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neuxue · 4 years

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight Prologue (part 2)

Questions of morality and how to handle traps, with your hosts Graendal and Galad.

Well hello there, Graendal, fancy seeing you alive.

The goblet had been crafted with drops of blood caught in a ring pattern within the crystal.

I have a need.

I mean, I’d be drinking tea or maybe even hot chocolate out of that goblet rather than wine but that does nothing to change the fact that I need it. Villains, man. You can always rely on them for the aesthetics.

“We should be doing something” Aran’gar said

I’m not sure precisely why this is so absurdly funny to me, but it’s some combination of a) the real world being in quarantine right now, b) villains lounging in a villainous lair like ‘should we be… fucking shit up or something? Or can we really just take a moment to be All About the Aesthetic?’ and c) an oddly self-aware statement from a fictional character who realises that something is amiss if they’re not contributing to the plot.

Oh we’re still in Natrin’s Barrow, so this is before the er. Utter collapse of Rand’s moral scruples and near-destruction of the Pattern and associated fireworks.

Also, Aran’gar, when you fled the rebels, what the fuck gave you the idea that coming to Graendal as a refugee – alliance or no alliance – was a good plan? She will eat you for breakfast, and whether that’s literal or euphemistic probably makes no difference to the fact that ultimately, you will suffer for it.

Life was about feeling. Touches on your skin, both passionate and icy. Anything other than the normal, the average, the lukewarm.

I like this for the way it is both opposite to and yet weirdly the same as Semirhage’s perspective. The difference is mostly whether it is directed outwards or inwards.

And I also like it for the way it plays on how Graendal deals with subtlety versus ostentation. The way she so completely performs that ostentation and lack of subtlety and plays to the extremes, and it’s not entirely performative but it also serves the purpose of masking her capacity for great subtlety and control.

Listen. There’s a lot to dislike about Graendal, yes, but at the end of the day she fascinates me. She’s just such an intricate villain, for all that on the surface she could be played as scenery-chewing and flat. Because there’s something beneath that, and it all serves a purpose. She makes ‘all about the aesthetic’ into a legitimate strategy, without actually detracting from the aesthetic, and it’s just very… disturbingly cool.

Aran’gar is still trying to have a conversation as if she thinks she and Graendal are on the same level. How adorable.

“Excitement is best viewed from a distance,” Graendal said.

And yet life is about feeling, but somehow those are not mutually exclusive, and have I mentioned Graendal is fascinating to me?

I think… I know, I’m just rambling my way into this, but I think one of the things I enjoy most about her is that, for all that she has these different layers and apparent opposites and allows herself to be viewed one way when in reality there’s far more to it, none of it feels like pretence. It’s not like she’s putting on a false front, pretending to be totally absorbed in aesthetics and pleasure, because I think that part of her is genuine. But so is the scheming, and the love of order, and the subtlety. None of it is her pretending, but together it’s a more complex picture than most manage to grasp, and so they just see the surface level of it, and she’s happy to let them. But it’s different to crafting a mask – she’s not really hiding her true motives or her true self; people just may not be able to piece together exactly what that is. Because she’s a rather complicated person, for all that she seems simplistic in her over-the-top presentation.

Is it terrible that I would quite like her to survive this scene?

Wait what she can use the True Power? She’s using the True Power? Just beware the lifestyle inflation that goes with a promotion, Graendal.

And there were some weaves that could only be crafted by the True Power.

So speaking of the True Power… here’s the thing. Rand’s use of it was spectacular, and played such a perfectly exquisite role in his descent last book, but it doesn’t feel like that’s the end of it. That’s not the sort of bomb you drop just once for effect; those are the sorts of plot elements that come back. So… I’m curious. I have theories. Which I’ve gone into elsewhere so I’ll leave that for now.

My other immediate thought here is that Compulsion woven from the True Power and wielded by Graendal is a terrifying concept and I sort of want to see it because I’m a terrible human.

But seriously, it’s like the Domination Band in the hands of Semirhage. Sometimes you just want to give a villain their perfect tool and set them loose to wreak beautiful havoc.

(What can I say? I appreciate competence in all its forms).

Whatever the Creator could build, the Dark One could destroy.

Except the whole idea is balance, so that goes…both ways somehow. Not quite sure where I’m going with this but it’s certainly somewhere.

Meanwhile Graendal’s just using the True Power to taunt Aran’gar by almost literally poking her and saying ‘neener neener neener’ and honestly, fair.

Aran’gar and Delana began to exchange affections on the chaise.

Why is this so fucking hilarious to me?

Like okay, sit on the sofa, and one… two… three… go!

I don’t even know, but every time I look at that sentence I start laughing. Maybe it’s just that it’s such an obvious… ‘this is painfully awkward and I can’t write anything more detailed but also it’s happening on-screen so I can’t just pan to the fireplace please send help immediately, yours sincerely, Brandon Sanderson’.

Like. ‘And then sex happened but let’s just avert our eyes, shall we?’

Aran’gar continued her pleasures

I’m DYING. The awkward of writing this just bleeds through the page and it’s. Just. Kind of perfect. And honestly I sympathise. Like this genuinely captures the mood I feel whenever sex scenes turn up in movies or TV or whatever. Not awkwardness, precisely, but just a sense of like ‘okay… we’re doing this now… and we’re still doing this… um… *starts looking around the room for anything interesting*… still exchanging affections I see… ah okay good and now the scene resumes’.

Is that TMI? I feel like it’s almost the opposite of TMI but whatever, moving on.

More importantly, an alarm is going off, and Graendal sees no reason to let that interrupt Aran’gar getting off, so she just leaves.

Ah. Ramshalan. So we are indeed doing this scene from the other side. This ought to be… fun. I did wonder what it would look like from Graendal’s side, especially with Rand desperately trying to do his how-do-you-defeat-someone-smarter-than-you thing. And I’m very curious as to the outcome. Because there would be a certain beautiful awfulness in all that power and destruction, that force of light, not even achieving its aim, in the futility of catastrophe.

Wow, Ramshalan really is… a complete idiot.

But Graendal is not.

Best to be careful. Best to flee. And yet…

She hesitated. He must know pain… he must know frustration… he must know anguish. Bring these to him. You will be rewarded.

Oh, he has known those. He has known precious little else in the last two years, honestly. Though Semirhage played a more recent and telling role in that.

And Graendal’s hesitation, because for all her capacity, she is controlled, as are the rest of the Chosen and Friends of the Dark, by a selfishness none of them can quite overcome.

“Does that Aes Sedai of yours know Compulsion?”

Aran’gar shrugged. “She’s been trained in it. She’s passably skilled.” “Fetch her.”

Wow, for half a second there I thought they were talking about Egwene and was like ‘okay wow there’s one I definitely did not see coming’ but obviously it’s Delana.

Which means that the Compulsion Rand had Nynaeve detect… the Compulsion he used like a canary in a coal mine, the Compulsion whose vanishing he took as evidence of Graendal’s death, was never Graendal’s to begin with.

What an elegant move. Simple and yet perfect.

Also she can apparently see through the eyes of a dove. That’s… a new one. And don’t think I missed you using a dove, symbol of peace, for this.

The world as she saw it and a shadowed version of what the bird saw.

And I see what you did there, too.

But she’s using a dove to serve as her eyes. Not a raven or a rat but a dove, the symbol of light and peace, being used as a servant of the Shadow. Just as Rand, standing on that ridge and wielding a great force of Light, Rand, the champion of the Light, serving the Shadow’s aims even as he never turns from the side of the Light. I love it.

And yeah, she’s using Delana to craft the Compulsion. Graendal may not know exactly what Rand is planning, but she knows he’s planning something, and so she takes precautions. Which Rand knew she would, but for all his care to not underestimate her…

Would he attack? No, he wouldn’t harm women. That particular failing was an important one.

Yet at the same time she’s underestimating him.

Or rather, neither is precisely underestimating the other; they’re both just… thinking along the lines of what they perceive the other to be, and those lines are close but not quite accurate. I love watching these kinds of games play out, where it’s about thinking several moves ahead, move and countermove, trying to know what the opponent will do and ultimately it comes down to a… layering, almost, and the victor is the one who just happens to have laid the last layer. Or annihilated the gameboard; whichever comes first.

Bring him agony. Graendal could do that.

I… yeah.

Because at this point, Rand believes (believed, but relative to the timeline of this scene it’s present tense and argh this is why messy timelines frustrate me; do you know how annoying the grammar gets?) he is beyond agony, beyond feeling of any kind. He has made himself into ice and steel and cuendillar (heartstone, heart of the stone, pray that the heart of stone remembers tears…) and so he believes himself unfettered, capable of any atrocity because he has walled away the agony that would hold him back.

But for all that, what he does at Natrin’s Barrow… for all that he doesn’t let himself feel any of it, on some level it does cause him agony, and drives him further on that path that leads eventually to Tam and Ebou Dar and Dragonmount.

So really, you could say that Moridin’s statement, that ‘he must know anguish, he must know pain of heart’ is true from the perspective of the Light as much as it is from the perspective of the Shadow.

Because it is that anguish that drives him to serve the Shadow even while acting in the name of the Light… but it is also that anguish that leads him, ultimately, to the epiphany that brings him back truly to the Light he serves.

And it is letting himself feel that anguish, along with everything else he tried to push away, that allows him to do that. He must know anguish, yes, because he must learn no longer to push it aside, to allow himself to feel again, and in doing so he can be the champion of the Light as he is meant to be.

It's just a fun double meaning. Or manifold meaning, even. And I sort of wonder if Moridin knew that. It’s the kind of irony he might appreciate, to the extent that he appreciates anything.

“Something convoluted. I want al’Thor and his Aes Sedai to find the touch of a man on the mind.” That would confuse them further.

In this case she’s actually overestimating Rand (&co), but in its own way that’s just as dangerous as underestimating, in this game of each trying to outthink and outmanoeuvre one another before making their moves.

This whole seeing through a dove’s eyes is lovely on a symbolic level but does sort of strain my understanding of how magic works in this world. Ah well, we can handwave it as ‘True Power shenanigans’.

I suppose it’s not really any weirder than balefire or wolf-telepathy or Compulsion or being able to wander through someone else’s dream. Weird, where we draw our suspension of disbelief lines, and how it varies from series to series or system to system. Like, seeing through an animal’s eyes isn’t exactly uncommon in the genre; I just didn’t quite expect it in WoT specifically. No idea why.

The dove flapped out of the window. The sun was lowering behind the mountains

A symbol of peace flying into a darkening sky, a fading of the Light! (Oh, you thought I would let up on the atmospheric imagery when Sanderson took over? How naïve).

There was light up ahead. It was faint, but the dove’s eyes could easily pick out light and shadow

I MEAN. I see what you did there and I appreciate it.

I still sort of can’t believe Graendal was actually watching that whole time. It feels almost like cheating. Then again Rand obliterating half the Pattern also could be considered cheating, depending on which game we’re playing so there’s that.

I think for me it doesn’t quite cross the line into unbelievability, but some foreshadowing would have been nice for the whole seeing-through-the-eyes-of-a-dove thing. And I suppose there is some, in that we know that ravens and rats are ‘spies for the Dark One’, so maybe it’s on me for not realising that was an actual tool that the Dark One’s other servants may be able to use. But it just didn’t really seem set up that way, so I’m a bit on the fence.

The part that does work about this is that it’s Graendal being very, very good at the games she plays, just as Rand was afraid of. He knew she was clever, knew she would very likely see through any plan or strategy he created, and in a way she kind of… has. Or rather, she’s made use of something he didn’t account for, for all that his plan was also clever.

Al’Thor’s tame Aiel

There’s an excellent sort of irony in that phrasing, from one who lived in a time when the Aiel truly were nonviolent servants of the Aes Sedai.

[Nynaeve] would have to die; al’Thor relied upon her; her death would bring him pain.

Don’t you dare. It’s fine, her defeat of Moghedien was a perfect warm-up.

And after her, al’Thor’s dark-haired lover.

You’re forgetting his red-haired lover… and his sun-haired lover… but sure, let’s take Rand’s love life one at a time. That’s…fair.

He acted the same now as he had during her Age; he liked to plan, to spend time building to a crescendo of an assault.

Well, I mean, in this case, you are not wrong.

He’d brought that with him? It was nearly as bad as balefire.

About that.

Ah. And now she sees what his plan was. Hey, when Graendal thinks you’re clever, you should definitely take it as a compliment.

But it also means Graendal’s off for an impromptu holiday – but not before leaving Aran’gar and Delana shielded so that Rand’s plan will appear to succeed. Clever and ruthless and listen, I love her. I know, I know. I don’t know why I’m like this either.

She struggled to dismiss the gateway, and caught one glimpse of the horrified Aran’gar before everything behind was consumed in beautiful, pure whiteness.

The gateway vanished, leaving Graendal in darkness.

I just love the way light and dark (and gateways, actually) are played with in both iterations of this scene. Rand leaving the warm light of the gateway behind, crossing that threshold into a darkening sky. The way he is shadowed, his face in shadow, his eyes in shadow, just before he becomes a blinding, searing, awful-in-its-beauty form of pure Light with the potential to destroy the world. An enemy of the Shadow, yet surrounded by it even as he becomes light.

And now we almost bookend that, with Graendal leaving behind that white light of destruction, crossing back over a threshold and away from that scene, but she is of the Shadow and so while Rand’s gateway led him away from a warm light, this one takes her into the protection of darkness.

Balescream? That’s… a word.

A moment when creation itself howled in pain.

At the actions of the Light’s champion. The Creator’s champion. He must know anguish, and he has. And the Dragon is one with the Land, and the Land is one with the Dragon, and so it is only fitting that the Land knows that anguish as well. The entirety of creation sharing in the pain of near-undoing, brought on by but also embodied by Rand, the Dragon, its Champion, even as he embodies that Light by becoming it in that scene where he appeared more light than man.

This was a disaster.

No, she thought. I live.

And so we come to the question: do the ends justify the means, if they fail to achieve them?

It’s something WoT has played with before: Perrin torturing the Shaido and ultimately not getting any information from them comes to mind. This is just… on an even larger scale. Is the annihilation of a fortress and everyone in it, and almost the world around it, justified if it allows him to kill one of the Forsaken? If so, is it justified even if that is merely the intent, regardless of whether it succeeds or fails? What determines that justification, or lack thereof? Or is it unwarranted no matter the outcome, because the cost is too high?

(I am reminded, suddenly, of Rand in TFoH thinking that Moiraine’s apparent death and Lan’s departure was ‘a high price to pay for Lanfear’).

I just love these questions of morality and of where lines are drawn or should be drawn, precisely because they are so open-ended. And Rand’s… well, in a way it’s not even complete failure; he does kill Aran’gar if not Graendal, but that almost plays into it as well because it’s an unintended consequence. It’s not what he set out to do.

So then we add ‘if he did this to kill a specific one of the Forsaken, and she escapes but he happens by accident to kill another, does that end justify those means?’ But his failure to kill Graendal leaves that question so much more ambiguous: as if the narrative itself hesitates to fully justify or fully condemn his actions. Instead, it lets you ask yourself that question. Whereas if he had succeeded in killing her… the question can certainly still be asked, and that would still be very much part of the point, but it helps weight the scales a bit if you can say ‘well, it worked’. Whereas this… it’s entirely up to you. Was it worth it?

From Graendal to Galad? That’s a pivot.

Oh, but I love this image of Galad, the purest of the white knights, untarnished and untouchable, literally mired in a swamp.

Bitemes buzzed in the muggy air. The stench of mud and stagnant water threatened to gag him with each breath

Sometimes, you use atmosphere to highlight aspects of a character. Rand stepping out of a gateway into shadow and darkness. Every word that’s ever been written about Dragonmount. And then sometimes you place a character in an environment that is their precise opposite, and in that juxtaposition highlight those defining traits but also…push against them, I suppose. It’s a great way of showing a conflict of some kind. Galad is now the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light, who are themselves corrupted. And he is fighting that corruption because it is his antithesis, but it’s so present and oppressive around him, and it makes for such an excellent contrast.

Miserable though this as, this route was the best way.

Yeah, see, I know you mean that literally, Galad, but it sort of illustrates my point. His task – redeeming the Whitecloaks, unless I massively miss my guess – is not going to be an easy one. Leading them right now can’t be pleasant. But it’s the best way to see them through this, to do the right thing. And we all know that’s what Galad is all about.

Oh, he’s going to take on Asunawa? First Valda and then Asunawa and damn it I never wanted to like Galadedrid Damodred.

Here and there the sickly greys and greens were relieved by a bright burst of tiny pink or violet flowers clustering around trickling streams. Their sudden colour was unexpected, as if someone had sprinkled drops of paint on the ground.

It was strange to find beauty in this place.

Beauty, yes, but subtlety? Hell no. But – I know I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again – I don’t care that this isn’t subtle. I love the way atmosphere and imagery can be used to this effect. Mired in a swamp with an unpleasant task to do and leading a corrupted force, but there are surprising moments of beauty and colour and promise.

His horse is called Stout and for some reason that amuses me.

This place, with its stench and biting insects, would try the best of men.

You don’t say.

And where Valda – the Lord Captain Commander before Galad – had turned out to be a murderer and a rapist.

So I mean, at least the bar is set pretty low for you there, Galad.

‘Damodred,’ Dain said softly, their boots squishing in mud, ‘perhaps we should turn back.’

NO BACK ONLY FORWARD.

CAN’T REMAKE THE PAST MUST CREATE A FUTURE.

Which Galad pretty much echoes only, you know, more eloquently.

‘But this swamp,’ Bornhald said, glancing to the side as a large serpent slid through the underbrush. ‘Our maps say we should have been out of it by now.’

‘Then surely we are near the edge.’

‘Perhaps,’ Dain said […] ‘Unless the map is in error.’

SYMBOLISM THICKER THAN THE SWAMP. I love this, I really do. I’m just laughing through this entire set of descriptions but this is just so perfectly ‘I Don’t Think You’re Only Talking About The Swamp There, Boys’ and neither of them quite realise it and it’s excellent.

Galad stepped off to the side, climbing a small hill.

While his half-brother is climbing an enormous mountain. Step it up, Galad.

Oh he’s giving an Inspiring Speech.

‘But it is on the deepest nights when light is most glorious.’

Unless it’s Choedan Kal balefire in which case… well okay, in fairness, that was also glorious, for a certain definition of the word.

‘We are hunted by those who should love us, and other pathways lead to our graves.’

Then maybe you should be worthy of their love. As for pathways leading to your graves, you know what they say about the paths of glory, right?

‘We will face this test with heads held high.’

That’s the core of it, really. It’s about choosing to fight, and knowing why you fight. It’s Rand’s epiphany in miniature. That this is going to fucking suck, but they’ll face it not because they have to but because they’re fighting for something, and because they choose to face this.

Byar wants to take a detour via the White Tower for a bit of petty destruction on their way to the Last Battle and Galad’s like nah we kind of need magic on our side. Credit where it’s due, I suppose.

‘but the Children of the Light will be leaders at the Last Battle.’

I mean, you might have to queue for that particular role, but I suppose it’s good to have ambitions.

Oh, he’s not planning to take on Asunawa, because sometimes retreat really is the better part of valour, especially when ‘retreat’ in this case is ‘turn towards a much larger battlefront for the future of the entire world’. Again, fair. And hey, look at that, Galad’s learning to prioritise.

A dead forest with sickly moss and a river full of corpses? Which battle was this? It sounds almost like the Blight, but they’re in approximately the entirely wrong place for that. Perrin’s attack on Malden, maybe? Or Tylee’s force being ambushed by Trollocs?

Galad set his jaw. ‘Can this be forded?’

‘It’s shallow, my Lord Captain Commander,’ Child Barlett said. ‘But we’ll have to watch for hidden depths.’

Not to mention hidden MEANINGS. *Finger guns*

I’m so sorry.

He hiked up his trousers as far as he could

How scandalous.

Likely a village upstream had been attacked for its food.

I think perhaps a village upstream was attacked for its Faile, but I could be wrong.

The ground is uneven! Footing is uncertain! A misstep could mean death! No additional meanings to be found here, none at all…

‘Burn those clouds. I can never tell what time it is.’

‘Four hours past midday,’ Galad said.

In which Galad has taken the Keen Mind feat. (And in which yes, I am a total fucking nerd).

Trom’s like are you sure Andor’s a good idea and Galad’s like it’s fine I have a summer home there.

Light send that Elayne held the Lion Throne. Light send that she had escaped the tangles of the Aes Sedai, though he feared the worst. There were many who would use her as a pawn, al’Thor not the least of them. She was headstrong, and that could make her easy to manipulate.

Galad, when this is all over, you and your sister need to have a talk. And you and Gawyn both need to stop underestimating her.

‘To abandon the Children now, after killing their leader, would be wrong.’

Trom smiled. ‘It’s as simple as that to you, isn’t it?’

‘It should be as simple as that to anyone.’

Galadedrid ‘what do you mean, morality is complicated’ Damodred, everyone. And this is why he continues to by turns bore and infuriate me, despite all his damn then he did dance and his fucking all his grace, turned in an instant to fluid death and fighting Valda in efforts to make me like him. I will NOT.

‘Even if we have to make alliances with the Dragon Reborn himself, we will fight.’

Yeah about that. Also I desperately want to see what happens when he learns about their, uh, relationship. Then again, having grown up in the mess that is the Damodred-Trakand family, maybe it wouldn’t even be a surprise. ‘Oh, another somewhat dysfunctional familial relationship? Yeah, sure, add it to the pile.’

Okay seriously what is with the trees here? We are way too far south for the Blight but the fact that they’re dead and fuzzed with something malignant has been brought up three times now and we all know the rule of threes in foreshadowing.

No, even his memorisation of maps will not endear me to Galad. Nor his ‘pain can be dealt with’. I refuse.

Oh look at that, it’s an ambush.

So about that whole not wanting to face Asunawa…

This march through the swamp had been suggested by his scouts. Galad could see it now; it had been a delaying tactic

And also, you know, symbolic. The traitorous scouts, loyal to the Whitecloaks under Asunawa – the corrupted Whitecloaks, those who ostensibly stand for the Light but whose deeds represent anything but – trying to drag Galad, the white knight and redeemer, through the swamp even as he tries to bring them to somewhere better, to what they should be.

Oh he’s going to try to talk to Asunawa. That’ll end well.

Asunawa was not smiling. He rarely did.

Sorry Asunawa, but Demandred’s pretty much got the market cornered on that one, and he carries it far better than you.

Oh hey, two leaders of rebel factions facing each other down? A parallel drawn between two entities – Whitecloaks and Aes Sedai – who believe themselves enemies.

‘Surely you would not ignore the rules of formal engagement?’ Galad said.

Because surely everyone is as lawful-good as you, Galad. There’s a belief that will cause you nothing but pain. But please, proceed.

And now Asunawa’s calling him Darkfriend, and this really is playing out as a parallel, of sorts, to Elaida against Egwene.

Asunawa hesitated. Naming seven thousand of the Children as Darkfriends would be ridiculous

First (semantic) blow to Galad.

‘I am no Darkfriend.’ Galad met Asunawa’s eyes.

‘Submit to my questioning and prove it.’

Oh.

That uh… is a… not entirely unappealing option, from my own perspective as a reader who enjoys far too much seeing characters put through hell, especially if they do so defiantly or as a sacrifice and anyway my point is I would not be opposed to this.

It's just that Galad, for all that he is Not My Type, is the type of character who could carry torture well. I’m just saying.

‘Tell me, do the Children of the Light surrender?’

Golever shook his head. ‘We do not. The Light will prove us victorious.’

I have to appreciate Galad’s approach here: taking the very principles of the Whitecloaks – as they are meant to be – and using them as weapons against Asunawa. Because it is, in a way, the very epitome of fighting fair. He doesn’t strike, doesn’t threaten, doesn’t even really argue. He lets Asunawa’s men, and the Whitecloaks’ own doctrine, make his arguments for him.

‘You see that I am in a predicament. To fight is to let you name us Darkfriends, but to surrender is to deny our oaths. By my honour as the Lord Captain Commander, I can accept neither option.’

In which Galad fucking Damodred catches everyone else in his moral dilemma of two things that are right, yet opposite. It is, for his character, almost annoyingly perfect.

‘Do you deny that you yourself watched me face Valda in fair combat, as prescribed by law?’

Okay okay okay you know what I love? I love that he’s fighting Asunawa, the leader of the Questioners, with questions.

Because Asunawa isn’t asking any. He’s making accusations and threats, and Galad is parrying them with questions. To Asunawa, to those who stand by him. He arms himself with questions and lets the answers make his point and that? Is brilliant.

‘But I would not call that fight fair. You drew on powers of the Shadow; I saw you standing in darkness despite the daylight, and I saw the Dragon’s Fang sprout on your forehead.’

I feel like there’s a missed opportunity in Galad’s entire character: what if he could channel? That would be so full of interesting potential. Both as an internal conflict, because how would he reconcile being a man who could channel with his utter certainty about doing what is right, but also for his entire role. The leader of the Children of the Light, who hate the ‘witches’ perhaps more than the Shadow itself…

Ah well.

‘Tell me. Is the Shadow stronger than the Light?’

Powers of the Shadow? No. Galad fights with powers of rhetoric.

But again, he’s just asking questions. Perfectly crafted questions to illustrate his point, but he’s still just asking questions of a Questioner and letting the Whitecloaks’ beliefs show him to be the one who truly holds to them. What a play.

‘You have no rights as a Darkfriend! I will parley no more with you, murderer.’ Asunawa waved a hand, and several of his Questioners drew swords.

Because they cannot face Galad’s questions. Galad asks, and they reply with swords. Because Asunawa cannot continue to hear them. He represents everything they should be, and they cannot face it, cannot let themselves recognise it, and so the draw swords and everything about this is excellent.

Asunawa would win a battle, but if Galad’s men stood their ground, it would be a costly victory. Both sides would lose thousands.

‘I will submit to you,’ Galad said. ‘On certain terms.’

You know who he reminds me of here? Loath as I am to admit it? Egwene. Facing an enemy who should be an ally, and fighting not for victory against them but for the entity they both should represent. Fighting for the cause, rather than fighting against the person. Willing even to submit, if it will bring unity and spare bloodshed. ‘I wish the Tower had a great Amyrlin in you’, Egwene said to Elaida. Neither fought for pride or for ego or for leadership – or at least, none of those things were the sole aim. Instead, they are fighting to make an organisation that should stand for the Light but has fallen into corruption and division into what it should be, what it always should have been.

And I do sort of wonder – I can’t even believe I’m saying this but HERE WE ARE – why Egwene ends up with Gawyn and not Galad after all.

‘You swear – before the Light and the Lords Captain here with you – that you will not harm, question, or otherwise condemn the men who followed me.’

There is one very glaring exception in that protection, Galad. I… assume this is intentional and I’m way more here for it than I should be. Carry on.

‘You cannot hinder the Hand of the Light in such a way! This would give them free rein to seek the Shadow!’

‘And is it only fear of Questioning that keeps us in the Light, Asunawa?’

QUESTIONING THE QUESTIONER. I’m still just not entirely over this as a rhetorical strategy – asking questions as a form of attack, sure, but it has that extra layer of being a tactic against the Questioners that just. Really hits me right in my appreciation for narrative symmetry.

‘The Dragon Reborn walks the land.’

‘Heresy!’ Asunawa said.

‘Yes,’ Galad said. ‘And truth as well.’

Oh man, that is a line. He will deny the accusations that he is a Darkfriend, but he does not deny this. Does not deny that it is heresy. But that does not make it a lie.

And Galad can accept that: can accept that even heresy must be faced, if it is the right thing to do. Heresy must be faced and accepted, if it is true. What cannot be changed must be endured, and Galad is… oddly, perhaps, not one for denial. He doesn’t try to turn from that truth, no matter what he may feel about it.

‘If we fight, we will kill good men, Child Bornhald,’ Galad said, without turning. ‘Each stroke of our swords will be a blow for the Dark One. The Children are the only true foundation that this world has left. We are needed. If my life is what is demanded to bring unity, then so be it.’

It is so very like Egwene. So very like what she said to the Aes Sedai who supported her and opposed her alike. They are not fighting for power; they are fighting because they see what is needed – and if their death rather than their ascendance can bring that, they will face that just as willingly as the responsibility of leadership.

I also had to smile a bit at the statement that the Children are the only true foundation – because that, too, echoes the Aes Sedai. If the White Tower dies, hope dies. Neither is strictly true because neither is the only force for the Light out there… but in a way that kind of conviction is needed. They just also need to maybe accept that they have some allies. Or should, at least.

WAIT WHAT ASUNAWA IS ACCEPTING THIS OFFER? OH. OKAY.

‘Take him,’ Asunawa snapped.

Yeah I’m here for it.

‘Inform them that I have taken the false Lord Captain Commander into custody, and will Question him to determine the extent of his crimes.’

Look, Galad’s far from a favourite character but there is something about him that suggests he would suffer rather beautifully and I am so sorry.

‘Return to our men; tell them what happened here, and do not let them fight or try to rescue me. That is an order.’

So very, very like Egwene here. Which almost irritates me because Egwene is one of my favourites and Galad is Not, but I have to give Galad some credit: he has made a truly valiant effort in the last few books.

Oh and just…straight to the torture. Cool. This is fine.

One forced Galad to the ground, a boot on his back, and Galad heard the metallic rasp of a knife being unsheathed.

Turns out there are two situations in which I like Galad Damodred. The first: then he did dance, all his grace turned in an instant to fluid death. The second: …this.

Also now he and Rand can have some quality fraternal bonding over their shared experiences with torture. It’ll be fun!

‘I am not a Darkfriend,’ Galad said, face pressed to the grassy earth. ‘I will never speak that lie. I walk in the Light.’

That earned him a kick to the side, then another, and another. He curled up, grunting. But the blows continued to fall.

Finally, the darkness took him.

How fitting, and awful, to follow his utter defiance here – the one thing he does deny, the one thing he does not turn into a question and the one thing he will not surrender: he is not a Darkfriend – with darkness taking him.

It’s also – again, my deepest but not entirely sincere apologies here – very much a good look on him.

Alright, I’ll see myself out.

Next (ToM prologue pt. 3) Previous (ToM prologue pt.1)

#galad keeps finding ways to push very specific buttons of mine #and i'm mad about it #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #Towers of Midnight

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saizoswifey · 5 years

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Little Victories

{Victor x Reader} {MLQC}

Genre: N//SFW Word Count: 4,557 Summary: Office smut...with everyone still in the office. Victor gets jealous after hearing the explanation for MC’s shitty presentation and it turns naughty. A/N: I thirst-wrote this after Ch10 because I was desperate for some rough and teasing Victor. Additional: Fingering, Cunnilingus, Office Sex, Jealousy, Spanking, Rough Sex

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It didn’t take long for her to pick up on all the little mannerisms and warning signs that helped gauge how serious, or annoyed, Victor was. When his patience was running thin. His already deep voice dropping further in pitch, a left nostril flare, the overcorrection of his expensive wristwatch like a subconscious red flag warning to all—his time was not to be wasted. A look of pure venom and the way his jaw set just a skosh tighter than before, causing a tendon in his neck to pull taught as the proverbial tightrope she felt forever doomed to teeter upon when in his presence. All danger. But all easy enough to read once she had spent enough time with the man.

However, as Victor’s hand made a fist at the back of her head she hardly had time to think before feeling the rough yank, her gaze now forced up to the ceiling and the blurring white dots spaced evenly across smooth eggshell. When Victor pulled her hair it was impossible to think of anything other than the obvious—well, this is new.

Not unwelcome, though. Even when her scalp began to ache sorely as he pulled further, exposing her neck for his hot mouth. She’d encouraged it, really. It wasn’t the wisest decision she’s ever made, telling her boyfriend she’d spent the evening prior in the company of her male neighbor.

Not that anything happened. Aside from lengthy albeit casual conversation. An exchange of books for some takeaway she’d, as per usual, ordered way too much of. But Victor hadn’t given her the time to mention that. Nor the fact that said neighbor may have been the reason she lost track of the hour, then scrambled at the last minute to pull together the presentation she’d just now finished giving. But she might save that last bit for another time.

Or…never. Considering she’d already struck a nerve hard enough for him to stand up like a shot, giving her a split second to realize the entire office had been frozen stiff before he was looming over her. Powerful and intimidating. Pushing her back until she was pinned between him and the conference table. She had only wanted to make him a little jealous, not hand-deliver her own death wish.

Truth is, playing with his emotions like this had become somewhat of a game. Victor was a man who’s attentions came with a price tag. She couldn’t find it in her to feel guilty for attempting to weasel a free slice now and again. Each concerned call and double text reassured how much he thought of her. Times like today when his composure broke, when the ever put-together, know-it-all, snarky Victor decided to reveal a new side of himself, for a moment at least it felt like she had won.

Her ass was already pressed hard into the edge of the table but he continued closing the distance. As his mouth got to work marking her neck with a particularly sharp sting, she realized she’d have a better chance of stopping a moving car than deterring him at this point. Arching into the angle with the direction of her tautly-gripped hair as a guide, she moaned in his grasp.

A very toned thigh sets between her legs as he continued to kiss along her neck. She can see skin normally hidden by the collar of his expensive suit, and if he didn’t have hold of her hair she’d press her lips to it and return the favor. There’s a familiar scent, only stronger now. Cologne so balanced and perfectly tailored to her preference it’s almost dizzying to inhale. Here and there, a palate cleanser waft of sweet, sweet caramel from his work in the kitchen.

One last delicious tug of hair makes her arch, and Victor makes quick work of his mouth along her exposed jaw, running a devilish tongue just under her chin to make her shiver before sealing it with a kiss. His hand releases the strands to undo the top button of her blouse. Then, another. Slowly revealing her cleavage and exposing just how heavily she’s already panting.

“Victor…here? Ahh, wait—We shouldn’t.”

“And your reasoning for that would be what, exactly?”

There was no way she could answer, his mouth began to play with the skin of her chest and cleavage. His hot breath tickled, enticing her to move closer. Even more so when she feels his wet tongue slink into the crease between her breasts. And son of a bitch, his hair smells so good. Good enough to distract her from the current situation for a moment. The situation being that despite having a very handsome face pressed into her chest, the office was still very much filled with employees.

Unblinking and frozen in time, they stood unaware of this private moment Victor had created. Laptops with manicured hands hanging in mid-keystroke, ringing phones silenced and unanswered until he willed it otherwise. Red pens poised above splayed manilla folders filled with impeccably organized Schrödinger’s mistakes in the eerily quiet. In the doorway is one of the newest assistants, wobbly-clumsy looking even when frozen mid-step. From her fumbling hands, a preserved waterfall of finalized paperwork and portfolios doomed for disaster when it reaches the floor.

“Are you truly that nervous?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

He doesn’t cease his frenzy of kisses. “Your ability to work yourself up over the most insignificant things continues to astound me.”

“Last time I checked, being half undressed a mere three feet from the guy that brings you lattes was sitting just slightly above insignificant on the ‘shit to worry about’ scale but alright…”

Victor sighs. “I don’t drink lattes,” he murmurs flatly against her skin.

He’s moving back up her neck with his lips, now. His large hands keep her close while playfully slinking underneath the shirt hem he’s released from the safety of its prim tuck in her skirt. An attempt to distract her, and damn it, it’s working.

“That’s…that’s not the point and you know it,” she replies. But the man in the immaculately tailored suit she currently has clenched in her fists is as unrelenting in love as he is in business. Maybe more so. Even she could hear the cracking of resolve in her voice, like blood in the water.

“Shut up, for once.” The deep, commanding growl glides down her frame like the feel of cool silk sheets slowly pulled along bare skin.

Warm lips overlap hers. He always spoke harshly, but there’s never any mistaking the desire and affection conveyed in his touch. Her chin is at the mercy of his grip, first snapping upwards to meet his kiss more easily, then guiding and tilting her where he desires. It’s comforting to feel his hands on her face. Safe. Angle shifting from the left to the right she can feel the stimulating massage of his tongue growing deeper and deeper still. He kisses her and it’s impossible to imagine how they manage not to spend every waking hour kissing. Was it possible to pause a moment while time itself was already suspended?

More and more the solid thigh she's been straddling pushes upwards. So cunning that if it weren’t for the hands traveling from her breasts down to her hips to grip and push, she might not have noticed how he moved with such purpose. He forces her to grind against him, pushing and pulling her, encouraging her wet arousal to build and build. It is nothing less than another calculated attack against her, another skilled move by a tactician far, far above her station. Dedicated solely to the pleasure of watching her fall apart by his hand.

Cool air glides against her skin and she realizes he’s taking her shirt up with him to stroke her sides. His thumbs feel so strong, caressing up over each singular notch of rib, like a countdown to their destination at the swell of her breasts. Fuck, she wants him to cup them from the base and squeeze. Torn between wanting his mouth right where it is on her lips and wishing its warmth was sucking her nipple playfully. Whether it was a moan or a gasp or both, she lets it out at the thought and Victor swallows it with the rest of her in their kiss.

The touches are so charged, his fingertips pressing into the flesh enough that she swears she feels her heels lift from the floor. He always touched her with hunger and need, but this was different. It’s rough enough to be possessive, as if maybe…maybe if he feels her hard enough, the ghost of his presence might linger on her skin enough to remind her for the next few days.

He wants her to remember. Until he can refresh it once more, he wants her to feel the ghost of his hands pinching her nipples and the tingle of his fingertips tickling down her ribs. Wants her to dream about it. Even when he’s away on business, even when she’s in the presence of another man, he wants her to suffocate in thoughts of him alone and all the ways in which only he can please her. And when he’s finished imprinting her softness in his hands he migrates to her hips to massage and stimulate the sensitive spots that flood heat to her core. He rubs in circles, happy to feel her body jolt when he migrates towards where she wants him most.

Victor’s domineering with his hands but his mouth remain soft and sweet. He doesn’t bite or nip. He sucks so gently, swiping lightly along her lips with his tongue to stimulate and ignite an electric shiver, coursing through her veins like cold silver metal.

He’s fluid and alluring, forever making her question how he could know exactly the way she likes to be kissed and held. Coaxing her to try and match his fervor and pace. It’s a challenge and one she always fell prey to, only to concede defeat and melt in his strong embrace, allowing him to claim his fill of her taste. Air feels scarce and her lungs burn but the tickle of his eager exhales against her skin have her numb lips desperate for pause enough to grin like the idiot he always claims her to be. It’s clear he’s lost himself in this maze of temptation as much as she has.

When he pulls away it’s just enough for his eyes to drink her in. A thumb brushes tenderly against her temple. The little touches serve to remind her that despite the seriousness of his work ethic and the harsh methods he uses to push her to better herself, it is always driven by love.

“What’s this? Can it be true? Is our little miss mouthy finally finding herself at a loss for words?” He chides.

Dizzy and panting, skin prickling from the electricity of the moment and the anticipation of what’s to come, there really were no words coming to mind. All she could focus on was the way in which he looked at her, and the shimmering beams of pale yellow sunset streaming through the window. They cut through the air like shards of time, highlighting the lines of his dashing jaw.

She must have been clamoring more than she realized. He was a disheveled mess and more adorable for it. The way his tie now hung off-kilter and loose, the uneven sitting of his collars where she had clung to his suit, and lastly, the way he didn’t seem to give a damn about any of it. His strong brows which arched inquisitively when he last spoke now slowly began to soften in understanding.

Strands of jet black hair hung slightly suspended due to the sharp angle in which he looked down at her from above. Perhaps it was passion, or some other emotion that made his eyes look so glassy now. They flickered for a second, his lips parted slightly, like there was something he desperately wanted to say but just couldn’t bring himself to speak. He looked uncharacteristically vulnerable.

It only lasted a moment before fizzling. Only long enough to register before his eyes traveled lower. Down to her skirt, crumpled and hiked up enough to expose a good portion of her shaking thighs. He’d always had a weakness for thighs. Especially hers. Especially hers when quivering for him.

A moment later he was traveling down her chest. A breast in his hand, he held it firmly and took a nipple in his warm mouth.

“Mmn, yes,” she moans, placing a hand in his hair as he alternated between each breast.

She always loved the way his eyes closed when he kissed her body like he was focused on enjoying the way she tasted on his tongue and how she squirmed against his hands. Her muscles tense when his lips trail slowly down her stomach. His tongue traces her navel and it’s hard to miss the flash of smile he gives when her abs spasm in response. How is it that she could have such a powerful man at her feet, yet she still felt seconds away from being knocked off her heels?

Kneeling in front of her, sly thumbs hook into position to push the skirt up further over her hips. He looked up, eyes soft and vibrant, a devilish simper pulling his lips into a grin that could only spell trouble.

The kisses start near her knee, working their way up the warm flesh of her thigh. He moved with tortured slowness, inching her skirt up at the same speed while he climbed higher and higher. His breathing stifled watching her. The fabric lifted like a curtain for his viewing pleasure. She gripped the table’s edge, her body subconsciously arching with the brazen need to feel his tongue on her pussy.

Instead, he kissed her navel. Hands still ruffled in the fabric of her skirt he gripped her hips steady, pressing his face close to inhale her and tease around her stomach and hips.

“Ahh, Victor…”

“Still wish for me to stop?” It was a tease, to be certain. But the words were a hot whisper of veiled pleas vying to continue.

“I don’t want you to…” she pants, chuckling momentarily in defeat.

The lips that teased her skin were mesmerizing, erotically dragging a path in the wake of opened-mouth kisses and suckles. Lips so beautiful and plump. Soft lips that felt like heaven whether in her mouth or against her skin. He locked his gaze with hers, occasionally leaving small red marks like a path of rosebuds. Victor always enjoyed watching her expressions when he pushed her boundaries. And in turn, knowing he was growing harder while watching her bite her lip in anticipation only added kindling to the fire blazing in her core.

“You don’t want me to what? It’s bad enough your reports are vague and confusing, at least do me the decency of speaking clearly when we’re intimate.”

He really was a bastard, sometimes. “Please, don’t stop. I don’t want you…to stop,” she managed through grit teeth.

“I’m impressed. A please, even? Where did that colorful sass from earlier disappear to?”

She should have known he wasn’t finished punishing her. Victor brought her right leg up and over his shoulder, sending her weight back to finally sit atop the rounded edge of the sturdy table. Seeing her completely open and in view brought a cocksure smirk to his face.

When Victor’s eyes narrowed with the sharpness of a blade she sucked in a breath, heart knocking against her ribs when that lithesome tongue of his peeked out from brilliant white teeth to show itself off, rolling and lapping up the innermost of her flinching thigh. Reminding her just what it was capable of.

“However,” he continued, “that was the most pathetic plea I’ve ever heard. You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to convince me.”

His hands more venturesome than he allowed his mouth, he continued his onslaught of light touches, tracing tender places just near where she wanted him most. It was hard enough to concentrate, but the deep massaging grips working all around and up to her ass were transforming her thoughts to fluffy cotton. She could practically see them carried off by the air, floating away into nothing.

“You’re not serious.”

“Careful. Don’t forget who it is you’re talking to. If you want something from me, I expect a return.”

“This isn’t a business negotiation,” she retorts. It’s all the confidence she can muster, and unfortunately all in vain.

His hands grip forcefully, wrapping around where her thighs meet her ass, and his long fingers and knuckles allow her a brief taste of pressure against her folds. It’s so quick she hardly has time to register that it happened, but it doesn’t stop her from melting and letting out a tiny cry. She needs to feel it again. Her arms shake a bit as she fights the urge to reach out for his hand and bring it to her clit, herself.

Victor gives an exhausted, amused chuckle. “Everything in life is a negotiation, dummy. Only those who’ve never been powerful enough to set the terms say otherwise.”

“I see. Thank you for the lesson, sir.”

No sooner had she uttered the word did she felt a sharp bite grip into her thigh.

“Ahck! What the—“

“Say it again and I’ll give you another,” he replies flatly.

“That kinda hurt, ya know,” she pouts. It was more surprise than pain, in all honesty. And she should have known to expect some ire for calling him sir, knowing he despises it. Still, getting back at him a bit felt worth the bite.

“Good,” he brushes his lips against the aching spot, “if it hurts…you’ll remember.”

To her non-reply, Victor finally brought his face close to her core. His hands cupped around her thighs felt hot iron grips. She was soaked plenty, already. And she knew he knew it. Knew that she looked down and saw those large strong hands of his against her skin. The hands that she had once known only for signing her checks now caressed those forbidden places that turned her inside out. Knew that she wanted those hands pressing inside of her wetness and rolling her nipples roughly and guiding her hips while he fucks her from any angle he pleased.

All she has to do is give in to his demands. He coaxes her further, breathing hot air in short bursts against her pussy. Alternating between that and thigh kisses, now using a bit more teeth for stimulation. Before she knows it she’s desperate to press into his face, practically in tears when the moist warm breath is blown directly over her clit.

“Are you going to keep me waiting?” Victor finally asks.

She can’t look at him while she says it, so she closes her eyes and leans her head back. His mouth has moved up near her hips. When she feels his tongue play at the band of her panties she gulps in preparation to speak.

“…Mmn, please touch me. I’m so turned on I…please, keep going, Victor. I need your mouth so badly,” she confesses.

Without hesitation, he presses in all the way. The sensation of intense heat mixed with the force of his lips and tongue as he sucks on her pussy through the panties is overwhelming, to say the least. She’s completely soaked, now. His wide tongue pushes against her entrance and the desire to be filled shoots to a new high.

“S-shit!” Her hands slip and send her back, knocking over a stack of papers she hadn’t realized were there.

“…You really are an idiot,” Victor stops for a second to look up. “If you feel the need to grab hold of something, my head is right here.”

“I’m sorry! That just felt so…argh, it was an accident,” she fumbles, an unmistakable feeling of hot blush flooding her face.

“What are you apologizing to me for? I won’t be the one reorganizing them before she’s allowed to leave for the day.”

Realization pulls her face into a scowl. “Heartless.”

“Clumsy dimwit.”

They both smile as she leans back on her forearms on the cold surface of the table. Her heart pounds when she feels his fingers finally push underneath her panties. She’d expected him to move them to the side, but instead, he bunched what he could of the fabric in his fist and yanked hard, ripping them from her entirely.

It’s unceremonious. And every bit Victor. It’s not for show or dramatics. When there’s something he’s after, nothing will stand in his way. Her panties were simply no different.

“What the—” She jolts.

“You won’t need them,” he cuts her off sharply.

The feeling of his lips making direct contact with her outer folds sent her melting back in silence. He took his time, working around her mound with slow kisses and licks, leaving no area untasted. When the wet tip of his tongue began to circle around her pussy, careful to avoid touching her clit or dipping inside yet, she couldn’t help but moan his name out loud.

Though he gave her enough to feel closer to pleasure than before, he was still a tease. Devouring the flesh of her outer folds rougher and rougher but refusing to place his mouth at her wet center. Though she tried to raise enough to grind his face, she was no match for the strength of his hands holding her down.

Ever the sadist, he continued to work up her sensitivity. His fingers massaged and relaxed her while the strong suck of the skin at the top of her pussy had her eyes rolling to the back of her head.

“Mmn, more. Please, lower,” she whined despite knowing he might scold her again.

“I’ll enjoy you how I see fit.” The words came out with a harsh bluntness, but the pace and ardor each time his mouth met skin became increasingly fervent.

“Victor…”

“You’re mine.”

“I’m yours. I’m all yours,” she panted.

Finally, he gave her what she wanted. The left leg that had been dangling now hooked over his shoulder as well, leaving his head enveloped by her thighs. The tip of his tongue pushed into the base of her slit. Warm and wet and pointed, he used it to slowly open her up. Vision hazy and white from the sensation she unleashed a string of moans while his tongue zig-zagged from left to right inside of her slit, every push and twitch igniting her senses as his tongue traveled up towards her clit.

With impressive force he shoved her back onto the table, diving his face fully into her pussy. She craned her neck to watch him and found his eyes there waiting for her. Rigid arms looped around her, ending with those large hands gripping her at her torso. Their gazes lock and his entire mouth envelopes her pussy.

“Oh my god…” she mewls.

There was an intense heat flaring in his unwavering eyes. Each time his tongue teased her rapidly she could see his cheeks hollow and the muscles of his jaw flexing and twitching. Soon he was playing with her breasts while eating her out. A pinch of her nipples drained her of her strength and she fell back onto the table with a light thud, closing her eyes tightly and rolling her body in pleasure.

The pause in time made everything deafeningly silent, and the sound of Victor sucking her juices and flicking his tongue back and forth over her clit was crystal clear by comparison. She could come just from the lewd sound of what he was doing to her, alone. His head rolled, his hair tickling against her thighs, and she reaches out to grab it like a lifeline.

“I can’t…Aah—it’s so good.”

Her back arches and with the strength she has left she grinds up against his face while pushing his head into her. The hum he responds with against her folds makes her shake in pleasure. She could feel herself letting go. The pressure of his fingertips against her hardened nipples and the sensation of his stroking tongue against her throbbing pussy were the only things that mattered.

He was relentless, shaking his face against her for a time and then switching to thrust his tongue inside of her until the muscles of her legs were twitching.

“Good girl, you want to come?” Victor’s voice was muffled between her legs.

She could barely see, but somehow she managed to reply in a faint voice. “Yes, please, I’m…so close. Make me come.”

She felt his lips pull her sensitive clit into his mouth with a rough suck. Every nerve ignites, her body jolting and clamoring to escape the overwhelming sensation. But Victor chases her at every inch, mouth never letting up, only becoming rougher and more desperate to see her wriggle and cry out. She escapes a few times, only to be forcefully dragged back into his grip. A finger presses inside of her, then another. Up and down and up and down they rapidly press and stretch inside of her to the tune of his expensive watch jingling against his wrist.

Lick-lick-lick-lick-lick. As he’s pressing fingers up against her g-spot his tongue flicks urgently across her clit while he sucks. Every action dedicated to bringing her to orgasm. She hasn’t stop moaning, but it’s impossible to control or remember what it is she has said.

A low whine starts at her belly and rolls up her chest, louder and louder it escapes her mouth as she comes with an intense shiver. The heat of her orgasm escapes her. Victor happily hums into her clit in response, flat tongue traveling down to lap up her release like a fine dessert. And when her body finally relaxes she realizes she came while holding his free hand, their fingers interlocked tightly.

The room is spinning but she doesn’t even have time to collect her thoughts before she’s forcefully dragged and flipped, Victor bending her over the table and embracing her possessively.

Her breath catches in her throat at the sound of a belt buckle behind her. The chime makes her spine tingle in excitement. Against her ear, warm puffs of Victor’s breath. She just wants to lay still and let him fuck her senseless. She wants to feel him drive into her so hard they scoot the conference table.

Instead of his cock, she feels a stinging slap against her ass, and Victor’s laugh that follows heaves his chest against her back. The chuckle like warm honey from his lips at the shell of her ear.

“Cheeky girl, did you really expect me to give you more than you deserve?” He moves her hair to the side to kiss her neck briefly. “You’ll rework your presentation. I expect you prepared and at my place before the evening is out. If you manage to meet my expectations…I’ll reward you properly.”

#MLQC #mr love queen's choice #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #victor smut #my writing

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pikachu78109 · 5 years

Text

Galar Kissing Headcanons

More Galar characters, more Galar headcanons! Since we have been introduced to Bede and Marnie, I figured that I should add them into this headcanon. I will also add in other characters too, like Bea, Nessa, and Sonia. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

-Victor (male protagonist)

-Victor does not usually give kisses to his s/o. If anything, kissing would be downplayed to being just a peck on the cheek. Nothing too passionate, I mean he’s just a kid. His knowledge on the art of kissing mostly is kept minimal. He would much rather hug you instead, seeing that he prefers that kind of affection over lip contact. Victor isn’t a cold lover; he is just inexperienced. His s/o would make the first move by kissing him on the cheek before planting a gentle kiss on the lips afterwards. It’s sweet and no tongue is involved. Your kisses would leave Victor blushing for awhile and would instantly put him in a good mood.

-Gloria (female protagonist)

-For our beloved Scottish Trainer, Gloria would take a tsundere approach when asking for a kiss. Sometimes her asking would come off as brash, though her intentions deep down are from a good place. Gloria does not exactly know how to express romantic thoughts in a way that is comprehended positively. If anything, it does agitate her that she cannot ask for a simple kiss straight up with a gentle tone. As for her s/o, you do see Gloria’s good intentions and reward her with a kiss on the cheek (like with Victor). If the tables were reversed and if it was Gloria kissing you, her kisses would be rough and uncoordinated. Despite that, Gloria will feel calm and be put in a good mood afterwards.

-Hop

-By trying to be just as good as a romantic partner like his brother, Hop tries way too hard when wanting to kiss you. At first, he attempts to flirt with you in order to make you blush. His flirtations are pretty weak and corny though, but that just makes him all the more lovable! Again, like with Victor and Gloria, Hop will kiss your cheek and sometimes kiss your forehead. If Hop feels a bit daring, he might kiss your lips innocently by brushing his lips against yours. To be honest, Hop finds it hard to kiss you because his brother keeps messing up his funky flow (that is a Steven Universe reference). But whenever you two are alone, Hop will seize the moment and pepper your face with his sweet kisses and adorkable flirting.

-Bede

-Like with Gloria, Bede presents himself as a bit of a tsundere type. He isn’t much of a kisser, but God if the sight of your face doesn’t swell his heart with joy, then he might as well punch himself in the face. Bede would consider himself to be a gentleman in his own way. He tries to act all princely by kissing your hand, giving you the classic kiss from old movies that has stolen the hearts of many. You do like that Bede tries to step out of his comfort zone to kiss you differently, but you don’t force him to. Instead, you would return the favor by kissing his hand as well, which leads Bede to melt into a stuttering blushing mess. He will, of course, ask for permission first before kissing your lips. During this, his face will be as red as a Tamato berry and you would happily oblige! Bede usually gives a quick peck on the lips and turns away, thus hiding his adorable blushing smile.

-Marnie

-This punk goth chick has quite a soft spot for their s/o. Despite putting on an almost stoic personality, Marnie absolutely adores being around you and spending time with you. When she isn’t being followed by Team Yell, she would hang out with you and try to find a secluded area where you two would have some privacy. Unlike the other rivals, Marnie is actually bold and would kiss your entire face from your forehead to your cheeks and then your lips. There’s nothing too wild about Marnie’s way of kissing you. She would get a bit embarrassed for kissing you like that, but you don’t mind. You’re just happy see that she enjoys being around you and it’s the same for you. In return, you would also kiss Marnie’s cheeks, forehead, and her lips to show that you love her no matter what.

-Allister

-As a shy cinnamon roll, Allister is too nervous to ask for a kiss. Still, that does not mean that the spook boy doesn’t at least try. The first few times are pretty nerve wracking for him, but the standard kiss on the cheek is his go to thing. Allister is very innocent, perhaps the most innocent out of everyone here, and he makes sure that you are comfortable first before he kisses you. This would mean he will ask every time he wants to kiss you. Kissing your lips was difficult for Allister, because each attempt he makes fails with him breaking down in to a stuttering mess. Understanding Allister’s efforts, you have the patience of a saint and reward him regardless with an endless supply of butterfly kisses on his face. Very rarely does Allister remove his mask, but he makes an exception for you because he wants to feel your soft, gentle (almost ghost like) lips on his.

((Okay, from here on out, these headcanons will contain a bit more maturity since these are adults. Nothing too major and nothing that goes too deep into the NSFW category though))

-Sonia

-Sonia would have to be the most flirtatious woman in all of Galar. Despite being very knowledgeable and sweet, Sonia hides a passionate side to her that she only reveals to you. Kissing becomes more than just a peck on the cheek. How about kisses all over your body? Sonia likes to feel you all over and would plant small, ticklish kisses on your chest, shoulder, neck, collarbone, etc. You would return the favor by doing the same thing, only you happen to be quite better at it. Sonia would want more and would steal a kiss from you. French kissing is the most common kissing method that Sonia prefers, because she enjoys seeing your blushing face as you try to keep your composure. However, more than once, you have turned the tables and have caused Sonia to blush like crazy when you are dominant over her. With Sonia, kissing you is like a roller coaster, because she loves the rush and thrill whenever you oblige to spend a certain amount of time alone with her.

-Bea

-Bea doesn’t typically kiss you much, because she isn’t the romantic type. She’s rather focused on training and toughening herself and her team up for the next Gym Challenge match. Still, that isn’t to say that she does not mind when you ask to kiss her. Yeah, this time around, you ask for permission. Bea would normally respond by kissing you later, but sometimes a little convincing is needed. Despite trying to be collected and put together, Bea can’t help whenever you hug her from behind. Your adorable begging gets her every time and, eventually, both of you end up on the floor holding each other tightly. Like I said, Bea is not the romantic type so you are doing the most work while kissing her. First, you would balance her on your body while your lips are connected and then you would move your hands down to hold her waist. Bea is absolutely obedient during the entire session and she does her part too. She’ll tug at your clothes and would moan softly in delight as you gently rub her thighs. The kissing session is a lot more awkward for Bea, but if it’s to please you both, then she does not mind at all.

-Nessa

-Unlike Sonia and Bea, Nessa is really shy when it comes to kissing you. Her shyness isn’t that of Allister’s but more like a happy yet flustered lover. Nessa will take time out of her schedule to spend a few minutes being indulged by you. To top it all off, both of you are shy about wanting to kiss each other. It does start off slow before it heats up with both of you grinding into each other. Nessa likes it when you mess with her hair and occasionally nibble her ear lobe. She gets excited and will do her part by putting her hands on your chest, feeling you all over. Her wet lips comes into contact with your warm skin as she kisses your collarbone and down your chest further. Both of you will be hot and flustered once you are done, but hey, just jump in the water and cool yourselves off! Or continue in the water if you haven’t had enough ;)

-Milo

-Oh, Milo. Such an angel. Kissing him is the equivalent of Heaven and it makes him so very happy that you want him to kiss you. Milo is probably the most affectionate man in Galar for how he treats his Pokémon and his s/o. His hugs are warm and cuddly, his compliments are sweet, and his kisses are just amazing. The man loves holding you while kissing you. Though he doesn’t try to do anything too intimate, you encourage him to try. At first, he’s clumsy but soon he will get comfortable and do his best to please you. Very commonly, Milo will have you on his lap and will support you by holding your waist. He adores how you look down at him with your e/c eyes peering through his. You do move your head down so he can kiss your lips and from there, it’s all cutesy and innocently intimate. Milo doesn’t try to get you to moan, but you are a bit more passionate and do kiss his sweet spot (his neck) and that does make him moan and giggle a bit. Milo happens to be ticklish, but keeps his composure while showering you with love.

-Leon

-Finally, the man himself! To cut straight to the point, Leon is very passionate kisser. You know Leon’s preferred kissing method, which is the French kiss, and how handsy he can get. However, Leon does retain his gentlemanly charm and will ask constantly if you are comfortable or if you need a break. During the kissing session, Leon knows where to kiss you. Neck, collarbone, chest, you name it. His kisses are like sweet poison, you instantly melt in his arms. If you want to make him melt, your efforts are a bit flimsy to say the least. You do kiss his neck, which does garner a moan from the Champ, and sometimes you would touch his chest to make him excited and turned him on. Although you try, Leon still has the upper hand on you and continues to prove it by kissing you so much that you become absolutely submissive. There are moments where Leon does break away so that you two can take a break. After all, Leon wants to make sure that you are doing okay and that he isn’t making you uncomfortable. Once everything dies down a bit, Leon will change his usual kissing style to something more gentle and soft. It’s very interesting and fun whenever Leon kisses you because you never know what to expect.

#pokemon sword and shield #pokemon #pokemon hop #pokemon sonia #pokemon allister #pokemon bea #pokemon marnie #pokemon bede #pokemon leon #pokemon nessa #pokemon milo #nintendo #headcanons #romance

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prurientpuddlejumper · 5 years

Text

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 3 [18+]

<-Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 ->

Summary: The creature feels guilty about having sex with you before explaining that he’s... um... made of dead people. Before things get too steamy again, he needs to reveal the truth. But how will you handle the news?

After you finish re-wrapping his bandages, attending to the healing of his bullet wound, you realize your stomach is gurgling with hunger. He generously offers all the roots and nuts stored in his pockets. You take them gratefully, but wonder if he has anything more substantial, like oats or meat. He does not.

“This is hardly enough for my breakfast, much less split between us.”

“You may have all of it for yourself,” he offers. “I can subsist on less.”

You pointedly refuse. “You need energy to heal; I can’t eat all your food. Besides which, if this is all you have, then I’ll be starving again by lunchtime.”

“I would spend every waking hour gathering every edible leaf and berry from the forest so you may feast as royalty, except this blasted arm. Even with your tender nursing, it is a constant throb of pain. I am unfit for protracted exertion.”

“Then I see no other recourse,” you say, popping a stale acorn into your mouth, “than to return home, or I won’t survive out here with you.” You’re honestly amazed that he can survive on such meager rations, as big as he is.

His shoulders fall, and he takes on an expression of mourning. “Then, you shall leave me after all.”

“Not at all! Come home with me, and I shall see we are both well fed.” You explain that your parents’ farm has a barn and hayloft at the far end of a wide field of grains, at the edge of the forest. It is isolated enough for him to hide within during the day, since you are the most frequent user of the space, as you go about your chores alone. It would be easy to visit him there to continue tending his wound, and they could quickly vanish into the forest.

He is greatly relieved to hear of your plan not to abandon him, though he adds, “I am not keen on hiding in a village full of people again. The last time did not end well.”

“The last time you didn’t have me looking after you,” you smile.

Before returning home, you and your companion roast your small stockpile of vegetables on the embers. He sits close to you the entire time they cook, holding your hand, hating every instant you’re not in contact with him. But he still looks away from you whenever he catches you looking at him too long, and lets his wild black hair fall in front of his face.

You climb into his lap, straddling him, and begin combing through the snarls in his locks with your fingers. He gasps. Though he keeps shifting his face to keep you from seeing all of it, he braces his hands against your back to help you balance as you work, his chest moving up and down more and more rapidly beneath yours. Through his pants, you feel his bulge begin to harden against your thigh.

“Ah—the parsnips are burning!” he cries out, standing suddenly and dumping you off his lap.

After eating, you decide to delay your return a little longer. You strip your clothing off, undergarments and all, and hang them from a tree branch in the direct sunlight.

Your tall companion blushes a deep purple, and begins stammering. “W-what are you—um—”

“The sun is now fully risen, and casts a strong, dry heat, perfect for drying my clothes, which are still unpleasantly damp with the night’s dew. Come, you should remove yours as well: it helps them to dry faster.”

“I… um…”

You interrupt his fussing, pushing him playfully back against the trunk of an old, colossal tree. He gives in without argument, falling against the trunk as if you were the stronger, and leans down to you as you stand on tip-toe to kiss him. He growls hungrily against your lips, rough hands tracing down your body, exploring every inch of your skin.

“You are the most beautiful being in the world,” he pants, voice low and raspy. “An ethereal creature of light who has graced my lowly existence from on high—You are an angel.”

“I appreciate the flattery,” you laugh. “But I’m actually pretty average.”

“You are anything but common! Your heart is the most beautiful and generous I have ever known, to give succor to such a detestable wretch as myself. None has ever been so magnanimous in the history of your species. No human has ever seen past this horrible face.”

“There is nothing horrible in your face,” you purr, pressing your body against his. He whines softly, helplessly, leaning down to nip and kiss your neck, leaving red marks on your skin. You grind your hips against his—or his thigh, rather, as his hips are as high as your chest when he stands. He grows again, impossibly large, straining against the closure of his pants. You slip a hand under the fabric and feel the velvety, hot organ throbbing at your fingertips. You ache with desire imagining him inside you.

“Stop, please!” he cries, taking your shoulders and pushing you out to arm’s length. Sweat beads on his brow, and he pants. “I cannot allow this to continue.”

“What’s the matter? Did I do something wrong?”

He shakes his head emphatically, “No. I want you more than anything, but it is I who am unworthy.”

“Oh, not again,” you whine. “I told you, I don’t care what you look like. Please, you don’t need to beat yourself up all the time. I want you, too.”

He shakes his head in defeat. “You only believe you do because I have withheld the full truth from you. You believe my deformity to be a natural misfortune of my birth, or sustained in a disfiguring accident, do you not? I am sorry to have deceived you, even by omission—I know you will flee in disgust when I tell you the true cause of my fatal defect, and I would do anything to keep you by my side. Yet guilt weighs heavy upon me. I must cast off this burden, and let you choose, fully illuminated, whether to remain companion to me, or to curse and despise me, as any rational being would.”

“You have to tell me… right now?” you ask, fully naked.

“It cannot wait.”

He produces papers from the pocket of his clothing. With trembling hands, he gives them to you, then hastens to the far side of the tree to hide, awaiting your reaction.

The pages are full of grotesque images: anatomical sketches of dissections, human remains taken from robbed graves stitched together with parts taken fresh from tortured animals. The illustrations were not cold and detached, as a typical medical text, but somehow lurid, as if its author were etching his twisted passions onto the page. At first, you don’t understand why your friend showed you this—the notes are all rambling and etched in a shaky hand, difficult to comprehend. When you discern the author’s intentions to build a living man, all of the pieces come together. Your stomach turns. It takes a few moments for you to gather your feelings and return to the huddled form, making himself small clutching his knees to his chest, on the other side of the tree.

“What I read… it's horrible,” you say, voice shaking with emotion.

“I know,” he whispers without looking up.

“This Victor Frankenstein was a monster! The things he did to those poor, innocent animals—not to mention defiling the dead. He has no conscience, and yet he writes as though he believes himself divine! What a pompous, arrogant, self-absorbed egomaniac!” you stomp, crumpling one of the pages in your fist. “Did you see this passage here, he writes: ‘A new species would bless me as its creator and source; many happy and excellent natures would owe their being to me. No father could claim the gratitude of his child so completely as I should deserve theirs.’ Ha! And yet he abandoned you, leaving you at the mercy of an unfeeling world. How dare he?!”

The creation looks up, blinking his wet eyes in astonishment. “But, are you not alarmed? The truth of my nature is too horrid to be borne by the human mind, too fantastical to be believed—surely you are shocked to learn it?”

“To be honest, I knew all along there was something unnatural about you,” you shrug. “I wouldn’t have guessed this, but, you did go on about being an abomination so I could hardly be surprised.”

“But, does it not disgust you? You revile my creator for his profane work, yet I am the result—all of his evils he poured into me, keeping the virtues of beauty and humanity for himself. Any execration you profess against him, you must feel for me a thousand fold!”

“No.” You kneel beside him, hug him and hold him tight, letting the papers scatter to the floor. “No. You share none of the blame for his actions. It is he who darkened his soul with his misdeeds; yours is innocent. You have done nothing wrong.” You caress him, planting tender kisses along his arms, trying to revive his spirits. He unwraps his arms from his knees, unfurling them from his chest, and scoops you into the opened space, burying his face in your neck.

“These are a corpse's arms that hold you,” He sobs, breath hot and ragged. “The skin of a dead man wrapped around charnel-house bones. I am not a person, I am a macabre assemblage. You must be sickened. You must hate me.”

“I care for you; all of my feelings toward you are those of affection and love. You are a person, no matter what your limbs are composed of. A wonderful, generous, selfless person, who did not deserve to be abandoned and alone. Who did not deserve to be scorned for wearing this face. This body is not who you are. You have a soul, which this Frankenstein could not have had any part in bestowing you, for it is far brighter than his own. And besides which, is my own body any less revolting when described in such explicit detail as laid out in these papers?”

He looks you up and down, bare in his arms, your vivid flesh in sharp contrast with his ashen pallor. The corner of his thin lips slowly creeps upward. “I would spare myself no detail on the subject of your body, my dearest.”

Your cheeks flush bright red. “Damn you—I knew the moment I said it!” you playfully clap his chest.

“My apologies,” he laughs softly, trying to repress the salacious grin spreading across his tear-streaked face. “If I spoke too familiarly, I—”

You press your lips to his, silencing him. Timidly at first, his fingers run through your hair, then, encouraged by your moan, he pulls you harder into a deepening kiss, parting your mouth with his tongue, twining with yours. His hands find your waist, guiding you as you slide down into his lap, wrapping your legs around him.

“Do… do you want to…?” he breathes. You nod, grinding your hips against him for emphasis. He smiles, and shifts his weight as if to get up, but then slumps back down against the tree, cringing painfully. “Yet I may not have the strength. My injury fatigues me, and I have exerted myself too much already.”

“Is it alright with me being in your lap like this? I don’t want to hurt your recovery, of course, but you look so crestfallen—if you want, we can do it just like this.”

“Oh?” his eyes brighten.

“Mm,” you purr affirmatively, trailing your fingertips down his chest. “Let me do all the work.”

You undo his pants and free his eager length. Lowering yourself onto him, you ease down slowly, feeling him stretch you as you work, little by little, to take in his massive size. A flurry of shallow gasps issue from his lips with each inch of progress you take, and his eyes flutter closed in rapture. With a deep moan, you sit on his lap, fully sheathing him. He arches and goes rigid beneath you. You lean forward to kiss his eyelids, then begin riding him, arms twined around his neck for leverage, rocking together in a steady rhythm.

Helpless, desperate noises escape his lips with each thrust, and each noise makes you wetter. You love hearing how much he loves it. You take it as a challenge to get him to cry out louder.

“May I touch you?” he asks.

“Please.”

His hands explore your body, seeking out areas that get a reaction from you, teasing your nipples, between your thighs, caressing your lips—quickly finding which buttons to press that will make you moan. He loves that you can find pleasure in him.

As he gets close to the edge, he begins thrusting up into you more vigorously, bucking and writhing, forgetting his need to take it easy. He grabs your hips and moves you at a faster and faster tempo, but he still wants more.

"I want to... To be on top again. Is that OK?"

"God yes."

He flips you back onto the ground, lifts your leg up over his shoulder, and begins thrusting hard, deeper, until he screams out, shuddering as he spills his seed inside you. Then he collapses to the ground, limp, luckily having the presence of mind to roll to the side to avoid crushing you.

“I should not have done that,” he groans, damp with sweat, clutching his bandaged shoulder. “Owwww.”

You caress his chest, smiling contentedly. “Do you need me to re-do your wound dressing?”

“No, no. Thank you, my angel. I just need… to rest…”

And with that last, weary remark, he drops promptly to sleep and begins snoring. By the time he wakes up, your clothes are dry.

#frankenstein #monster x human #monster x reader #smutfic #x reader #the creature #my writing #smut #lemon #citrus

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theincompetentgenius · 4 years

Text

Matchup

hiyaaa!! could i pls get a written matchup for ikesen, ikerev, & mlqc? 💞 bi but i prefer guys! i have an older twin sis~ 5'4 young girl~ medium-length straight-ish black hair & dark brown eyes. ambiverted INTP! hufflepuff/ravenclaw. fun-loving & friendly scorpio. if not given attention, i feel unwanted/sad. quiet w/ people im not close w/. easily annoyed but guilty after 'cause im soft-hearted. playful/serious, childish/mature, competative/laidback, funny/shy, talkative/good listener, loud/soft, kind/quiet, emotional/solemn, sweet/smart, bright/deep, poetic/intellectual, daydreamer/studious, annoying/lovable. hopeless romantic! sorta socially anxious, i have a fear of judgement. my personality is like half fun/happy and half deep/quiet- very awkward. i want to be the best! im not innocent but ppl think i am at first. its easy to make me smile & laugh but i also get jealous often. i have trouble asking for help even if i help others a lot! im the type to do fun stuff and loosen up, but im also the type to just cuddle and have long conversations about life and the world. emotionally mature but a bit emotionally unstable (mental health problems-) i look fine on the outside but on the inside its a MESS. im actually a complex person, and i rlly think a lot to myself. i feel rlly scared tho if im not completely sure if im correct abt smth, n i get rlly anxious when ppl r looking at me blankly w/ smiling- likes: diff kinds of jokes, testing myself, affection, animals, doing exhilirating things, music, movies, books, games, family, friends, astrology, astronomy, learning new things, & mythology. dislikes: too much heat, school presentations, creepy dolls, being under pressure, dirty things. i love weapons (esp swords n guns, i like magic too tho)!! i think they're super cool- omg im super srry cause i think this is too much- tysm anyway!! feel free to take your time (health comes first!) n have a great year! 💞

Aww, thank u so much! This was submitted to me quite a while back and I’m really sorry for the major delay. However, I’ve finally gotten to this. Hope you still enjoy it :)

Ikemen Sengoku

I’d pair you with.................. Hideyoshi Toyotomi!

Honestly, I was having difficult picking just one person since you have such a complex personality (don’t worry, this is a good thing). For a while, I was leaning towards Mitsuhide at first because your personality would’ve made the perfect MC for his route. You’re sweet enough to get him to open up, but not a complete ditz. He’d love to learn all the different sides of your personality, falling for every single piece. After all, there’s no puzzle that he can’t solve.

However, I’m gonna go with Hideyoshi on this one. His simple attitude would best compliment all your different traits, creating the perfect balance. Whenever he’s being hard-headed, your multi-dimensional personality will provide him with another side that he hadn’t considered.

Don’t want to ask for help? Not a problem because Hideyoshi is going to help you anyways (whether you want or not). He’ll be at your side all day, making sure that even the smallest of tasks have dealt with. Once your work is done, he’ll linger around for a little bit, waiting for that last good-bye kiss.

You manage to pull him out of his comfort zone, going on small adventures together! He’s not the biggest fan of them, but he always tags along to make sure you’re alright. His favorite adventures are when you two go into the forests, observing all the different animals. There’s nothing like seeing the sweet smile on your face to brighten up his day.

The day always ends with the two of you heading back to his room, laying on his bed, and looking at all the cool stuff that you found. He’ll have his arms wrapped around your waist, resting his chin on top of your head, listening to you rave about the adventure. But when you remind him that there’s no place that you’d rather be than in his arms, Hideyoshi can’t help but turn into a puddle. It’s just a night of cuddles and endless affection.

Hideyoshi is also the best person to go to when you’re feeling like a complete mess. Even if he’s busy, he’ll always put time aside to comfort you. If you’re feeling scared or unsure, the warlord will stroke your hair and remind you about all the times that you’ve been right (and all the things you’ve accomplished because of that). Even if things go awry, he’ll always be there to hold your hand for comfort’s sake. After all, you’ve guided him through his messes, so now it’s his turn to repay the favor.

Another Possibility: Mitsuhide Akechi

Ikemen Revolution

I’d pair you with............... Ray Blackwell!

So there’s not a lot of leeway here since your description really just screamed “RAY” to me. However, I feel like I could throw you at Blanc! He’d do his best to make you feel welcome in the Cradle and slowly crack through your quiet demeanor. Once he learns what’s inside, bunny boy is absolutely charmed! It’s hard for him to stay away, especially since he just gravitates towards your cheery energy. Nevertheless, the Black Army King won over in the end.

When Ray first meets you, he appreciates your quiet side. Not too noisy or annoying, unlike certain members in the Black Army. Besides, you seem to have your head screwed on straight, so he won’t have to worry too much about you getting into endless trouble. Your maturity throughout the entire situation will only garner his respect.

When Fenrir cracks a crude joke and you stifle your laughter, Ray raises an eyebrow. There’s definitely more to you than meets the eye and he’s interested in what exactly hides behind your quiet exterior. While he may not go out of his way to search for it, Ray takes mental notes when you do something that pleasantly surprises him.

Bookworm buddies!! Every now and then, you two engage in a reading competition: who can read the most books throughout the week? For the prize, the loser has to listen to the winner’s commands for an entire day. While the winning party varies, it’s always a close call.

Ray is always teasing you for being a hopeless romantic. However, that’s just his way of hiding how he thinks that your mentality towards love is adorable. If he’s completely honest, you remind him of the main heroine in most romance novels. Does that mean he’s willing to be your love interest? Why don’t you ask him and find out ;)

Ray notices the twinkle in your eyes when you watch him practice with his sword. When you ask him about it, he’ll happily show you all the types of swords and guns that are used in the Black Army. He even gives you confidential information about the latest gun prototypes. At one point, he’ll even gift you with the weapon of your choice (you can customize it however you want). Whether you choose to use it is up to you (but little tip here: Ray finds it hot when you carry it around on your belt).

Another Possibility: Blanc Lapin

MLQC

I’d pair you with............ Victor!

Before I unveil first place over here, I think you and Kiro would also have amazing chemistry too! You two would mesh so well together, being the biggest balls of sunshine. When you’re feeling down, you can always expect his teddy-bear smile to cheer you up in an instance. It gives me such “wholesome couple vibes” that I’m not even sure how to put it into words.

So you must be wondering, “Why Victor?” It’s because our loveable grump needs some sunshine of his own (a ray of sunshine that he won’t throw out the window or chastise to death). From the beginning, Victor takes a liking towards you. You’re mature, dependable, and want the best for the company. Even if you’re not directly involved, he appreciates your efforts towards becoming the best. There’s something about you that makes him want to root for you.

And so he does, pouring a decent amount of money into your dreams. However, Victor will constantly watch you from the side (after all, he’s gotta see how his investment is being used). This may cause you some discomfort, but he’s doing it to make sure that you get to the top of your dreams.

When you’re feeling unsure of yourself, Victor will give you the guidance that you need. He’ll try his best to give his input on the situation, making sure that it gets you closer and closer to the answers that you need. Once you manage to pull everything together, he can’t help but feel a little tug on his chest. It’s a combination of both pride and something a little sweeter.

Victor also finds your multi-faceted personality quite impressive. It’s amazing how you can show a range of emotions and feelings, especially when you’re dealing with different types of people. He doesn’t have such a range of emotions, so he tries to pick up on a few of your traits. It doesn’t always work, but you always get a good laugh out of it.

Whenever Victor has had a long day at work, the two of you lay on the grass and watch the night sky. There’s something about the stars that calms him and he wouldn’t have known it if he never met you. So he’ll always be grateful for the peace that you’ve given him.

Another Possibility: Kiro

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darkmindsotome · 5 years

Text

His Secret

MLQC Victor short for the festive period because it was in my head. I hope you all enjoy it.

Warnings: A little dash of pumpkin spice to this one.

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

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His Secret

He had control over a lot of things. His life was a systematic methodical regime of everything neatly ordered and in moderation. His schedule was planned to the millisecond and he knew almost exactly what others were going to say or do around him based on his own actions. It was logical, it was familiar… it was boring.

That was where fate provided a small twist in his long life. A scatter-brained, slightly ditzy female that exceeded his expectations, although not always in the best fashion. Comments had been tossed around the rumour mill about the type of woman he would be interested in. Models, actresses, daughters of highly successful businessmen and politicians. They couldn’t be further from the truth. He found himself unable to look the other way when this one was involved. No matter the situation he observed them from a distance and stepped in only when he was asked too. The last part was harder than it seemed as the curiously fascinating female was stubborn enough to struggle for what felt like eternity without asking for assistance.

What started with curiosity had developed over time into genuine affection, although it appeared that everyone else around them had noticed this except for her. He felt irritation rise inside him knowing that she was oblivious to his feelings but he couldn’t hold it against her as he never spelt it out for her in a way she couldn’t possibly misinterpret. Still, it was becoming increasingly hard to keep a grip on something else he usually dealt with without issue.

He held a secret. It was not something he was proud of and he knew better than to openly display such a thing to the public as it would generate fear and panic. But this time of year was always the worst. When the moon was at its most powerful and the veil between worlds was at its thinnest. Halloween was fast approaching and with it was the one night of the year he usually made every effort to spend alone and locked away from other people. That was his plan this year as well except…

“So, Anna said we should have a company party and invite some of the collaborators, partners and guests that have helped us so far. I could see her point it would help with future negotiations and networking if we could keep everyone on side and then Leo said…” She rambled on with an idiotically cheerful smile on her face. He had been lost in that smile until her lips uttered another man’s name and it felt like he had been plunged into ice water like a freshly cooked egg.

“Leo? You are still talking to him?” He kept his voice low and even willing it to sound calm even as he felt his blood boil.

“Of course I am. He’s a friend as I have already told you AND he is the head of the tv station. We work together on things. It only makes sense to maintain a business connect like that by inviting him to the party and talking to him.” She gave a little huff as she rattled off a naively simple point of view on the topic. He suppressed a sigh as he thought about how she wouldn’t really be her if she knew how dark the world could be. The childlike innocence of her was one of the qualities he found so endearing in her.

“What time and where?” The words were out of his mouth before his brain could catch up.

“What?” Her expression mirrored the same shock that he felt without letting it show on his own face. It was his night alone. The one night he always kept free from social obligations and work so as to maintain his own life balance. He should be thinking about that right now but all his mind was filled with was the notion of her drinking wine surrounded by people and that Leo character moving in closer circles around her like a shark.

“This childish gathering of yours. I will need details so I can get Goldman to add it to the schedule and attend. Or is there some reason you don’t want me there?” The ball was in her court. If she said she didn’t want him there clearly and that she would choose someone else he would let her go.

“N-no. I just didn’t think you would want to attend a Halloween party. I thought you’d dub it as beneath you and totally stupid and say it was a waste of time and not come to it so I thought…” Her cheeks were flushed pink. Yet another expression she had in her arsenal that targeted him but was oblivious as to how to use it to her advantage.

“And there is your problem. Working without proper tools can only ever result in failure.” He crossed his arms over his chest as he leant back in his chair behind his desk and looked at the small female fidgeting. Her innocence really brought out his desire to tease her at times.

“Hey! You know I could tell security to not let you in even if you did show up?” She gave a defiant if rather not completely well thought out rebuttal to his comment.

“And that would be a wise move to pull against your sole investor and financial support to your company because?”

“Well, I…” She stammered and avoided his gaze.

“As I said working without tools can only ever result in failure. So, time and place.”

And that was how he ended up silently cursing his own luck under his breath as he arrived at the hotel her company had selected for the night’s festivities. Everywhere he looked grown men and women were dressed up in costumes using the night as a kind of excuse to cut loose and drink far more than sensible. He could feel their heartbeats vibrating inside him even without touching any of them.

She was running around in a witch costume. The black dress clung to her body in all the right places giving her a more mature silhouette than he was used to seeing. He began to get annoyed. She looked impossibly cute, so cute he wished to remove her from all the people ogling her. She was also drinking much more than she knew she could.

he watched as she staggered a few times before she left the room. She was waving off the hands offering assistance as she ventured into gardens to get some fresh air and cool off. He downed his glass of brandy, almost slamming the empty tumbler on the bar counter and followed her.

“What do you think you are doing?” He called out harshly to her when he found her propped up against the trunk of a tree sitting on a bench.

“Victor?” Her voice was full of surprise as she looked up at him with those big eyes.

“Yes, Victor who else did you think it was? Or maybe you were hoping for one of those guys in there instead of me.” He motioned behind him back in the direction of the party. As if on cue a sudden burst of laughter rang out from the gathering filling the night air.

“No. I just didn’t think you’d follow me.” She sighed and allowed herself to sink further back against the tree. The small hat on her head that was attached to a band slipped a little more to the side of her head.

“Well someone is clearly incapable of hosting a small gathering without making a spectacle of themselves. Idiot.” He muttered that last part softer than the first before taking a seat next to her.

“Ugh…” As she groaned, he just knew it was because he had hit a nerve. She was so easy to read and predict.

“I don’t know why you do it. I can’t tell if you are seriously this naive or if you are just that dense.” His continued criticism of the night was certainly something he was thinking but even he knew he should be drawing the line somewhere. The trouble was with her he couldn’t hold back. No that wasn’t exactly true. He didn’t want to hold back. They were close in age sure but it was more than that. From the moment they met, she had spoken her mind and been frank with him. She was not another Yes man paying lip service to him in the hope of continued funding. He liked that. He loved that.

“Have we already hit the lecture portion of this evening I wasn’t aware it was that time already.”

“What?” He turned to look at her with unhidden wonder. He was used to seeing her stumbling about semi docile and in need of guidance. He was used to hearing small bursts of escaped thoughts during phone conversations but he had never really seen much of this side of her. Humans really were fascinating creatures.

“No. No, what? Listen, Victor, I’ve reached my limit on this. I’m completely capable of doing things without your personal brand of “assisting” which just involves insulting me constantly. I’m not a little girl I’m a grown woman.”

He hadn’t seen her this full of fight in a while. Her pulse was racing and it probably had something to do with the sudden realisation that she had just said what she had to him rather than the alcohol in her system. She looked like someone had tossed ice water on her. Her eyes wide with shocking clarity as she stared at him her hand clamped over her mouth. He would have laughed had this been any other time. But his mind was drifting in time with the beat of her heart.

“I’m going back inside. Be sure to make yourself presentable before returning also.” He went to stand up only to stop when he felt the weight of something on his jacket. Her small hand was gripping him as her face continued to flicker between confusion and anger.

“Wait.”

“Let go of me.” He moved his hand to hers and teased it from him. His fingers grazing over her wrist reminded him of how quickly her heart was pounding.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said what I did like that.” The fire she showed before seemed to be gone and she was back to being meek. It was a look that hurt him more tonight than at any other time. If she wanted to stand strong in business and continue her dream, she had to have fire.

“Why are you apologising?” He sighed and frowned as he looked at her bowing her head to him.

“What?” She looked up probably a little shocked that he wasn’t agreeing that she had been very rude to him. She still didn’t understand that things like this didn’t affect him.

“Why apologise for saying something that you have clearly been thinking about for a long time? It’s pointless. It wastes energy and time. Now let go before you make any more of a fool out of yourself.” He said his piece aware of how his mouth was watering. He had to get away.

“No. Not until you tell me why you are running away.” She stubbornly refused to let him go almost jumping in front of him to block his retreat.

“I am not running I am returning to the bar some of us are capable of enjoying a drink without it resulting in a public spectacle.”

“Well it looks like you are avoiding me and it hurts.” Her eyes looked glassy as if she was about to cry.

“What?” He stood there in stunned observation. She couldn’t possibly know the danger she was in. How when the scent of her shampoo in the air blended with her own sweet aroma had his restraint faltering. The faster her heart raced the sweeter it became and he was intoxicated. He knew it wouldn’t take much to break it. All she had to do was show him one little gap in her armour and let him in. “You…”

“It’s fine sorry you’re right I’ve had too much to drink I really don’t know what I’m saying just go back inside and have fun. It’s why you came here after all.” She sounded defeated and stepped aside. He was all too aware of the loss of warmth from her near him and found himself chasing it. He wanted to tell her she was wrong. She wasn’t here because of the drink or the amusement. He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her everything that she loved to hear in those old movies she liked too much.

Instead what happened was a rather passionate sudden kiss. One hand wrapped around her hip as the other naturally found its home at the back of her head cradling it as he dragged her closer to him. She was wide-eyed in shock staring at him as he continued to deepen the kiss pushing his tongue past her lips and teeth to mingle with hers. swallowing her surprised noises along with her pleasurable moans. Her eyelids fluttered shut and his hand on her him snaked around to her back and sides enjoying that mature outline of her body he had seen on display earlier.

Her small hands came up to pat his chest and he released her allowing her to catch her breath. She was glowing in the moonlight. A totally new look present on her face that had his heart skipping as he realised it was a look of lust directed only at him. Her gasp of shock was what snapped him out of his fantasy.

He was suddenly aware of the ivory showing in his mouth. He knew they were there it was as he had feared. He spent so many years hiding his secret from the world only to have it fail him when faced with desire for another. He still had time. He could retreat and leave without saying a thing and if she asked or said anything he could say she was drunk or he was in costume or something. He could do that. But his body was not obeying him and instead remained still as she edged closure to him a single finger reaching out to his lips and touching a fang.

“It’s real…” She whispered her voice holding none of the fear he was expecting.

“Yes.” He looked at her the look in her eyes had changed and he felt his heart sink. There was no going back now it seemed. “I’m sorry I…”

“Does it hurt when they come out like that?” The childlike question caught him off guard. His words stolen from him and all he found he could do was shake his head in reply. “Good. I was worried you were in pain.”

“What?”

“For a moment there you looked like you were really hurting. But if you aren’t then it’s fine.” She smiled the same soft smile he fell for months ago and stayed by his side without fleeing.

“You know what I am. You know what I could do to you and still, you stay?”

“Yes. Because I also know that you won’t hurt me. Regardless of what you are Victor you have never once been cruel.” Her words were resplendent in their conviction as she looked up at him. There were no more secrets here. A weight he never really fully understood had been removed from his chest and he felt light enough to fly.

“You really are an idiot.” He chuckled as he drew her to him and kissed her again softer than before. “I’m not letting you go. Not now you know my secret.”

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logansanderslove · 5 years

Text

Logan 3.0 12/?

CO-AUTHOR: @demented-dukey

Summary: Remus is an incorrigible flirt, and Logan can only bear the innuendo for so long until something has to give. Passions erupt, but there are more lasting repercussions than either could have predicted, including a significant transformation to Logan himself! How will these new changes affect the delicate balance of Thomas’s mental state? When a new dark side threatens the lives of several of the other sides, will Logan and Remus’s love be strong enough to save everyone, including Thomas?

Ships: INTRULOGICAL

Sanders Sides: Logan, Remus, Thomas, Roman, Virgil, Patton, Deceit

Fic type: Drama, Romantic, Action, Flirty

Trigger Warnings: no character deaths, but a lot of very close calls. Consensual knife play and blood play, and lots of bloody fighting and monster attacks. If you’re sensitive to unsympathetic characters, some parts flirt pretty close to that, but there’s also a lot of extenuating circumstances to explain the situation, and there’s a happy ending once you get through the angst and misunderstandings. Self-harm and references to such, and suicidal tendencies.

MASTERLIST

Chapter 12: Logan’s Return

Roman glanced at the clock on the wall - it was late, and most of the sides were asleep. On the TV screen, Moana was silently singing her heart out, closed captioning rolling across the bottom of the screen, but Roman wasn’t really watching it anymore. Virgil had taken Thomas back out of the mindspace and was keeping an eye on him while he slept. Patton was sitting on the floor next to the couch where Deceit was stretched out - they’d decided not to move him too much until after he’d had a chance to heal a little more. Pat had been keeping vigil with Roman until about an hour ago when he’d started nodding off, and Roman turned down the volume of the movie so it wouldn’t disturb him (Roman had started the movie marathon hours ago, turning the volume up to drown out the yelling coming from Logan’s room).

Now, the mindscape was quiet, and the muffled yelling had long since faded. Roman hesitantly considered it a good thing, hoping that the plan had worked. Standing up and stretching, Roman padded over to Logan’s door and quietly cracked it open, slipping inside. He braced himself for the worst - finding his brother cold and dead and bloodless in the chair next to Logan’s bed - and was deeply relieved to see the two figures entangled on the bed, deep in slumber. There was more blood than Roman would have liked to see in congealed puddles and dried splotches all over the tarp and under the chair, but the reward seemed to be worth the price paid. Roman crouched down and waved his hand, using his powers to make the blood and the tarp vanish. He picked up the now-sterile knife and set it gently back on the side-table, and looked around to see if there was anything else he could fix. Remus’s shirt was in a discarded pile of bloody tatters, and Roman removed the stains and repaired the tears, folding the shirt neatly and draping it over the back of the chair.

Nodding his approval, he looked around one last time and saw that Logan’s eyes had cracked open, deep blue irises watching him. “Hey,” Roman whispered, waving shyly. “Sorry to wake you.”

Logan smiled faintly, slowly glanced back at his boyfriend, then he very gently scooted forward and sat up on the edge of the bed, leaning his forearms on his knees.

"Don't worry about it, Ro. You didn't wake me up. I've been nodding in and out of it for a while." He turned his head. "Re, on the other hand, was out seconds after his head touched the pillow." he sighed. "To think what he did just to get me back is incredible."

Logan then turned back to face Roman, who had sat down on the chair. "I'm sorry."

Roman raised his eyebrow. "For what?"

"For everything that I did. I remember now. In the Subconscious, I basically hunted you and Dee, now Deceit is barely functioning because of me, I could have killed my boyfriend, I probably would have killed you and Deceit if I had found you, and all of this was just a huge mess." Said the neutral side.

Roman was quiet for a moment, then he sighed and shook his head. "No, Logan...no, no, don't blame yourself. That wasn't you. We all knew the day that Fury built himself up enough would be a day of pain. We all knew that. And I am just so sorry that you were the one who had to be weighed down by it."

Logan sighed, nodding, then he took Roman's hand and pulled him into a hug. "Thank you. For all that you've done...for all of us. You care about me, you care about your brother, about Dee, Patton, Virge, Thomas...I swear, there are times when I admire how well you handle taking care of us."

Shaking his head, Roman waved off the praise, “You give me too much credit. I’d probably still be searching for you in the subconscious if Dee hadn’t shown up when he did, and I’m pretty sure he saved my life telling me to manifest the dragons and then hiding us from Fury. He’d be dead if not for Patton’s healing powers - there’s nothing I can do to help them, or to help Virge take care of Thomas.” He sighed, staring at his empty palms, “My skill set… it’s useful, but it’s also severely limited. I’m great at helping Thomas write videos, but when it comes to this… I can’t do much, but I can try to take care of your guys while you do the important stuff.”

"Speaking of," Roman looked up, "Can I get you anything? Food? Water?"

Logan smiled. "You've forgotten your other incredible gift. Kindness." He nodded. "A glass of water would be fantastic, thank you, Roman."

The Prince nodded and stood up, walking into the Common Area to grab Logan some water. The intellectual turned slightly, looking down at his boyfriend sleeping so peacefully, no doubt dreaming of some beautifully gorey situation where he was the blood-covered victor. Logan brushed his hair gently, sighing.

Staring at his shirtless torso, Logan smiled as he traced his finger over the constellations that marked Remus as his own that weren't under bloody bandages. Putting a hand to his own chest, he almost felt empty without the scar that Remus had branded him. His lips twitched up in a subtle smile. He'd just have to have Remus give him a new one.

The door opened again and Roman walked in with a glass of water, handing it to Logan then sitting back down. It was quiet as Logan took a few sips of the drink, then Roman sighed.

"Logan, are you okay?"

Logan set the glass down on his nightstand, turning his head with a confused expression. "How do you mean?"

"I mean, how are you feeling with Fury and everything? How are you managing it? And...what does it feel like?" asked the Prince.

“I don’t know,” Logan answered honestly. “Most of it is still fuzzy, but a few bits and pieces are starting to come back.” He closed his eyes, trying to focus, trying to remember, but his head just started to pound. Logan rubbed his temples, “I’m… scared. I’m horrified at what Fury has done, at the lengths he pushed Remus to go to get me back, and I’m terrified that it’ll happen again.” He smiled crookedly at Roman. “I believe it’s mostly the lack of knowledge about Fury’s powers and triggers that are the driving force behind my current anxiety. Similar to Dr. Beck’s theory that it’s a patient’s distorted view of reality - for example, the inability to understand the objective causes and effects operating in the concrete situations facing them - that lies at the root of their psychological suffering.”

Roman blinked, offering an easy grin, “You’ve lost me, specs, but it sure is good to hear you sound like yourself again.”

Logan rolled his eyes, but smiled back fondly, “Dr. Aaron T. Beck - he’s the psychiatrist regarded as the father of cognitive therapy, and his pioneering theories are widely used in the treatment of clinical depression and various anxiety disorders.”

“Okay…” Roman nodded slowly, “I’m kinda following… What’s that got to do with Fury?”

“One of the most common types of psychotherapy is cognitive-behavioral therapy. The purpose of the treatment is to help an angry person recognize the self-defeating negative thoughts that lie behind anger flare-ups.” Logan explained, waving his hands animatedly as he talked.

Roman tapped his fingers thoughtfully, “So, you think that if you can predict what will cause Fury to 'flare-up', you can keep him under control?”

Logan shrugged, “It’s a working theory, and will need further testing before a functional plan can be implemented.”

“Fury said…” Roman trailed off, and Logan waited patiently for him to continue, “He said he was bonded with you, that it was impossible to separate him from you.”

“He may have been telling the truth,” nodded Logan, “The transition I went through when I became a neutral side could have permanently merged us together, and it may be only a matter of time until we fully integrate.”

“I was thinking about that,” Roman said, “Integrating with Fury might be the only way to fully control him and to stop him from putting Thomas and the rest of us at risk again. But I wanted to know how you felt. Do you want to fully integrate with him?” Logan paused, considering, and Roman continued hurriedly, “If you don’t, I’ll find a way to separate you, Logan. I swear it. I don’t care how impossible it is. Deceit managed to get rid of Fury once, and we can do it again. We’ll keep doing it as long as we have to, for the rest of Thomas’s life. You don’t have to do this.”

Logan gave a pained grin. "Again, your kindness never ceases to amaze me. However, what you brought up... I'm not entirely sure what I want. I do want to be able to be my own person again, but then I lose all of this," he gestured to himself and his new appearance. "And I don't want to lose this. It feels good. But I'm also nervous about what could happen if Fury and I fully integrate."

He then rubbed his chin. "You said that Dee was able to do away with him in the past?" Asked the scholar and Roman nodded. "Perhaps I shall see him when he wakes up and ask him to suggest a way. He knows Fury better than anyone, therefore he'd be the one with the most knowledge."

Roman leaned back in the chair, nodding. "Makes sense. I'm just happy to see you functioning again." He then sat up straight. "We should probably go see how Thomas is doing!" He said with a slightly panicked tone. "When Fury took over, he caused Thomas to basically crumble into the worst panic attack I have ever seen. Even Virgil was absolutely terrified. He's watching over him now."

Logan immediately rose to his feet and strode to his dresser, opening a drawer and retrieving a black polo shirt. After slipping it on he spun around with a nod.

"Let's go."

Pausing by the bed, Logan leaned down to kiss Remus, carefully eluding the hands that clumsily reached out to pull him back into the warmth of the sheets. "Gonna check on Thomas, love."

"Mmmkay." came the sleepy, slurred response, "Wah m'cm w'th?"

"No, go back to sleep," Logan said, stroking his love's hair. "I'll be back soon enough. Dream of me?"

Remus hummed happily, snuggling back down into the pillows. Tucking the blankets around him, Logan gave him one more kiss on the forehead before pulling himself away.

He followed Roman as they sank out of his room and into Thomas's bedroom. Virgil looked up, the eyeshadow deep and dark under his eyes, but he smiled in relief to see Logan, "Welcome back."

Logan offered a small smile. "Apologies for being gone in the first place." His eyes moved to Thomas and his smile disappeared. "How is he?" His voice was more of a whisper now.

Virgil sighed, his hand on Thomas' shoulder. "Better. It'll take some time, Logan. What he went through, what Fury did to both him and Dee, it's going to take time to mend." He looked up to see the guilt in Logan's eyes. Virgil sighed, then took Logan's hand and sat him down next to him. "Logan, you need to get it out of your head right now that you are to blame. This was not your fault. Had any of us been inflicted by Fury, no one would be in control either. That's what Fury does. He basically rips the power away from the host and takes the wheel, steering them any which way he wants. Typically violently."

Roman sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. "So, how did Deceit get rid of him years ago?" He asked, Logan's gaze moving to Virgil to await the response. Virgil sighed.

"Well, believe me, it wasn't easy. He and I had talked about it for days, weeks even. We knew we had to do something, but we soon discovered that only Deceit was strong enough to face him down." Virgil lifted up his sweatshirt and his shirt to show a large, jagged scar that ran across his chest. Both Logan and Roman's eyes dilated in shock as Virgil closed his eyes, letting his sweatshirt fall.

"The thing about the wounds from Fury? They don't heal like normal wounds would. Deceit and Remus' wounds will leave permanent scars, not ones we can just vanish." He pursed his lips. "When he found out that Deceit and I were planning to entrap him, he basically took me 'hostage', you might say. Told Deceit that he'd kill me if he didn't back off. Of course, I told Deceit to ignore him, that we needed to do this, and so Fury just ran his sword right across my chest. Next thing I knew I woke up in Deceit's room in excruciating pain with bloody bandages covering my chest. I don't know what Deceit did, but when he got back, he told me that Fury was gone. I still have no clue how he stopped him."

Virgil looked up at Logan. "You need to understand that now that Fury is latched on to you, your life is never going to be the same. I hate to be that person, but if you don't keep a handle on things, people will die." Said Virgil matter-of-factly.

Logan didn't realize he had stopped breathing until his head began to pound, and he choked a bit, then he nodded to Virgil's point. "I have every intention of doing my very best and everything I can to keep Fury in check."

Roman nudged Logan's leg with his boot. "And we're all here to help, Lo. Anything we can do, we'll do. We all want what's best for Thomas. Not only that, but what's best for each other, as well." He then smirked. "Besides. I'm pretty positive that from now on my brother isn't going to let you out of his sight after losing you."

Virgil shrugged. "I doubt you'll mind, though." He winked, and Logan chuckled with a nod. He glanced to the side at the still sleeping man.

"We should let him be. He needs sleep to heal and rejuvenate."

Roman yawned. "I think we should all head to bed." He said as Logan stood and offered his hand to Virgil.

"Agreed.”

Virgil and Roman sank out, headed to their rooms for some much-needed rest. Logan hesitated, taking one last long look at Thomas’s sleeping form, before sinking out. He rose up in the common room, wanting to check on Patton and see Deceit’s wounds with his own eyes before he headed back to bed.

Patton was still slumped next to the couch, snuffling softly in his sleep. Logan’s gaze was caught by the figure stretched out on the couch, the torn and blood-soaked clothing peeking out under bandages, and his own battered face resting on a cushion. He crouched down next to Patton, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey.”

Snapping awake, Patton blinked several times behind his glasses before he recognized who had woken him. “Logan!”, Patton cried, and suddenly Logan had an armful of the puffball knocking him back on his butt. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“It’s nice to see you too, Pat.” He chuckled softly, returning Patton’s hug, “How are you doing?”

“Better now that you’re back!” Patton smiled, but the expression fell when he looked at Deceit. “And better than Dee’s doing, by a long shot.”

Logan took another look at the bandages, but it was hard to see the extent of the damages without removing them. “He looks like he’s pretty stable at the moment?”

“He is!” Patton assured him, “He’s a lot better than he was! But… he hasn’t woken up yet or shifted back, and I worry.”

“It’s still a good sign. Give it time.” Logan rubbed Patton’s back, trying to comfort him. “The others neglected to mention that Deceit was wearing my form when he was wounded.”

Patton nodded. "Yeah. He wanted to distract Fury, so he took on your old form to prove that Fury wasn't fully you, that Logic wouldn't do what he had done, and I think he also did it just to get on Fury's nerves." He said, and Logan sighed, then tussled Patton's hair.

"Why don't you head to bed, Pat? I'll watch over Dee for a while. I owe him that." Logan said, and Patton nodded as Logan helped him to his feet.

"Okay, Lo. Thanks." He said through a yawn, shuffling off to his room. Logan moved to the couch, sitting on the edge and feeling his shoulders sag as he stared at the man before him.

It was odd to be looking down at himself when he was really looking at one of his friends, and it was even stranger that it was him from years ago.

Logan brushed Deceit's hair back, shaking his own head as the immense guilt flooded over him. He knew it wasn't really his fault. Fury had basically pulled him out of the driver's seat and jumped behind the wheel.

But Logan still had a part of him that blamed himself.

"I'm sorry, Deceit. I swear, no matter what it takes, I'll make sure that we get you back. I'll take care of you."

#logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #sanders sides #patton sanders #deceit sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #thomas sanders #gay #pain #blood #guilt #love #hurt

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delanceyxbrothers · 5 years

Text

All I Ask

Lucille never truly understood the meaning of ‘no strings attached’ until she met Jack Kelly

AKA

For someone who has lived through everyone she knows asking something of her, Lucille can’t help but question why this time feels so different.

TW for references of past child abuse, rape, and abusive relationships. The Jack Kelly in question is @dimenovelhero who, y’know, is literally Jack Kelly.

If there was one person— or, in her case, two people— who Lucille would always have to rely on, it was her brothers. Oscar was a typical middle child, enough fights and squabbles between them to rival the Senate, but he fought for his sister as much as he fought against her. He was her right hand man, the one person on the world she could always count on to have her back in any fight, the only person she trusted to see her at her weakest. All Lucille had to do was call for Oscar, and she knew she would have someone to lean on and share the burden of responsibility. Even before he’d quit school— something she still didn’t forgive herself for—he’d been the person she went to when the rent money was a few cents short, someone to hold the house together while she went shopping, and someone who watched their baby brother like a goddamn hawk— even in the times when she would rather he separate himself from Morris.

She couldn’t blame him for the protectiveness— the youngest Delancey had captured her heart with one look of his big, blue eyes. All he would have to do is ask, and she’d do anything for him without question. Morris has his own version of care as well, a playful nickname on his lips at the same time that he searched her tired face for anything he could do to help. God, the boy had learned to cook in order to take some stress off of her shoulders, and he’d easily surpassed her in both skill and knowledge on his own. She’d been there from the day he was born, always ready to reach out a hand when he needed it— even more than their father had ever tried to do.

Phineas Delancey was not a cold man, but an unstable explosion waiting to happen, all heat and fire and flames. There were times where he seemed stable, when he held down a job and hid his drinking from their mother, but a temper to rival a hurricane was always lurking just beneath the surface. He was a bastard, and a drunk, and a womanizer; but he was also her father, the only one she’d ever get to have. After their mother left, it had been her job to help him as much as it was hers to watch over her brothers— the tables turning as the child became the parent. She spent nights worrying about his emotional state, whether or not he would find something wrong enough with the apartment to warrant a punishment, if he would be able to keep this factory job long enough to keep food on the table. If he was happy, they were safe, and she spent every second trying to keep her little brothers safe. There were times when her apartment became messy and she could feel herself tense every time someone walked by her door, expecting a key in the lock and heavy boots at the door despite knowing only her brothers had a key, and her father would never hurt her again.

After years of dealing with her father’s tumultuous ups and downs, living with their uncle should have been easy. Hell, it should have been a goddamned vacation away from the pain and guilt of the past two years since Abigail Delancey decided her vows to her husband and children could be thrown away for a life of peace and mutual love and respect— something even Lucille could hardly blame her for. Still, Elijah Wiesel was a mystery that his niece could never solve. With her father, it was easy to know what would set him off; just keep food on the table and the apartment beyond spotless, and he won’t use his belt. With her uncle, things were muddled. He didn’t want a picture perfect home for the neighbors to see, but for her to be perfect— or, at least, the kind of perfect her mother had never achieved in his eyes. Every inch of her appearance was from her father except for her eyes, and he could see it with little trouble. He wanted her to be everything her mother hadn’t been, but expected her to fail. The exhausting paradox left her working herself half to death, stress and desperation seeping out of every pore as she tried fruitlessly to balance his impossible expectations with her exhausting daily schedule.

He used their money to fulfill his own desires, never once putting them first. To him, letting them live in his house was enough of an excuse to drink and gamble away their salary— and, if the money didn’t cover rent at the end of the month, it was them who suffered. They were an expense he regretted taking on, and it showed to the point that his niece lost all faith in his ability to help, her money stashed away where no one else could find it. Even Morris’ learning how to cook or Oscar taking over the laundry when he could wasn’t enough to keep the circles out from under her eyes, determination driving her to any extent necessary to protect her family when no one else would.

It was no wonder Snyder had been able to spin his web before she knew the danger. She wore her fears and failures on her sleeve, and he easily used them, sneaking under her skin while she thought she would have something to gain from him. One night became another, and another, before he managed to steal the better part of a year from her. Not just the year— time being the easiest thing to give him— but every part of Lucille she had to give: her body, her peace of mind, her affection, her heart, even her soul. It was all his to take, with what scraps of affection and care he thought to give her only gain.

Everything about him was a transaction. The shallow compliments only came when she wanted to go home, gifts appearing at her work when she tired of the games he tried to play with her, insults and threats fading into sweet nothings when she started to cry. Even the smallest hint of love— although it could barely be called that— came with a cost, something she had to do or say to keep him interested in a relationship she had no urge to continue. He took and he took and he took, without giving Lucille anything but bruises and tears and hate filling her chest. The price of keeping her family safe was every inch of herself, picked apart and used for his gain. It didn’t take long for her to realize what kind of game they were involved in, the lure of alcohol and a chance to black it all out more enticing than anything the man had to offer. He didn’t want to wed her any more than she wanted to bed him, and she knew it. They were caught in a dangerous game of tug-of-war, with her heart and soul as the rope, and it didn’t take long until she began to fray at the edges. Lucille was no fool, she knew what kind of man she was provoking, but there were times when making him angry was the only thing she knew to do. She wanted him to hurt her on purpose, to call her names and insult her, because then she had a reason to hate him— something she desperately needed every time she had to walk to his door as if she had any choice. If he hit her, she could hit back; if he called her a whore, she could release the anger she had been biting back. It was a war she could never win, but being a victor for a battle or two kept her sated, kept her from letting the bitterness in her heart break through, and that was all she could ask for.

Then, there was Jack Kelly. Lucille was no stranger to dating or flirting, but he was something else entirely. There were no rules or systems in place, not like with everyone else she had known. Even the most innocent relationships, boys from Brooklyn who called her pretty and newsboys from Manhattan who flirted with the hopes that she would buy a paper, were all because of what they wanted. Just like everyone else, they wanted her time, or her body, or her heart. That’s what made Jack so incredible to Lucille: he didn’t ask anything of her. Jack brought more to her than he had ever asked of her. He brought his boys— Blink, who always teased and tested his boundaries while still respecting that she was Jack’s girl; Crutchy, who seemed to carry sunshine in a smile and laugh and joke to make her day better; Les, whose ‘poor orphan boy’ act was enough to melt her heart and make her laugh harder than she had in years— and the welcoming chaos that came with them. She wouldn’t give up Blink’s teasing requests for a dance, or Crutchy’s heartfelt compliments on her costumes, or Les’ excitable commentary on whatever show she was working on in the theatre, because it made the theatre feel like home.

The most important part was that Jack brought himself to her. Not just Jack Kelly, cowboy and strike leader; but also Francis Sullivan, the convict’s son who would do anything for his boys. He was real, and caring, and he didn’t want to take her time and heart, but share his with her. He didn’t wrap an arm around her or hold her tight because he wanted her to love him, but because he loved her, and it showed in the softness of his touch and the warmth in his eyes. If she fell asleep in his arms, she knew it was because she trusted him to protect her until morning. He was more than just a fling, but her best friend, someone who brightened her day just by walking into the room. He made her laugh, and smile, and offered her a shoulder to cry on or someone to turn to when the rest of her world was in shambles. She’d protect him from anything, but he never expected it from her, and that was what made her love him.

He wasn’t her brothers, who needed someone to watch them until they were old enough to take care of themselves; or her father, who needed her to keep the house running when he pushed his wife into someone else’s arms; or her uncle, who needed her to be someone she wasn’t and expected her to fail. He wasn’t Snyder either, who wanted more than she had, and took it without giving Lucille anything in return but anger and bitterness.

He was Jack Kelly, someone who opened his heart to her without expecting hers in return, and offered her love and safety when she finally trusted him enough to do the same. He was gentle, and caring, and wild, and funny, and everything she had ever craved throughout her life. He was solid ground after years of stormy seas, and she was the same thing for him. She gave him an out that wasn’t found in a train station, while she quietly set money aside for the day he decided to follow his sunset to Santa Fe. It was balance, and unselfish, and everything she had ever prayed for.

Most of all, it was Jack, and that was all she could ever ask for.

#I MENTIONED I WAS WRITING ABOUT OUR BOY JACK KELLY #BECAUSE HER HAVING UNSELFISH LOVE AND SHARING IT IS SO DANG IMPORTANT #rape tw #abuse tw #queue

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v01d-ch1ld · 6 years

Text

The Bright White Light, The Cool Night Breeze

Jason stood on a Gotham roof, slouched over on himself with his helmet at his feet. He needs a cigarette. There are no words for the pain in his chest or the screams of torment in his head. She’s gone. Never to return again. He knows it. No one lives long in the capture of the Joker. That was a lesson of hard experience. He could still feel the pain of his ribs breaking as the crowbar came down on his prone weak form. He can hear the clown laughing and his pained screams. All just par for the course at this point. His whole life has been loss from the beginning. He should be used to it by now…and yet, there is nothing he could do. The last time he felt this bad was when Tim fell victim to the Joker’s schemes. That was a dark day and he was in Metropolis. When he heard about it second hand from Barbra, he almost lost his mind. Replacement or not, he still cared for the kid. Bruce forbade him to come home until it was resolved, and he was forced to obey due to the simultaneous drain of funds due to Oracle.

Honestly, the sinking feeling in his chest that had been there since his resurrection was not helping the churning of his stomach as those memories rushed through his head. He took out a cigarette from his jacket and lit it with easily practiced motions. There were only two ways to deal with his stress right now: kill or smoke. He chose the one that wouldn’t result in Bruce beating the shit out of him again. The only comfort that he had was the fact that Dick wasn’t doing much better than he was at the moment. Dick had searched for about a month before he nearly had a mental breakdown. Bruce sent him back to Bludhaven and told the police not to let him back into Gotham for fear of Nightwing going on a Red Hood style rampage. Jason, on the other hand, is still searching but he is finding it harder and harder to put on his helmet every day. Just another connection to that bastard. No one can keep track of the Joker for long. He keeps switching locations and covering his tracks.

They all loved her, but Jason most of all. He loved her like it was his last lifeline. There were no words for how he felt for her and there never would be. She was the reason that he managed to endure Bruce, depression, and psychotic tendencies. She made him want to keep fighting. If she dies…Gotham’s rogues will die with her, he vows, saving Joker for last and to hell with what Bruce may say. Exhaling smoke he rolls his shoulders back and looks out into the bleak Gotham night.

Across town, in an abandoned club Rebecca was practicing some moves on a pole. Catwoman was trying to gauge her flexibility. As she arched her back around the pole she pulled her left leg over her head and used her ankle to grip the pole for balance, her shorts riding up to see the barest shadow of her underwear. Usually she would have minded, but lately, something has possessed her to be more rebellious. Maybe it was the drugs, but more likely it was because it pissed the Joker off to see others ogling his daughter. Her hands slid down the pole as she spun around it upside down. Her arms had bruises and scabs all over them, but she didn’t care; it wasn’t like pain actually affected her anymore. Her nerve endings were so fried she was surprised she still recognized pressure on her skin. She couldn’t feel cold or pain, only pleasure or heat. She didn’t suppose that this was a foul existence. She swung herself off the pole. She was bored. She had been learning 3 different fighting styles, how to use guns, knives, blunt force weapons, and her custom daggers and now all she was working on was parkour. She wanted blood. Blood could slake the awful gnawing on the inside of her brain. It felt prickly and uncomfortable, like a numb burning sensation.

“You have good balance, kid.” Catwoman purred from the chaise she was perched on. Rebecca tutted like a certain demon spawn. She cartwheeled off stage and vaulted herself onto a table and stretched. She tore the stitches on her exposed stomach in the process. If there was one good thing about this arrangement is that she had developed beautiful abs. She felt something running across her skin and saw the blood. Taking a finger, she scooped some into her hands and licked them clean. Jumping off the table she went to get the first aid kit and her auntie Ivy.

The halls were barely lit. Her eyes were becoming far more sensitive to light as of late and she threw temper tantrums until they finally turned the lights down. She strutted down the halls knowing damn well that if anyone touched her, she would give them hell and then her father would give them death. Skipping down the polished concrete halls, she ran her nails along the walls making a nice scratching sound. As she skipped she started to sing. Nonsense snippets of songs that made no sense combined the way that she did.

When she got to the private rooms, she went to the door that she knew was serving as Ivy’s boudoir. Not bothering to knock, Rebecca walked inside and flopped on her sitting flower. She was the only one other than Harley that Pamela would let into her room and because of this, she got a sitting flower. Ivy was typing on a laptop very quickly.

“I thought you were practicing with that hussy. What brings you here, Rosebud?” Ivy still hadn’t looked up.

“One of the gifts daddy gave me started bleeding because I ripped my stitches.” Rebecca’s voice had changed too. Her throat was raw after the last time Joker took her into the lab rooms. After she stopped bleeding and foaming at the mouth, her voice sounded deeper and raspier, yet at the same time, she was capable of vocal mimicry to a terrifying degree, even able to produce a facsimile of male vocal tones. She was currently mimicking Harley to emphasize the sarcasm. Ivy looked up and saw the blood running sluggishly out of her stitches. Sighing and grabbing the first aid kit, she moved Rebecca’s flower closer to her own.

“How did you manage to rip them? This is the third time this week!” Ivy huffed as she began to sanitize the needle.

“I was practicing parkour. Daddy wants me to be as good as the wonder brats.” Rebecca said, speaking normally. She rolled her green, lightly glowing eyes. The chemicals that she and her father’s DNA were bathed in created the sick looking radioactive green. Looking into Ivy’s nearly turquoise eyes, she smirked, “I have to admit though, it brings back memories of when I used to take gymnastics.”

“I’m going to give you your next dose while you’re here. It should help.” Ivy said while cutting the ruined stitches out of her side. Rebecca nodded. The enhancement drugs were different from the chemicals which were different from the psychosis-inducing drugs that she has been getting from her father. They were to make her joints more tensile, her bones denser, her muscles stronger, her agility improved and enhance her healing factor by a small fraction. It would help her heal faster and without scarring. The serum was derived from her blood sample, Ivy’s plants and some of the multitude of supplies that Joker had stolen from Star Labs, Wayne Tech, and Lex Corp. over the years. Ivy and Victor had been slaving over the stuff for about two weeks before it was done. But boy, did it hit the spot. She was able to actually function after lab days when her body was pushed past the limits of physiology.

As soon as Ivy finished the stitches, she went to one of the tables in her room and grabbed a hypodermic needle. She hooked up the drip and plunged the IV into her arm. Rebecca leaned back and sighed in her flower, the sensation of the serum hitting her veins was nearly euphoric. It was tingly and relaxing yet energizing all at the same time. The world was temporarily okay. She knew that the serum had CBD in it to keep her calm and not rip the needle out, but she wouldn’t have taken it out anyway, it felt too good.

Her long green-black hair flowed over the petals of the purple flower that she had taken to using as a bed. She understood why Ivy liked to sleep on them, they were really comfortable. This particular flower smelled divine and mixed with the sensation of the serum had her in a semi-conscious state. She gave a dizzy smile with her black lips and giggled. Ivy looked down at her and gave her a sad smile, which soon went back to her normal expressionless countenance. She flipped her hair and went back to her flower and continues to work on her laptop.

Rebecca listened to her keystrokes absently and she began to think. She was losing memories. She knew it. It was an undeniable fact that with all the chemicals that there was bound to be some damage to her neural synapses. So, she worked hard to remember her old life. One that she knew was out of her reach forever now, but still full of happy memories. She remembered boys. Two of them were older than her. One of them she considered like her brother, the other was associated with something intense but undiscovered, new, powerful. The other two were younger and she thought of them as little brothers. She cared for them deeply and even though they both had issues conveying their emotions, she knew they cared about her. Then there was a cold presence in her head. A man. He was intimidation and cool rage. Terrifying was the word she would use to describe him.

“You’re wrong, they don’t care about you. If they did they would have come for you by now.” It was back. That voice.

It usually came while she was recovering from labs. That intrusive voice in her head. It gave her migraines of unbearable caliber. It confused memories and destroyed long-held convictions. It rearranged her personality and made her angry. Angry that she had lost control and was losing more every day. It created doubt. Doubt kills in this business. And above all, she wanted to at least live through this because in her eyes that meant she won.

Next: http://deepdarkvoidchild.tumblr.com/post/179315515577/if-bitterness-is-my-cancer-fire-is-my-cure

tags: @nxttime @dcuniversefanatic @dcdweeb @ravennightingaleandavatempus

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katzuyas · 6 years

Text

dazzle me with gold

from the start | ao3 | previous part

"Are you quite alright?" Victor asks once he's calmed down.

Yuuri, who sits in the water like the fool he is, stares at the man who has irrevocably changed his life. He's smitten, he realizes, far more than he ever was with anything before. Yuuri's heart trembles in his chest with affection so stifling that he thinks it'll flow out of his mouth when he opens it to breathe.

"That was improper of me, I apologize," Victor says, but the glint of amusement in his eye is a clear contradiction to his words.

"Didn't we already establish that you lack any and all propriety around me, my lord?"

Yuuri pushes his wet hand through his hair, frantic to regain control of his stuttering heartbeat. The strands stick to his scalp while droplets of water fall onto his flushed cheeks and roll down his skin almost like tears. Victor's gaze follows one of them until it dips behind the collar of Yuuri's robe and the interest on his face is hardly deniable. He must notice Yuuri watching him, because he gives a slightly sheepish smile and offers Yuuri a hand in standing up.

"Truly," Yuuri says, amused, even as he accepts the hand. He doesn't get up, but holds it lightly instead. "You don't need to pretend to be a noble with impeccable manners around me. Don't be a lord. Don't be a Nikiforov."

"Just your Vitya," Victor ends for him with a small, genuine smile, "right?"

"Just my Vitya," Yuuri confirms.

And then he pulls on Victor's hand hard enough to make him lose his balance.

With another splash, Victor lands in the water face first. To Yuuri's childish satisfaction he flails around the shallow waters as if he was drowning in a deep sea. It's Victor's sputtering – once he rises up on his hands, that is – that has Yuuri laugh, though. Victor's hair is damp and hangs at the sides of his face in strands that look like clumped together dust bunnies.

Yuuri can't help but think it's fetching.

"You tricked me!" Victor accuses him once he spits all the water that must have gotten into his mouth during his unexpected swim.

"Did I?" Yuuri cocks his head to the side, smirk on his lips. "Yes, I believe I might have."

Victor's mouth opens at Yuuri's audacity, but then he laughs. And Yuuri joins him, because Victor's laughter calls to him in ways that he can't resist. He slumps into Victor's side and when Victor turns to wrap an arm around Yuuri, he uses that chance to press a kiss to Victor's grinning, wet lips.

"Since our clothes are already soaked, I think it calls for a swim," Victor says once they part.

His blue eyes shine like the water they are sitting in, drawing Yuuri further into his charm. How can he say no to that? To him? It seems impossible and Yuuri has no will to even try fighting it.

Golden outer robes they spread across the white sand and shuck the rest of their clothes with no shame. Yuuri purposefully does not look Victor's way until he's waist deep in the lake. They have seen each other naked, that much is true, but in broad daylight it still feels fresh. Tender. Yuuri can tell his face is tinted red from the shyness that overtakes him, but there is little he can do against this feeling.

He dives into the lake to cool his head.

"I have never done this before," Victor admits while they swim around.

There is a youthful gleam in his eye, something new and all the more precious for it. Yuuri wants to wrap it in his hands and protect it from the world that is bound to tarnish it, like he has done to Victor before.

"Never swam around naked? My lord, you have not lived then," Yuuri says, finding it in himself to give cheek, and Victor laughs. "Here, let me show you how it's truly done where I come from..."

Yuuri dives underwater and makes his way to an unsuspecting Victor. Once there, he lets his fingers ghost across Victor's calf, quickly snatching his hand away when Victor's leg jumps. He tries it again, on the thigh. And again on Victor's lower back. Above the surface of the water he can hear the surprised noises Victor makes and it makes Yuuri laugh silently. Finally, as he runs out of breath, Yuuri pulls on both of Victor's legs and tugs him underwater.

With a bubbling laugh, Yuuri breaks the surface and ends up laughing even harder at the flustered look on Victor's face as he resurfaces not long after him.

"And you dare claim I play a tease," Victor makes a face that gives him a look of a pouting child, which must be the silliest Yuuri has seen him, yet at the same time so fitting.

"I'm sorry," Yuuri replies, suddenly worried. His hands brush against Victor's while they're both trying to stay afloat and it's a little comfort that has him speak his thoughts: "If you wish me to cease, just say the word. I know I'm stepping out of line every time, so if you think something to be too much, don't hesitate to tell me."

Victor shakes his head. His wet hair slaps his cheeks, but his eyes are warm. As is his smile.

"Not many have dared to do it before," he says. "Yet, I find it irresistibly charming, my Yuuri. Please, never stop. I enjoy it awfully much if it's coming from you."

Yuuri stares at him for a moment too long and Victor's smile falters under his gaze. A flush takes over Victor's face, bright on his pale cheeks.

"I mean, only if you wish to," Victor corrects himself. "I wouldn't want to ask for something you are not willing to give."

Yuuri shakes his head, bewildered. "You are a strange noble, Victor Nikiforov."

"Is that... a bad thing?"

"No." Yuuri smiles. "It's a you thing. And I think it's charming."

The sweet smile that Victor presses against Yuuri's lips tastes like lake water and salt, but Yuuri enjoys it more than he probably should. Later, they trade soft kisses as they lie in the white sand of the lakeside, basking in the warmth of the sun and each other. It's only when their clothes fully dry that they decide to ride along their way.

There is a lingering caress of warmth in Yuuri's body as he gives one final look at the lake and it only strengthens at the tender, adoring gaze Victor sends him from atop Tristan. Yuuri jumps onto Lamorak's back, takes reins in hand and smiles.

"What do you say, my lord?" he asks. "Shall we see which one of us is a better rider?"

His challenge is answered with one of Victor's brilliant grins, before both of them leap into gallop.

#yuri on ice #victuri #victuuri #viktuuri #vikturi #my fic #dazzle me #CHAPTER 50 HERE WE GO #I can't believe it's already been so long #but booy am I glad this fic is happening #hope yall stick with me for a long while still bc there's far more to this story ;3c

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bestfriendforhire · 3 years

Text

Children of BFFH, Entry 109

Eventually, the mansion was relatively silent again with most of the inhabitants sleeping. Messy, Crazy, Four, Aid, Luce, and Valeria were still awake, and all were looking at me.

“I don’t really know. Do any of you have a preference?” I asked hopefully. During my time here, I had seen the kids laugh as they teased one another, fight against each other with far more skill than I could claim, use magic that still boggles my mind, and show me that they somehow had time to cultivate incredible characters in my favorite game as well. How was I possibly supposed to choose what we do next!?

Before anyone else could speak, Luce said, “I want to fight you.”

“I am very well aware that you would win if you got serious. I knew even before Aid helped train me for the battle, which I still lost.” I assured her, wanting to cut off that line of thought.

“I’ll fight you, Luce!” volunteered Crazy, her face looking innocent with its broad grin as she waved her hand in the air.

Luce frowned, staring at Crazy, but to my surprise she said, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

I very much wanted to protest, but I was also really interested in watching. Luce didn’t even look scared! Was she that much stronger than I had expected to be confident against Death’s granddaughter? Before I could think what to say, a portal opened to the backyard, and everyone else started heading through. I hesitated so long that Valeria peered back through the portal from the other side questioningly.

There was a flash of light, startlingly bright in the relatively dark night. Luce and Crazy’s clothes had both been replaced by suits similar to what Aid and I had used for our exercise yesterday.

“Begin!” exclaimed Four, looking amused.

Luce was a blur, but the dirt didn’t explode from behind her, protected by a quick telekinetic wall she had made. Energy trailed in her wake, thick and relatively still, like a glimmering mist. She attacked Crazy with a series of punches, kicks, and small spells meant to throw her opponent off-balance, nothing to account for the amount of her natural magic she had to be using, though the fleshy sound of the impacts was very loud.

My eyes widened in shock as hundreds of thin beams of water were suddenly surging through where Crazy had been. I couldn’t follow their individual movements, especially when more shot up from the ground. Happening to glance up at where the streams seemed to have originated, I saw a massive body of water floating in the air, reminding me of when Luce had swept Father and I up with a river.

“What if someone sees that?” I exclaimed, pointing up into the sky.

Four laughed. “Father placed an illusion over this entire yard and far into the sky years ago. No one out there ever has a clue what’s going on anywhere on this property.” he explained.

I certainly hadn’t even noticed the illusion when I entered. James’ skills were legendary for a reason.

When Crazy suddenly threw something that flew with the speed of an enchanted bullet at Luce, I thought she’d fall over, but a thick wall of ice had appeared in front of her, surging up from the ground. I couldn’t guess at how much effort it took to keep ice solid enough to block an enchanted bullet, but the projectile didn’t even hit it. Blackened, shriveled vines covered in thorns exploded out, wrapping up and around the ice. Luce darted away, and the vines shriveled and fell to ash.

Instead of keeping the offensive, Crazy just started walking forward until that huge body of floating water crashed down at her. She didn’t even dodge, letting herself be swirled around in the sphere which formed. Father had taught me how lack of oxygen could still affect me after enough time, and drowning made things even worse. Swimming against that tide would be impossible for me with Luce actively manipulating it against me. If she froze it, I didn’t have the strength to shatter it and might not be able to form spells even if she let me.

“Should we do something to intervene?” I asked, feeling a little worried.

Messy looked at me in surprise, smiling as she said, “If you interrupt Crazy fun, she might attack all of us. Luce will probably forfeit soon.”

“What? Why!?” I asked in surprise, clearly seeing Luce as the victor.

Messy turned my body to face Luce and pointed at her feet. A single blade of grass had grown over a yard long and was periodically taking a stab at Luce, who kept moving to avoid being poked.

Aid sighed and said, “I’ll help her.”

He created a spell that lifted his sister into the air as he walked toward her and a large chunk of the yard seemed to erupt into flame, but I didn’t feel the heat at all, meaning he was protecting us. Darkness seemed to envelop him for just a moment, and his clothing changed to match the one he had worn yesterday.

Crazy suddenly shot out of the water straight at Aid, he ducked, kicking her into the air where Luce’s small lake surged after her, dividing once more into fast-moving streams.

“She’s not even gasping for breath!” I exclaimed when I realized she seemed fine.

“She doesn’t need to breathe.” stated Messy with a small shrug.

“Yeah… I better help my siblings too. Valeria, mind joining us?” he asked, looking back at her.

Another puff of darkness, and both of their outfits transformed. A chunk of the residual energy which had been forming up around Luce and Aid streamed toward Four, and I was stunned to see them suddenly firing off dozens of deadly spells each at Crazy. I couldn’t follow her movements at all as she dodged. Two of Valeria’s gateways appeared, and there was a large explosion in the ground, which could only be Crazy hitting it with her insane speed.

“How did Valeria time that?” I asked in astonishment.

“Aid’s keeping telepathy going between the three of them as he’s doing his other spells. Four probably called it. He’s still the fastest of them for now.” explained Messy with a smile.

“How hard is keeping up with all of this for you?” I asked, watching as Crazy waded through the intense flames, frowning at the group.

“Much easier than I can keep up with her when she gets serious.” she told me, nodding toward Crazy.

Impressively, Crazy started countering the spells that were being thrown at her from the three siblings as well as Valeria’s slower and somewhat amateurish magic. A continuous barrage of lightning bolts were deflected to the ground, flames couldn’t quite touch her, boulders of earth were caught by torrents of wind that lobbed the earth back at the siblings, water was vaporized, and… I believed there were other currents of air made by the siblings, meant to dismember through pressure. The battle was far too much to follow. Each of the siblings were doing magic beyond what I could manage.

“Who’s going to tire out first?” I asked, some of my awe escaping in my tone.

“No one. I’m sure you can keep up a fight at this level for a good ten minutes at least. Crazy doesn’t tire any more than I do, and she’ll probably fight back soon.” commented Messy, calmly watching the madness.

As if on queue, plants thicker than the length of a limousine tore out of the ground all across the yard, and a deep, instinctive fear rose within me as I looked at them. Before I could register what had happened, they moved and the Somersets as well as Valeria were dumped next to me.

“She’s really getting better at holding back.” insisted Aid as he rubbed his head with a grimace.

“Messy! Messy! Messy!” chanted what sounded like thousands of people.

Messy frowned. “Fine.” she replied as she pulled Valeria to her feet.

As she spoke, light flashed around her. Everyone’s clothing was returned to what it had been, and hers changed to one of their workout suits. What happened next didn’t make sense. There was darkness, light, and far too much movement that seemed completely unnatural all across the yard at once. I didn’t know how long I stared before I realized that several hands were patting my back. Tearing my eyes from the confusing images, I saw the siblings and Valeria watching me. A spell gently wiped the tears from my eyes. When did I start crying?

“You’re fine.” insisted Four.

Even Luce was nodding, giving me a sympathetic look.

“The trick is,” said Aid as he stared into my eyes, “not looking directly at Crazy’s plants. Non-demon brains aren’t wired to process demonic intrusions into this world, which is essentially what happens when Crazy uses her innate magic. You have to force yourself to focus just around them, though that’s easier said than done in that mess.” He motioned back toward the chaos where Crazy and Messy fought.

He glanced at his sister before saying, “Sorry about all of this. Luce really wanted to give you a better impression of what she could do, and we decided to go along with it. Are you okay?”

I nodded, but I felt physically and mentally drained even though I hadn’t participated. For six thousand years, my family was said to be the strength that kept the monsters at bay for the sake of humanity, but what were we next to these kids? I had to force myself not to look back again Crazy and Messy’s fight. My family could not afford to anger these people.

#Children of BFFH #Children #of #BFFH #Jovial Times #Jovial #Times #Fantasy #Fiction #Story

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aegor-bamfsteel · 7 years

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Yo man, I hear that the Blackfyres and their supporters were Conservative, sexist, brutish usurpers who couldn't stand to see a feminist king on the throne but here you are, an honest to God bra burning, women's lit thumping feminist unironically supporting the Black Dragon. In this entire fandom you're the only person I've found openly supporting them. If you don't mind me asking, why do you like them so much?

Hey dude, you’re asking me to talk about sexism, fandom hypocrisy, and my Blackfyre love in an inflammatory way that could result in getting me in trouble with the fandom? I probably shouldn’t be answering this, but ok. This has been sitting in my inbox for a week, and let no one say that I leave any ask unanswered. Wankery found under the cut:

Eyy dude, what if I told you that the perception of Blackfyres as sexist, brutish usurpers in fandom is largely due to some prominent people’s intellectual elitism and projection of neoliberal political views? Aspects of GRRM’s writing like the unreliable narrator, villains-are-heroes-from-another-side, and history is written by the “victors” are given no credibility in favor of condemning the Blackfyre supporters as racist, sexist, and ableist (?) in fandom. I’m extremely annoyed that no one seems to be asking the sort of questions or making the sort of connections that I have due to this blanket ban on Blackfyre sympathy. I’ve answered your broader question on why I supported the Blackfyres in an earlier ask (they were more honorable, less absolutist and cruel than the Targaryens, even demonstrated some meritocracy, and most died horrifically) so I will try to answer based on the sexism angle: How come I like the Blackfyres so much and support woman’s liberation at the same time?

First of all, you come into my askbox and tell me that Daeron II was a feminist king? Nah bro. A real male feminist ally in a position of power would’ve passed laws to ensure his father’s predatory behavior would be banned. He would’ve been trying to apologize for the way he and his father treated the Bracken sisters and actively sought to make amends instead of making the situation worse. He could’ve given widows a pension or granted certain protections to mothers with illegitimate children. He could’ve opened up exit shelters for prostituted women wanting to learn a trade, as Empress Theodora did back in sixth century AD Byzantium. Why does fandom think he is so Feminist™ when he did so little for women? Are they referring to him having Princess Elaena as an unofficial advisor while her husband Ronnel Penrose was Master of Coin, a man who could barely string two numbers together? (Which really undermines the claim that Daeron was a reformer who chose wise men as councilors, since he selected an incompetent based on his own family status) Might I remind everyone that Daeron arranged Elaena’s second marriage in the first place, a woman 3 years his elder who had been locked in prison for 11 years by her brother, bore illegitimate twins by her cousin, forced to wed an old man by her uncle/Aegon, and may have been forced into sleeping with the horrific Aegon IV? You’d think after enduring so much at the hands of her male relatives, the Kind™ Daeron would’ve backed off, but she has to pay for his son Aerys’ failed marriage by sacrificing her hard-won independence. How feminist. But I guess it’s OK, because after Ronnel died Daeron generously gave his blessing when she wed someone she truly loved! I can’t imagine she felt much affection for this entitled shit. But maybe the Great Fandom Minds™ are referring to how Daeron treated his wife Myriah, who is a blank slate in terms of personality and political actions? I can’t even think of any other names of women Daeron might’ve canonically “empowered”, so how exactly is he a feminist? And why does thinking he was a self-serving politician who treated all of his family members except his sons like expendable trash make me sexist? Do tell, Fandom Minds who know so much more than I.

By contrast, how does liking Daemon Blackfyre and thinking he’d be a better king than Daeron make one sexist? Eustace Osgrey said that he hung out with warriors rather than septons and women, but GRRM himself said that Daemon did have female followers (some we know even participated in the Second Blackfyre Rebellion, like Ladies Vyrwell and Smallwood. Not to mention the cause owes its continued strength after Redgrass to Queen Rohanne) who were “drawn to him.” There’s the rumors that Daemon thought that he could marry Princess Daenerys and Rohanne of Tyrosh, but even the biased Maester Yandel said that claim only developed long after the wedding from a few Blackfyre supporters, which is a few steps removed from the original source. I believe that version of the story was an attempt by the Westerosi Blackfyre supporters to acknowledge Rohanne of Tyrosh’s invaluable contributions to the cause of the exiles while still maintaining the romanticism of a Daemon/Daenerys forbidden romance. It absolutely blows my mind that Daemon gets more flak for what he might have said at fourteen than Daeron does for helping a teenaged girl and her two-week-old son get banished for something her father said. Because Daeron is called “the Good” and thus incapable of doing wrong, obviously.

But outrageously, the fandom has to headcanon abusive behavior on Daemon to make him look like a villain. Seriously, I’ve heard people claim he was an abusive father to Daemon II, cheated on or never loved Rohanne, would have killed his nephews, and tried to rape Princess Daenerys based on no canonical evidence (in fact, the evidence goes against the honorable father of at least nine presented in canon). Even a Daemon-hater like Yandel had to concede that Daemon’s love was for the mother of his children to whom he was married for 12 years. Daemon died protecting his son Aegon from the Raven’s Teeth arrows; he’d never hurt his children. As for the children of others, his faction during the First Blackfyre did not kill children (in fact, Quentyn Ball spared Lady Penrose’s youngest son, some say on Daemon’s orders), especially not those too young to fight. The fandom’s portrayal of Daemon as a vicious monster really serves to emphasize how little evidence they have that Daeron II was a truly good person; the man with grudges against two of his father’s underaged rape victims isn’t a hero, so they have to make his rival an even bigger villain despite it being complete nonsense in canon? Can I have at least a balanced depiction of a Daemon who loved his wife and kids, even if they do think he was an ambitious reactionary?

An especially infuriating piece of fandom hypocrisy is that to make Daemon sexist, they have to demonize or erase all of the female influence in his life. Example one is that for his first 12 years, he was raised as the son of Daena the Defiant, who GRRM said in an SSM raised him alone in the Red Keep. Some people in fandom claim she was an ambitious woman who wanted a son so she could be Aegon’s Queen over Naerys, which is a claim so insulting in its wrongness (Daena could’ve been Queen in her own right, having an illegitimate son actually hurt her chances of queenship and a stable future, she referred to Daemon as hers alone so she never wanted to acknowledge his father, she never agreed to wed a man after Baelor, etc) I’m shocked the people who make it can call themselves feminists with a straight face. Others are kinder toward the Daena-Daemon relationship, saying that Daena must’ve died before Daemon was four so she couldn’t pass on her ideals of honor and self-sacrifice for one’s children; this completely ignores what GRRM said about Daena “raising” Daemon alone, meaning he knew her well enough to remember her. Both these ideas about Daena either demonize one of the most beautiful mother-son pairs in Targaryen history (she loved that kid so much she put him ahead of her own reputation and chance at being Queen. I cry.) or they take away her influence in order to claim that Daemon had no female role models growing up. A mother like Daena, strong-willed, independent, a sportswoman, would’ve doubtless have shaped Daemon’s opinions on women, and especially on mothers of bastards. He may have grown up knowing a woman didn’t necessarily need a husband to be happy, that she could shoot and ride as well as a man, and that a princess could with smallfolk and minor nobles on her own. She was far away from a submissive woman and was Daemon’s sole parent until he was 12, and you mean to tell me her son was a raging misogynist? Nope, I don’t buy it.

Fandom also erases Daemon’s other important female figure: Rohanne of Tyrosh. Elite Tyroshi women are most similar to elite Dornishwomen out of all the ladies of Westeros; I say this because the Archon’s daughter was to serve as a cupbearer for Prince Doran without having been betrothed to Quentyn, indicating that they are valued as political actors for their families outside of marriage alliances. Tyrosh is a mercantile society where the elites don’t like to fight, which traditionally equalizes roles between the sexes. Rohanne was the reason the Blackfyre cause survived for so long; she didn’t need help from Bittersteel escaping to her own fucking country, rather the landless Blackfyre supporters needed her protection after they lost everything at Redgrass. Without her giving them a stable base of operations (and certainly using her dowry to pay for their accommodations), they wouldn’t have been cohesive enough for Aegor to create the Golden Company. I realize that Rohanne has very little canonical characterization, but neither do Princess Daenerys and Myriah Martell, and that doesn’t stop Fandom from writing fanfics and meta on these two while ignoring Rohanne. On a similar note, prominent meta writers claim that the Blackfyre cause is obviously based on the Jacobites (no, Daemon Blackfyre was based in part on James Scott the Duke of Monmouth, who was staunchly anti-Jacobite. Just because these writers don’t know about British history in depth doesn’t mean that they can make spurious claims), and use this comparison to make headcanons for how the Blackfyre court in exile operated. For some Unfathomable reason, these headcanons never include the invaluable contributions that the female Stuarts made to the cause; Queen Mary and Princess Louisa were much more popular than the charmless James II and the drunken womanizer Charles III, having great relations with the French court and funding the education of the daughters of Jacobite exiles (it was said that even Queen Anne wept when Princess Louisa died, for she had hoped to wed her son to him). For a fandom who loves to make headcanons about minor female asoiaf characters, and loves to show off its (rather one-dimensional) knowledge of history, I see no such fics and metas for the female Blackfyres. I guess Feminism™ can’t be wasted on the wives and daughters of “traitors.” Just ask Sansa Stark.

To conclude, Daeron II was not a feminist king who raised the status of women in Westeros; in fact, he used his power as prince and king to banish Barba Bracken and wed Princess Elaena off to an ally. Daemon Blackfyre was raised by a strong single mother and was successfully married to an older foreign woman, and enjoyed female support for his cause, so calling him a misogynist seems like a leap to me. I’d make the argument that it’s Fandom with the misogyny problem, as they ignore the suffering, contributions, and characterization of female characters they don’t like in order to prop up a “sexism” narrative that contradicts canon. Just because other people bleat about how sexist, racist, and ableist Blackfyre supporters like me are, it doesn’t mean it’s true.

#Angry #fandom critical #asoiaf #house Blackfyre #anti Daeron II

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mxlfoydraco · 7 years

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Queer Book Recs

Are you as frustrated with fandoms as i am? I got you! Here are some queer books i’ve read recently, and more under my book recs tag. This list is too long already, so i’ll put in summaries instead of my own comments.

Broken by Nikola Haken When Theodore Davenport decides to switch his mundane job for a career, he walks into Holden House Publishing with enthusiasm and determination to succeed. As he settles into his new role, makes new friends, and dreams of making it to the top, everything is going to plan. Until he meets James Holden, CEO of Holden House. James Holden hasn’t been able to stop thinking about his encounter with the timid man he met in a club bathroom last week, and when he discovers the one haunting his dreams is an employee, he can’t seem to stop himself from pursuing him. Just a little fun - that’s what James tells himself. He can’t afford to care for someone who can never reciprocate, not once they find out who he really is. James believes nobody deserves the burden of being attached to him. He’s a complicated man. Damaged. Difficult. Demanding. Broken. Is Theodore strong enough to confront James’ demons? More importantly, is James? Please note:This book contains scenes of self harm, mental illness and suicidal ideation which may be uncomfortable for some readers.

The Rules by Jamie Fessenden When Hans Bauer, a college student in New Hampshire, accepts a job as a housekeeper for an older gay couple, he soon learns the reason they've hired someone with no experience is that professional agencies won't work there. Thomas is a successful businessman whose biggest goal in life appears to be giving his husband anything he wants. Boris is a writer who immigrated to this country from Russia, and suffers from depression and PTSD because of the things he endured in his native country. He also refuses to wear clothes—ever. While Hans is working alone in the house with Naked Boris all day, things start getting a little weird. Boris gets flirtatious and Hans backs away, not wanting to come between him and his husband. So Boris calls Thomas at work and asks permission. At that moment, The Rules are born—rules about touching and kissing and pet names that the three men use to keep jealousies at bay, as they explore the possibilities in a new type of relationship.... WARNING: This story deals with themes of sexual assault and past abuse. The Law of Attraction by Jay Northcote When a professional relationship turns personal, it’s impossible to resist the law of attraction. Alec Rowland is a high-flying lawyer in a London firm whose career is his life. He doesn’t have time for relationships and his sexuality is a closely guarded secret. After picking up a cute guy on a Friday night, Alec’s world is rocked to its foundations when his one night stand shows up in the office on Monday morning—as the new temp on his team. Ed Piper is desperate to prove himself in his new job. The last thing he needs is to be distracted by a crush on his boss. It’s hard to ignore the attraction he feels, even though Alec’s a difficult bastard to work for. Both men strive to maintain a professional relationship, but tempers fray, passions ignite, and soon they’re both falling hard and fast. If they’re ever going to find a way to be together, Alec needs to be honest about who he really is because Ed won’t go back in the closet for anyone.

The Half Wolf by Jay Northcote Mate, family, pack, home… can Quinn and Kellan have it all? Quinn grew up feeling out of place in the small town he calls home. Yearning for something he can’t name, he’s always felt different but never known why. Kellan is part of a nomadic shifter pack. When they set up camp in the woods near Quinn’s town, the humans are unwelcoming and suspicious of the newcomers. The moment Kellan catches sight—and scent—of Quinn, he knows Quinn is special. But for the first time in his life, Kellan can’t trust his instincts. Quinn is human, and Kellan is a wolf shifter, so how can they ever be mates? Their bond is instant and exhilarating. It breaks Quinn’s heart to know their relationship can only be temporary. Love isn’t enough when pack law forbids shifters to mate with humans. Tension explodes between pack and humans, and when Quinn discovers a shocking truth about himself that changes everything, he fears he’ll have to choose between the only life he’s ever known and the man he loves.

Step by Step by K.C. Wells Jamie’s life is one big financial mess, and it really isn’t his fault. However, the last thing he expected to find in the library was a Good Samaritan. He might have been suspicious of Guy’s motives at first, but it soon becomes apparent that his savior is a good man who has been lucky in life and is looking to pay it forward. Guy being gay is not a problem. Jamie’s not interested… or so he thinks. Guy is happy to help Jamie, and the two men get along fine. But when Jamie’s curiosity leads him from one thing to another, Guy finds himself looking at the young man with new eyes. What started out as a hand up is now something completely different…. His Convenient Husband by Robin Covington NFL football player Isaiah Blackwell lost his husband three years ago and is raising their teen son alone. He lives his life as quietly as his job allows, playing ball to support his family but trying not to draw unwanted attention. His quiet life is shaken up when a mutual friend introduces him to Victor, a visiting principal ballet dancer who is everything Isaiah is not. Brash and loud, Victor Aleksandrov has applied for political asylum to avoid returning to Russia, where gay men are targeted and persecuted. He’s been outspoken about gay rights in his home country, and if he doesn’t get asylum, going back to Russia is a death sentence. Their one-night stand turns into a tentative friendship, a relationship they both agree is temporary... until Victor’s denied asylum. Isaiah can’t offer Victor a happily ever after, but he can propose something that’ll keep Victor in the US and safe... marriage He just doesn’t expect his new husband to dance away with his heart. Finding Home by Garrett Leigh How do you find a home when your heart is in ashes? With their mum dead and their father on remand for her murder, Leo Hendry and his little sister, Lila, have nothing in the world but each other. Broken and burned, they’re thrust into the foster care system. Leo shields Lila from the fake families and forced affection, until the Poulton household is the only place left to go. Charlie de Sousa is used to other kids passing through the Poulton home, but there’s never been anyone like his new foster brother. Leo’s physical injuries are plain to see, but it’s the pain in his eyes that draws Charlie in the most. Day by day, they grow closer, but the darkness inside Leo consumes him. He rejects his foster parents, and when Charlie gets into trouble, Leo’s attempt to protect him turns violent. When Leo loses control, no one can reach him—except Charlie. He desperately needs a family—a home—and only Charlie can show him the way. Long Macchiatos and Monsters by Allison Evans Jalen, lover of B-grade sci-fi movies, meets the far-too-handsome P in a cafe while deciding whether or not to skip uni again. When P invites them along to a double feature of Robot Monster and Cat Women of the Moon, Jalen can hardly believe that hot boys like bad sci-fi, too. But as their relationship progresses, Jalen realizes P leaves him wondering if they're on the same page about what dating means, and if that's what they're doing. [NB protag!] Dirty Mind by Roe Horvat Alexander Popescu is a university lecturer in a quiet German town. He’s a respectable man in his thirties who stays fit, has a decent career and travels alone—his only vice is an occasional greasy meal. And beer. And violent computer games. Nobody has to know about the other Alex—the acclaimed porn writer. His ingenious erotic fantasies earn him good money and keep his capricious mind harmlessly entertained. When his young friend and protégé Christian transfers to Freiburg for medical school, Alex is overjoyed…and terrified that Christian will find out about Alex’s indecent alter ego. The time they spend together, as lovely as it is, could overturn Alex’s carefully balanced life. Suddenly, the writing is not good enough, his hair seems to be thinning, his careful hookups leave him unfulfilled, and his dreams are haunted by the innocent young man he’s vowed to protect. However, Christian is not a boy anymore. He’s a grown man of twenty-one, clever and deadly attractive. And he’s hiding some secrets of his own.

#book recs #queer books

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theincompetentgenius · 5 years

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Hi,could I get a match up for ikesen,mlqc and the arcana.I'm 5'3 female with dark brown hair and eyes and pale skin.I enjoy literature(mostly classic),music,art,history,psychology and philosophy.I'm quite perverted and sarcastic.Usually I'm pretty laid back,but I can get quite aggressive(only verbally,not physically)when provoked.I enjoy learning new things. I'm also a shopping addict and I spend tons of money on new clothes.I like wearing feminine and provocative clothes(but not too revealing).

Thanks for sending in the matchup!

Ikemen Sengoku

I’d pair you with.................... Date Masamune!

I’m not gonna lie, this is the first person I thought of when I read “perverted and sarcastic” because that’s what our boy Masamune loves. I mean he’s the residential playboy of Azuchi Palace, he thrives off of thirst and seasoning (aka anyone who is sarcastic is seasoned in my opinion lol)

At first, his flirtiness would be manageable. Whenever he would throw a pickup line in your direction, you simply deflected it with a sarcastic comment. Of course, he’d come back with another flirty comment to counter your sarcasm and you would have to think of a stronger comeback. It becomes a game between the two of you, a game of cat and mouse. If you’re feeling bold, you might throw a suggestive comment at him, but be prepared for the repercussions that will bring. Luckily, your laid-back nature will allow this banter to go on for quite some time.

However, I don’t think that this would be the easiest of relationships. At first, it would be extremely rocky because Masamune has no concept of a person’s personal bubble. And no matter how laid back or perverted you are, Masamune knows how to get under a girl’s skin (especially when he’s throwing his flirty comments left and right). The only reason why women haven’t burned him yet is because he’s attractive. And he knows it.

You would have to get aggressive and verbally attack him for some space. At first, he’d think you were being a “fiesty lass” but he’d realize that it’s much more than that. A few days of space would be needed for him to reflect on why you blew up at him. However, Masamune is much more perceptive and intelligent than most of us give him credit for, so he would know immediately that he screwed up (and that his smooth tongue was not going to get him out of this one).

The next time he approaches you, he’s still playful and excited but you noticed that he’s toned down the excessive flirting. It will come as a relief to you and the two of you can move onto more interesting matters.

As for your shopping addiction, Masamune has no qualms about it. He will buy you anything and everything that you want. The only reason he won’t buy you something immediately is that he wants some affection first. Other than that, he has no problem following you around and carrying all your shopping bags.

In fact, this boy is going to be your biggest hypeman. The moment you try on a cute dress from a clothing store, Masamune is going to drown you in compliments. With each dress you try, he’ll only grow more amazed by your beauty. If you try something more revealing, he might get little physical right there. It’s up to you whether you want to continue or keep it going.

But why stop? ;)

Another possibility: Shingen Takeda

Mr. Love: Queen’s Choice

I’d pair you with...................................... Victor!

I know this is a complete 180 from Masamune, but hear me out. Victor, aka the king of sass, is used to dealing with a bunch of “morons.” Basically, almost everyone around him is too afraid (or too annoyed) to spend more than five seconds talking to him. And with good reason, because this man will clobber you for saying the ABCs too quickly.

However, people also forget that poor Victor is also a human. He needs love and affection (no matter how much he denies it). So I think that you would be able to come in and crack through his icy exterior!

At first, it would be difficult. Victor wouldn’t even bat an eye at you. The only reason he would talk to you is that he needed you to complete some work. However, you wouldn’t be steered off by his personality immediately. Your relaxed personality would mesh well with his uptight one, balancing out all the tension and irritation on his end.

The fact that you’ve managed to talk to him for more than ten minutes is an indicator that the two of you are going to have a special relationship. He’ll still badger you with sass, but you’ll fight back with sarcasm. The intellect from your sarcasm would actually surprise Victor. Although he’ll still call you a moron, he knows that you’re smart than almost everyone he knows. Even if you’re not, that’s alright because Victor is moronsexual.

The thing that will bring the two of you closer is the amount of meaningful conversation. You two could go hours talking about philosophical, historical, and artistic values. While the two of you may have different views, you will definitely learn and grow from each other.

To make things better, Victor is going to love the fact that you love classical literature (he seems like the type to say “I was born in the wrong century,”) because he can take you out to watch classical theater. Unlike most people, you’ll actually enjoy the experience and find the value of watching them. You might even critic them for ruining or having unreasonable differences between the original.

Last but not least is shopping! Now Victor has so much money that you could buy all the clothes in the world and still have millions left over, so shopping is not an issue for him either.

Now he’s not going to actively hype you up like Masamune, but you can tell when he likes a certain dress on you. That’s because he’s going to tell you whether you look decent or ridiculous in it.

I know you don’t wear too revealing clothing, but if I were you, I’d pick the most provocative outfit in the store and watch him grow flustered. That would be really fun to watch.

Another possibility: Kiro

The Arcana

I’d pair you with........................... Asra Alnazar!

Not gonna lie, I actually paired you with Julian first and got about halfway through writing why I thought you were perfect with him. But then, I looked over your description one more time and I suddenly felt more inclined towards Asra (if you’re a Julian stan and not too happy about the switch, at least you know that you are just as equally perfect with Julian lol.)

Asra seems best suited for you because the two of you have many similar interests! As someone who is extremely skilled in magic, Asra has a developed understanding of life and reality (I’d say that he is the most aware out of all the LIs). This makes him an expert in philosophy and psychology (even though he’ll deny it). Also, Asra is more inclined towards vintage items, so he’ll probably know music, classic literature, and art. I’m pretty sure he even has a large bookshelf with millions of books that contains at least one of your favorite subjects.

Additionally, I feel like Asra would be able to help you when you get aggressive. He gives off a calm and soothing aura that you can’t help but feel more relaxed around him. If you’re still mad, Asra will definitely know what to say to keep you from verbally attacking anyone. If your anger is directed towards him, he’ll get to the route of the problem and solve it as soon as possible. There’s nothing that bothers him more than seeing you upset; especially if it’s his fault.

Now Asra is a compassionate lover, which means he knows how to get spicy. Try getting a little saucy in your flirty and he will not disappoint. He won’t respond directly to your perverted attitude. Instead, Asra will be more subtle. You may go for something lighthearted and funny, but don’t be surprised when you end up staying for much longer than needed.

Lastly, Asra would love your sarcastic comments! Now many people like to pair Asra with someone just as soft as he is, but he’s shown instances where he likes witty comments. Asra also has really good comebacks (hello, have you seen him talk to Lucio and Julian?) so he’ll definitely keep you on your toes when you toss him a sarcastic remark.

Another possibility: Julian Devorak

#the arcana asra #asra #asra alzanar #the arcana #ikemen sengoku #ikemen sengoku masamune #date masamune #ikemen masamune #mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc kiro

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