours is not over yet, either," she says. "Maedhros told me once that I had brought hope to all Elvenkind with my deeds. But you did that long before I."

Fingon smiles at her, practised and kingly, without meeting her gaze.

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #the fairest stars #maglor #luthien #finrod #amrod #fingon #yes I left you on a cliffhanger for 2 months and then gave you an update that does not resolve the cliffhanger. sorry #have some sadguys being sad

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sirfrogsworth · 2 years

Text

Actually, I might have too many reasons.

I'm afraid it has been a really difficult few years for me and my family.

Our beloved corgi, Otis, developed a terrible condition (degenerative myelopathy) that made him lose the function of his back legs. Once his quality of life diminished passed the point where he could no longer experience joy as a dog and only had hardship and suffering to look forward to, we had to put him to sleep.

In February, despite taking painstaking measures to stay safe, my entire family contracted COVID and I also developed a kidney stone at the same time. Unfortunately, my mother was on medication that made her immune system pretty much useless. She died a horribly lonely death in the ICU. The last time I got to speak to her was over the telephone, with a nurse holding the phone up to her face. She was confused and scared and could not breathe despite being on two different breathing aids. All she could do was ask if my dad and I were okay. She was more worried about us than herself. Then they had to put her mask back on and she kept trying to talk even though I couldn't understand her. All I could hear was the fear in her voice. I tried to tell her how much I loved her one last time, but I have no idea if she could hear me.

She lost consciousness soon after and never woke up. Eventually her heart gave up and she passed. I only got to see her once briefly through a glass door. Her body was still alive, but she was already gone at that point. Just an unconscious vessel attached to machines.

My father has kidney failure and heart failure. He is being kept alive by dialysis 3 times per week. He hates going and it wipes him out every time. We hope he has a year or two left, but it's impossible to know for sure.

I am his caretaker even though I am also disabled with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Narcolepsy. I do my best to make sure his needs are met. My brother has been almost no help at all. A few friends and my aunt come by every once in a while to help with chores, but it's pretty much just me alone taking care of the both of us.

I have no idea where I am going to live if my dad passes away. I have no plan. I have no energy to make a plan. And that fear makes it hard to sleep many nights.

Then I was having these horrible stomach issues and lost nearly 30 pounds (in a bad way). The discomfort got so bad at one point I became suicidal. My dad feared for my life and so he called the police and EMTs. They admitted me into the hospital. After 2 days in the ER, being stuck in a small room because they had no other place to put me during COVID, I was finally admitted to a psychiatric ward for observation. Weirdly my stomach issues started improving and my suicidal thoughts passed.

I'm honestly not sure if I would have taken my own life if I had not been admitted. But I will say those two days in a tiny ER room did not do much to improve my mental health. It is sad that in this country with all its resources, there is no such thing as urgent mental healthcare. They just stick you in a room and make sure you can't hurt yourself as you wait in line to get the actual help you need.

Thankfully I was able to adjust some medication I was taking and resolve my stomach issues. That seemed to relieve me of my dangerous thoughts and I have been okay in that regard ever since.

My dad had a serious infection in July that placed him in the hospital. He lost the ability to walk, his heart stopped briefly, and he started having horrible hallucinations. At one point I wasn't sure if he would ever return to reality. Nothing he said made any sense. Thankfully once they treated the infection and he got decent sleep he returned to lucidity. But he had to go through brutal rehab in order to walk again (with a walker and only short distances).

He was in hospital and rehab for over a month. After what happened to my mom, I promised myself that my dad would not be alone in the hospital. So, no matter how bad I physically felt, I pushed myself to visit him and be at his bedside every day and all day until they kicked me out. It was grueling for both of us, but I don't know if he would have recovered if I hadn't been there. Partly because I kept his spirits up, but also because I was able to get him better care as an advocate. I had to push to make sure he got the tests and medication he needed and saw the doctors that could help him. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

The only bright side of his hospital stay is that we rediscovered our love for St. Louis Cardinals baseball. We bonded over it and ended up watching every game. We were very sad when they were quickly eliminated in the first round of the playoffs. But it was a magical season as two fan-favorite players were playing their final season and they had amazing and emotional sendoffs. (Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina) It is my hope that my dad has at least one more baseball season left in him.

My health took a serious downturn earlier this year. It happened on the very same day that my best friend Katrina came to visit from Florida. I got so sick I could barely appreciate her presence when she was here. I had been looking forward to seeing her for a very long time and my stupid chronic illness ruined it. I was counting on that visit to give me a mental health boost.

I recovered a few weeks later, but my health has never been the same. I had to adjust to a new normal and adapt and find ways to take care of my father despite being further impaired.

I also lost my last creative outlet--writing. I enjoy researching and writing long and humorous political essays, but since my health declined further, I have not been able to write like that ever since. I'm really hoping I can regain that ability, but I'm unsure if that will happen.

One of my best friends is trans and I have many trans friends and followers and I am just really scared for them right now. The laws that are being proposed and passed are unjust and cruel. I have never witnessed such an effective campaign of hatred in my lifetime. I mean, I know there has always been hatred of the marginalized in every era of modern human existence, but this seems to go beyond just the conservative hate-mongers. It is not couched in subtext and dog whistles. It is overt and very "out loud." And I'm seeing people who claim to be progressive join in this hatred.

They are suddenly super worried about sports they never used to pay attention to. They think bathrooms are suddenly dens of danger despite trans people existing long before this concentrated hate became popular and bathrooms being perfectly safe beforehand. And now people believe that helping trans kids with proper healthcare is akin to child abuse. They think accepting trans kids is "grooming."

I see Twitter and Reddit threads filled with transphobia and it often brings me to tears to see people openly and comfortably hate the people I love so much. They hate people who have no tangible effect on their lives. People who just want to exist and be respected.

I just don't know how people can hate my friends so much without even knowing them.

Also, I'm just... really really lonely. All the time. It feels like a constant punch in the gut. I miss seeing and hugging my friends. I miss romantic companionship. And I've got a 20+ year streak of being sexually frustrated and am completely unsure how in the world to address that.

And finally, I decided to watch The Handmaid's Tale which is just full of rape and sadness. I figured I'm already horribly depressed, so a show probably isn't going to do much more damage. But it is still a tough watch.

That's the major headlines of my depression.

I'm just trying to survive and find little ways to cope. Mostly I am leaning on my support system and amazing best friends to keep me propped up and functioning.

Best I can do right now.

#trigger warning #depression #sad things #transphobia #rape mention

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agentmarcuspike · 1 year

Text

"All My Casualties of Love"

pairing: joel miller x reader/oc (third person, unnamed) cw: descriptions of injuries, unprotected piv, painful sex (it's not supposed to hurt!!), murder (they had it coming), flashbacks, tess is dead (rip), no ellie wordcount: 5k a/n: i've spent too long editing this and i'm still not happy so... please just take it

Joel had decided to never love again. His brother left to find a different life, he lost his partner to the horrors, and now he finds himself wandering, gathering courage to end it all, secretly yearning for a reason not to. And then he finds her. And she ruins everything.

The smoke rises thick and black from the burning house as Joel passes it from a safe distance, the fire emitting some light to the surroundings, but not enough to reach him. He has his rifle on his chest, fingers on his handgun, in case the fire attracts anyone, even though the thick dark and the snow covered ground muffling his steps feels like protection enough. The rare winter storm had narrowly avoided him, but a stray bolt of lightning must have found the house, he gathers.

It’s been months since he’s seen another person. Walking through the deep forest, the sound of only crunching leaves and screaming birds driving him insane before the snow came and softened everything, and he swears he has started hallucinating. Even now, as he moves a little closer to the burning house, stealing some warmth from the flames, he swears he hears something. It must just be his lonely mind playing tricks on him though, and he’s about to turn and walk away when he hears it again.

A scream.

The sound is all too familiar, and his breath hitches in his throat. Driven by instinct he starts running towards the noise, but stops himself to think. It could be a trap. It could also be someone in need of help. But that’s not his problem. Not in this world. And yet, when he hears the yell again, he can’t stop his feet from running.

In the orange glow of the flames, about ten meters from the house, Joel can barely make out the contours of a person, face down in the snow, crawling in the opposite direction. Rifle pointed forwards, he takes a few more steps.

“Hey!” he bellows. The figure freezes, and as he gets closer, gun still pointed at them, he can tell it’s a young woman. No older than 30. She doesn’t look sick, but he asks anyway. No response. He moves to stand in front of her, the butt of his rifle still pressed firmly against his shoulder.

“I asked you a question,” he repeats. “You infected?”

The smoke moves heavily around them, and he pulls her to her feet, dragging her towards the road where he came from. When they’re clear of the smoke, he throws her to the ground, pushing the gun back in her face until she scrambles up on her knees and meets his gaze.

Something in her eyes reminds him of the past. A something he’s buried deep down. Six feet to be exact. The look of fear. An emotion he hasn’t had much of for the past fifteen years, because he hasn’t had anything to lose. He lost everything long ago.

“If you’re gonna turn it’s better I end it for you right now.” He still hasn’t looked at her without the weapon between them.

“I’m not,” she finally manages, not breaking eye contact. He doesn’t want to believe her, but he does.

“Good for you,” he replies, finally lowering the weapon a bit.

He doesn’t admit, to her or himself, that he wouldn’t actually mind too much if she did turn, thinking it might be an okay way for him to go. Maybe saving her even if she was already doomed might give him some extra karma points before he goes himself.

While the dark makes it hard to see anything at all, his aging eyes not helping, he can see enough to give her a quick once over, making sure she isn’t too hurt and be on his way. But he doesn’t move. The way her eyes never leave his, how she never raised her hands in surrender like people usually do when he aims at them. He’s not sure what it is he sees. Whether it’s just the reflection of the fire in the distance, or something else sparkling, something resembling a will to live, a thirst for life. Which it can’t be, not out here, not anymore. Right?

She doesn’t move until he does.

Desperate, impatient, gulping, choking down the water, thirsty from the smoke she inhaled. He has given her his water bottle, knowing he can easily melt more snow later. They’re walking side by side in the forest, out of sight, but with the road they’re following almost visible through the trees.

She gives Joel the bottle back, and he briefly considers letting her keep it, but accepts it with a nod.

He clears his throat before speaking.

“So…” He looks in towards the thick forest. “If you just follow the road, you should get to some old cabins. Just… keep an eye out for people and…” He looks at her briefly, giving a nod to signal he doesn’t really have anything else to say.

“Where are you going?” she asks, voice breaking a little.

“Setting up camp for the night.”

“Oh.”

They stand about two meters apart, both looking at the ground.

“Well…” he begins, as he takes a step away from her.

“Thank you,” she cuts him off, throwing the words out like she wants to get rid of them. “I owe you one.”

Joel huffs. “You don’t owe me anythin’.” The last thing he wants is for someone to be indebted to him. That would involve some sort of connection, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“Well…” she mimics him. They give each other a nod, taking a few steps backwards, while turning and walking their different ways.

When he gets far enough into the thick woods to lay his ragged sleeping bag down on frozen ground rather than snow, curling up inside of it, waiting for sleep, he catches himself wondering if the woman has found a safe place for the night, somewhere warmer than the forest floor. But then he reminds himself, she’s not his responsibility to worry about. He already saved her once.

She’s slipping through his fingers. The scorching tongue of the fire licking his arms as he’s clutching her to his chest like when she was a baby. She used to love nuzzling into the crook of his neck. As she got older, she’d pretend she didn’t, but whenever she fell asleep on the couch, his arm around her little shoulders, her unconsciousness would still guide her face into him, and his calm breaths would rock her to sleep, exactly like he had just a few, and yet so many, years ago.

She’s not sleeping now. He’s running but his feet aren’t moving. The fire is catching up, surrounding them. He can see her mouth moving, a silent scream as the flames engulf her, and there’s nothing he can do. He yells, and screams, his muscles aching and burning from reaching for her. But she’s lost in the fire, and he’s untouched, hurt not from the inferno but the loss.

The fire crackles, a taunting sound, saying, “I have her now. And I won’t take you.”

Gunfire. Joel knew the sound all too well. He had heard it up close and personal. But the bullet that had once grazed the side of his head, at the hands of none other than himself, had made sure he’d never hear it again with more than one ear. He had learned to lean into conversation with his left side, always sleeping on the right.

But people make mistakes, and waking up with his good ear down and the sound of gunfire reaching through his bad one was a good indicator that he was also a person capable of fatal error.

Throwing himself around to look for the source of the sound, Joel is immediately confused by what he finds. On the ground a good fifty meters away from him, a body. But more confusing than that, right next to his head, a pair of boots. Connected to a pair of legs, it seems, and looking up, there she is, staring down the barrel of his own rifle. But it’s not pointed at him.

Another bang, and another body to the ground. Before he can wrap his head around the situation and reach for the handgun on his hip, a third gunshot rings out, followed by silence.

Walking side by side, Joel hasn’t uttered a word since he was suddenly awoken an hour or so earlier. Neither has she. He’s grateful they’ve equaled the debts now, and secretly wishes that would mean they could go their different ways without being duty-bound by karma, but he also figures he owes her a thank you.

“S’pose we’re even now,” he mumbles finally, eager to be done with talking.

“Guess so,” she replies with a half-smile.

A few more steps in silence. Joel’s breaths come more easily, relieved and ready to move on.

“So I’m–

“So where you headed?” she interrupts him.

He’s taken aback for a second, confused by the sudden change of pace in conversation.

“Uhm.” He debates with himself for a second. He’s not even sure he knows. “Just… west,” he lands on eventually.

She nods. “Just west,” she repeats.

More silence. He doesn’t know why, but Joel feels an intense urge to fill it.

“Did you follow me?” he asks eventually.

“Not at first.”

She tells him she was too shaken up and cold to sleep, so she stayed awake near the cabins he’d mentioned to her, which is where she heard a small group of people.

“One of them talked about seeing someone sleeping by themself in the woods, and they all went to check it out, so I followed them, assuming it was you they’d seen.”

She leaves out the part where she managed, armed with only a big branch and a pocketknife, to hit the one standing guard over the head without alerting the others closing up on Joel, and used the unconscious man’s weapon to gun down another one before getting to Joel and his rifle, but he can fill out the blanks himself.

The gun is now strapped to her hip, and she gives it a squeeze. It feels foreign, and it is. She had her own gun with her when she sought shelter in the house, the one she’d had with her for years, but there was no need to go back and look for it under the ashes now. Either way, this one she had preyed straight from a dead man’s hands. She’s done worse, and yet she feels bad about it.

“Thank you,” he says, eventually looking up at her. “For… that.”

She nods and gives him a half-smile. “I owed you one, didn’t I?”

She doesn’t give him much, and it’s not like he wants anything either, but he still feels compelled to ask. To know.

“You traveling alone, then?”

She doesn’t answer for a while.

“My sister…” she begins. Silence again. Joel thinks he understands. He’s about to tell her she doesn’t need to say anything when she continues.

“She was a baby when it began. I was basically a kid too, but when our parents got sick, it was just the two of us. I raised her I suppose. And then a few months back, we had a falling out. We ran into some people, they wanted to join us, she wanted them to join as well. I said no, felt too risky. So, she…” The woman takes a shaky breath. Joel wants to put his hand on her shoulder, show her he understands. He too has felt the pain of a younger sibling leaving. “She, uhm…”

“S’okay, niña,” is all Joel can muster. “You don’t have to go there.”

She sniffs quickly, and he thinks he sees her wipe a tear away, but then she huffs.

“Niña…?”

He looks at her with raised brows. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

“Nothin’ wrong, viejo.”

A quick huff escapes him. She did not just…

“Oh, fuck off,” he groans, but he can’t hide his smile while she sneers.

The air feels lighter, and Joel takes a deep breath before speaking again.

“Guess we could share the road for a bit,” he grumbles to his feet, but he catches the smile she can’t contain in his side vision.

Avoiding the cabins Joel had suggested earlier, he didn’t think they would come across any more houses for a while.

But there it is. In the middle of the woods, covered in moss, surrounded by trees standing so thick the windows seem unnecessary as no light is going to seep through the branches anyway. It can barely be called a shack, but it has walls and a roof, and seeing as the trees stretch to cover the door as well, Joel guesses it must have been left alone for years, untouched.

He pulls out his knife to cut the branches covering the door, and his new companion takes out the pocketknife from her jacket and starts uncovering the windows on the same wall to see if it’s possible to have a glance inside.

“Wow…” she whispers from beside him, when she uncovers a sliver of glass and peeks inside.

“What? S’it look like anyone’s been in there?”

“No, it’s… Just get the door open.”

She goes to join him. Even with all the branches and roots and snow covering the bottom of the door removed, it will barely open when they both pull at it. Joel counts to three, and when they yank together it comes off its hinges, parts of the rotten tree of the frame coming with it. He moves it to the side, pulls his handgun out, and takes a step indoors.

As the daylight spills into the room, years of abandonment become glaringly evident. The shack, untouched for a long time, has gathered layers of dust and is swathed in an air of nostalgia. Cobwebs, like delicate lace curtains, hang in forgotten corners. A mysterious stillness prevails, only disrupted by the distant howl of the cold wind outside.

He understands her immediate reaction now. Wow, indeed. It’s like a time capsule. Clearly well lived-in, but not for years. Not since it all began, Joel thinks. It’s a tiny place, one room only. The floor hidden by the thick layer of dust, and the walls covered in frames and postcards. There’s a twin bed in one corner, and a loveseat in the other end of the room. The other corner houses a kitchenette, with a wood burning stove and jar on top of the bench that reads “cookies” in a quirky font.

“Wow…” The exclamation falls out of her again. Joel looks at her, once he’s certain that the place is safe. She’s looking at the pictures on the walls, touching their frames with a careful hand. He lets her have a moment and moves to open one of the two kitchen cabinets.

There’s not much there. A bag of microwave popcorn, despite there being no microwave, or seemingly any electrical outlets at all. Two cans of beans. A pack of instant ramen. It’s food until tomorrow, he thinks, puts them on the counter, and reaches to open the other cupboard.

He instinctively ducks as a swarm of black moths fly out. The sound of their collective fluttering wings has her turning as well, and she startles, gasping, the dark swarm moving straight to where she stands in front of the room’s only light source. She screeches, throwing herself to the floor and rolls around as the moths encircle her. Joel runs to waft them towards the open doorway, shimmying his jacket off to help.

She’s covering her head, laying completely still, as if she’s being attacked by stinging wasps and not gray butterflies, and when the moths finally scatter, he reaches out to carefully touch her back.

“You alright, chica?” he asks jokingly, squeezing her shoulder lightly. “They’re just moths, you’re okay.”

It’s another thirty seconds for her breath to slow. She sits up slightly, looking around, as if the moths are waiting for her. “I hate bugs so much,” she whispers. Joel can’t help but snicker. In a world full of zombies, and this girl is scared of insects. He grabs her hand, helping her back up to her feet where she wobbles for a second, clutching onto his sleeves.

“I got you.” The consolation just slips out of him. She looks up, mouth slightly open in surprise, before she bursts into laughter. The sound feels like oil in a rusty motor to his ears, and he can’t help but hold back a giggle himself. They stand there for a moment, letting their laughter fill the room, tears pressing out of her eyes.

Caught up in the moment, Joel reaches out to brush away a stray tear escaping her eyes and running down her cheek. He lingers a second too long, and her laughter softens quickly at the intimate gesture as she finds her breath again. She’s the first to look away.

“Look at this,” she says, clearing her throat and walking back towards the picture she was studying minutes ago. Joel walks up behind her, straining his eyes to see the details, his chest brushing her shoulder as he leans in closer.

The dusty gold frame, now a little shinier after her fingers brushing against its sides, wraps around an old faded photograph. Two people sit on a porch in front of a house, bigger than the one they’re in now but not a mansion. The little girl sits between the man’s legs, and they’re both grinning, the young girl seemingly in the middle of a guffaw. Neither of them looking at the camera, both too busy with each other.

A memory awakes in Joel, one he’s been shoving down again every time it’s threatened to spill out. But this time he lets it come. He’s sitting on a porch similar to the one in the picture, with his own little girl laughing in his lap. She was too ticklish (as was he), it was so easy to coax a laugh out of her, even if it always made her tickle him back, both refusing to stop until neither of them could catch a breath. His brother standing patiently behind the camera, wanting initially to get a proper portrait of the two, but ending up with dozens of silly candids, which was a better representation of the duo anyway.

“She looks like my baby sister.” Her words pull him roughly back to reality, a ringing in his head as if he’s just been slammed to the ground. He hasn’t noticed he’s been holding his breath, and a little gasp escapes him as he finds his way back to the present. The soft sound has her turning to him, and his head snaps to her when she carefully grabs his arm.

“You okay?” Her brows are furrowed, it’s a familiar grimace, even though he hasn’t looked in a mirror for months. Their eyes lock, and neither look away. Joel’s hand moves up to touch her elbow, letting her know she can let go of him, but she doesn’t. She keeps his gaze, and this time, he looks away first.

“There’s some food here. S’pose we could stay for the night.”

She looks to the one bed, and he quickly adds: “I’ll take the couch.”

“Don’t be stupid, man. You won’t even fit. You take the bed.”

He hurriedly sits down on the sofa, leaning his head back and crossing his arms determinedly.

“Already took this one. Too late.”

She sighs diligently, and rolls her eyes at him, moving towards the open doorway.

“Whatever, tió. I’m setting a trap or something,” she says as she exits the cabin.

Joel bites his tongue for acting so childish, he’s not sure what’s gotten into him, and he fights with himself to find an excuse that’ll stop her from going.

“Whaddya mean ‘or somethin’?”

But she’s already left.

They’ve eaten the beans and noodles cooked on Joel’s camp stove in silence. Stubbornly he’s made his way back on his couch, spine already aching from the springs poking through the cushions, and he’s watching his company take in the pictures she’s been staring at all evening.

“You said she looks like your sister,” he prods carefully when neither of them have said anything for what seems like, even to Joel, too long.

“Yeah…” she answers absentmindedly, back still turned to him.

He gives her a minute before he prompts her again. “She anything like you?”

That gains him a snort. “Polar opposite.”

“How so?” He likes listening to her. Never been much of a talker himself, Joel is surprised to find he’s missed this. Casual chatting, getting to know new people. No pressure prattle, new input. Something to talk about, a break from thinking. Remembering.

“Well for one,” She turns to him, and saunters over to sit on the armrest of the couch. “She’s a bitch.”

“Hm.” Joel purses his lips. “Thought you said opposite of you.”

A laugh. “Wow! Okay!” She nods, impressed with his audacity, charmed by his cheek. “Malo…”

He smiles at her crude Spanish vocabulary, reminded of his own sibling. “Sorry.” He doesn’t mean it.

She shimmies down from the armrest onto the couch next to him, knees to her chest, leaving half a pillow of space between them. “Who did it remind you of?” It takes him a second to understand what she’s referring to. His eyes glide from hers, questioningly, across the room to the picture on the wall.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry. I just…” She searches for her words, the right way to put it. “Felt you tense up behind me. Like you were somewhere else for a second.”

She’s right, of course. He was somewhere else. Across the country, 20 years ago. Memories flood his brain as he fights to hold the tears back. Her laugh, still loud in his ears, but weaker by the day. He clears his throat before speaking.

“M’daughter.”

An understanding silence. She doesn’t ask more, just waits patiently for him to go on. If he wants to.

“My daughter,” he says again. “Sarah. The girl in the photo reminded me of her.”

It’s the first time he’s shared from that chapter of his life in years. Only Tess knew the words, and she was in the frozen ground now too. Only Tommy remains, as his family and keeper of Sarah’s memory. And he’s moved on, made a new family. It feels right, Joe thinks, to talk about his daughter with someone now. So that when it’s his turn to go, someone knows.

“It’s funny, about the moths earlier.” She watches him, his brows furrowed just like hers were earlier, and she’s careful not to move, not to startle him, like she’s trying to gain the trust of a scared or wounded animal. She holds her breath until he continues, seemingly lost in thought.

“Sarah loved butterflies. Would draw them everywhere. She’d chase them when she was little, and when she got older, she said they bring good luck.” He laughs an empty laugh and shakes his head. “As if seeing a bug with pretty wings decides your future.”

“She hated moths though. Terrified of ‘em. Just like you.” His head turns slightly at that, dark eyes meeting hers before he continues.

“Whenever one flew into her room at night, she’d scream for me to come get it out… And they’re not even that different from the butterflies she loved. When you think about it. Just… grayer.”

All the more reason to love them, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

Joel wakes with her memory over him. He had yet again pulled her from the fire but been unable to save her. His breath is hitching with each inhale, ears ringing loudly, and it takes him a second to realize she’s there.

“Joel?” she whispers softly. “I didn’t know if I should wake you, you were yelling, and I–”

She’s rambling, voice unsure, but the hand clutching his upper arm is assuring, grounding him, bringing him back. With her support he sits up slowly, groaning. It feels as if he's been body slammed, every bone and muscle aching, his forehead damp with sweat.

“S’okay,” he guarantees her, voice coming back to him slowly but surely. “Happens all the time.”

Her hand moves from his bicep to where his neck meets his shoulder, massaging him lightly, and he tenses up again under her touch. Sensing he’s on edge, she lets go of him, making his eyes snap up to find hers at the loss of her touch.

“Joel?” she whispers. He blinks at her slowly. “Will you let me take care of you?”

The breath he releases makes him slump over, burying his head in his hands.

“I don’t need taking care of,” he responds, but he believes it as little as she does.

So her arm finds its way back around his shoulders, palming big circles over his flannel. With the other hand on his knee, she continues the motion until his breathing slows to a comfortable pace. His body falls forward, elbows on his knees, and she lets her own body fall on top of his, covering his back like a heavy blanket.

She gives a gentle squeeze to his arm, and as if on cue, he sits up slowly, giving her time to lift off from him. He’s not sure what comes over him when he leans in and presses the softest of kisses to the side of her mouth. She gives a soft gasp at the surprise, and he only pulls back halfway so he doesn’t have to look her in the eyes.

“Joel,” she whispers again, begging him to look at her. And then he does. And their heads crash together in a kiss that’s more teeth than lips. No matter how much she thinks he deserves softness, no matter how much he wants it, it’s not in their nature. Not in this world. Softness, kindness, empathy is a rarity. It’s so hard to be tender in a world that’s so brutal.

So they give each other what they can, what they know. Teeth, bones, and the dull aching hunger of desperation. It’s no more pleasurable than sucking on a lollipop knowing a razor blade is waiting in the middle, and yet they devour each other.

Joel sits back on the couch and pulls her into his lap. His hands firm on her hips, grinding her into his growing hardness. Their tongues fight for dominance, taking turns in each other’s mouths. A groan escapes him as she pulls hard at his curls, which are damp with perspiration. His fingernails paint red lines up and down her back underneath her shirt.

After grinding against and moaning into each other for less time than either would have liked, Joel flips her in his lap, arms around her stomach, holding her flush against his chest. They both reach for the front of her jeans at the same time, and while she pulls them down, he tugs on his own, pulling his cock free.

Neither of them really ready, they still crave the contact too much to wait. Holding her breath, she leans her head back on his shoulder, and he pushes two fingers into her mouth, wetting them before reaching down to palm himself. He wiggles the head of his not fully hard cock between her barely aroused folds, and they sigh in unison as he pushes in. She doesn’t mind the sting, and neither does he. Pleasure isn’t enough to keep the pain of existence away. You can only fight fire with fire, so it has to hurt.

The little moans and gasps slipping from her where she sits on top of him send waves of want from his ears to between his legs, and he grows harder inside of her. Her fingers claw into the skin on the sides of his hips as she holds herself in place, making him hiss as he pushes in and out of her, not quite sure whether from the burn or the bliss.

Joel pushes her legs closer together with his own. She moans at the feeling of him filling her up, and she tries to turn her head to put her mouth on his, but he speeds up his thrusts, and she’s forced to hold onto his thighs for leverage. The pads of her fingers dig into his flesh, pinching him, leaving bruises to ignore in the morning. He does the same to her hips and holds her in place.

He plunges his cock clumsily into her a few more times before he reaches his climax. His arms wrap tightly around her, one across her abdomen and the other over her chest, squeezing her breast with his fingers so hard she chokes out an “ouch”, for the first time, just as his release shoots into her.

She can feel him pulse all the way in her core, almost in time with his heaving breath, chest rising and falling against her back. The only sound comes from outside, a distant howl, which she attributes to the wind, but which makes Joel freeze beneath her. Without warning he stands up, arms still supporting her, but he quickly lets go to tuck himself away, pick his gun up from the table, and he moves slowly towards the door which stands balanced against the doorway. Before he does anything else, he turns to her, brow furrowed, finger to his lips.

With his gun pointed forwards, he peeks out the window she cleared earlier in the day.

Nothing.

He shuffles silently and efficiently across the floorboards and pushes the door open. For a second he just stands there, gun in hand, staring out into the dark, only his shoulders moving up and down with his quick but careful breaths. Almost a minute goes by where she doesn’t dare move either, before he puts the door back in place, and turns to her.

Nothing. They’re alone.

a/n: well.......

#joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller angst #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #jesus christ so many joel tags lmao #that's what the people want isnt it #my writing

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cerastes · 11 months

Note

Arknights God, how do I use Reed the Flame Shadow? I got her and I've leveled her but I think I'm missing something, because it doesn't seem like I'm doing the damage she's supposed to be doing.

So step one is that we need to stop with the Arknights God thing because I'm flattered that you and others have a high opinion of my gameplay advice but it also makes me look like a narcissistic jackass. I appreciate the compliment and I'm happy my advice helps, but to everyone not familiar with the whole "I like to play a heel clown character on my blog for funsies with my friends" will think I'm actually addicted to the scent of my flatulence and the rhythm of my own words. It makes answering these a tad awkward.

Step two is understanding that Reed' skill selection, and which skill is the correct answer to any given issue, has a lot of factors going for it, more than the majority of Operators. If you use Cantabile, for example, you know that both of her skills are bangers, and while they have their respective jobs, they are not hard-slotted into these. Reed's S2 and S3 are similar in this regard. You'll be ignoring S1.

Before we get into that, though, here's some fundamentals about the Flame Shadow: You position them differently from other Medics and most other units. A good Reed tile is one where she has both enemies and allies in her range, so, if you placing her at a front, you'll want her to be a bit behind, but not fully behind, your line of engagement. She needs to be able to attack in order to heal, and her allies need to be in her range in order to get healed. This may sound obvious, but it needs to be taken into account. She's not a Marksman or a Medic, she's her own beast. Another thing that needs to be taken into account is that her healing comes specifically from dealing HP damage to enemies, not barriers. Greytails and the Rat King, for example, have shields that must be broken with Arts damage before exposing the succulent flesh within, right? Well, until the shield breaks, Reed is not giving anyone any succor and they might in fact just explode because while she's dealing damage to their shields, it doesn't count as valid damage for her healing. Keep this in mind so you don't run out of sustain while fighting shielded enemies, since shielded enemies tend to also have high attack. The Final Reed Essential regards her Cinders (AKA Firebrand), which she always has a chance to apply with her attacks and skills (with S3 guaranteeing it): The way it works is that, if an attack would apply Cinder, it applies it before the attack resolves, meaning, the Arts Fragility will be in effect and that attack will already be dealing 30%(32% with Potentials) extra damage off rip. Or, in other words, you don't have to apply Cinder and then start capitalizing on it on the next attack. Arts Fragility, by the way, stacks multiplicatively with Fragile, and they count as different debuffs, despite the similarity in name.

You made it past the tutorial, now let's tackle 1-1:

S2, or as Harvard scholars call it, the Spitroast, is a damn strong skill. For the purposes of this post, I'll be using the M3 versions of the skills. Spitroast grants two allies, with Melee tile priority, 3 fireballs that'll deal 240% of Reed's Attack as damage to enemies they touch every 1.5 seconds, with this 1.5 second timer applying only for each unique target. The fireballs do in fact have a hitbox, so if there's enemies on either side of the fireball unit, you'll trigger two fireballs at once, one for the enemy on one side, and another for the other. Each fireball then takes 1.5 seconds to refresh (they'll look darkened around the Operator) and once they are a vibrant orange again, it means they are ready to explode again. Each time these fireballs deal damage, they'll heal their Operators as per Reed's trait (so 120% of her Attack), and each fireball has a chance to inflict Cinder as per any of Reed's attacks. You can test this yourself by putting fireballs on Operators so they hit enemies outside her attack range, and you'll see that they do in fact also have a chance to inflict Cinder. Be mindful that the fireball's instance of damage counts as a Reed instance of damage! This means that for the purposes of Counter effects, it is Reed that's the source of the damage, so for Spike Chests, Reed WILL receive the reflected damage, and for The Last Knight, Reed WILL freeze if the fireballs hit him, etc etc. The lane-holding application of this skill is that you can grant your cornerstone immense Arts damage and healing independent of everything else they have going for themselves, including through Status effects like Freeze or Stun, as the fireballs are independent entities separate from the Operator. So if Mudrock gets stunned by Nervous Impairment and has sweet dreams of beautiful rocks that go on adventures with her, she's not completely helpless, as the fireballs will keep shredding enemies while she's in dreamland. This actually leads us to the next point: Fireballs cannot be placed on Summons, so if you had dreams of making the sickest Stainless turret surrounded by industrial flames or picturesque mindblasts about Ling's Great Thunderer's surrounded by godly plumes of cleansing conflagration, well, stop being silly and come back to reality, also rent and student debts are due. Fireballs can be placed on 'Enmity' Operators, such as Musha (ie. Akafuyu) and Juggernauts (ie. Mudrock), but they won't receive the healing from each of their hits, as the healing is mechanically counted as direct healing, thus, they may not benefit from it. Well, at least they can always take a whiff of Lena's wonderful fragrances instead. With all this in mind, we get to the Spitroast part of the Spitroast: If you jail an enemy (sandwiching them between two Operators) and use Reed's S2 to give them her mighty balls, now that enemy is getting assblasted by both sets of balls, so a whooping 480% of Reed's attack as damage, which in turn is very likely to diagnose them with Cinder due to how many times they'll be taking Reed damage, so that final damage is now also increased by another fat 30%, in addition to being inflicted with Cinder's ATK -20%, so your engager is safer as well, on top of being healed a lot. So, in practice, let's say your trusted Specter the Unchained is currently blocking Yamcha Jesselton, and as they are engaged in mortal combat, you then deploy Skadi S2 on top of Jesselton as well. But this is all within Reed's range, so you use her S2 and now the shark and the orca also have fireballs around them that further obliterate Jesselton, and he can't even damage Specter in a way that matters because 1) she leveled HP and 2) she's getting an absolutely unholy amount of healing from Reed's hot balls, so, in short, he'll never have another birthday. This MELTS bosses, but obviously, it's a rather expensive endeavor, necessitating 3 deployment slots dedicated to the bit. But no one said being funny was cheap, and end of the day, it's funny seeing bosses melting down to nothing under what's practically two fire buzzsaws.

Ideal Operators for these strats involve your prim and proper engager, someone tough that can take a hit and also hit hard, like either Specter or Skadi S3, but you can also make this engager a dedicated tough slab of meat like Hoshiguma, and your drop-in assassin with huge damage, like Texas the Omertosa, Surtr S3 (two girls that will appreciate the Arts Fragility Reed can inflict!), Skadi S2, Nearl the Radiant Knight S2, et al. 'Enmity' Operators work as well but you'll not be received the healing, just keep that in mind, but they work splendid as well. Once again, Arts Fragility stacks multiplicatively with Fragile, so break out the ol' Suzuran S3 or, if the boss can be Frozen, Gnosis S3 for some more immensely violent peacekeeping.

That was a lot, but trust me, it becomes second nature once you see it in action once, it just clicks and now you know exactly how to roast that spit.

Woah, look at all the progress we made, it's time to start 8-12:

So, S3, the big flashy and fun explosions that scream "I'm a healer, but," in big red flaming text. This skill does a fair amount of things, actually! First of all, Reed will have multitarget attacks, two per attack, and her attacks during S3 will always 100% of the time inflict Cinder, so that +60% ATK buff she's getting is actually bigger than that, given that she'll always have her final damage increased by 30% Arts Fragility on top of that. What's more, Cinder's CANNOT expire for as long as the skill is active, and now have the additional effect of inflicting a Damage Over Time effect that deals 60% of Reed's Attack as Arts damage (so, again, amplified by Arts Fragility). And, of course, as we all know and love, if an enemy dies while having the Cinder's effect during the skill duration, they explode for 140% damage in a 1.7 tile radius, and enemies damaged by these explosions, you guessed it, also become inflicted with Cinder.

That's a lot going on, but it's also pretty self-explanatory once you lay it out like that. Ace detectives might have gleaned something from this river of letters: Cinder is a very strong effect. Cinder lets you deal more damage, take less damage, and receive more healing, since Reed's healing is based on damage dealt. S3 takes Cinder to the next level: Guaranteed proc, now with a DoT, and will never expire until the end of the skill. Not only that, but the multitarget makes it easier to inflict more and more enemies with Cinder, it's truly a fire gone out of control, for the enemy, anyways. S3 lends itself to mob control and killing large crowds of enemies with the power of friendship, but do not neglect its utility in engaging with troublesome elites and bosses! While S2 is her premiere boss-killing tool, it required set-up, deployment slots and tiles you might not necessarily have in high-end content, and in these situations where the boss isn't the only issue, but you also have to deal with an overall dangerous map that's threatening as a whole, S3 may just be the perfect tool to have a more balanced and yet still very potent approach.

This is what makes the Flame Shadow such a fun unit! Your skills are not really locked by circumstance, and they can be used with several different objectives and goals in mind, depending on what the rest of your team is and who your enemy or what the challenge of the map is. With her incredible adaptability and wide array of applications, Reed the Flame Shadow absolutely shines and can be a core part of any team.

#arknights #Reed the Flame Shadow #dreamknights

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princessasmosprincess · 8 months

Text

Charmed, I'm Sure

Chapter 30

Summary: No human has ever avoided Asmodeus's charm. Except for you. Pairing: Asmodeus x GN Reader/MC Genre: Drama, angst, a bit of fluff. Warnings: None in this chapter. *** Author's note: Sorry for the delay in this chapter, I did that thing where I let a chapter sit for too long and I started to hate it. Writing this was a lot of trusting the process and I was failing that at first... ***

“Pardon me.”

You turned, still pulling against Lucifer, as someone put their hand on your shoulder.

It was Solomon.

“Well, looks like a new song has started. I'd love the chance to dance with MC. Might I cut in?” He asked, looking not at you, but directly at Lucifer.

Lucifer’s ruby gaze narrowed at the sorcerer. “Fine.” And then he turned it back to you, that haughty smirk on his lips, “I get the feeling that you've gotten the message and you understand what I'm telling you MC. I'm glad we got to have this little talk.” He handed you off to Solomon and stalked off into the crowd of demons.

Solomon took your hand gently in his and began leading you in the dance. You flexed the fingers of your injured hand, feeling the circulation returning.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue there.” You said.

“No need to thank me. Think nothing of it.” Solomon gave a reassuring smile, “This is the Devildom. When it comes down to it, you're human, and that makes you different. Never forget that. You may have made pacts with demons, but you still lack the power to command them.”

Solomon’s dancing was less refined than Lucifer's, it was also simpler. But he was easy to follow as he led you through the steps, and this was the perfect tempo to hold a conversation.

“How do you command a demon you've made a pact with?” You asked.

“Good question…” Something flashed in Solomon’s eyes, like he was pleased you asked. “Everyone has some amount of magical power by nature. However, there are some people in which it actually manifests itself, and some people in which it doesn't. And even among those in which it does, some have more of it than others. It varies based on the individual.”

He led you in a quick but gentle turn, nothing too showy, before he settled his arms around you once again. “Seeing how it doesn't even manifest itself in you to begin with, even though you've made pacts with demons, you can't take command of their powers.”

You gave a frustrated sigh. The pacts were practically useless if you couldn't wield them at will, beyond those little commands you'd managed once or twice. Protection was one thing, but your true task was still looming in the background (or really, in the attic of the House of Lamentation).

“Would you like me to lend you my power?” Solomon asked suddenly.

His offer gave you pause. Was something like that possible?

“You can do that?” You searched his face for any sign of teasing, “Why would you?”

“Let's just say I'm curious to know what would happen if I did.” He said, “You're a destabilizing element here in this world. I can't say what might happen if I do this, which is exactly what makes it interesting.”

You thought for a moment. You so wanted to know what it felt like to use magic. And maybe, if you wielded his magic well, Solomon would lend it to you again, for when you truly needed it.

“Ok,” you said finally, “Lend me your power, Solomon.”

Solomon nodded. He switched to an open dance position, taking both of your hands and entwining your fingers with his. He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours in a similar way to how you’d forged your pacts with the demons, reciting an incantation you couldn't quite hear over the music.

Your hands began to glow with silver light, and warmth snaked up your arms into your chest. Electricity pulsed in your veins and your body felt strange. Stronger, but not with physical strength, there was this sense of energy that felt so different to anything you’d ever experienced before. When the incantation was complete, Solomon took a step back, his hands still clasped around yours.

“There. I've put a spell on you.” He pulled you close to him once more, continuing the dance, “As of this moment, you have use of my powers for the next six hours.” He looked you over, gauging your reaction, “You should experience what it's like to control a demon and use his powers.”

Solomon led your dancing to the edge of the dance floor.

“I’m still not sure why you offered this.” You said, breathing around that bubbly, light feeling in your chest from the borrowed magic.

“We are on a retreat after all. Why waste this opportunity?” He smirked, “So, go. Show me what you can do. I'm counting on you to deliver.”

Without warning, Solomon spun you out directly into another’s arms as the ending of the song melted into the beginning of the next.

***

Asmo’s hand found your waist automatically, even he was surprised when he took your hand in his and swept you back onto the dance floor.

You stumbled for a few steps as you fell into the changing rhythm. And once you found your footing, you looked into the face of your new partner.

Asmo looked away as soon as your eyes met his. He kept his gaze trained over your shoulder, sighing, disinterested. As if he would rather be anywhere else.

The awkwardness was unbearable, and after more than a minute of silence, other than the lilting instrumental music and the light buzz of the party crowd. You knew you needed to say something. The very something that had been bothering you all day.

You took a breath, building up the courage to break the silence. And then you spoke, “Asmo, I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have said what I said the way I did.”

He finally looked back at you, eyebrows raised.

“I was frustrated with you and overtired,” You admitted, “But that’s no excuse for… threatening to control you.” Your cheeks burned in shame.

Asmo blinked.

“I really do want to make a pact with you, but not like that.”

Asmo couldn't remember the last time he’d been apologized to that hadn't been part of bedroom role play or the half-hearted apologies Mammon stammered out, at Lucifer’s persuasion, after being caught stealing Asmo’s things.

This was sincere.

“I see.” He said, but Asmo wanted to know more. “And why is it that you want a pact with me so badly, darling? I know I’m the most irresistible demon in all of the Devildom, but surely there’s more to it than that.”

You nodded, “There is.”

And for some reason Asmo was relieved to hear you say that.

“I want to make a pact with you because…” You dropped your gaze to his collar, searching for the right words, “There’s something I need to do and I need your power to do it.” Your brow furrowed, you looked almost desperate.

Need. The word rang inside his head. Needing was different than wanting. Most people wanted him, but you…

“Is that why you made pacts with my brothers?” He asked.

You looked away.

Asmo pressed further, taking your silence for an answer, “And do they know what it is you want to do?”

You remained silent.

Asmo sighed, “Very well, you don’t have to tell me right now.” He was content to leave it be until he decided to make a pact with you.

If he decided to make a pact with you, he emphasized to himself.

Over the music he caught Mammon’s complaining voice, something about it not being fair. That he was your first and he still hadn’t gotten to dance with you. Asmo pulled you in closer.

His fingertips brushed your skin through the cutout at the small of your back.

Asmo found it interesting that Lisette had left the cutouts in the outfit she’d given you, especially since it was something so easily changed with her tailoring magic.

The cutouts were meant to accommodate beings with wings. Otherwise it could be altered to fit beings with tails, and there was even a version for beings with neither. It was very important to Asmo that anyone, regardless of their size or number of appendages, could wear his designs. One of his core philosophies was that everyone deserved to be fabulous.

He’d left Lisette with his preferred method of alteration in the original sketch. Of course, being the owner of Majolish and the one sponsoring his design, she could make the changes she saw fit. But Lisette had always respected Asmo’s design choices, and the rare times she had made a change, she’d informed him of it right away. They’d, admittedly, been mostly small accessories thus far, but Asmo didn’t think Lisette would change her policy when it came to full ensembles. She'd approved his design so readily.

“Where did you get this outfit, dear?” Asmo asked you, breaking the tension that was still heavy in the air around you both.

You smiled, happy with the change of subject. “Lisette lent it to me the last time I went to Majolish.”

Had she given you the prototype? The one he had paid Levi in signed Sucre Frenzy photo cards to sew for him, sworn to secrecy by penalty of death or revealing his waifu list to all of RAD if he told anyone about it, all while Asmo hand embroidered the sleeves so everything would be perfect? The one Asmo had worn during the photo shoot? That one would have been stored in Lisette’s vault until it would be returned to him once the collection debuted. It was precious.

“Really? I don’t believe I’ve seen that design before,” He dipped you, his face inches from yours, his eyes sparkling with his little secret, his bat wings flitting behind him.

“It’s from a new collection that’s supposed to come out next month,” You said, unfazed by the closeness. But then your eyes widened. “I didn’t even think to ask her if it was ok to wear before the debut. I hope it’s alright.”

Asmo righted you and continued dancing.

“You could always ask her now,” He inclined his head to the banquet tables across the room.

Her late husband being a former student council member and demon nobility, Lisette attended most RAD events by invitation directly from the crown. She was there at the dance, looking absolutely stunning in a form fitting gown of deep amethyst as she conversed amiably with Lord Diavolo.

“But I think you’re fine, hon. She wouldn’t have given it to you if she didn’t want you to wear it.”

Asmo released your waist with a gentle push, spinning you out before pulling you back as the music flourished, the fabric of your outfit billowing exquisitely around your figure. Your delicious, human scent wafted toward him as you returned to his arms, totally breathless. He barely registered your cute laugh as he caught something else in the air. It was very faint, something only he could detect due to his proximity to you.

Cupiditas. The very perfume he’d worn the day of the photo shoot.

And Asmo knew there was no way you could coincidentally have a bottle of Cupiditas in your possession. It was a scent only found in the Devildom, discontinued a thousand years ago because it drove some lower level demons wild beyond control. Asmo only had it because he’d charmed the perfumer into giving him one of the last bottles in existence.

He only ever used it on special occasions. Like when he modeled something of his own design for Devil Style magazine.

You were definitely wearing the prototype, the warmth of your body heating the last bit of perfume remaining on the clothing. Lisette had magically tailored it to your size, but there was no mistaking that it was his. How had he not noticed it until now?

Here you were, in his arms, wearing his clothes. Not just clothes he’d designed but clothes he’d worn on his own body. This all felt strangely intimate.

“Well, it looks ravishing on you, dear.” He found himself saying. It was the truth.

You ducked your head shyly. “Thanks, I really like it too. I’ll be sad when I have to return it.”

“Live in the moment, darling. You’ll regret it if you don't take the time to enjoy it while you can.”

“You’re right.” You agreed.

The music swelled in a crescendo. You gave a coy smile and took the chance to twirl him this time.

Asmo felt his heart flutter at your boldness and a giggle escaped his lips as he turned in time with the music.

Just as he was about to return to your grasp, his eyes caught Solomon through the flurry of dancers, watching the two of you intently.

Asmo’s heart clamped firmly shut. Now was not the time to get sentimental.

He met your gaze warily as he slipped his arms around your waist once again.

“You know, Asmo,” You said, “Your eyes really do look like the sunset.”

That was it.

He’d had enough of dancing for the night.

***

Cross-posted on AO3

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