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nebulaeternal · 6 months ago

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✦.── In His Clothes── .✦

―୨୧⋆ ˚GENRE/WARNING: porn w/no plot, praise kink, edging, f!xm

―୨୧⋆ ˚SUMMARY: Sylus loved seeing you in his clothes, but couldn't help this particular night when you looked up at him with those eyes that could unravel him in an instant.

―୨୧⋆ ˚WORD COUNT: 0.8K

―୨୧⋆ ˚A/N: This is pure brainrot writing, mans has been dominating the cranium for too long now. This isn't super clean or anything, nothing is super structured, just pure brainrot. Borrowed some lines from @comatosebunny09 (thanks pookie). If you wanna sign up for the taglist for future posts, the link is below. Enjoy! (Can’t remember where I found the Sylus eye banner but credits to @omi-resources for the name one)

―୨୧⋆ ˚LINKS: AO3 Ver. , Twitter, Taglist Sign-up

―୨୧⋆ ˚TAGLIST: @voidsylus

If there was one little thing you did that made Sylus’s heart swell, it was wearing his clothes. It was an unspoken intimacy, a quiet declaration of your comfort in his space—and around him—to be able to equate it to your own.

He always cherished the sight of you slipping into his home and raiding his closet for something loose and comfortable. Today was no different. Before he could properly greet you, you had already slipped into one of his oversized dress shirts.

“Hi,” you chirped, finally meeting his gaze. The shirt hung off your shoulder in a way that made his pulse quicken. It was never your intention—at least that he was aware of—but Sylus could not help the way his gaze lingered on you.

The hem of the shirt mocked him as it rode up your thighs when you reached for something. The deep v-neck dipped perfectly, drawing his eyes to the swell of your breasts every time you leaned over. He felt his body grow hot, his thoughts dancing on the edge of decency until your voice snapped him out of it. “Sylus?”

His stare was almost blank. “Yes sweetie?” He responded, trying to steady himself, though his mind was anything but. For a moment, he had forgotten what you even said, too distracted by the sight in front of him, of you in his shirt and out of your pants. “I was asking if a movie night was okay with you?” you repeated, leaning in with those knowingly pleading eyes that could unravel him in an instant. How could he possibly say no to that?

“Of course. It’s more than alright with me sweetie.” His opens his arm to you, an invitation that you eagerly you accept as he reached for the remote on the table out in front of him. With his arm now wrapped around you, settling naturally against your side, his fingers idly caressing your skin as you both now turned your attention to the screen.

Except Sylus couldn’t focus.

It was only about 30 minutes into the movie, his hands began to wander. Fingertips delicately grazing over your skin. His eyes flicked down catching a glimpse of your exposed skin, and finally he caved.

You were pinned beneath what you could call a hungry lion. He eagerly lapped at your skin as he sucked and bit the flesh, enjoying the dark marks that began to bloom. He was quick to have your folds sopping wet and dripping onto his fingers. Enjoying the way you squirmed and pawed at him, eyes glazed and filled with tears of pleasure.

“Sylus~” you mewled out. His fingers curl expertly, hitting that spongy spot inside you. You throw your head back into the plush of cushions, feeling yourself teeter on the brink of an orgasm.

“You’re doing so good for me, kitten.” He coos softly into your ear, feeling your walls clench around his thick digits. His other hand soothed you, gently caressing your hip as he worked you.

Before you could succumb to the tantalizing sensation, his movements halted. A frown was quick to appear on your features but the feeling of his cock sliding slowly into your folds had your dismay long forgotten, eyes rolling back into your head. “There she is~” he purrs, watching your face full of bliss.

Sylus loved the view beneath him. You, practically swimming in his shirt, with your legs folded to your chest, and his cock practically splitting you open while he pumped in and out at an agonizingly slow pace. “Faster.” You managed to whine out but Sylus shook his head.

His hips rolled slowly against yours, dragging the head of his cock slowly against your aching walls till just the tip remained inside and slowly pushing back in, savoring every inch he could while he sunk inside you. The whine that left your lips almost made his self-restraint snap. “You look so beautiful like this.” He murmured, continuing his slow pace.

The movie served as mere background noise as he savored every inch of your skin, swallowing up the whines and moans that left your mouth. His only focus was you–your pleasure, every reaction, the tremble of your body. He eased the grip your thighs, letting them fall naturally at his side “So perfect.” His torturously slow pace continued for the next hour, bringing you closer to the edge, never once letting you fall. At this point you were a sobbing mess, begging desperately for your release. “Sylus please–” You choked out once more, voice laced with need and desperation as you writhed in his hold. He hushed you gently, his voice low and soothing, “I know baby, I know. But you’re doing so good for me.” Your pleading eyes, tear-stained cheeks, and flushed appearance snapped something inside him. He couldn’t deny you any longer, not when you had been so good for him. He groaned in surrender, hips snapping quickly against your own, finally, giving you what you craved. “Give it to me.”

#lads #lads fanfic #love and deepspace #fanfic #lads sylus #lads smut #sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus smut #sylus x reader #sylus love and deepspace #lnds sylus #―⭑❤︎.ᐟ nebulawrites

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lyn31 · 3 months ago

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These fluff and pregnancy Zayne are so sweet and I love it! Can you do a continuation of the pregnancy connected to the part of where he stays home with reader finally! How he’s so sweet and attentive to reader throughout the days/nights (When he already is😭). That makes reader cry/very emotional in front him cuz she realizes how lucky she is and how much Zayne really loves her. Zayne comforts her and tells her how silly she is. Thank you I appreciate it.🫶🏻✨🥹

I was gonna say y'all are in the pregnancy brainrot but I feel like now I am as well 😭 Even when I write this I was like "Gosh this is too cute help *make it cuter*" Hopefully this is what you have in mind! 🫶🏻😂

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Lingers

Summary

A tender, slow-paced story of love, quiet devotion, and the quiet yet profound intimacy of daily life as you and Zayne prepare for the arrival of your child.

Ao3 link

My Masterlist ✨

Notes

Pairing: Zayne x MC/Reader Beware of the absolute sweetness!

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When you wake up, you feel a cool touch resting against your lower belly—not gripping, just there. A steady presence. The same coolness lingers against the back of your neck, his breath fanning lightly over your skin.

A glance at the nightstand tells you it’s already nine in the morning. It’s been a week since Zayne started his extended leave, and you’ve both settled into a routine of staying in bed a little longer than usual.

You try to shift, but even with the pillow supporting your stomach, an 'oof' slips out at the effort. Now in your third trimester, you can’t help but notice just how much you’ve grown. You know it will happen, of course, but knowing and actually experiencing it are two very different things.

“Zayne?” You glance back at him, reaching out to touch his cheek. He stirs slightly, leaning into your touch before his eyes flutter open.

He hums, nestling closer against your neck, his voice hoarse from sleep. “Something wrong?”

You shake your head, shifting again as much as you can. He notices immediately, his hand shifting from your belly to your waist, rubbing slow, soothing circles. “Uncomfortable?”

“A little,” you admit.

Without a word, he adjusts, propping himself up on one elbow as he shifts the pillow to better support your stomach. He watches you for a second, then smooths his palm over your belly again, as if checking for any tension. “Better?”

You nod, sighing softly as the weight on your body eases just a little. Zayne presses a light kiss to your shoulder, his lips cool yet comforting.

“Do you want to sleep a little longer?” he asks, his voice gentle, but you can already feel the way he’s watching you closely, making sure you’re okay.

You shake your head. “I think I’m up now.”

He hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t move away, his fingers continuing their slow, absentminded motions against your skin. A few quiet moments pass like this, the two of you cocooned in the warmth of the bed, before Zayne finally murmurs, “Are you hungry?”

Your stomach answers first, a soft grumble filling the quiet, and you huff, pressing your face into the pillow as he lets out a low chuckle.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He presses another kiss to your shoulder before sitting up. “Stay here. I’ll make breakfast.”

You pout slightly, reaching out to snag his wrist before he can leave the bed. “But you’re warm.”

Zayne raises a brow, amused. “Am I?”

“You are to me,” you grumble.

His lips twitch like he wants to smile, but instead, he leans down, brushing his lips against your forehead. “I’ll be quick.”

Zayne returns not long after, carrying a wooden breakfast tray, the same one he’s used every morning since his leave started, but that doesn’t stop you from staring at it like it’s ridiculous.

“Should I start expecting a menu next?” you say flatly.

Unbothered, he sets the tray on the nightstand first, then turns back to you. “Sit up.”

You sigh but let him help, not that you have much choice. He moves the pillows behind you again, propping you up so that your back is fully supported. Once you’re settled, he smooths his hands over your arms like he’s checking to make sure you’re comfortable before finally reaching for the tray.

He places it gently in front of you, adjusting its legs so it rests neatly on the bed. The scent of warm eggs, fruit, and something slightly sweet fills the air. You glance down—scrambled eggs with cheese, whole-grain toast, a side of sliced fruit, and a small bowl of yogurt with granola. Off to the side, a glass of what looks like a smoothie, pale green but blended smoothly enough that you can’t taste the spinach he definitely snuck in there.

Zayne settles beside you, his own plate in hand. “Let’s eat.”

You shake your head, huffing. “You really don’t have to do this every morning, you know.”

He gives you a pointed look. “I know.” Then, softer, “But I want to.”

That makes your chest ache a little. You don’t say anything else, just pick up your fork and take a bite. The eggs are still warm, fluffy with just the right amount of cheese melted in.

Zayne watches for a moment before nodding in approval and starting on his own plate.

For a while, the two of you eat in peaceful quiet, the occasional clink of utensils against plates the only thing breaking the quiet. It’s domestic in a way that feels so natural now, like this has always been your life together.

And maybe that’s why your chest aches yet again—because this feels too good, too right.

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You sigh contentedly as you stretch, already anticipating the warmth of the bath. Zayne is, as always, by your side, his hands moving with practiced ease as he helps you out of your maternity clothes. By now, it’s routine—something you never have to ask for because he does it without hesitation. But today, you’re feeling a little mischievous, well more than usual anyway.

Just as his fingers move to unfasten the last bit of fabric, you press your hand over his. “Nope, you’re banned from bath duty today,” you announce, lifting your chin playfully. “I want to bathe by myself.”

Zayne pauses, then tilts his head slightly. “It’ll be easier with my help,” he reminds you, voice calm as ever.

You huff, shooting him a smirk. “It’ll also take longer with you around.”

His brow lifts just a fraction. “And why is that?”

You give him a knowing look. “Oh, you know why.”

“I don’t, actually.” His tone is perfectly polite, but you can see the way he presses his lips together, obviously holding back a smile.

You narrow your eyes at him. “I don't think playing innocent will save you.”

He hums, unimpressed by your accusation, but doesn’t deny it. Instead, his gaze flickers lower, scanning you in that thoughtful way he does when he’s about to make a point. Then, with perfect seriousness, he says, “I don’t think you can even reach your own legs.”

You gasp in dramatic offense. “The audacity.”

Zayne doesn’t even blink.

“If I could, I’d stomp on your foot right now.”

“Mm.” He nods, like he’s truly considering it. “Good thing you can’t, then.”

You scoff and turn away, nose in the air, though the effect is probably lost considering how slow and careful you have to be while moving. Behind you, Zayne chuckles, and before you can take another step, his arms slip around you from behind, hands resting over the swell of your belly.

“I don’t remember you complaining before,” he murmurs, his cool lips pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

Warmth spreads through you—not just from his touch, but from the way he still looks at you, like you’re everything to him, even now, with all the changes in your body. Like he’s still crazy about you, just the same as before.

You laugh, tilting your head to the side so you can meet his eyes. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” He kisses your shoulder again before you can answer.

You don’t argue, simply catch his lips in a quick, soft kiss. You sigh dramatically, placing your hand over his. “Alright, dear.” You squeeze his fingers before turning in his hold. “Come on, then.”

Zayne exhales lightly, as if this outcome is obvious from the start. “That was short-lived.”

You roll your eyes. “And here I thought you were smart enough to know when I’m messing with you.”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, his grip on your waist steady. “You’re a menace.”

“And yet, you never stop indulging me.” You smile, tilting your head. “What does that say about you?”

“That I know exactly what you want.” His voice is calm, but the glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

He presses another kiss to your shoulder, then—without another word—takes your hand and leads you toward the bathroom.

You don’t hesitate, a smile already tugging at your lips. You never really wanted to bathe alone, anyway.

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Zayne wraps a towel around you, his touch gentle as he pats away any lingering droplets. He doesn’t rush or dry you off in the most efficient way possible—he takes his time, smoothing his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, over the curve of your belly. It’s practical, yes, but there’s something so tender in the way he does it, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

You hum softly, stretching your arms a little. “At this rate, I should start tipping you.”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, kneeling down as he carefully helps you step into your underwear. “Your presence is payment enough.”

You snort. “That was smooth.”

His gaze lifts, calm as ever. “I meant it.”

“Very dramatic of you, husband,” you tease, but your voice comes out softer than you expected.

He doesn’t argue, simply stands and grabs the softest maternity dress you own, holding it open for you. You slip your arms through the sleeves, letting him pull it over your head. His fingers brush your skin as he adjusts the fabric, smoothing it over your belly. He lingers there, both hands resting over the swell, his thumbs absently tracing small circles.

Your breath catches for a moment. It’s not like this is new—Zayne has been touching you with the same quiet adoration since the beginning—but something about it gets you right in the chest.

His cool lips press against your forehead, lingering. “Comfortable?”

You nod, swallowing past the sudden tightness in your throat.

He watches you, eyes sharp as ever. “You’re looking at me like you have something to say.”

You do. But you just shake your head and smile, pressing your hands over his. “Just thinking about how much I love you.”

Zayne hums, squeezing your fingers lightly. “That makes two of us.”

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The afternoon passes in the kind of quiet comfort that has become routine now. The two of you aren’t doing anything particularly special—just existing together, moving through the day with ease—somehow, it still feels like something worth treasuring.

You’re settled on the couch, legs stretched out in front of you, pillows stacked behind your back for support. Zayne is next to you, flipping through a medical journal, but you can tell he’s still keeping an eye on you. He always is.

Reaching for your water, you realize it’s just beyond your grasp. You barely shift forward when, without even looking up from his reading, Zayne reaches over and pushes the glass closer to you.

You pause, glancing at him. “You’re really on autopilot at this point, huh?”

“Hm?” He finally lifts his gaze.

You pick up the glass. “You didn’t even look. Just moved it like it was instinct.”

Zayne tilts his head slightly, as if he doesn’t see why that’s worth pointing out. “You needed it.”

You shake your head, amused, and take a slow sip.

Later, when the two of you return from a short grocery run—you still insist on doing them—Zayne grabs all the bags before you even get the chance to reach for one.

“Seriously?” You huff, crossing your arms. “I can at least carry one.”

Zayne merely glances at you, then keeps walking toward the kitchen, entirely unmoved.

You narrow your eyes at his back. “I’m not made of glass, you know.”

“Mm.” He hums as he sets the bags down, completely ignoring your protest.

You roll your eyes, but warmth spreads through you all the same. He’s always been like this—so effortlessly attentive.

By the time you’re back on the couch, your legs are starting to feel a little sore, the weight of the day settling in. You stretch them out, flexing your ankles absently. Before you can say anything, Zayne is already kneeling beside you, pushing up the hem of your dress just enough to reach your calves.

His hands move with practiced ease, cool palms smoothing over your skin as his thumbs press into the muscle, kneading slow, deliberate circles.

You sigh, sinking deeper into the cushions. “You know, I don’t even have to ask anymore.”

Zayne glances up briefly, the corners of his lips barely tilting. “Did you ever have to?”

You laugh softly, reaching down to brush your fingers through his hair. “No. I guess not.”

He presses a light kiss to your knee before continuing his massage, as if to prove his point.

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The evening air is cool, the room dimly lit, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. You’re tucked into bed, comfortably warm beneath the blankets, with Zayne behind you, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. His other hand rests against your belly, cool against your skin even through the fabric of your nightgown.

You’re already drifting, caught in that hazy space between wakefulness and sleep, when Zayne shifts slightly. He tucks the pillow better beneath your belly, adjusting things without thinking, the same way he does every night. Then his hand finds its way back to you, smoothing over your stomach in slow, absentminded strokes.

You shift slightly, pressing back against him, feeling the steady, reassuring weight of his arm around you. Your fingers brush over his where they rest against you, tracing absent patterns as your breathing evens out.

And then it settles in—that this is routine. That his care is constant, unwavering, something you never have to ask for because he just knows. Something about that realization tugs at you, something warm and fragile all at once.

Your throat tightens.

You don’t know why it hits you now.

Maybe it’s the quiet. The way his presence surrounds you so completely. The steady weight of his hand, instinctive, like it belongs there. Maybe it’s just hormones.

He does this every night.

He tucks you in just right. He makes sure you're warm, but not too warm. He keeps his hand on you, as if protecting you even in sleep.

Like he belongs here. Like you belong here.

Tears burn at your eyes before you can stop them.

Oh, no.

You inhale sharply, blinking fast, but it’s no use. The realization—the sheer depth of how much he loves you, how effortlessly he cares for you—comes crashing down, quiet but undeniable.

A sniffle escapes before you can swallow it down.

Zayne stills. Then, a soft inhale. “Love?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “No.”

A pause. Then, amusement laces his voice. “No?”

You shake your head against the pillow, voice thick. “You’re being too sweet again.”

His chest moves in a silent chuckle, but he doesn’t tease you—not this time. Instead, he shifts closer, pressing a kiss against the back of your head, then lower, to your shoulder. “Is that so?” His voice is quiet, warm, meant only for you.

You sniffle harder. “Yes.”

Another kiss, this time against the side of your neck. “And what exactly did I do?”

You groan, hiding your face against the pillow. “Just—this! All of this! You always take care of me, you always make sure I’m okay, even when I don’t ask—” Your voice wobbles, and another tear slips free. “You love me too much, it’s not fair.”

Zayne exhales, softly exasperated but infinitely patient. “I see,” he murmurs. “What a terrible thing. Having a husband who adores you.”

You sniffle again. “It is.”

He hums, entirely unconvinced. His arm tightens around you, pulling you even closer, as if that’s possible. His palm spreads over your stomach, a steady, protective weight. Steady circles over every part of you he can reach.

Slowly, he shifts, his chin coming to rest lightly against the top of your head, his cool breath stirring your hair. “I suppose there’s no helping it,” he says, the words a quiet rumble against you. “You’re stuck with me, after all.”

A shuddering breath escapes you, caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. You reach down, curling your fingers over his where they rest against your stomach, squeezing tight. “Obviously.”

Zayne’s fingers curl slightly beneath yours, his touch warm despite the coolness of his skin. His palm lingers, steady and sure, anchoring you through the swell of your emotions. And just as you start to breathe through the tightness in your throat—

A small but distinct movement presses against his hand.

Zayne stills.

You do, too.

Then it happens again—a firm, unmistakable kick against his palm, strong enough that even in your haze of emotions, you can’t ignore it.

You let out a soft gasp.

Zayne, ever composed, presses his hand more firmly, waiting. A second later, another soft thump answers, almost like a response to his touch.

A quiet chuckle escapes him, low and warm. “I think they agree with me.”

Your throat tightens all over again. “What?”

His fingers trace slow, soothing patterns over your stomach, as if calming both you and the baby at once. Then, softer, more certain—“Looks like I’m not the only one who loves you.”

That does it.

A fresh wave of tears spills over. “Zayne,” you whimper.

He sighs, soft and indulgent, as he presses another kiss to the top of your head. “Yes, darling?”

“That’s not helping.”

Zayne huffs, amused, and you feel the subtle tilt of his head as he buries his nose against your hair. His palm shifts slightly, smoothing over your stomach once more. The baby responds again, another small but insistent nudge against his touch.

His thumb brushes gently over your skin, as if memorizing every movement beneath his hand. Then, with quiet finality—“They’re stubborn. Just like you.”

A watery laugh escapes you. “Then you’re doomed.”

His shoulders shake in silent amusement, his arm tightening around you just a little more.

And as another gentle kick presses into his palm, you feel the warmth of his voice against your hair—“Mm. I think I’ll survive.”

This time, when your eyes flutter shut, you drift off to the steady rhythm of his touch.

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Notes

How did these two request line up, are you guys sure you don't know each other 😂 but hey it's working out for me! (and I'm not talking about the previous req but this one after ahahaha) Thanks again for the cute request 🫶🏻 Not connected and more like a snippet (smut) but still on pregnancy theme!

You're reading the Pregnancy series! You're at Part 4

Part 0

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6 (Smut at the end)

I was editing to add the rest of the series part but it was too long ahahaha so here's just the whole list: Parenthood AU Masterlist ✨

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lilacwrite · 2 years ago

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~NEUVILLETTE HEADCANONS ~

(turned into neuvillette x reader)

aside from the melusines being his children, I feel like his favorite animal is an otter (he looks so much like an otter it drives me crazy it's so adorable!!)

next hc is kinda neuvillette x reader btw

because of his cold appearance most people don't approach him. you are truly the first one to get to know his warm personality, rapidly becoming best friends

but soon the friendship became something more than just friendship. the little playful laughs turned into shy giggles as both of you were unsure of the other's feelings.

he started bringing your favorite flowers every time he'd come back from a trial to visit you. you were now looking forward to every trial and you were glad Fontaine people saw these trails as entertainment. that meant more flowers for you

sometimes if the trial takes a serious turn, your "friend" will come upset as the weather outside rapidly changes. it starts to pour as soon as the trial is over, making neuvillette arrive drenched but still holding your now soaked flowers

whenever he arrives by your door like this, you know something is not right. even tho he never told you, you had your own suspicions about the true identity of the hydro dragon, you were 99%sure it was him (you left that 1% for his confirmation)

"there, there, my hydro dragon" you'd comfort him in days like these. you always did this since the moment you met, at first simply because he has a hydro vision (and is built like a dragon), by now this soothing phrase becoming a habit

he always looks forward to your warm embrace and always says the same thing when he's finally at peace

"thank you...and im sorry for crying once again in front of you" he'll whisper the last part but as always you just hug him and tell him its no problem

but not this time. this time you hugged him and acted on impulse. no risk no gain, you thought before kissing his cheek.

"stop apologizing, neuv.... you know im always here for you. ive been here all these years and yet you still feel the need to apologize. you're more than welcome in my arms whenever you need so there's no need for apologies."

he was speechless. all he could do was lock his gaze with yours as both of you waited for the other one to speak up

you spoke up first trying to move on from the increasingly awkward moment "well anyways-"

he cuts you off "excuse my interruption,but you're right...mon chéri. " he said as he leaned closer, cupping your cheek with one hand

and at that moment you both knew there was no turning back

you kissed him, no longer able to wait for neuvillette to do it. it started slow and unsure at first, but soon both of you started kissing more hungrily for more, none of you getting enough

to your displeasure, he breaks the kiss only to softly whisper in your ear "I've waited so long to do this..."

" me too mon amour...."

and with that you both resumed your kissing as the sky cleared and stars shined brightly over Fontaine as the hydro dragon was at peace in his true love's arms

OMG I LOVED WRITING THIS NEUVILLETTE BRAINROT GOES BRRRR (sorry if there are any mistakes, I've wrote this in like 5 mins)

#neuvillette genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin impact #genshin x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #neuvillette headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you

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triasticalwarlock · 1 year ago

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More Adam brainrot with me(blood lust addition)-

Can I just talk about the size difference that you and Adam have in blood lust?

Look, just look. If adams hand is that big compared to lutes how big is it compared to yours? Like, your hand is just fucking engulfed in his, your hand is probably big enough just to wrap around his finger. A single finger, our hand must be the size of a peach or something. But the size difference just scratches the little itch in my brain to perfectly, so. :/

I know I've said this before, but imagine cuddling this dude. At our size in the story, if he picked you up, you would like a baby in his arms. He definitely likes to just grab your face and squish it, might shake you around lightly to. He would totally play with your ears, bending them and shifting them around, it helps him when he's stressed (he'll also squeeze your boobs/ass but we don't talk about that).

How he would just tower over you, he must have to bend his neck and back at a awkward angle just to look at you. If he got to his knees, he would probably still have to look down a little bit. He would let you hang onto his horns, sit on his shoulders, also letting you swing on his arms. Imagine him giving you his helmet, the mask overlapping your heads and a little bit of your shoulders. He is a little disappointed he can't preen your wings, but he doesn't hate them at all, likes to play with them actually, like your ears. And not only will he lend you his helmet, as well as his robe. And he'll let you keep it, he probably has more than a thousand of those things in his probably-house-like-closet.

Just like- LOOK

HIS HEAD IS SO MUCH BIGGER THAN LUTES. YOU WOULD BE ABLE TO BARLEY WRAP YOUR BODY AROUND IT. IF HE LAID HIS HEAD ON YOUR STOMACH, YOU COULD JUST- HUDHWMSJHXNDKFHFHDY

On to more sinister aspects-

I have full expectations that Adam is going to lose his shit at some point in this story, just lose his fucking mind. More than likely during the extermination(s). Just go apeshit. I personally think that Adam is going to be a fast burn even with you being a sinner because 1, the creator themself said they are shit at writing slowburn. And 2, in the SC (special chapter) they say, 'you've already met all the characters and they've all fallen into your hands', or something along those lines. So I think that Adam going to get obsessed pretty quickly. But back to what I was saying; he's more than likely going to lose his shit during the extermination because he can't reach you due to the others keeping him at bae, doesn't help that you're more than likely in the hotel it self because you know these motherfuckers are not going to take the chance of you getting hurt.

So he just starts shooting his holy light every where, screaming; 'get the fuck out of the way!' or, 'im going to kill all you motherfuckers!'. He just wants to take you 'home', and his pissed off because there's these little 'failures' (from what he calls them) keeping him from his main goal, other than killing all the residence of the hotel. But imagine if he does get to you, that he had lute hold vaggie out of the way and let Adam sneak in. You want to run up to him, he's your 'friend'. But you know that something isn't right with the way he's calling for you; his voice slightly shaking and desperate sounding, like he can't stand another second without you in his field if vision. His glowing gold eyes crazed and wide, like he can't let anything escape his friend of vision. Can't miss the chance of seeing you. And when he finally finds you, he grabs you, picking you up and forcfuly hugging you. Trying to soothe your cries, getting distressed and worried as you didn't calm down. Covering your mouth as he sneaks away to a portal to heaven, some how escaping everyone's field of vision. And as he stepped into the portal, he knew, he had you.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel x reader #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #blood lust by babygrillbree #hazbin hotel adam x reader #blood lust on ao3 #adam x reader #yandere adam x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel adam x reader

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reverseexorcist · 1 year ago

Text

★ 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 ★

Wow just realised this entire time my asks have been off woopsie ●_● Should be fixed now.

Anyway, since y'all went feral over this dynamic (and I can't blame you), here's more of Carmilla with her adopted fallen angel child.

I know I said part 2, but I'm honestly considering making this a sort've slice-of-life series seeing as I absolutely love this dyanmic and I'm having some serious brainrot over these two.

Part 1 ↫ Right Here

➲ 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚 Carmine + !Fallen Angel!Reader

➲ Romantic ☐, Platonic ☒

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 3,662 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Female reader, somewhat depressed reader, minor mentions of gore, sleep deprived writing, potential ooc Carmilla, mother mode Carmilla increased

Getting used to your new life required more effort than you ever thought was ever needed. Getting used to living in hell was a chore in of itself, and quite a tedious one, and getting used to the new family you now found yourself surrounded by only piled on a tad more stress.

Unlike heaven, the land below was almost always swathed in some sort've darkness - There was literally no day night cycle at all and it was fucking with your head. Your poor circadian rhythm was completely thrown all over the place when three in the morning was just as bright at two in the afternoon. Not to mention the smoke ever present in the air. You weren't sure which you hated more between the two.

(Probably the air. You actually liked it when you breathed and didn't hack up a lung.)

It was a lot, especially when you were getting used to your new wingless life.

(Which sucked, by the way. Every time your fight or flight response kicked in, you found yourself straining your back muscles trying to lift off with nothing to support you and it made you want to cry every single time it happened.)

However, all of this was way better than what could've happened had Carmilla not saved your life. Your back still ached and the phantom pain still tortured you at night, the feather-fluff nubs of your old wings only served as a painful reminder. As much as you hated to admit it, often times you'd spend the entire night longing for the newly comforting touch of your adopted mother figure…

Wow. That felt weird to admit. That and a whole lot of other repressed emotions and memories.

You groaned and sighed, clutching your head and threading your fingers through your tussled bedhair. Your back muscles flexed, the sound of rustling feathers muffled by the mattress. The sensation was weird enough to make you 'gwak', roll on to your stomach and faceplant into your pillow. It was more natural that way, anyway - When one has wings it was rather difficult to sleep on your back, afterall, at least after your first growth spurt. You never thought you would miss the feeling, but you fought to find any silver lining in your new life. And in a world that was mostly shades of red, silver was quite a luxury.

Your somewhat depressing quiet time was broken by the gentle tapping of steel carefully approaching your room.

"Mi peque?" You didn't have the energy to jump, already having heard the delicate 'tink' of Carmilla's pointed shoes against the hardword floor of your new home. Her silhouette took up most of the doorway, the faint light spilling in from the hallway making the angelic steel decorating her body glow, much like the warm lull of her crimson eyes. Your head tiltied to the side to stare at her, but otherwise you made no movement.

She blinked once and ducked her head to step into your room. If you were, well, you from about a week ago, you probably would've been shitting bricks at the sight. It was lowkey terrifying, mostly because Carmilla was so much taller than you and had the expression of a constantly pissed off commander or something. However, it didn't scare you - Mostly because your worst nightmare had already come true.

"Can't sleep?" Her voice was soft, something that completely contrasted her outward exterior. It was soothing, though, and you found yourself not caring when she settled herself on the end of your bed.

(Your new bed. Your new bed that you could, for once, comfortably stretch out on.)

"Something like that," You mumbled, practically whispered. Your eyes glowed much like Carmilla's, like a mischevious cat from your spot hidden under your multiple blankets. "It's, mm, weird. Sleeping by myself."

Her eyebrow quirked, a silent invitation to continue if you wanted to. Maybe? Emotions were still hard to read for you.

"Well, because I'm used to sleeping in the barracks with the rest of my platoon. It's apparently really comforting, seeing as I haven't had a good sleep since I got here," You grappled your blankets a little tighter, as if doing so would provide you with some sort've phantom comfort that you secretly longed for.

A breath of silence hung steadily in the air, as if both your minds were churning on what to say next.

"I'm sorry."

"M'sorry."

You both said at the same time, which seemed just a little cliche. Slinking out from underneath your covers, you couldn't help by eye the demon across from you warily.

"Why're you sorry?"

"Because, I'll admit, I'm a little rusty," She reached up and untied her buns, letting her hair loosen and tumble down her back. "It's been a while since my girls were young like you-" You scoffed, which prompted an amused smirk "And it's not like I know anything about taking care of an angel."

"Well, you're doing better than what they were doing up there," You blankly motioned upwards where the pearly gates shone brightly in the sky like a constant sun. "Plus, I'd say you're dealing with me as gracefully as you can."

"Elaborate?" Carmila carded her fingers through her hair, tilting her head curiously. The mountain on your shoulders threatened to stumble, and by god you were ready to let it fall.

"Well, it's not like any heaven-born has parents. Heaven was always all about equality and shit, and every single child was raised by the community. And yeah, it was all rainbows and crap because everyone was loved mostly equally, but it sucked because I was always just another nestling that someone had to keep an eye on," You brought your knees up to your chest. "That's why, when the lieutenant gave me her offer I didn't refuse, cause I thought 'wow, someone noticed me!' and it was a feeling I chased ever since."

It felt nice to let it all out for once. Not like anyone else around you back then really cared, cause they all went through the same thing.

Beside you, the covers rustled. Carmilla opened her arms wordlessly, minutely enough that if you didn't want to, you could probably brush the motion off as stretching. But, the warmth the she radiated was sorely tempting, and your little serotonin deprived brain was severly touch-starved.

Wow, four days into your new life, and you found yourself snuggling into the arms of one of Hell's overlords. And, sullying the lord's name, by god you loved it.

Not a single word had to be uttered between the two of you, not as long as you didn't want it. That was the silent message that you both clearly understood.

It kind've made you want to cry, if you were being honest with yourself. In a place that had seemingly been perfect, you found your life lacking, and in the burning pits of eternal damnation, you'd found yourself feeling loved for the first time since you could remember. The way Carmilla's hold around you grew tighter, just ever so slightly - A comforting weight draped across your shoulders as you leaned into her warmth. That, along with her mellow breathing, it felt homely and nostalgic.

Tugging your blankets a little tighter around yourself, you didn't even fight the way your eyelids drooped.

Two weeks.

It felt like a lot longer, but you'd been living in hell for fourteen days, and it already felt like you'd been living here for months.

Well, it certainly didn't help that you never really left the main house. Like, ever. And you, for one, weren't complaining. The burning pits of Hell left much to be desired, and as a little angel who hadn't even had her first adult moult yet, you didn't really fancy going galavanting off around Hell, even if Carmilla was hovering over your shoulder like a helicopter parent.

Still, after the first week where you'd discovered and explored all the places that you were allowed to (the allure of the armory was great, but the potential wrath of an angry demon was greater), there wasn't really anything to do around the house. Sure, it was probably one of the safest places in the eternal firepit, but neither Carmilla nor Clara and Odette were ever really around, and it left you bored out of your mind.

Sprawled out across a rather decadent couch, soaking up the hellfire from outside, you found yourself wishing that something would happen that would hopefully prevent your mind from rotting further. But, if the big man from upstairs was paying attention, he surely must've hated you, because literally nothing was happening.

Unless…

You sat up, straining your ears.

Nope. Absolutely nothing.

You flopped backwards dramatically, back of your hand against your forehead and all.

Maybe, if you still had your weapon, you could've spent your time training or practicing or something. There was a training room somewhere in the house, and you weren't explicitly banned from using it, and it wasn't exactly a useless way to spend your time.

(At least that way you'd be able to get some reasonable exercise in rather than just moping around all day.)

Maybe that was something you could ask Carmilla later. She wasn't the type to be against learning self defense, however you had no idea if even she deemed yourself too young to learn how to fight. She certainly was not happy when she found out about how you were sent to fight with baby feathers still warming your wings, that was for sure.

At least you had something to talk about when she got home.

…

"You want to learn how to fight?" As expected, Carmilla didn't seem entirely thrilled at your idea.

"Not necessarily. Just, how to use weapons?" It was more of a question than an answer, but it seemed to ease the tenseness in her shoulders.

"What type of weapons? Swords? Spears? Firearms?" She fixed you with a look. "If you want to get started, the first thing you could do is be a little more specific."

Which was certainly not the answer you were expecting, so you took a few moments to blue screen.

"Well, I wasn't too fond of using spears… Swords don't sound to appealing either…" Your eyes started drifting, and soon you found that your real answer was right in front of you.

"If possible," You wrung your hands nervously, "could I use shoes like you do?"

Honestly, Carmilla's unique fighitng style had piqued your interest ever since your head became clear enough to notice. Having your hands free sounded more appealing than lugging around a heavy blade.

The demoness paused for a moment, completely silent as she studied you with a stern gaze. It wasn't negative or positive, if anything it was most likely calculative. You weren't entirely stupid, even if you were young, and you weren't naive. Carmilla was weighing the pros and cons of teaching you her trade.

"Why? They aren't exactly easy to use," That wasn't a no, at least.

"I don't like melee weapons, not hand-held ones at least," There was more to your answer that Carmilla already knew. Months of cycling through weapons till you landed on one you could somewhat use you realised that you absolutely hated using hand-held weapons.

Carmilla sighed, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Okay, but it's not like I have spare angelic steel laying around. We'll have to wait till I can melt more down," She mused, almost seeming excited about crafting you your own weapon. But her words only confused you more.

"But, we do, don't we?" You furrowed your brows.

"The steel in the armory is meant for prepaid orders-"

"I was talking about my old helmet," You hoped that didn't sound too rude, interupting her. "I mean, the entire thing is is technically angelic. I don't know if it's steel exactly, but I know for a fact it's just as solid!" Now you were the one musing.

Like mother like daughter, almost.

"We could certainly try…" The two of you shared a look.

"Like… Right now?" You prodded almost mischeviously.

Tired as she was, Carmilla couldn't help but falter and smile, your enthusiasm almost contagious.

"Well, we can have a look."

After that it was only a matter of days. Carmilla was far more invested in your new project than you had expected, and even Clara and Odette had briefly joined in, if only to get a sneak peak at the workings behind an exorcists helmet. For the briefest of moments, with all four of you crowded around a table with tidy plans sprawled all over its surface, it almost felt like you were a family. Which, did prompt a stray thought in your head.

After gently pulling the threads of angelic steel from the rivets in the helmet's horns, you couldn't help but bundle them to your chest. They weren't exactly big, nothing compared to the horns of a full fledged exorcist, but they were still something.

So, while your mo-… Carmilla was busy melting down the odd, almost obsidian material of your old helmet in preparation of your new shoes, you were busy tinkering away with your own little side project. Of course, it was hard to explain the various little burns marks littered across your palms that had started appearing, but that didn't deter you one bit.

In fact, during this time, you found yourself shyly approaching the taller of Carmilla's other daughters, Odette.

One thing about her that confused you was the fact that her horns were fake, merely attatched to the band that held her hair up. But right now, that was exactly what you needed.

It was a sweet sight, honestly, at least to Carmilla.

You were huddled against Odette, listening with rapt attention as she explained something to you, finger brushing against what was most likely some sort've plan.

With a smile, Carmilla got back to work.

At the end of it all, you were left with a pair of shoes similar to the overlord's. Pointed and shiny. Sharp and deadly, yet oddly comfortable. The only key difference was the colour - Forged from the scrapped glass of your old helmet, the shoes were jet black inlaid with threads of silver, trailing all the way up the ballet ribbons.

And with your shoes, a matching set of your own horns. Odette seemed proud at the sight of you with small, obsidian horns branching from your head, unable to stand still as you clutched your new weapons to your chest gleefully.

There was a massive learning curve to your new weapons, but at least you weren't bored around the house anymore. Most of your time over the next month had been dedicated to learning how to move around in your new shoes, building both the strength and balance so you could walk, let alone run. So many bruises had been blemished into your skin, but in the end you were able to walk almost as easily as Carmilla did.

(Of course, the demoness had way more experience under her belt, but you were still doing pretty damn well.)

And during that time, the bond between you, Clara and Odette had only grown. Sure, they were only around as much as their mother, but after donning your horns, it seemed whatever barrier that had been built between you and the sisters had been torn down. Seeing as the two could also walk en pointe like their mother, many a helpful tip had been shared from them which served to get you walking faster.

It was endearing as it was funny to watch.

But, being couped up inside all day everyday was starting to wear you down, which was certainly starting to show with the way your pep had slowed down significantly.

With a heavy heart, Carmilla finally unleashed you on the world outside, accompanied by Clara and Odette.

In reality, you were just tailing behind the sisters on one of their usual deliveries. This way you could stretch your legs and practice on terrain other than the smooth floors of your home, which, while it was more difficult, was learnt within no time.

As dreary as the place looked, there were certainly sights to see around ever different corner. You'd found yourself tempted to wander off every five minutes or so, especially when you passed by a rather bright looking… hotel? The entire vibe seemed friendly and inviting, unlike the rest of Hell, but you really didn't fancy getting lost, so sticking close by Clara and Odette was the most sane option in the moment.

Or, at least that was the plan.

Really, with your head on a swivel trying to grasp every sight and sound (which you regretted not a moment later) you'd lost sight of the sisters and found yourself completely by your lonesome.

Which… Fuck.

That wasn't the most ideal position, especially when you really couldn't do more than walk in your new shoes, but they couldn't have gotten far, right?

You were wrong. Turning either corners of the street yielded no Clara or Odette, which only made your heart sink further into your stomach because you really didn't fancy getting cornered in an alley.

Backtracking, you tried your hardest to think. Perhaps, if you could find your way back to the hotel, someone there could help you? It was wishful thinking, because this was Hell after all, but the aura was so different compared to the rest of the ring of wrath that maybe, just this once, luck would be on your side.

But of course, since this was you, luck was mercilessly right out of your reach. Not a moment later, a rambunctious howl pierced the air and a group - a pack? Of hellhounds started approaching you. Which, y'know, wasn't good, especially with the way their ears were pinned back and grins plastered across their faces.

Oh shit.

You started speed walking away, or your best attempt at it, in what you hoped was the direction of the hotel. Down in the streets without either of your guides, it all seemed like one continuous labarynth of red, LEDs and very questionable stores. And, as it turned out, lots of dead ends that you could easily get cornered in.

With the blood thrumming in your ears, heart pumping in your chest loud enough that it shook your head and just the general sense of 'oh shit I am so fucked', you really didn't pay attention to whatever the hounds were spouting off about. Lots of snapping of teeth and snarls, some crude gestures that made your gut twist anxiously and your feathers rustle nervously.

(You were seriously considering using a shoe as a knife. It wasn't like it was impossible with how sharp they were.)

At least, that was your train of thought. Until a resounding bang pretty much deafended you, echoing a chorus of ringing in your ears as the middlemost hound collapsed, head exploding with the force of the bullet that lodged itself firmly within the back of his disintegrated skull.

With dramatic timing, the others peered over their shoulders, only to be met with the towering, thoroughly pissed off form of Carmilla Carmine.

The barrel of her rifle was tinted with holy silver, but she seemed perfectly happy and prepared to behead them with a well placed kick. Whichever worked, you knew Carmilla prioritised your safety over the method of execution in the end. And in the end, the alley was scattered with various corpses in various states of limb loss, and you were carefully toted away in the arms of Carmilla.

She was furious. Probably. Maybe. You couldn't really tell. her face was completely stoney, and you were still awful when it came to identifying emotions. You assumed most of the anger had been taken out on the unsuspecting assholes that had cornered you. And for some reason, that only made you more anxious.

Not being able to tell what she was thinking was off. Back in Heaven, you could tell when Lute was pissed off, or proud, or indifferent, or whatever other emotion she was feeling at the time because she didn't really give two shits about what the recruits thought of her. And at least that way you could prepare on how to react. If she was angry, you knew to stay out of her way. If she looked indifferent, you knew you had to work harder in training. If she was proud, well, also best to stay out of her way so you didn't ruin her mood.

You whimpered and huddled a little closer. Carmilla clutched you a little tighter.

"Are you alright?" She finally asked once you were close enough to home that is was mostly just her employees around the two of you.

"Please don't be mad at Clara or Odette. It was my fault for getting lost," Was what you went with anyway. Carmilla shushed you gently.

"I'm not mad, I just want to know if you're okay."

Which completely threw you off. But you just went with it.

"M'fine. You got there before they could do anything," Those words seem to put her mind at ease, her shoulders visibly untensing as she exhaled a long sigh.

She hugged you, closer and tighter to her chest as if scared you were about to disappear from her hold. And you could only return the gesture, sinking into her comforting warmth. It made you feel small, almost like a little nestling on her first trip out of the nursery, but you found that you didn't really give two shits in the moment because you felt completely, wholly safe right where you were.

"Mi peque, mi querida, mi corazón," She uttered softly, "never wander from your siblings again."

Despite the firm tone, you could feel the care dripping from her words. You sighed and relaxed.

"Of course, mother."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

#carmilla carmine x reader #carmilla x reader #platonic #hazbin #hazbin carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel carmilla carmine #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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heliumshorns · 1 year ago

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NOT ME HAVING THE HONOUR OF BEING MUTUALS WITH ONE OF MY FAV WRITERS, HELLO?!?!?!?!?

anyways, i rlly can't stop thinking ab soft Gojo :(

just him getting super emotional while cuddling cus he's thinking ab just how much he adores and appreciates having someone in his life, who loves and sees him for who he truly is cus he's always just percieved as the strongest and not as Satoru </3 (Sugurus "Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru, or are you Gojo Satoru because you're the strongest" HURTS)

it's just softness and fluff everywhere as he slowly traces his hands all over his lovers body; squeezing, caressing, tracing, overall just trying to get himself to believe: "You're here, you're real, i have you."

A tear leaving his eye as he makes eye contact with his love, and they kiss it away whilist caressing his cheeks and whispering sweet nothings into his ear, but also reassuring and reminding him that yes, you deserve to be more than a weapon, you deserve to be you.

I'm so emotional ab him :((, this can also count as a request btw, i was mostly sharing brainrot cus im very much despising the jjk manga and am actively living in delusions :)

you can add some soft sex or keep it fluffy and bittersweet (if you wanna ofc, no pressure<3)

I fucking LOOOVE a soft Satoru I DONT CAREEEE

He's so adorable and it HURTS MEEE

(also, HI MOOT AND AHHHHH FAVOURITE WRITER??? I HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED ANYTHING PROPER YET😭😭)

tiny drabble under the cut because HDGSHHSHSH

(i didn't write smut but I am planning on working with that 😩)

The way his gentle eyes meet yours isn't enough to put into words. Or maybe it's too much. Words are complicated sometimes.

So it's understandable why Satoru doesn't speak when he gets home like this. Tired. Exhausted. Feeling like his headache is so bad not even a box of panadol can fix. Hell, he feels the pain in his soul.

But the second your soothing voice reaches his ears, it's like all of the turmoil is gone. The world reduces itself to the warmth of your skin and the smoothness of your voice. It becomes the simple moments of intimacy, where you just hold him to soothe his six eyes.

Where they can all, truly, fall shut and rest.

Like a safe space of some sorts. With your careful hands caressing his hair as you both lay, cuddling, all of the lights out. No music. No noise. Just your shared breathing, and heartbeats. How his hands rest on your back, his full weight on top of you, hair tousled and messy. His breaths deep and slow, making him slowly melt more and more into your embrace.

With gentle words and gentler touches.

"I missed you."

"I missed you too, my love."

Even being called that makes tears prickle his eyes. My love. Not Satoru. Not Gojo. Not the strongest nor a weapon. Just... someone. A random guy, who met the most amazing person, and just happens to be loved. It's like when he's with you, all worries vanish. You're the calm to his storm.

Even if it isn't visible.

That's the funny thing about storms, right? If you're in the eye of the hurricane, you won't notice until you open your eyes. And he, sadly, has six of them to remind him how he's constantly fighting for his life.

Sadly, some people are born to fight. His heart yearns for the gentleness of a lover, and his body is used to fight the toughest battles. All while putting up the facade that he's the strongest. As if being referred to as such doesn't hurt him more than anyone can. Words, sadly, go through his infinity.

Something he absolutely turns off whenever near you.

It's like you manage to calm even the deepest, most obscure parts of his brain. You make him forget instinct. When he's in your arms, he doesn't need to protect himself from anything. He's safe. Your lips to his dampened cheeks that serve as a reminder that maybe he does deserve love. He deserves to not having to be The Strongest all of the fime.

"Such a funny thought to wrap you up in cloth

Do you find it all right, my dragonfly?"

HE DIDN'T DESERVE ITT WHAT THE FUUUUUCK HE JUST WANTED TO BE HAPPYYYYYYYYY AAAAAAAH

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yuri-is-online · 2 years ago

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Hi Yuri! I hope you are doing well<333 I really enjoy reading your writing and I am always more fond of reading the little octatrio fish gang! I dont really know how this usually works because I never send in any asks at all nor do I see your rules list or anything but if you dont mind I would like to make a request<3

A mc who finds an out of tune and old piano and fondly remembers that they used to play piano back in their world. And perhaps Azul hears in on this and despite the piano being old and out of tune, it is rather beautiful how you play it because of how imperfect the notes are being played out. (SORRY I WAS LISTENING TO FALLEN DOWN AND THE FEELINGS WERE JUST SURGING AND THE BRAINROT WAS TOO MUCH)

You dont have to force yourself or anything! Please take care and dont feel too pressured! <3

The Most Romantic of All Arts (Azul Ashengrotto x Yuu)

Hello dear friend and I am doing quite well thank you! I'm pleased you like my writing; the octotrio is what finally cracked my resolve to check out Twisted Wonderland and put FGO on the back burner so I suppose I shouldn't beat myself up too much for writing about them so much. I am sorry I caused you stress with my lack of rules, I don't usually send requests or asks myself, so I felt really bad to have frightened you. Not too sure if this will end up being what you had in mind, it got away from me a bit.

Also when you say Fallen Down, you do mean the Undertale soundtrack piece right? It's a soothing song I listened to it while I was plotting this to try and get into a similar headspace.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, header taken from the painting Spirit by George Roux (1885) which I found on this wordpres blog article I took the title from, it's a neat painting, Azul learning to find beauty and love in imperfections is important to me ok? Other works can be found on my masterlist here.

Sometimes you wonder if Ramshakle is sentient. The old building has more rooms than you know what to do with, and lovely as the ghosts are they don't fully remember what they were used for, if they remembered in the first place. But still there was something about those rooms that seemed to love you; he guest room almost built itself up around you, the kitchen had only needed some basic repairs before it was ready to help play host again, and no matter where a fire place was found it was always eager to burst to life and warm you and Grim.

It does not have the same love for Azul, he'd complained as much when you talked about just what it was he wanted with the building after the events of his overblot had cooled between you.

"It's got a graveyard in front of it, though?" That really had been the crux of your whole argument. It was hard to be annoyed with his laugh when it sounded so nice, the genuine amusement a refreshing difference to his previous performitive indifference.

"Yes," he muses, sipping at his real before he continues, "I'm not bothered by that much, ghosts and grave ships aren't uncommon sights under the sea, but I always forget how unusual humans think they are."

"There's a lot of superstitions about places where people are buried." You mean it as an explanation, but it brings an odd look to Azul's face, like there's an emotion bubbling beneath his surface he doesn't want to acknowledge but is too strong to suppress. It settles over you both, as you try to focus on drinking your tea while your host seems content to let his grow cold.

"Well, I suppose it's a good thing that ruin isn't really sentient." He sounds almost bitter, disappointed in how long he has let his drink cool you decide as he reaches for the pot and warms it with some fresh tea. "Otherwise, I'd accuse it of trying to keep you."

It's a silly thought, but the sight of this latest discovery really does have you wondering. You are supposed to be in that wonderfully accommodating kitchen making snacks for when Azul decides to "coincidentally drop by" later this evening to "go over the Lounge's expenses" in your guest room. On a Tuesday. When it was almost guaranteed business would be slow enough to keep anyone from wondering too hard about where he'd gone or the twins from being too upset about running things. But instead of "just wanting to try" a new recipe, you are here, tucked in a room just a bit further down the hall from the guest room watching Grim give his best impression of Ace after completing a magic trick. Because stars know he has never seen any other magicians.

"TA-DA!" He puts both of his paws out to really sell the piano at the window. "See, I told you I had a great surprise!"

"I'm sorry for not believing you." You say and try not to laugh with just how much more proud that seems to make him. "But where did you find this? Or how I guess, unless you moved it?"

"Nah." He shakes his head before remembering he's supposed to be the "great" Grim. "I mean I could have! But I'm just so cool I managed to find a piano here already, so all I had to do was clean it up instead! You're welcome henchuman." You scratch just behind his ears and politely ignore his purrs as you examine the piano and its bench. They're old, likely just as ancient as everything else in the dormitory and likely extremely, achingly out of tune. But the mere sight of it makes your fingers itch, and Grim barely has to whine "Well ain't you gonna play somethin'?" Before you're at the bench, experimentally pressing the keys to try and sound out something.

Twinkle twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are-

You hum it rather than sing, irrationally worried Grim will somehow figure out it's a lullaby and complain that you're babying him instead of cutely dancing along with the music like it's one of the cassettes Deuce let you borrow. He cheers for another, and you oblige, letting your muscle memory carry you as far as it can as you try searching your brain for just what it was you wanted most to hear from yourself after all this time being unable to play.

And missing the click of a heavy door down the hall in the effort.

Azul hears nothing at first, and though it does disappoint, it does not bother him. He's had a long day, one about to be made longer still by the grey zone already draping itself around his thoughts as he shrugs his blazer off to his shoulders while en route to the Ramshackle guest room. He pauses, for what he tells himself is only going to be second, at the kitchen door and is left unrewarded for his detour.

You aren't there: and that does bother him somewhat, even if it should not if his pretext is to be believed. These visits were too commonplace to be random, but maybe you'd made plans, deciding not to look past his excuses for the evening. Maybe you were asleep, tired of the day or just plain tired of him. But there is a kettle sat on it's base, mercifully not on just yet, but two mugs and the pour over cone set next to as if it was expecting company. The nerves remain knotted in his stomach, though the cause shifts towards something more welcome.

So you do have a mug purposefully set aside and designated just for him, and is that a little recpie card with notes on coffee taped to that tin? These things should worry him, the picture he snaps and immediately hides in a folder should be for a purpose. But it's separate from those ones, labeled something inane and barely full with how careful he is to have his longing remain unseen. He wonders, briefly if it would be an intrusion to make the drinks himself. If it would reveal to much to show outright he knows the way you take yours instead of just saying it in time with your order, but knows that would not be the exact issue here. He is a guest, and guests limit themselves to the halls and that room he forces himself, with haste that would be noticeable if you were there to see it, back down the hall and back towards the guest room. Azul has work to do, he can content himself with the warmth the mental image the cups on the counter produces until something forces him to pause at a door once more. The piano is old, droning out a tune that is unpolished and rusty from the player's lack of practice but filled with such a specific sort of joy it has him actually running towards it.

You sit at the bench, a serious look of determination on your face so unlike the usual Yuu it can't help but be cute. Grim sleeps contentedly on your lap as you continue searching for the threads of melody still trapped inside your head from years of only occasionally reluctant practice. It's an unfamiliar tune in composition, but not in feel. There's words to this song, maybe not in the form of lyrics, but there all the same for him to stumble even closer to as he comes to a halting stop just behind you and the music ends in a surprised crash as you whip your head around to see him.

"Azul!"

"Very sorry to interrupt." He holds up both hands in surrender, composure only just maintained as you check to see Grim still asleep and laugh nervously. "I didn't know you could play."

"Can't really." You say somewhat bitterly and more confidence comes to Azul as a slight plan froms in his mind. "I'm really out of practice ugh. I know it shouldn't annoy me! But with how everything's been since I showed up, it's just not been on my mi- Oh hello?"

Azul fully removes his jacket and sets it on a side table close to where he had been satanding, moving to sit on the bench next to you. He has enough mercy not to loosen his tie or do anything else scandalous, but the close examination he gives to the keys could have fooled you. "Pity it's so out of tune, this is a nice piano."

"I know right! I'm really happy Grim found it." You resist the urge to poke his cheeks some and Azul lightly, trying not to too openly relish in your surprise reaches one arm around your back to place his hands into a similar position as you had been earlier, tucking you close to his side.

"May I?" He's smug. Too smug it's robbing you of sanity.

"What's it going to cost?" You try too hard not to sound like you're flailing as you look to see your question hasn't even phased him at all.

"Oh normally I wouldn't dream of charging for a performance," he clearly lies "but it's been such a long day I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee." And he's off, music only marred by the off key of the piano in a clearly purposeful display of talent meant to sear itself into your mind enough that you don't think about his request too long. You and he are from two different worlds, but he knows that music has a way of gapping that if the stories of the mermaid princess told him anything at all. So when he purposefully slows the song at its end, he knows you know, that tricky smile he swore once he'd always hate kicking his heartbeat up again as you lean fully against his shoulder.

"Beautiful." You say, not bothering to give the compliment direction as he can't help but agree. "We should play together next time."

"I-" You pick yourself up and what he wants to say slows when you pick up his jacket for him and hold out a hand. Later, he all to easily decides. Later, without Grim and with specific time set purposefully aside so you know just how much it matters. "I would like that. You'll have to show me the songs that you can remember from your world." And he takes your hand just to soothe some of the ache, trying and failing not to show just how happy he is when you keep it.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #<3 asks #i really love old paintings and actually ended up making this one my phone bg #so thank you v much for sending me this request annon idk if i would have found it otherwise

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skullsandfeathers · 3 months ago

Text

No Strangers To Death

Chapter 1/? - It's Not A Date

ao3 link, or read below

Word Count: 4,699 Pairing: Lucanis Dellamorte x Emmrich Volkarin Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte, Emmrich Volkarin, Spite

Tags: Date that isn't a Date, pinning, yearning, Idiots in Love, Idiots who don't know they're in love

Summary:

Emmrich soothed Death. Lucanis created it. How could a man like Emmrich be interested in a death dealer like the Crow? Two men, both of their professions focused on death from the opposite sides, and yet they find a bond, a common ground, and a sanctuary within each other when the whole world is coming to an end.

Notes:

Thanks for taking the time to read my fic! This is my first real crack at a fanfic, but I've been writing for over 20 years in fandom roleplays across various platforms. These two men are just one of my current brainrot obsessions. I don't know how far I'm going to go with this fic, but I'll try to update as quick as I can.

“It is not a date, Spite, stop saying it is.”

Lucanis looked into the metal platter he had hung on the wall in the pantry to serve as a mirror. He hung it there so he could properly groom his hair and beard, always mindful of his image. It was one of those things that Caterina hammered into his head growing up, and he remembered the rap to his knuckles from her cane when even a hair was out of line.

His hair had always been something he had kept long, but his beard and mustache had grown out during his time in the Ossuary. He liked the length, but he had trimmed it just a little to keep it groomed and presentable, Catarina's voice in the back of his head-- 'We are Crows, and we are Dellamortes. We must always present ourselves at our best.'

He'd have to remember to pick up some oils from a barber the next time he was in Treviso.

"You Two. Drinking Coffee. And Tea. Alone." Spite looked over Lucanis' shoulder into the reflection of the mirror, watching with intent purple glow as the assassin combed through his beard. The ever present smirk resting on the demon's face, it had once been unnerving for Lucanis to see, now it was just life. It was certainly better than the scowl he used to see all the time, a scowl that was too familiar, one that belonged to all the Dellamortes.

"It. Is. A. Date."

"It is not a date." Lucanis repeated, emphasizing the last words as he looked over his shoulder back at the demon, a glare of warning in his sharp eyes. He continued on with his routine, trying to ignore Spite as best as he could, but he couldn’t keep from correcting the maligned spirit with a huff and a quick string of words.

"It is just two friends who are interested in learning about each other's cultures having a chat over their favorite drinks. It is not a date."

The demon smirked, moving from behind Lucanis to lean back against the wall beside the mirror. It used to be a disorienting thing, seeing his face on the demon’s, mirroring him but not at the same time. Now much like the smirk and his violet eyes, Lucanis had come to accept that this was all just part of his life.

At least he had friends, and one friend in particular, to help him find his new equilibrium. While not everyone was entirely comfortable with the demon’s existence, Emmrich had been the most accepting of the fact that Spite was a part of Lucanis that wasn’t going to go away. In fact, Emmrich had helped him to realize that, while their situation was an unfortunate circumstance, they could learn to exist copacetic.

Mostly.

“It is not a date.” Lucanis repeated, this time a bit firmer as he set down the brush and ran his hands down the front of his vest, smoothing out the fabric. Again, he could hear his grandmother’s instructions as faint memories in his mind. ‘You must be clean. Sharp. Like a knife. People need to know you are death walking.’

"Are You Trying To Convince Me? Or You?"

“Spite…”

“You Like Him, Lucanisss. You Like Him So Much You Want Him To–”

“¡Cállate! Spite, please, it is not like that.”

“Tell That To Your Dreams.”

With that, it seemed the demon was content to fade back into the background with the last word and a lingering cackle. The frustrated and flustered look on Lucanis face as he stared back at himself in the mirror only served as proof of how true Spite’s words were. How many nights had he woken up in a sweat, finding himself flustering and wanting from the lewd images his mind would conjure up during what little sleep he’d allow himself to have?

It was Emmrich’s hands that he had dreamt about the most. The way they moved as the necromancer worked his magic, how they delicately traced the spines of the books on his shelf when he was looking for a particular title, the way they turned a page, wet with the saliva he’d licked across his thumb to separate the fragile ephemera…

The things he had dreamt about those hands doing to him. Touching him all over, expert hands that were so familiar and intimate with anatomy, the cool metal of his grave dowry brushing his skin, fingers touching his jaw, his shoulders, down his chest and abdomen and then–

Mierda, Lucanis, get yourself together. It isn’t like that with him.

As much as he’d like it to be that way with the older man, Lucanis struggled with believing he could ever have a chance, let alone even have Emmrich’s interest. The Mortalitasi had been nothing but kind, compassionate, and understanding with the Crow, but Lucanis didn’t ever see it as being anything more than the same generosity and consideration Emmrich gave to everyone.

There was no way a man like Emmrich, whose duty it was to ease the suffering and grief of both the living and the dead in times of great grief, would fall for someone who was often the very cause of that grief. Though Emmrich had made it clear he saw Lucanis as far more than an assassin from the start, he was more aware than anyone that the two of them were on the opposite sides of death.

Emmrich soothed Death. Lucanis created it. How could a man like Emmrich be interested in a death dealer like him?

And there was, of course, Spite. How could he ever think he’d have a chance with someone, anyone, when he was tethered in body, mind, and soul to a demon? No, no one wanted to deal with that baggage, he was certain. And with his life in the Crows, especially if he was going to be stepping into the mantle of First Talon? How would that even work?

Though, Emmrich was rather accepting of Spite. He never once treated their situation as anything more than unfortunate. And Spite, he knew already, enjoyed the company of the necromancer. In the early days, when the necromancer first joined them, Emmrich would read to Spite to allow Lucanis a few hours sleep, keeping the demon happy and occupied to allow the assassin his rest. It wasn’t the only thing Emmrich did for him either.

Emmrich had been the first person he’d let see how much he’d been hiding the grief of losing Caterina, he’d been the first to offer his comfort. And the man had not judged him when he had come to Emmrich to finally allow himself to feel the grief, to lament his loss and everything that came with it. He’d been nothing more than a friend, a comfort, an ear to listen and a shoulder to cry on. Was it any wonder his dreams would wander towards having so much more with the mage?

He sighed, shoving all those thoughts and worries away for another time. All he wanted to focus on was the nice, pleasant get together he was about to have with his friend. Tea, coffee, and a discussion about the differences and similarities in authors from Antiva and Nevarra. He had the perfect book picked out, an adventure that bordered just enough on the edge of romance that it wouldn’t be inappropriate for two friends to discuss.

‘Focus on what is important, Lucanis.’ Caterina’s voice echoed in his head. ‘Antiva, the Crows, and your contract. Everything else is just fantasy, and fantasies should remain just that.’

Lucanis sighed as the stern chiding of his grandmother faded away in his mind. Fantasies. It was nothing more than that, and it certainly was never going to be anything more than that.

And it certainly was not a date.

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Was this a date?

The thought had struck the necromancer when he was getting set up for the weekly little get together that he and Lucanis had begun not long after Emmrich had joined the team. It started out as a way for him to meet and talk with Spite without distraction, to understand the maligned spirit and the unique situation that he and the assassin had been forced into. Though now, through the help and coaching he’d been giving to both spirit and Crow alike, the two of them seemed to be finding a way to coexist despite the tragic circumstances that had brought them together.

Now, with Spite more calm and better behaved, more understanding of the way the human world worked, their little get-togethers had gone on to other discussions. About Antiva and Nevarra, or the books they were reading for the book club, or really just anything that struck their interest, in conversations that could last well into the night.

Neither of them seemed to be willing to give up their weekly get-togethers. Whether it’s to continue a conversation from their prior visit, or to discuss something brought up at the end, it seemed instead they would always find another reason to meet the next week. Indeed, he went so far as to let Rook know that this time was their time, and unless it was truly world ending business, he’d prefer them not to be disturbed.

But they weren’t dates.

And Spite had become quite a fixture in Manfred’s life as well, the two of them having their own base of connection and form of communication as spirits. It warmed his heart to see Manfred making a genuine friend, and it never ceased to marvel him, how much his ward had grown. It gave him a small bit of hope that Manfred would do just fine without him eventually… a thought that was both precious and woeful all at once.

Such was the life of a death mage.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the clattering of cups and saucers on a tray as his skeletal assistant carried in the refreshments for this get-together. He turned to Manfred and smiled warmly, moving to grab the tray from him to set it down on the table between two chairs sat by his fireplace. A regular set up for these meetings of theirs, this time Emmrich included a variety of pastries from Nevarra to share with Lucanis, along with the coffee and tea that both came from Antiva. A perfect mixing of their cultures to share between them.

“Andraste’s Grace, it almost does appear to be a date, doesn’t it, Manfred?” Emmrich mused out loud, but he shook his head and simply chuckled to himself. Silly notion. Really, if it had been a true date, he’d have chosen something a little more impressive than his own study, with coffee, tea, and some pastries.

Especially because a man like Lucanis deserved something more impressive. Not that Emmrich thought Lucanis would want more, necessarily. The Crow had never flaunted his wealth, though Emmrich knew well enough that Lucanis had grown up in a far more privileged life than his own. Lucanis had always been more humble about it, not at all like the nobles he’d grown up around, the ones who had made sure that those without knew how without they were.

No, Lucanis wasn’t like them at all, for all the nobility that the Crow truly possessed and was raised in. That alone was an admirable trait. Never once did he see Lucanis talk down to those less privileged, and never did he present himself as anyone’s better.

Emmrich gave a soft sigh as he lost himself in those thoughts. There were so many other things to admire about Lucanis. The way the man was always making sure to take care of everyone else, the way he noticed the little things. The necromancer was still touched by the fact the assassin made sure to take his diet into consideration when making meals. Not that the others didn’t, but Lucanis was the first to truly notice he’d politely pick out the meat and leave it on the side of his plate.

Kind, witty, thoughtful, and sharply intelligent…

No, if he was to court a man like Lucanis, he’d put in far more effort than this small little treat. He wouldn’t have it there in his study in the Lighthouse. It would be somewhere special, unique, with a proper meal to share. Yes, a man like Lucanis might not expect more than what he had set up for them now, but that was all the more reason to want to give him something more special…

That is, if it was a date. But it wasn’t.

He highly doubted he would ever have to, or rather have the chance to, put forward that effort. Long ago, he’d put away such notions of romance, never finding the one. Some people were just fated as such, and he had accepted that fate with as much grace as he could muster, even if it left him terribly lonely. “Not a date.” Emmrich said to himself aloud, to which Manfred responded with a simple shrug before he moved off to reshelve the books from Emmrich’s desk.

It didn’t stop him entertaining the idea of just how he would woo the assassin, however. Perhaps it was just a fun little thought experiment, or perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he pondered it over in his mind what it might take to impress Lucanis and win over the Crow’s heart.

Nothing too incredibly elaborate, not for a first date at least, he wouldn’t want to come off too strongly right out the gate. And yet it would have to be special, somewhere other than the Lighthouse study where they regularly met. Perhaps that little cafe in Treviso that Lucanis had always talked about. He imagined how lovely it would be to sit there in comfortable silence with the Crow as the sun set on the canals, painting the waters of Treviso in hues of pink and purple until the ripples reflected the stars in the sky.

But would that sight be too familiar for the crow, less spectacular than what one would want to show to impress a date? Emmrich then mused on the idea of bringing Lucanis to the Necropolis for a first date, a first real date. The Memorial Gardens were a splendid place for a picnic, and the necromancer knew precisely the least crowded places and times to visit so that they could enjoy each other’s company in peace. Yes, a picnic in the gardens would be perfect. He knew that Lucanis was showing more and more interest in Nevarran culture as of late, part of what had sparked the idea for this next get together after their last one.

Emmrich would make sure to find the perfect, quiet spot, a place where there would be no distractions so that he could give his undivided attention to the rogue. He even had an idea of the perfect tree to lay the blanket out beneath, in a little corner tucked away from the most walked pathways. He’d bring far more than pastries, it would be a sampling of breads and fresh fruits and vegetables in season in Nevarra, and only the finest of Nevarran wines.

He could imagine himself laying on the blanket across from Lucanis, with a plate of fruit between them, laughing and smiling with the rogue in quiet, comfortable seclusion. He’d pick up a piece of fruit to feed to the assassin, relish in the way Lucanis would take it between his lips, Emmrich’s thumb lingering on the bottom one before leaning in and–

Maker, what had gotten into him, to entertain the foolish and romantic notions that were better suited to younger men?

That had been quite enough entertaining, Emmrich thought, and focused on completing the task at hand. Everything had been set, but one thing was missing. Lucanis would be bringing his own selection of his favorite Antivan author, but Emmrich had yet to pick his book. He moved over to the shelves where he kept his fictional material, browsing over the titles to decide which would be the most appropriate. He settled on, of all things, a romance title, reading no further into it than the fact it happened to be Lucanis’ favorite genre.

There wasn’t much time to think through on that thought, however, as he heard a knock at the door, and Manfred excitedly looked excitedly over to Emmrich. The necromancer gave him a small smile and nodded, watching his skeletal ward trot off excitedly to answer the door for Lucanis and Spite, no doubt looking forward to spending more time with the demon.

In any case, with Lucanis’ arrival, Emmrich shoved aside any of the silly, romantic notions that he’d been ruminating about. He stood by his chair instead, holding the book he’d chosen close to his chest, awaiting the entrance of his very good friend for their visit.

All the while, he had to remind himself, it was not a date.

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“Hola, Manfred.” Lucanis said with a smile as he greeted the skeleton, who gave him a wave with a small, excited croak before he spotted Spite and excitedly started chattering away with the demon in whatever the language it was they shared. It wasn’t words, it was more like pleasant, faded noises that were indecipherable. Whatever it was, Manfred was excitedly making those noises as he led Spite up the staircase while Lucanis walked into the room with a chuckle and a smile.

The assassin stopped short for a moment as he walked into the room, eyes falling on Emmrich as he stood by his chair, tall and stoic with that warm and inviting smile on his face. A smile that today, with all the talk his demon had about this being a date, caused his stomach to flip. He didn’t let that stumble him, though, instead returning the smile with equal warmth.

His eyes traveled down and paused on the book and the way Emmrich held it, cradled in his arm, his other hand curling fingers around the spine, and the Crow had to quickly dart his eyes away to keep those earlier thoughts about those fingers from bubbling forward again. Instead, he looked to the tray on the table set up with the pastries and the drinks, and his gaze was back up on Emmrich’s face as he moved towards his usual chair, his own book tucked under his arm. “Refreshments? Gracias, mi amigo.” Lucanis said with an appreciative tone.

Emmrich had not missed the way Lucanis looked him over, though he dismissed it as the man’s usual Crow attentiveness to detail, even if he’d never before noticed the assassin’s eyes doing such a thing. But he couldn’t help himself from doing the same, looking over Lucanis as he took note of the younger man’s appearance. He’d trimmed his beard since the last he saw him, not shorter but cleaner, and he looked to have a bit more color in his cheeks. It would seem that the little naps he’d been able to give the rogue by reading to Spite were finally starting to do him some good.

“Gern geschehen, my friend.” Emmrich said with a smile, nodding to the pastries sitting on the table. Puff pastries with marzipan, almond, and rosewater. “Bethmännchen. Traditionally, they’re made for Winter’s End celebrations. I happen to know a little shop in the Necropolis which sells them year round.”

Lucanis smiled warmly as he took his seat, noting the coffee and tea as well, and he could recognize the scent of them both as the blends he’d brought back from Treviso for Emmrich to try. That brought even more appreciation to his smile and he picked up the cup of coffee as he set his book in his lap. Closing his eyes as he took in the scent of the warm liquid, he took a sip and smiled.

“Maravilloso.” Lucanis said, drawing the cup away from his lips and opening his eyes to look up at Emmrich where he still stood. He’d been a little surprised to see the necromancer starting down at him, seemingly stunned for a moment before he appeared to catch himself and smile at the assassin. “I am glad you like it. Manfred has become quite proficient in brewing coffee, thanks to your guidance. And, there is less steam for him to be distracted by.” Emmrich said with a small chuckle, passing off the fact he’d been staring at Lucanis, specifically his lips as the Crow had sipped the coffee and lost himself in the taste of it.

He wondered how much of the stare Lucanis had caught, but if he did see it, the Crow hadn’t said anything and simply took another sip of his coffee as if there was nothing that passed silently between them.

Of course nothing passed silently between us. Maker, Emmrich, get a grip on yourself! You are not a young and foolish man anymore, and Lucanis would hardly–

“Is there something wrong, Emmrich?” Lucanis’ voice pierced through his thoughts, and he realized he was staring off into the distance now, but his gaze had still been on the assassin the whole time.

“No! No, nothing at all, I was just lost in thought there for a moment. Flaw of an academic mind, I am afraid. We find ourselves thinking on the what ifs and would haves from time to time.” Emmrich said, giving a small, dismissive wave of his hand before he finally took his seat across from the Crow, setting his book in his own lap, silently scolding himself for even letting such foolish thoughts distract him from his friend’s actual company.

Lucanis wondered what Emmrich had been lost so deep in thought about. He could guess about a hundred different things that could be going on behind those hazel eyes that reminded him so much of the fruit of the olive trees that grew behind the Villa. He thought how much Emmrich might enjoy seeing those trees, with his love of botany. It brought his thoughts back to what Spite had been saying earlier about this being a date.

No, if he was going to take Emmrich on a date, it would be somewhere special, away from the place they were fighting for the world. He knew how much Emmrich loved the Memorial Gardens in the Necropolis, perhaps a picnic there would be the sort of thing he would like. But he goes there all the time. Maybe somewhere in Treviso? Cafe Pietra. Lucanis himself preferred the coffee, but they had a few good tea blends as well, ones he was certain that Emmrich would like. And then a gondola on the canals, watching the sun setting into the waters and being able to run his hands through the colors reflecting on the water, sitting beside Emmrich and perhaps for once feeling at peace…

“Lucanis?”

“Pardon? Oh, I, ah…” Lucanis chuckled, a little flush on his cheeks as he realized he was holding his cup up to his lips without taking a sip, and it had been his turn to stare off in the distance so distracted by his thoughts. “It seems that both of us are far away in thought tonight, mi amigo.”

“Indeed.” Emmrich said with a little bit of a quiet chuckle, wondering just what it was that had Lucanis so preoccupied. There was so much going on in their lives, between the Blight and the Gods and the trials and tribulations of their own personal lives, but nothing that he could think of that would have Lucanis turning pink in such a way. But, it was a wonder any of them could keep their heads straight, and perhaps he was just flustered and exhausted like they’d all been lately.

It was one of the reasons the mortalitasi valued these meetings with Lucanis every week. Typically, they were grounding, giving him something to focus on besides the work, something to look forward to and remind him what they were all fighting for.

And he did terribly enjoy the assassin’s company.

“I am sorry, Emmrich. I don’t think my head is here for the discussion about literature…” Lucanis said, holding his book up with a little bit of a defeated grin and a sigh before letting it fall back into his lap.

“Oh.” Emmrich let out a little disappointed sound, his shoulders slipping just so. Though he kept a smile on his face, there was a hint of sadness creeping into his expression. Had he done something wrong?

“...but that does not mean I don’t want to stay for coffee and pastries.” Lucanis quickly followed up when he saw that look in the other man’s eye, and his words were entirely sincere. He didn’t want to talk literature or academics. He just wanted to have an easy, lighthearted conversation with his friend.

“Oh? Oh! Of course, we mustn’t need stick to the curriculum, so to speak. Some of my best lectures have been the ones that stray entirely off topic.” Emmrich said, his hazel eyes brightening as he realized that Lucanis wanted to stay. He set his own book aside on the table beside the tray and leaned back, folding his hands in his lap as he smiled at the rogue. “Very well, then. Is there anything else in particular you’d like to discuss?”

Lucanis was quiet for a moment as he looked at Emmrich, wondering what it was he could talk to or ask him about. They’d had many of these little get togethers already, and he realized that there wasn’t much about the mage that he didn’t know, and yet most of what it is that he knew had to do with Emmrich’s academic life and his work, but not much about the man himself.

“What is your favorite flower?” Lucanis asked with a smile.

“Hmm?” Emmrich hummed curiously, not because he didn’t hear the assassin, but because the question had caught him out of the blue. He realized, then, that Lucanis was quietly and subtly asking to know him on a deeper level. Lucanis wanted to learn more about who he was and not what he does, “You have said before you would do botany if you were not a mortalitasi.” Lucanis pointed out, and the mage felt even more touched at the fact that the Crow remembered. “So, your favorite flower, what is it?”

“There are so many. I have always been fond of lilacs, for their subtle hues and marvelous scent. But there is a flower that grows in the Necropolis, Shroud’s Kiss. A beautiful, soft, glowing bloom of white.” Emmrich said with a smile.

“Mmm, they sound beautiful. Perhaps next time Rook has us in the Gardens, you’ll have to point them out to me.” Lucanis said, looking over the pastries before picking one out to take a bite.

“Or perhaps, I can show you tomorrow night… just the two of us?” Emmrich asked gently, testing the waters. “To truly appreciate the beauty of the Memorial Gardens, it would be much better done without worrying about work.”

Perhaps he was being foolish. Perhaps he was reading everything wrong and Lucanis was only trying to fill in the silence with conversation, and it wasn’t the assassin looking for a deeper connection. Or perhaps it was, with the surprised look in Lucanis’ eye as he was mid-bite when the question was asked.

As politely as possible, Lucanis swallowed the bite and picked up a napkin to wipe the crumbs from his mustache and beard before taking a sip of his coffee to swallow down the pastry and the shock. But there was nothing on his lips except for a smile as he looked at Emmrich and finally nodded, and Emmrich could finally let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding while he awaited the answer.

“I would like that, my friend.” Lucanis said, and Emmrich saw something that was almost hopeful in the assassin’s eyes. It was a look he wasn’t entirely sure he expected to see, but it wasn’t a look he was going to soon forget.

“Then it’s a date, my dear Crow.”

#emmcanis #lucarich #mournblade #emmrich x lucanis #emmrich volkarin #lucanis dellamorte

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ramestice · 1 year ago

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Rodent Brainrot

I NEEDED TO WRITE THIS DOWN BEFORE MY BRAIN EXPLODED OMG,,,

Okay so Dead Plate Canon Divergence AU—probably OOC because there's no murder involved— Vincent does not turn Manon into a gourmet meal, he just tells her he's not interested and they part ways. The rest of the game goes on normally; Vincent is still obsessively fixated on Rody while Rody's hung up over Manon. And GET THIS,,,Manon eventually calls Rody back after he keeps insistently calling her every night, and straight up tells him to stop. She tells him to please focus on himself for once, and to stop trying to contact her. She doesn't want to get back together again, she's seriously exhausted by how self-destructive he is. The phone call ends and,,,Rody starts coughing. He spits out the strange lump in his throat and there, in his palm, sits a yellow carnation.

This is where everything falls apart. So he decides that, hey, maybe quitting such a well-paying job after a week just for the sake of winning back his ex was NOT a good idea. So he stays. He sneaks in bundles of yellow whenever he has to take out the trash in his shifts, fixes up his apartment, and he tries to be,,,better. But still holding onto the hope that one day Manon will come back. He ignores the way the mere thought of her makes his lungs feel heavier.

And all the while? Vincent is right there, still uncomfortably observing his every move. But one day, he invites him over to his place. No dinner party to cater, just two cups of tea. Rody remarks at how surprising it is to see his boss drinking anything that isn't red wine or black coffee, but then Vincent says he made the blend himself. Curious, he tries a sip and,,,it's incredible. A light, floral feel and then a citrus-y aftertaste—Vincent did say he liked lemons. He's never been a fan of tea, but there's just something so sincere about it that soothes all of his worries. When was the last time he just sat down with someone, a mug warming both his hands and heart? No worries about how he's acting, what next big thing he must attempt to keep the affection of those around him—of her. So he looks at Vincent and tells him,

"It tastes like love."

#dead plate #dead plate vince #dead plate rody #vincent x rody #rody lamoree #vincent charbonneau #dead plate rodent #and then they make out /hj #btw Vince used yellow carnations and daffodils in his tea/tisane ;)#okay if you must know: Vincent also has Hanahaki and yes the blend is a mix of his and Rody's flowers because he's a creep like that lmao #i'm just deluding myself into believing this because there is literally no way for them to be healthy in canon 😭

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thrawns-babygirl · 1 year ago

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Boss brought his baby daughter into work today and had her sleeping on his shoulder while he worked on his computer and it gave me Thrawn carrying little baby girl in one arm while he sits at his desk working on reports.

So take this dad!thrawn brainrot while I struggle to write the next chapter of stake out:

Thrawn is such a doting father. Like you can try and fight me on this but you'll lose.

He loves being with his baby, her bright red inquisitive eyes that look at the world in a way only a newborn can.

When he gets the chance, he will be doing some skin to skin with his daughter. I like to imagine that Chiss are absolutely massive on skin to skin bonding with their children

so when he's in his quarters, he's taken to lying in his bed in just his sleep pants, cradling his daughter in one arm while his datapad is propped up on one leg so that he can scroll through reports.

He's found that his voice soothes his baby, so he will often just talk to her about whatever he's doing. No baby talk, but he absolutely reads what he's working on to her.

When he's needed in his office, he will be working one handed, his daughter tucked in a blanket in his other arm.

He has a little area set up behind his desk, a small cot, a blanket and a mobile set up for when she needs to sleep.

When its just him and her, sometimes he will just look at her sleeping face and wonder how a man like him could make something so pure and innocent. How could he make such a beautiful little girl?

Thank you for listening to my baby fever fueled ramblings 🫡

#thrawnposting #grand admiral thrawn #thrawn #admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #dad!thrawn

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tsugari · 5 months ago

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show me what my heart was worth

TAGS // pining? possible angst if you squint…

A/N // oh my god i’m brainrotting so bad about doppio again… i don’t fw vtubers/niji anymore but god i’ve loved doppio for the longest time… inspired by a poem read by seikyuu, also i wanted to try writing more romantically so this is my practice! italicized is the poem :)

oh btw no use of y/n, reader is just named “yuu”

i don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz, or arrow of carnations that propagate fire.

a soft, breathless giggle escapes your lips, your heart thumping, a steady drumbeat against your ribs.

“doppio?”

golden eyes glisten in the sunlight peeking through the curtains, the glow catching magenta locks within its embrace, framing his face. the dark hue staining his cheeks pales in comparison to the sight before you.

“yuu.”

i love you as one loves obscure things, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

his fingers reach out, brushing the hair from your face, tracing a gentle line down your cheek before lifting your chin, locking your gaze with his.

“what’s this about?” a teasing glint flickers in your eyes.

i love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself, and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose from the earth lives dimly in my body.

both of his hands find their place, cupping your cheeks, his fingertips tracing small, soothing circles. his head dips down, mere inches away, the ghost of his breath fanning against your lips.

a soft blush rises on your cheeks, and your heart races—a steady rhythm that fills your ears, threatening to skip a beat.

i love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

he leans in, closing the gap between you, his lips pressing against yours. his hands slip around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he could melt against you.

i love you directly without problems or pride

slightly chapped lips locked against your own, your remaining breath being stolen.

i love you like this because i don’t know any other way to love, except in this form in which i am not nor are you

he pulls away slowly, just enough to leave you craving more. you open your eyes, the world spinning around you, desperate for the warmth of his lips.

golden eyes meet yours—glistening, full of love that you wish were more than just a dream.

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine, so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

“AND CUT!”

you exhaled exasperatedly, coughing lightly to grab doppio’s attention. he jerks back, hands quickly leaving your waist, a flustered look crossing his face.

“s-sorry,” he stutters, that stupid blush returning to his face.

“doppi-chan, you’re way too good at this—looking like you’re actually in love with them!” a faint giggle comes from behind you, meloco’s voice cutting through the tension.

“who put the student council in charge of casting for this project again?” you ask, frowning as you step away from doppio.

“ver’s idea!” kotoka pops her head from behind the camera, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

you roll your eyes, walking toward the eccentric girl, wanting to review the footage from the last few minutes.

doppio’s gaze never leaves you, his sigh heavy with the weight of something unspoken as he watches you talk with Kotoka.

“what’s wrong, lover boy?” the council president teases, narrowed eyes glinting with mischief.

“VER!” doppio exclaims, nearly falling out of the chair he was occupying. amusement flickers within ver’s eyes as he tilts his head toward the flushed boy.

“I—I WANT TO CONFESS TO YUU AFTER THE PREMIERE OF THIS PROJECT, BUT I DON’T WANT TO RUIN ANYTHING BETWEEN US, AND I JUST—MY FEELINGS ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE AND—”

ver places a hand on doppio’s shoulder, silencing him with a gentle shush.

“take it easy, yeah? you might as well confess in front of the whole council while you’re at it.”

doppio’s frown deepens, but his voice falters.

“uhm… yeah..”

a small sneeze escapes you, kotoka blesses you quietly.

“i think someone’s talking about you,” she teases, poking your cheek with a playful grin.

you scoff, but inside, your heart is still fluttering—still thumping loudly from the moment you shared with a certain boy across the room.

“as if,” you mutter, your eyes drifting from the screen to doppio, who’s watching you with a quiet intensity.

three words echo softly, impossibly, in your mind.

i love you.

#doppio dropscythe #nijisanji #doppio dropscythe x reader #meloco kyoran #kotoka torahime #ver vermillion #hex haywire #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en

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sergeant-angels-trashcan · 9 months ago

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dc brainrot anon here to say something something that challengers pose but it’s jaydickate… you could fight over her orrrrrr learn to share 😇

spoil her with attention okAY BYEEEEE

No nope wait come back you can't just say that and dip hang on

also this wound up getting horny. under the cut it goes!

Just. Just debating if Dick is feeling Kate up while Jay kisses her, or if Jason is holding her while Dick is kissing her. Depends on Jay's self esteem levels (does he feel like an outsider or interloper because he doesn't think he's good enough). Because Dick sliding his hand between Kate's legs, his other hand around Kate's neck to keep her in place while Jason kisses her is making me chew wires. The LEVEL of trust that displays. Obviously meeting out of costume shows a level of trust but Dick can FEEL her PULSE against his palm.

Jason keeps getting distracted because that is SUCH a pretty tableau, Kate and Dick leaning into each other. Like kill people gorgeous because he doesn't know what else to do. It's the spicy version of cuteness aggression. Jason wants to tear apart anyone who has ever looked at Dick and Kate, who has ever seen this--except, no, they've never done this. This is all for him. Only him. They each belong to him and he will share them with each other and that's it.

Though, you know, i think Dick would go a little feral if Kate or Jason grabbed him by the throat. Is it a size kink thing? A competency kink? Yes. The size kink of it working in different directions for him with this. How did Kate even reach his neck. I think Jason would be kind of into getting put in a chokehold but not being grabbed by the throat. It's interesting because he does like being collared. They are all into seeing each other get manhandled by each other (though with Kate it's less shoving her around and more when one of them holds her STILL for fucks sake she's so bad at it. I think one time Jason pulls Kate to him after she's been up waaay too long, her back against his front, his forearm resting along her breastbone and his hand gently resting on her throat and he talks to her in a low soothing voice and accidentally talks her into subspace. Dick is the first to figure out what's happening and sits there and watches. does nothing to prevent it or inform anyone that's what's happening. It's, like, for science or something.)

You know, they all have size kinks in this relationship. It requires a little coordination to get grindy on Kate in a way that's good for her because of the height differences. Jason can and will hoist her up with his forearms under her thighs like he's a fucking chair so she can get her legs around Dick's waist. (The Boys are learning the benefits of teamwork! something something Kate wants to be degraded a little so they talk about sharing their toy)

This is impressive because while Kate is smaller than both of them which is not even HARD, she is not small because my personal headcanon is girl thicc. She THICCCCCCC because I said so

But anyway people generally don't hoist her around. Or they do, but they're all enhanced or mutants or mutates or straight up aliens. Clint has yeeted her before but that's about it for normal humans. They also have a weird hivemind connection sometimes so she can tell when he's about to toss her and can help. Whatever, the point is the boys manhandle her which is NOT something she just allows, partly because trauma and partly because it's not DIGNIFIED, she does actually need some of these people to respect her and being hauled about like a sack of potatoes does not help make that point. Dick and Jason recognizing it for the honor it is and take full advantage of it.

Thinking about That Jason Todd Pose as he directs Dick and Kate to put on a show for him (they were probably being obnoxious at a gala or trying to steal from Red Hood for god knows what reason). Will have them do fucknasty shit and write the most beautiful poetry about it, it's very confusing for Dick and Kate but they don't mind.

It's audience participation porn, basically.

I feel like Dick would try to "train" Jason how to fuck Kate right, like coaching him or something, get some of that Discowing/Robin dynamic going, probably trying to tap into some kind of trust or bond idk. but they don't realize they're doing so, this is different from how they normally objectify Kate. Like, they're talking about her like she's not there, ignoring her, but for real, not in a sexy way. They are arguing??!

Kate is like wow actually maybe neither of you get to fuck me. OR MAYBE A COMPETITION?? over who has the best technique. It winds up with Kate pegging them and they're fucked dumb making Kate go >:) I am the best

This cannot stand. The next day they work together (teamwork again!) to keep her cock drunk all day.

One of them goes "about last night..." and Kate is all yesssss with suggestive eyebrows. And then one of the boys says her technique could use some work. Kate squawking indignation she has NEVER had a complaint about her strap game ( definitely something they will revisit later when they don't have plans. Unfortunately this whole weekend is booked solid)

Dick: baby it's not that it was bad

Kate: *angery bird noises*

Jason: we just want to give you some pointers, sweets.

Kate: *angrier bird noises but begrudgingly listening because she wants to know how to make them feel even BETTER next time*

This is a TRICK, btw, "giving her pointers" turns into "a demonstration" turns into "a hands on demonstration" because, well-- here, if you feel it you'll know what they're talking about

its just them all day passing her back and forth. Tbh mostly edging her, they are VERY mean about it and if her brain wasn't leaking out her ears she would be planning retaliation. Unfortunately they are fucking her brainless.

Maybe don't be so cocky next time baby :(

instead of teaching each other how to fuck her they're teaching her how to fuck them. If she can't remember the finer points they will just have to do the lesson again. Oh no :(

....sorry if you wanted some deep emotional stuff.

#jaydickate #jason todd #kate bishop #dick grayson #nightwing #red hood #hawkeye #my stuff #dc brainrot #dc brainrot anon #paddling my kayak #jaykate #dickate #jaydick #dick:i have to stretch you out for jay baby :/#kate: i'm not a fucking virgin i'll be fine oh my god #thirty minutes later has her going oh you know what okay i was wrong. very wrong.#they make sure she's okay and then jason starts laughing at her

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batbeato · 9 months ago

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I have just come to a horrifying conclusion.

I was thinking of Fem Battler waking up in Purgatory for the first time, and meeting Beatrice in the meta. Fem beabato brainrot is real and it’s invading my thoughts. I’m actually trying to write a fic that will probably never see the light of day about it, but that’s not the horrifying thing here.

Then my brain went and flipped the coin and thought of Fem Tohya and Ikuko - because that’s always the other side of the coin, when thinking of Battler in the meta.

Battler’s in the meta, and Tohya’s…with Ikuko. Trying to exist against the shadowy claws of his own mind reaching to tear his existence apart or otherwise torment him (BB and Tohya brainrot as well. BB brainrot in general).

They’d be a toxic yuri couple, possibly in the closet because of internalized homophobia and homophobia from others - though Ikuko’s maids probably wouldn’t say anything considering she (or her family) is paying their checks.

It really hurts in regards to Tohya, because my brain adds in your interpretation of Ikuko who, despite caring and even loving Tohya, locks him into this perpetual friendzone that leaves him starved for affection and coming back to her for more, to a Fem Ikutoh, where Tohya may possibly be drowning in internalized homophobia on top of Ikuko’s give-and-take of just this side of friendly-romantic action, because - she is already weak and fragile as Ikuko cares for her, why would Ikuko-san come to like a woman like her, when women weren’t supposed to love one another, not in a romantic manner…?

I’m not sure how Ikuko herself would feel, considering it’s - Ikuko. Who views most of society beneath her - she is a god above human, or a human above insects, the cattle which is slaughtered and consumed for her to eat. I think my crack headcanon is that she goes gender? Societal roles? What are those? Foolish concepts of the children of man.

Or something.

(And I saw a previous post on your page mentioning of Tohya with a different gender identity than Battler’s and that also makes me Think on how Ikuko would perceive Tohya then, as transgender, non-binary, or so on, because that would be so cool to read about??? I’d love to hear your thoughts, and there’s something soothing about Ikuko helping Tohya figuring out how they want to present themselves-)

However, It’s also the 80’s and she was born into a wealthy family who deemed themselves above most of society. She’d need to marry well to others of the same status of her family, and have children though - so gender roles and expectations would very much still be a thing in her upbringing. Internalized homophobia would likely affect her - but to what extent?

Loving women could possibly be an additional thing which got her essentially excommunicated, but Tohya wouldn’t know that unless Ikuko ever went into detail about what got her sent away.

So. Ow.

In one corner you have poor Tohya pining for an actual relationship with someone whose (leading her on due to previous issues of her own) out of her reach in her eyes and to whom she is an undesirable, that even if their relationship moves on to something more physical it is Ikuko doing so out of pity of Tohya… and then there’s Ikuko in the other corner.

Ikuko, who is a women who wishes to possess, to own, to care for something in its entirety - even if that ‘something’ is another human being, because Ikuko is a woman raised to view most below her, even those she cares for and loves.

A god-complex isn’t very fruitful when it comes to forming healthy attachments for all that is possible, and it’s noted that Ikuko isn’t a very social person to begin with.

Looking through your interpretation of the character, she is someone who does not want to be abandoned again, after a person she did love and treated as close to an equal as possible knew the level of her possessive protectiveness over them wasn’t healthy and tried to leave, and will not treat those she wants to keep close to her as an equal because they gives them the ability to leave her - and they are just.

Such a couple.

And then, I though of a male Ikuko and Tohya because the two of them are — they just Are. I don’t know how to frame the way Ikuko has this ‘worship me’ subtly woven into her words and actions, and it’s somehow as subtle as a brick to the face while also as impossible for the naked eye to see as the wind, especially when it is fem Ikutoh or masc Ikutoh.

Both become sort of model figures for Tohya, someone they desire to be with, but just out of reach by design because they can’t be left, abandoned, again.

No words, just the imagery of male Ikuko cradling Tohya in the soft early hours, whispering comfort in his ear, and the moment being unspeakably intimate for two men together, romantic or otherwise especially in the 80’s and it hurts something deep in me. Then acting like they are just friends and Nothing is Happening between them.

Toxic yuri, now toxic yaoi. These two, I swear.

Which led me to thinking of the dynamic of a male Ikuko and female Tohya.

It’s already known that what Ikuko did to Tohya is pretty fucked, but when you frame it when both their genders have been swapped, it becomes that much more apparent, compared to a woman finding an injured man, or another woman, or a man finding another injured man.

Got to love them double standards.

Like, if the roles were swapped and Battler had picked Ikuko up of the road (well, Battler wouldn’t have pulled an Ikuko at all, moot point) - if a guy found a girl essentially dying in the middle of the road, saved her life, but also kind of kidnapped her in the process - not as pretty or easy to kind of superficially glaze over, as in canon, considering the very very small bit of time we receive with Tohya and Ikuko?

When a guy picks up a girl on a street, you tend to think predator, murderer, some combination of the two - etc. Then there is Everything Ikuko does (or doesn’t do) in regards to getting Tohya help, such as contacting hospital and police about finding them badly injured in the middle of the road - and they’re still a minor no less -

Just. These Two. They make me want to scream.

Oh I wish you so much luck with whatever you're writing ---

Fem ikutoh definitely has a lot of intrigue to it, you mentioned the internalized homophobia as a potential thing and. Yes. I think it would add an extra layer of artificial distance between them, because while Ikuko is aware that it's taboo and doesn't care, she doesn't need to tell Tohya that, and it adds an extra bit of bite to this very codependent closeness that Tohya thinks is one-sided love and affection, feeling guilty when Ikuko shares a bed with her or does things like run her fingers through her hair to calm her after a nightmare, because Ikuko doesn't want that from her, does she? It's normal for two women to be close like this, Tohya is abnormal for wanting more from it, but Ikuko teases her and sometimes she's so touchy and she says "I love you" but it's platonically, isn't it?

The homophobia can also tie into Ikuko implying that only she would be able to accept Tohya having this kind of feeling towards another woman, that anyone else would be disgusted but she's gracefully willing to help Tohya with her 'unwomanly' / 'abnormal' urges; using Tohya's internalized homophobia and general societal homophobia as a tool to further isolate her and keep her to herself.

Ikuko's probably been raised very heavily on "kiss and don't tell", or: you can do what you want behind closed doors as long as people don't find out about it (with a side of emphasis on public appearance and not getting too invested in 'commoners' outside being entertainment). They might want their daughter to get married to someone else of similar (or slightly lower) social class for public appearances and produce an heir, but I feel like they wouldn't care about if that marriage was loving so long as it functioned. I'm not sure her own parents really loved each other; I feel like they shared similar interests/outlooks on life, at least.

As for Tohya being trans/nonbinary/otherwise gnc... I think Tohya would be very repressed about it, feeling some kind of desire or dysphoria that Tohya can't really name and doesn't really comprehend. But Ikuko is very perceptive and might recognize this about Tohya. What she would do, though... I think maybe she would take it as an opportunity to further cement Tohya as 'separate' from Battler: Tohya is hers, so their identity / gender presentation being very distinct from Battler's is in her favor - and it, and perhaps its acceptance, being tied to Ikuko is even more so. Another way for Ikuko to shape Tohya's development/identity and for Tohya to be grateful to her and rely on her for assistance.

...If I'm being honest I had never thought about masc Ikuko / Tohya before this moment (or masc Ikuko / fem Tohya) but both are their own levels of awful: the former with its own form of internalized homophobia and the latter with just how clearly it displays a powerful, wealthy man taking advantage of (and grooming) a much younger woman, and how misogyny ties into their power dynamic in that scenario. Awful. You have wonderful ideas.

#umineko #umineko no naku koro ni #umineko spoilers #thank you for sharing your brainrot with me <3

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