#Still not shipping him with anyone in-game yet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yanderenightmare · 7 months

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TW: nsfw, anal, suggestiveness & pressuring

fem reader

Thinking about really boyfriendly boyfriends – simpy and helpful and sweet – boyfriend material perfectly cut as if custom-ordered – boxed and shipped and sent express mail from the boyfriend factory with love.

He’s interested in your hobbies and studies and is equally passionate about sharing his interests with you. He’s comfortable and playful with your family and makes a true effort to befriend your friends. He’s even outgoing at parties where he doesn’t know anyone but you instead of sulking and asking you to leave like so many past boyfriends have.

He likes sharing food, sings loudly in the car, texts you throughout the day, and calls you when he’s at the store before coming over, asking if you need or want anything. He’s open and honest and geeks over new releases – that movie trailer, that game, those sneakers, that album, that car, and all that other boy stuff – and yet never fails to tell you how beautiful you are every time he sees you.

And he likes taking you on dates – cinema, arcade, roller rink, amusement park, road trips, picnics, beach days – or simply hanging out at his or your place – making food, binging a series in bed, kissing and dry-humping…

He’s just, all in all, everything you could’ve ever wished for. Perfect in every way.

Only… there hasn’t been a single time he’s had you in bed where he hasn’t all but begged to fuck your ass…

He’s literally crying for it while moaning, “Please~ lemme put it in~ just wanna try it once, please, baby~” with his hands squeezing your butt over your shorts and his head under your shirt, kissing and sucking your tits with the prayers on his lips as he humps his tented crotch against your clothed cunt – making your panties hot and damp.

You squeeze your eyes shut with a suppressed whine.

He keeps pleading, “I’ll be gentle~ just the tip~ I’ll go so slow~”

His fingers dig into the crevice of your cheeks, wedging your shorts and undies through your slit. Everything clenches from the friction.

Your face is heated, biting your lip with cinched brows. You knew he’d ask for it again today – he never doesn’t. Even though he’ll get pussy-drunk and pound your poor womb in a tight mating press the second he’s made you cum on his fingers.

He slurps your nipple, still begging, “Please, baby, please~ it’ll feel so good~ so-so-so good~”

You’d been deliberating giving in to his incessant proposals for a little while. He’d been so unrelenting you were starting to feel bad denying him for so long.

Not like past boyfriends hadn’t been equally relentless in the ask.

But this one was different… unlike the others… you really like him.

You think you might be in love with him, even though it’s a little early to say.

Still… since he’s so perfect… you want to do your best to be perfect for him, too.

So you’d made yourself ready for it this time – done preparations in the shower.

But… you pout… it was all so embarrassing, and your poor mind was riddled with doubts as though you were a virgin all over again.

What if something… gross happens? What if it hurts so bad you have to stop? Will it disappoint him? What if you hate it but go through with it anyway, only for him to keep asking? What if you have to break up because you won’t ever be able to look him in the eyes again?

“Are you okay? Is something wrong?” His voice slips through the inner turmoil.

He’d resurfaced from beneath your shirt on account of your silence, only to see you’d covered your face in both hands. He gently peels them away – revealing your eyes and the shy way you nibble your lip.

“I’m sorry…” He apologizes then. “I’ll stop asking-”

“No!” You blurt. To his surprise – staring at you with those big puppy-dog eyes you just couldn’t handle seeing look so disheartened. “I mean…”

You look away, cheeks burning – voice just barely above a whisper.

“If you really want to… I’m fine with it…”

He seemed to perk up at that. If he’d had a tail, you know it would be wagging behind him.

His chest swelled, eyes big and unblinking, swallowing thickly – breaths already thick with containment.

He leans in close and nose-kisses you, brushing your lips with heated words, “Really? You’ll let me?”

You made a small sound, too humiliated to say or do much more than nod your head in confirmation.

He seemed to shudder, closing the space between you, kissing your lips softly – he tasted like static – buzzing with restricted urgency. Parting with a soft-spoken yet strained, “Thank you.”

Both his hands messaged your waist – fiddled with the band to your shorts as though he couldn’t wait to drag them down your thighs and free you.

Still speaking against your lips, “Can you turn around on your knees for me?”

Everything was burning – from the tips of your ears to your lips and deep down in your stomach where something equally hungry and anxious was preparing for something.

He moved back to allow you to crawl into position, taking a pillow and placing it underneath you – patting it while telling you to “Lie down.”

You did like suggested, lying with your face and chest against the soft plume, sinking into it with your back in a slope and your ass presented. Heart pounding in your head, loud and hot, as he took position behind you – placing his hand back on your hips.

He hooked his fingers into the band of your shorts again, pulling them back over the fat of your haunches, then dragged them down slowly until they pooled around your knees. You felt the damp heat of his breath immediately hit the peach fuzz on the small of your back – seeping through the cotton of your panties – making your belly brew with butterflies.

“Just relax, okay? Tell me to stop if I go too far.” He said, sensing how you quaked as he placed both palms on your globes – denting the plump flesh with greedy fingers.

It’s not like you haven’t fucked in this position before – it’s just that you knew this time was going to be different. You felt so exposed.

He fingered the frill of your panties and started peeling them off – baring your naked skin and the pretty dip between your cheeks.

You yelped. His mouth was on you before he’d even finished undressing you – placing a sloppy half-bite half-kiss on your upper ass before proceeding to slurp the crack.

You whimpered – flustered and flushed as the heat of his tongue laid wet trails down through the valley until his lips met with your rim. You shuffled your thighs and balled the pillow in small fists as he groaned into you. Shamelessly squeezing your fat with his hands, spreading the cheeks to let him at your little puckered hole.

Your eyes screwed shut while you hid your face in the pillow beneath you – muffling all uneasy sounds as he canted his mouth against your ass. Chin rutting into your puffy cunt while bobbing his jaw, lipping at your taint and rim – nose nuzzled between your cheeks – mouth fully closed around you – moaning at the feel of it pulsing on the tip of his tongue as he runs it over the tight scrunch again and again.

Your shoulders brace as he tries and screw the wet muscle inside. You tense up way too tight for it to happen.

He smacks off with a raunchy sigh. Your heart is in your throat.

Slick from your ignored cunt feels sticky on your swelled pussy-lips – hot and twitching in the cool air.

He pops the cap of the little bottle of lube the two of you always keep on hand. You flinch when his slick fingers come back to rub your hole. He gives it slow and soothing circles before easing the tip inside. Filling you up only to the first joint, waiting for you to relax and loosen before sinking the rest inside.

He hums at the display, groaning, “Fuuh-ck~” Sliding the digit in knuckle-deep before slipping it out to the tip again – repeating the motion while feeling your muscles ripple around it. “You’re so cute, baby~ so pretty~”

He bows and places a chaste kiss on your buttcheek, laying his face on it like a pillow – his eyes half-mast while looking at his finger disappear inside you.

He works another in with the first, shuffling them – messaging the tightness, slowly training it to stretch. His hot breath fans over your wet skin, making you go goosefleshed.

“Fuck, baby – so pretty with my fingers inside yah~” He hums, almost in a whine while curling them inside you. “So fucking hot how you swallow and squeeze on ‘em like that~”

He pulls himself up again, tugging on his belt with one hand – keeping on fingering you with the other.

His pants drop to the floor a moment later, and he lifts his neglected cock out of the sticky mess he’d made in his boxers – throbbingly fat and hard, pulsing in his fist and leaking pre, another pearl each time he rubs over the bulge of his tip.

He looks at your hole – eyes misty. You seem to have loosened up a bit – enough for him to part his fingers.

He pulls them both out with a schlick. “I think you’re ready…” His voice is sticky – stuck to his throat. “I’m gonna try ‘n put it in.”

Your hands curl into the pillow as you nod your head – eyes still squeezed shut. It hadn't felt too bad so far – just weird. Embarrassing and… clinical. A bit like a doctor’s visit. But you knew that would all change now.

His hands glide across your back, catching your crop top in balled fists, stretching it as his tip works on stretching out your opening – nudging against it, coaxing it into accepting the head.

“Fuh- oh fuck~” He moans, lost to the sight and feel of your butt seizing around him – closing up around his tip.

You look so fucking perfect like that – face-down and kneeling with your ass pressed back against him – giving him your second virginity.

His eyes flitter across the slope of your spine – looking over your creamy skin, looking so pretty, all glossy with dew, until he reaches your face. Your brows are pinched together, gnawing on your bottom lip, eyes shut tightly.

“Are you okay?” He pants.

You nod your head – curt and rushed.

He suppresses a sound – feeling even more heated. You’re so perfect, so good to him – the best girlfriend he could have ever asked for. Trusting him like this, letting him do this even when you’re so nervous about it. You must really love him.

He’s nearly crying, holding onto your hips as he fucks you with just the tip – loosening the rim up and going just a little deeper for every shallow thrust. He nearly barrels over, standing there with his back hunched – bowing his head, looking at where the two of you connect while sweat drips from his weighted bangs.

“I love you, too.” He confesses out of the blue, and you blink, looking back at him – seeing his mouth parted with blissful moans, his eyes wet, and brows softly curled. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect fo’me – so good.”

He loves you so much he can barely take the blossoming in his chest, feeling like he wants to eat you up and swallow you whole. His girl – who laughs at all his silly jokes and holds his hand everywhere you go and doesn’t tease him when he yelps and holds you close during horror movies. His perfect perky girlfriend – who lets him fuck you raw and cum inside, and now… even letting him fuck your tight round ass for the very first time.

He's almost all the way in now – just a few more thrusts, and you’ll have him swallowed down to the base with his balls pressed firmly against the puffy lips of your wet pussy.

“Fuh-uuck-” He breathes out again, gripping your hips tight as he bottoms out.

He nearly cums right then, having to bite his lip to hold back – savoring how you ripple and squeeze him – so tight and firm.

You’re such a good girl taking him so well and so deep, lying so sweetly beneath him with your ass presented – letting him nestle his entire length inside you. Curling your toes all cutely as you adjust with only pretty girly mews leaving you.

You didn’t expect him to mount you.

But he does. Now standing with his feet in the bed, squatting over you with his cock sinking balls deep in your ass. Freshly broken-in, it’s tight and firm and twitchy as though it’s confused as to why there's a big fat cock stretching it out.

He can’t help but smile, perched on top of you – hands still hooked upon your hips for balance while he leans forward, settling even deeper.

You moan, and it nearly drives him wild. Barely holding himself together as he pulls out – wishing he had something to bite into instead of his lip as he focuses on the way your firm walls clench on him, clinging to his shaft so tightly it’s hard pulling out despite the wetness – it’s so good he’s losing it.

He’s taking his perfect girlfriend in her perfect ass. And it feels so fucking good his hands leave their grip on your hips as he slugs forward, bending over you until his chest presses into your back, and his head rests on top of yours, cheek to cheek – slinging both arms around you, putting you in a headlock – leaving you to do nothing else but pant, squished between his biceps and his cock kisses your guts.

“Can’t believe I'm fucking your little ass, baby.” He rants breathlessly. “It's so tight and good, gripping me so fuckin’ hard.” Huffing and groaning with his back hunched as he curves into your butt as deep as he can – stuffing into you from behind slowly and carefully as though he’s savoring every single flutter of you hugging him.

He’s barely even pulling out – kneading as far as his cock can reach instead – cock-warming himself inside you.

“Fuck, baby – I can cum inside, right?” He whimpers against you, kissing the corner of your mouth with his tongue out.

You’re so squished beneath him you can only just wheeze out the word. “O-okay-”

“Oh- fuck, I love you.” He cries when he blows, squeezing you so tight you’re choking as he pumps pulse after pulse of thick hot cum deep inside you. “I love you, I love you- love you- love you so much- so fuckin’ much-”

And you don’t know if it’s the confession, the headlock, or the cum being pumped up your guts – but your clit’s pulsing and your cunt’s twitching even though it’s around nothing, gushing down your shaking thighs as your butt pushes itself flush against your boyfriend’s cock, clenching hard around it and milking him free of every drop.

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Denki, Kirishima, Shigaraki, Touya-Dabi, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Yuji, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kuro, Bokuto, Miya twins ♡ AOT – Armin ♡ DS – Zenitsu ♡ WB – Sakura, Nirei, Umemiya

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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starcurtain · 5 days

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A Look at Ratio and Aventurine... and Ratio/Aventurine

I was morally obligated to use this picture.

Anyway, I got an ask about my understanding of Ratio and Aventurine's relationship both in canon and as a ship that I have been holding on to for a while now because... phew, there's like... a lot to talk about there... But I felt I should at least give it a try, so here is my attempt to comment on the intersection of two of Star Rail's most complicated personalities. Long post is longgggg; you have been warned.

First, Aventurine's canon relationship to Ratio:

In the interest of not hitting tumblr's image limit, let's just throw out some of the information we have in one go:

It's pretty complimentary. (Yet somehow...)

The implication of the infamous "Keeping Up with Star Rail" video is that Ratio understands Aventurine better than anyone else, and Aventurine knows this. At the very least, putting all shipping aside, Ratio is the person who can explain Aventurine's behaviors best. He's the person Aventurine chooses do so. This suggests significantly more knowledge of each other's lives than the game first led us to believe.

Other people (read as: my GOAT Owlbert) perceive respect from Aventurine to Ratio, and although I read them as a bit sarcastic, the 2.1 mission logs not only repeatedly confirm that Aventurine views Ratio as smart and reliable, but that Ratio is reliable "as always," again indicating a longer and closer history of collaboration than we get to actively see in game. The devs were working hard to tell us "Penacony isn't Ratiorine's first rodeo," which is interesting--given Topaz's voiceline recommending the Trailblazer avoid working with Aventurine whenever possible, we're led to believe through 2.0 and 2.1 that not many people will willingly work with Aventurine more than once, let alone many times.

While going through psychological scrutiny from the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come his Harmony-infused self, the "Future" Aventurine suggests that Ratio and Aventurine are quite similar, and that Aventurine puts a surprising amount of trust in Ratio, to be willing to hinge such a dangerous plan on something as untested as Ratio's ability to act. At the very least, Aventurine's own psyche is pondering on Ratio and whether or not their connection has any emotional meaning.

But despite all this evidence suggesting Ratio and Aventurine spend significantly more time with each other than we get to see in game, Aventurine's own thoughts cast strong doubt on whether he and Ratio are actually close.

Aventurine's "About Dr. Ratio" voice line suggests that Aventurine believes Ratio does not particularly like him. He seems to think that Ratio would prefer to stay away from IPC operations where possible, and it's "unfortunate" for Ratio to be stuck with Aventurine as a conversation partner. He's tolerated, rather than enjoyed. His overall impression seems to be that Ratio mostly views them as distant coworkers.

When the "Future" Aventurine suggests Ratio did not betray Aventurine willingly, actual Aventurine immediately pushes back:

(Personally I'm on the fence about whether this was real doubt or just a ploy to continue sussing out Sunday; see my other post about this scene for some more thoughts.)

But if we take this statement to be played straight, it implies that Aventurine doesn't fully believe Ratio will side with him, even (maybe especially) in dire circumstances. If this statement is real doubt, then despite considering Ratio the person who best understands him, despite building an entire life or death gamble around Ratio's loyalty... Aventurine still doesn't think Ratio even likes him.

Aventurine's not stupid or blind, so theoretically he should be able to read the situation better than that. But actually, there's plenty of evidence both in the game and outside it to suggest that Aventurine is not the most accurate judge of his own relationships to others and is a down-right terrible judge of his own worth as a person.

"Future" Aventurine suggests that one of Aventurine's deep inner flaws--the truths that he rejects about himself--is a massive inferiority complex. This is backed up well by the mission text, where Aventurine's thoughts about himself spiral into self-harm, and the scene in the maze, where "Future" Aventurine taunts our Aventurine with the unforgettable fact that his entire life was only worth pennies:

There's also pretty consistent self-deprecation, with both "Future" and real Aventurine noting several times that he's a pathetic mess of a person that other people don't trust or like.

The overall impression 2.0-2.1 left me with is that Aventurine is perfectly capable of respecting and caring for others, but virtually incapable of accepting other people genuinely respecting and caring for him.

Part of this seems to stem from the directly-stated sense that he's a failure whose only worth is in transactional exchanges, using and being used by others (there's so many layers to this--internalized racism even), but I also suspect that much of his inability to accept genuine connection from others is defensive behavior.

Aventurine's true self, Kakavasha, is deeply hidden away, like the ghost of the child that manifests from his Harmony delusion in the Dreamscape. Although Aventurine clings to that person, claiming that he has "never changed," he actively coats over his beliefs, his kindness, and his authenticity with the mask of a "cavalier gambler," with glitz and glamor and showy distractions. No one gets to see Kakavasha. No one gets to know him, because being buried deep in the dirt is the only way to remain untouchable, and fiercely keeping one's distance is the only safe bet. (For both Kakavasha and any fools who would doom themselves by daring to care for him.)

So: Canon is telling us that Ratio is one of, if not the, closest people in the world to Aventurine. But canon is also telling us that that still means absolutely nothing at all, because Aventurine won't let himself be close to anyone living.

Aventurine's senses of self-worth, trust, attachment, and safety have been warped so badly by ongoing and untreated trauma and mental health issues that, at least until the end of 2.1, I just don't think he was capable of even accepting genuine friendship from Ratio, let alone anything more.

(Interesting side note here: Ratio is actually one of the people Aventurine calls "my friend" the least. He only says it directly to Ratio a single time in all of their lines of dialogue across 2.0 and 2.1, and even then, does so only when right outside Sunday's door, while almost certainly being spied upon by the Family. Anyone who knows how often "my friend" is peppered into Aventurine's dialogue otherwise should know that the absence of the phrase is actually pretty telling. It almost feels like canon Aventurine's not even sure he can call Ratio his friend, at least to Ratio's face.)

Which makes Ratio's canon relationship to Aventurine quite sad and ironic:

From start to finish, Ratio canonically esteems Aventurine more highly than almost any other character in the game. I'm not even talking about shipping when I say that there is no character Ratio is closer to in the entire game.

At present, Ratio has only four voice lines about other characters, and of those four, Aventurine's is the only one that isn't someone from the Genius Society. The only one. Ratio's voice lines are also notably, uh, not very complimentary. Herta is "talented but not helpful to others" and "sees no one as her equal" (read as: she's self-absorbed). Screwllum is a "monarch, rather than a genius" (with the vague implications of being a tyrant), and Ruan Mei is overly ambitious and "fooling everyone."

Meanwhile, Aventurine is "our man" (who is "our" Ratio? who?) whose success "can't all be chalked up to luck," implying that part of Aventurine's success must come from skill. Ratio notes that Aventurine questions his own ability... but as far as Ratio's evaluation goes, he seems to doubt that Aventurine will ever experience a downfall. For someone who thinks 99% of the people he meets are mediocre failures scrambling around in the filth of existence, to be recognized as skilled and unlikely to fail is quite obviously glowing praise.

Then, of course, there are numerous moments that echo Aventurine's hints, implying that Ratio spends significantly more time with Aventurine than we see on-screen, that he knows Aventurine extremely well, and, although he tries (vainly) to pretend he isn't, he's clearly quite concerned with what Aventurine thinks of him.

Especially this last one. "No wonder that gambler likes you so much" is pretty intentional on the devs' part, confirming that Ratio and Aventurine are having off-screen conversations we players are not privy to, which obviously would indicate a closer relationship than the in-game cutscenes could cover.

Then, Trailblazer has the option to flat out ask Ratio to "rate" Aventurine. (Star Rail ship bait is not even subtle.)

At first, this line might read as all over the place:

"The bosses say we're partners but I wouldn't say that" -> Read as: Ratio wants people to know how their relationship is classified but doesn't want to admit to being actually invested.

"I see myself as the teacher to everyone I meet" -> Read as: Ratio at least pretends that he doesn't view anyone as his equal; everyone is either above him--geniuses--or below him--students.

"Aventurine is not that bad of a student" -> High praise; even Ratio can't pretend Aventurine's untalented.

"Actually, Aventurine's probably in metaphysical danger" -> Read as: Ratio is aware of the "void" Aventurine is experiencing and his mental struggles.

The ultimate takeaway of Ratio's "rating" actually says more about Ratio than Aventurine. When it comes down to it, Ratio's choice to answer this question for the Trailblazer instead of dismiss it tells us that Ratio has spent time quantifying and trying to define his relationship with Aventurine, is willing to at least discuss that relationship with other people (when we have no evidence he ever discusses any other personal/non-academic matters with anyone), and that Ratio pays attention to Aventurine's mental states.

Canon Ratio is not beating the allegations, I'm afraid.

But actually, I think the biggest tell about Ratio's canon relationship to Aventurine is that Ratio's behavior completely changes the moment Aventurine appears in the game.

In every single one of Ratio's other appearances, two facts are hammered home again and again:

First, Ratio hates interacting with fools and "noisy" people. He wears his plaster bust so that he doesn't even have to see them. Canonically, we're informed by both March 7th and Argenti that Ratio brought and was wearing his headpiece in Penacony. Curiously though...

The players never see it throughout 2.X--probably because 90% of Ratio's scenes are with Aventurine, and Ratio is never shown wearing his bust on screen with Aventurine--even in their very first meeting in the Final Victor lightcone. Aventurine clearly knows of the bust, but despite Ratio verbally going on and on about how Aventurine is the most "flashy" and "devoid of logic" person Ratio knows... the devs deliberately send their message: Ratio has chosen not to cut himself off from Aventurine.

Aventurine can be more "clamorous" than a screaming peacock, but Ratio will still not put up walls against him. This isn't accidental. The devs had every opportunity in the world to go the opposite route and make jokes about Ratio refusing to take the bust off in Aventurine's obnoxious presence; instead they decided that Ratio apparently has a glaring, Aventurine-shaped exception to his "I don't want to perceive you fools or be perceived by you" life rule.

This "willing to tolerate shenanigans only if Aventurine is involved" behavior continues basically throughout all of Penacony's plot. In 2.3 for example, if you turn around and talk to Ratio again on the Radiant Feldspar, he flat out says:

But there's no actual explanation for why he's there in the first place. He mentions he was assigned to watch over "the IPC's ambassadors," which theoretically should apply to Jade and Topaz, yet we never see him interacting with them in any capacity. He's never even shown in the same room as Jade or Topaz, and he's not shown doing any other form of business for the IPC on the Feldspar either. Theoretically, he could have been on the Feldspar to meet regarding the Divergent Universe... except Screwllum wasn't there yet, and Ratio doesn't mention a single word about the Divergent Universe to the Trailblazer.

The only person Ratio talks about in his dialogue on the Feldspar is Aventurine, and the only non-Trailblazer he talks to in 2.3 at all is also Aventurine, replying to him and only him in the group chat.

He looked like he might give it a shot to try to befriend Boothill and Argenti at the end of 2.3... but immediately changes his mind and leaves without saying a word to them.

It's not really a stretch to suggest that the only reasonable excuse for Ratio to attend the party on the Feldspar was if he was there for Aventurine, a behavior that he himself notes is out of character. ("A waste of time" he says, as he stands there anyway.)

But, second and even more importantly: Ratio's single most defining character trait is that he believes people need to pick themselves up. The entire point of his debut appearance in the game was to present his philosophy that if the powerful or privileged intervene to continually "save" the mediocre, ordinary people will never learn for themselves or get the chance to grow. It is in times of desperation, he says, that fools exceed their limits and reach greatness.

This is why, in 1.6, he insisted on Asta and the Trailblazer being the ones to solve the attacks happening on the space station, without relying on Screwllum or the other geniuses. Although Ratio did actively intervene a little (using the phase flame to save the researchers from death), he did so only from behind the scenes, where his actual help would not be noticed by those affected and where it had no impact on their decision-making or their struggles to solve the mystery.

He let Asta and the Trailblazer panic. He let them flounder. He even deliberately misled them at points, claiming that Duke Inferno must have kidnapped the researchers (when it was actually Ratio himself who re-routed them).

Ultimately, Ratio let Asta and the Trailblazer grow from their experiences.

This is also why he lets the Trailblazer go blazing in to fight Ruan Mei's faux emanator of the propagation, despite knowing that Trailblazer was not actually strong enough to win. Ratio watched and was ready to intervene... but in the end he did not, because it was the Trailblazer's fight to lose.

Ratio's most defining character trait is that he believes standing back and observing is the true kindness, rather than inserting oneself and denying people their autonomy or opportunities to grow.

Buttttt... then there's Aventurine, and suddenly the story is completely different.

Suddenly, Ratio isn't an observer but becomes essential to the plan. He's even walking around making big claims about being the manager of the task, flexing all of his C+ acting ability to actively carry out their mutual ploy.

In 2.3, he claims he was just there to watch, and his Penacony sticker asserts he's only "a supporting character"--yet we have never seen Ratio take a more active role in the entire game. Unlike with the Trailblazer in 1.6, he's not primarily watching events unfold from shadowy corners. He's in Penacony as Aventurine's active partner in crime.

And, even more telling--he later jeopardizes their entire mission just to ask if Aventurine needs help.

What? Huh? The character who is famous for the voice line "You look distressed. Is something troubling you? If so, you can figure it out for yourself" is suddenly offering his assistance entirely unprompted?

The guy whose motto might as well be:

Is suddenly out here throwing his own core philosophy out the window to solve Penacony's mystery for Aventurine and save him from himself in Aventurine's hour of greatest need?

A lot of people get hung up on the second half of Ratio's letter, the part about staying alive, which of course is very sweet. But I think the second half causes people to forget that the first part of Ratio's letter is, quite literally, the answer to Penacony's mystery.

Ratio gave Aventurine the answer.

This is like if your professor just gave you and you alone the score key to the final exam and then turned around to insist he "doesn't play favorites."

Of course, Aventurine is brilliant and didn't need Ratio's answer about dormancy, which makes the fact that Ratio went out of the way to give it to him even more odd. Ratio despises unnecessary repetition. If he wasn't dead worried, he would never have given Aventurine an answer that Aventurine had the power to find on his own.

And, as far as canon tells us, Ratio has never done this for anyone else.

The difference is night and day. It's literally the Gordon Ramsay meme, with everyone else in the entire game being the "fucking donkeys" to Aventurine's "Oh dear. Gorgeous."

So: Even if we entirely put aside shipping, if we look strictly at what we're given in canon:

Ratio treats Aventurine with more respect than he treats most other characters in the game.

He involves himself in Aventurine's struggles in a way that he flat out refuses to do for anyone else.

He compromises his own beliefs purely out of concern for Aventurine.

So, at least as far as we've been shown in canon, it is accurate to state that Aventurine is the closest character to Ratio--and unlike Aventurine (king of self-gaslighting), Ratio isn't even good at acting like he doesn't care.

Frankly, the whole thing is a little sad. Ratio's behavior is so blatantly out of character that a smart person like Aventurine should easily be able to determine it is genuine, but Aventurine's personal hang-ups and ongoing trauma make it difficult for him to even see that authenticity, let alone put faith in it. Even in canon, Ratio is mostly unable to help himself when it comes to Aventurine, which is especially unfortunate given how badly skewed Aventurine's perception of himself and others is by the start of Penacony's story.

PHEW! I finally made it through canon content!

Now there's just... everything else... 🫠

Well, to be honest, I don't think I could ever manage to put all my thoughts about this ship into one post. Probably not even fifty posts.

So rather than trying to say everything there is to say about Ratiorine, what I want to focus on is how fantastically these two characters just fit together. Like puzzle pieces that need to be mirror opposites in order to link, these two characters parallel each other while also perfectly filling in each other's voids. It's some of the best character pair writing I've seen in a long time (though I'm still sort of convinced it was at least 50% sheer luck on Hoyo's part), and my perspective on their ship can really be tied to my underlying perception of Ratio and Aventurine's characters as remarkably similar individuals:

It's obvious that Aventurine is not a healthy or well-adjusted adult man, but like... neither is Ratio.

Both of these characters are "not quite right" marginalized people who, at least in my interpretation, have essentially given up on even faking normality and are now just vaguely play acting their way through being functioning members of a universe that is entirely unequipped to accept them for who they are. In a world full of cyborg cowboys and people with wings growing from their heads, the game still manages to somehow convince us that Aventurine and Ratio are odd ones out.

Kakavasha can't even exist in the dystopian capitalist hellscape of the IPC's machinations. "Aventurine" isn't even a real person, just a never-ending performance, a slick, devil-may-care persona without a single ounce of substance.

Ratio, meanwhile, is a world of one, rejected from the only place he thought he could find validation and acceptance but unable to lower himself to fit in anywhere else.

Aventurine is so bad at making genuine connections that he turns everyday conversations into gambles because he doesn't believe people will care enough to keep talking to him without tangible incentive.

Ratio's insistence on treating everyone as students, not as equals, also means he has an excuse to never emotionally engage with anyone he meets. (This is not at all a textbook method of intentional avoidance to prevent any chance of social rejection. Not at all.)

At the end of the day, Aventurine and Ratio both come across as desperately lonely, and so caught up in their own situations that they really don't have the ability to climb out of that hole on their own.

Preventing them from even being able to maintain any form of relationship is also the fact that neither one of them can even find justification. Neither one of them has a reasonable answer to the question "Why am I alive?" anymore, because Aventurine's reason died on Sigonia and Ratio's reason died with an IPC invitation instead of a Genius Society letter. Though their differing perspectives have led them on opposite paths pursuing their own answers to that ultimate question of "Why should I keep living?" (Aventurine was headed toward giving up before the end of Penacony, while Ratio has invented an immeasurable, impossible goal to distract himself from feeling purposeless), both of them are pretty much miserably unfulfilled in their current lives.

They're also both violently allergic to emotional vulnerability and to having any of their flaws or true desires actually be perceived. Both of them put up insanely high walls. Aventurine pushes boundaries with everyone he meets to provoke their hatred in advance, before they can come to disdain him for his "real" flaws. He acts out harmful racist stereotypes to use others' preconceptions for advantage, manipulating every situation he's in--incidentally affirming the stereotypes against his people by doing so.

Ratio puts a physical wall of plaster between himself and others, but the plaster bust actually doesn't have anything on the mental and emotional gymnastics he's engaged in to justify his isolation from the world, doing everything in his power to convince himself that he's isolated by choice, that it's perfectly logical for Veritas Ratio to have nowhere to truly belong, no one to truly belong with. He's so mundane after all. Of course the geniuses don't want him, that's just commonsense. But everyone else is so... different, so foolish, so illogical... It just wouldn't be reasonable of him to try to become one of them either, to be their friend instead of their distant educator. (You know, if you never try to integrate with others, then they can't reject you. Ratio has learned his lesson.)

Somehow, Aventurine and Ratio are two of the most competent and successful people in Star Rail's entire universe and simultaneously also two of the most misfit, reject, dysfunctional messes in the game. Like... Blade has a better support network than Aventurine and Ratio combined. The 7000-pound murderous mech with a disabled, genetically-modified war veteran who never got to live a normal human life hiding inside it is more capable of making friends than Aventurine and Dr. Ratio.

Which is why I love that the devs decided to make their canon backstory: "Some absolute treasures in the IPC and the Intelligentsia Guild had the galaxy-brained idea of pairing Ratio and Aventurine as strategic partners." The game's writing really said: "These two characters are so socially stunted, they have to be assigned a relationship like it's homework."

They may not have it all figured out yet, but the fans see the design: Now that Ratio and Aventurine have each other, they're not alone anymore. I have never seen two characters better fit the "Is anyone going to match my freak?" meme only for the actual answer to be "Yes."

Ratio is "plays chess with himself" levels of loner weird? No problem--Aventurine is "Wanna take bets on who's going to die today?" weirder. Ratio wears a plaster bust to ward off idiots? Aventurine transforms into a monster on command, which is pretty much guaranteed to achieve the same effect.

Ratio wasn't chosen by Nous? That's fine, Aventurine's one job as a "chosen one" was to save his people and now they're all dead. Nobody can keep up with Ratio in conversation? Watch a single comment from Aventurine turn him into a fumbling mess on live television.

Ratio's inability to relate to the experiences and development of any peers his own age have left him extremely isolated and with a permanently scarred sense of self-worth? Wow, I wonder if Aventurine knows exactly what that feels like.

They just... fit.

And, changing focus a little here at the end: While I personally think that recovery from trauma requires internal motivation and self-kindness foremost, I also think that Ratio and Aventurine's relationship should be considered from the perspective of how they help to fill each other's gaps.

Unlike any connection at the Genius Society who will always evoke unpleasant memories of Nous's rejection, Aventurine isn't going to make Ratio feel intellectually inferior. Aventurine has nothing but good things to say about Ratio's intelligence, and it's even apparent that Ratio felt comfortable enough to at least mention his Genius Society woes to Aventurine, something he explicitly does not do with anyone else.

Even when it comes to social interactions, Aventurine isn't going to make Ratio feel inadequate, because honestly? Aventurine's almost as bad at them as Ratio. Aventurine is much better at faking it socially, but when it actually counts? When he's trying to be real with others? A solid 70% of the people who meet Aventurine still end up wanting to strangle him. The guy tried to apologize for threatening to detonate the Trailblazer like a bomb by buying them a model train...

Then there's this:

Aventurine is the only character explicitly called Ratio's equal in game, and more than just treating him respectfully as an equal, Aventurine also exhibits one extreme appeal that no one else in game has ever shown to Ratio: Aventurine makes Ratio feel needed. For Aventurine, Ratio is not a forgettable after-thought as he is to Herta and most of the other geniuses. He's not just "some weird guy who scolds me about school" like he is to the Trailblazer. Ratio's intellect and skill were integral to Aventurine's plan from step one to the very end. Ratio has a place in Aventurine's plots. For a character who directly assesses worth by how beneficial a person can be to others, the fact that Aventurine can make Ratio feel wanted and valued probably produced some of the strongest personal fulfillment Ratio has had in years.

On the opposite side, Ratio's in a unique position. Out of every relevant character in Aventurine's story, Ratio is the only one who has nothing to lose by choosing Kakavasha over "Aventurine." Ratio doesn't profit off Aventurine or take any expensive gifts from him, like the Trailblazer does. He doesn't need Aventurine's luck for anything at all. He'd be able to work for the IPC even if Aventurine wasn't in it. Ratio certainly doesn't want the glitz and glamour of a shallow gambling hustler persona. His work doesn't require Aventurine's continued involvement like Topaz's and Jade's does. He'd probably prefer not to know any Stonehearts at all, thank you for asking.

Outside of deliberate-acting insults about Sigonians for Sunday's sake, we're not told that Ratio has any connections to--and therefore has no preconceived biases against--Sigonians. Being a person who values self-determination and a refusal to live in mediocrity above all else, he would have nothing but esteem for how far Aventurine has managed to come despite the harsh circumstances of his life. Ratio probably wouldn't even think Aventurine's belief in Gaiathra is that strange; one of Ratio's doctorates is actually in theology.

Unlike literally everyone else in the universe who needs "Aventurine," we have every indication that Ratio's respect and admiration will only grow when he finally gets to meet "Kakavasha."

Loneliness, rejection, betrayal, a lack of understanding from others--all of these can leave wounds that only genuine, deep bonds with others can heal.

On death's doorway, in the darkest shadow, when Aventurine had to make the choice between passing on to be with the family that loved him and choosing to return to a reality without them... Ratio's letter was there, telling Aventurine the exact thing he needed to hear to choose life: Someone is waiting for you to come home.

If the resounding rejection of Star Rail's Nihility is belief in humanity's power to make meaning in our own lives through our connections to others, then the ultimate message of Ratio and Aventurine's arc in Penacony is that no one needs to be alone. The world is not as empty as you fear.

And that is a message that Ratio and Aventurine can learn best through each other.

(I just... love them so much...)

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corroded-hellfire · 2 months

Text

Tiny Dancer - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish Story

Summary: It’s your daughter Eliza’s first recital and Eddie couldn’t be prouder

Note: This idea came to me and would not leave me alone until I wrote it 💕

Warnings: older!eddie, dad!eddie

Words: 1.9k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Why did I have to wear a tie?” Luke complains, yanking at his buttoned-up collar.

Eddie leans forward so he can see Luke around Ryan, who is seated between them.

“Because this is a special occasion. Your sister’s first recital.”

“They’re three-year-olds,” Luke hisses in a whisper, one hand gesturing towards the empty stage.

“Hey,” Ryan says to his brother, “she cheered louder than anyone for you at your baseball game. You can do this for her.”

Eddie nods at his oldest in thanks.

Luke turns to you and asks, “Think her hair is still all up in the bun?”

Wrangling your daughter’s dark curls into the ballerina bun on the top of her head had been a massive undertaking. Some spirals were shorter than others, so there were always a few popping out right as you would go to secure the hair with the white bow. It was an immense test of patience to try time and time again all while Eliza became more antsy and less appreciative of you tugging on strands of hair. She ended up with enough hairspray on her little head to make her hair as hard as a helmet.

“It’s out of my hands now,” you say, wiping your hands and holding them up in defeat. “If Ms. Benson wants to deal with a curl going rogue, that’s on her.”

The lights dim and eight little ballerinas walk onstage, all with hands on their hips, poofy pink tutus flaring out just below them. Their instructor, Ms. Benson, follows them out to make sure they’re all in the spots they should be.

Eliza is the third ballerina from the left, and she looks so precious you think your heart might burst. Her white tights and ballet slippers somehow aren’t stained even though they’d been in your house longer than forty-eight hours. The pink leotard and tutu give her the regal air of a princess, though that might just be Eliza’s own aura. She’s nothing if not captivatingly glamorous. It looks like all of her unruly curls are still on their best behavior, but it would be hard to see one or two offenders that sprang loose from the audience anyway.

You peek over at Eddie and see him beaming as he looks at your little girl up onstage. He feels your gaze and turns his head to meet your eyes. The pride on his face makes your heart melt against your ribs. Eliza hasn’t even done anything yet and Eddie is over the moon.

“She’s so beautiful,” Eddie whispers.

“Like her dad,” you reply, giving him a wink.

He playfully rolls his eyes, but you don’t miss the touch of pink that colors his cheeks. Luke puts his hands on his stomach and pretends to gag. Eddie thunks him on the back of the head.

Ms. Benson finishes her inspection and gives the girls a thumbs up. She scurries off stage, all ballerinas still with hands on hips. None of them can truly stay still, though. A few are swaying, one is twisting from side to side, and Eliza shakes one little leg, her knee bouncing up and down. You’re unsure if it’s due to nerves or anticipation.

A few moments later, the speakers above the stage crackle to life. The opening notes of music tinkle and the voice of young Shirley Temple singing On The Good Ship Lollipop floats through the air.

Eliza and her fellow dancers start to move, tapping the slipper on one foot on the stage in front of them, then switching to the other foot. It’s hard to tell what foot they’re all supposed to be on, since it’s split about fifty-fifty with what foot each girl is using.

On The Good Ship Lollipop

It's a sweet trip to a candy shop

Where bon-bons play

On the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay

Arms go above Eliza’s head as she spins around, little feet stomping around in a small circle rather than spinning on one foot. Once she’s facing forward again, her arms come down to shoulder level and her knees bend and straighten, bend and straighten, as the ballerinas bounce. Again, all girls are going at different times and speeds, so it’s hard to know on which notes they’re supposed to be up or down on.

Lemonade stands everywhere

Crackerjack bands fill the air

And there you are

Happy landing on a chocolate bar

Next, it’s one hand back on the hip and one hand waving out to the crowd as the dancers rock from side to side. You specifically remember Eliza practicing this move at home and she kept reiterating how her toes needed to be pointed on the foot she wasn’t balancing on. Only two other girls have their toes pointed at the appropriate times, so you can tell they didn’t take this step as seriously as your daughter.

The moves of the eight tiny dancers are clunky and mismatched, which makes the performance all the cuter. When they all walk to the right on tippy toes, they’re at varying heights, some more flat-footed than others. On the march back to the left, one girl stomps so hard you can hear the clacking of her slippers.

With arms out, the girls do one more twirl and then take their bows.

The crowd breaks into applause and the small girls smile, appreciating the praise for their performances. The ballerina farthest on the right jumps up and down in excitement and the one on Eliza’s left waves furiously to her family. But Eliza stays in her final position, grinning from ear to ear as she looks out at you and her guys.

“Yay, Eliza!” Luke cheers.

Ms. Benson comes out, leads the girls in one more bow, then ushers them all off. The applause is still going.

“There’s my ballerina!” Eddie grins and catches Eliza as she runs over and leaps into his arms. He presses a smacking kiss to her cheek and squeezes her in his arms. “Mwah!”

“I did good?” she asks as the other girls reunite with their families all around you.

“You were wonderful,” you tell her, leaning in to give her a kiss on the opposite cheek. “Did you hear me cheer for you?” Luke asks.

“Yes,” Eliza says with a giggle. “So loud!”

“Of course, it’s Luke,” Ryan says. He ignores Luke’s jab to his ribs as he reaches up and presents his sister with a bouquet of white flowers or different varieties.

Eliza beams and takes the crinkling plastic wrapping from him. She leans in to sniff the flowers and giggles as a few brush her nose.

“I got flowers!”

“For being the best ballerina ever,” you tell her.

“I love! Can you hold ‘em, Daddy?”

“Of course, my little ballerina.” He takes the bouquet from her with his free hand.

Ryan pulls on the bottom ruffle of his little sister’s tutu. “You look like a pretty poof ball.”

“Mama, can you take bow out?” Eliza asks.

“Sure thing, sweet pea.”

Eddie bends down a bit so you can see the top of her head. As gently as you can, you unwind the bow from her hair, wincing when you accidentally tug on it. Tough little girl that she is though, Eliza doesn’t whine.

Once you get it out, you do your best to stifle a laugh. It’s not good enough though, a snort of laughter breaking through your hand covering your mouth. Luke and Ryan laughing as well doesn’t help, either.

“What?” Eliza asks with a pout.

“Sweetie,” Eddie says, also with a small chuckle, “I think Mommy used so much hairspray on you that your hair is stuck up in a bun all by itself.”

She gasps and her hands go to the top of her head. She feels around the stiff hair, moving backwards to the curly bun that hasn’t fallen one little bit since you took the bow out. Short fingers inspect the bun and Eliza turns to look at you with panicked eyes.

“Mama!” she cries. “My hair!”

“It’s okay, Liza,” you tell her, not able to help a small giggle coming out with your words. You pat her back soothingly. “As soon as you take a bath, it’ll be good as new.”

Your words visibly calm her. Her shoulders lower, though she still keeps her hands up on her hair. Now that she knows it isn’t stuck that way, she’s able to find the humor in it. Small giggles turn into loud laughter as she begins to shake her head from side to side like a wet dog getting out of the bath. Her hair hardly moves, only wobbling a little when she really whips her head around.

“Do you want me to put your bow back in since we’re going out to eat?” you ask.

Eliza gasps. “We are?”

“Yep! Wherever you want,” Luke says, but adds under his breath, “despite my begging.”

“Yes, bow please.”

“What do you want to eat?” Ryan asks as you secure the soft white bow back around her stiff bun.

“Mmm…pancakes!”

“Ooh, breakfast for dinner,” Luke says, nodding his head in approval. “Nice choice. I’ll gladly wear my fancy schmancy suit while eating a waffle.”

“Okay, you can take off the tie now,” Eddie says. “I don’t feel like washing syrup out of it.”

“You don’t feel like washing syrup out of it?” you ask, raising your eyebrows at your husband.

Eliza pats her dad’s shoulder three times, as if she didn’t already have his attention.

“Mama does wash.”

“You tell him, kid,” Ryan says to his little sister.

“Why you taking the girls’ side?” Eddie asks as you all begin to head towards the doors.

Ryan looks over at his little brother who is wrestling to get his tie off over his head. It’s currently stuck around his eyes and Luke just keeps tugging on it.

“I’m not on his side,” Ryan says, looking back towards his dad.

“Well, help him!” Eddie scolds Ryan.

“I gotcha, Luke,” you say.

A few strategic pulls and you have the knot undone, the green tie falling away into your hand.

“Thanks,” Luke says as he reaches up to rub his nose. “How’d you learn to undo ties?”

“Taking dad’s off,” Ryan says with a smirk.

Both you and Eddie whip your head towards Ryan with wide eyes. Luckily, both of his siblings are too young to get his innuendo. The further he gets into his teenage years, the more subtly inappropriate comments he makes.

“Dad doesn’t wear ties a lot,” Luke says.

“You’re right, Luke,” you say, ruffling his curls. Then you step closer to Ryan and wrap your arm around his head, your hand closing in over his mouth. “And you need to watch yourself, Mr. Teenager.”

Ryan mumbles something beneath your hand and the muffled sound makes Eliza laugh. When you still don’t move your hand, Ryan licks it, and you yank it back. Eliza laughs even harder at that.

“You think it’s funny?” you tease, wiping your saliva-coated hand off on your daughter’s tight-clad leg. She squirms in Eddie’s arms, her legs kicking and almost catching him in the crotch.

“Ewww!” Eliza squeals.

“I don’t have germs,” Ryan says.

“Yes, you do,” Luke and Eliza say at the same time.

“Can I eat at a different restaurant?” Ryan asks.

“Nope,” you say, looping your arm through his. “You’re stuck with us.”

“Yep!” Eliza echoes. “You’re stuck!”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #older!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #AYW #AYWS #dad!eddie

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ofstarsandvibranium · 3 months

Text

Unity

Fandom: Star Wars - The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x GN!Reader

Summary: You wake up on an unknown planet with a powerful Force wielder offering to help you hone in on your Force abilities.

Qimir Masterlist

You wake with a jolt, your eyes wide and filled with fear. You slowly sit up and take in your surroundings. You're in a cave but you're not sure where or why. You think back on what you remember last: Qimir showing up, him leading you to his ship, and then darkness.

"What the kriff, Qimir?" you mumble to yourself. You slide out of the makeshift bed and take a look around. Light shines through the crevices of the cave. There's another bed spread a short distance from yours as well as a pot with some sort of stew in it.

"You're awake," you hear a deep modulated voice and you turn. A man donning a black cloak and helmet stands in the entrance of the cave.

You gulp and ask, "Where's Qimir?"

"Off on a mission."

"And Mae?"

"Both of them are on a mission."

"...so we're alone," you state with a hint of fear.

The man cocks his head to the side, "I'm sure Qimir has told you I promised not to hurt you. I intend to keep my word."

He slowly stalks towards you. The hair on the back of your neck stands in alertness as he begins to circle around you. Your fists are clenched and you're trying to keep a level head.

"You're afraid," the masked stranger states.

"I was knocked out and taken to a mysterious planet and now have a powerful Force wielder circling me like an ice vulture. Anyone with a sensible brain would be afraid."

"You came willingly."

You can't help but scoff, "Qimir and Mae both stated that if I didn't go to you, you would come to me. I'd rather go to you than risk those around me of potential danger."

"Admirable, yet you're still afraid." With a flick of the stranger's wrist, a pot comes hurling your way, and you hold out your hand to cover your face. The impact doesn't come as the pot is suspended in the air.

You gasp, stepping back and dropping your hand, resulting in the pot to collapse to the ground with a clang. You immediately look back at the man who continues to stare at you. His helmet has no visor. You're not sure how he can see. It's crafted in a way that it creates some sort of devilish smile that leaves you unsettled.

"You possess a great ability. It's a shame you've gone this long unable to properly wield it."

"I'm not interested in being a Jedi-"

"Who said I was a Jedi?" you don't answer and he continues, "I can teach you the ways of the Force that aren't restrictive like the Jedi. I can help you reach your full potential. You have a gift, Y/N, you should learn how to use it. Let me help you," he holds out his hand and you look at it.

Your brows furrow and you suddenly look up, remembering that very same hand reached out to you, the very same hand that lead you up the ramp to the ship. That hand that gently cupped your face and made you fall into darkness.

Your breathing hitches and you slowly back away, "Qimir?"

The hand closes and slowly drops to the man's side, "I'm impressed." The man reaches up and lifts the helmet off him to reveal Qimir, "Not even my own apprentice has figured it out yet." He takes a step forward and you step back. He holds his hands up, "I told you, I won't hurt you."

"I'm so confused. Why-What do you want with me? Has this been a game to you or something?"

"I assure you, when I first walked into your shop, I was only there for the poison. However, there was something about you that kept me wanting to come back. To see you. I now know why. You have the Force. I can train you and-"

"You already have Mae-"

"You're different. Mae is my apprentice. You...You will be my equal. Together, we can make a difference," he slowly steps towards you and you remain unmoved. He takes your right hand and interlocks his fingers with yours. He repeats the same gesture with your left hand.

There's a faint buzzing sensation coarsing through you. You look at your intertwined hands and then at Qimir, who's smirking at you.

"See? How does it feel?"

"Strange...yet, comforting."

"Imagine how it'll feel when you become more familiar with the Force. How good it'll feel to be strong and powerful. Imagine it, Y/N," Qimir says with a whisper as he leans forward pressing his forehead against yours.

The air around you shifts and vibrates. It's a sensation you never felt before but you can already tell how addicting it is. It's as if you can see, hear, and feel everything around you and how much power they all contain.

"Stay with me," Qimir, "Be my equal."

You remain still as you gather your thoughts. You have never left Batuu until now. You always yearned for more than being just a shop owner. Despite being good at making concoctions and the occasional healing, you felt like you could be so much more than that.

You step back, peeling yourself from Qimir to look him in the eyes and say, "I want to be your equal."

He breaks into a wide grin, an eagerness in his eyes and a hint of something else you couldn't quite place.

#qimir x reader #qimir imagine #the acolyte #the acolyte imagine #star wars #star wars imagine

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roguelov · 1 year

Text

Sleepless Night

Summary: Unable to sleep, you stumbled across Sanji at the back of the ship. A quick exchange, and some teasing remarks, a realization was made. Sanji hasn’t been with anyone, and you wanted to be his first

Word Count: ~ 4k

Reader: Afab (referred as love/sweetheart)

Warning: SMUT (oral (m!receiving and f!receiving), light exhibition (outside at night), voyeurism, inexperienced!Sanji)

Part 2

MINOR DNI/ 18+ ONLY

The late night breeze rippled across the obsidian glasslike sea. The ship, the Going Merry, was gently rocked like a baby in a cradle. The moon and stars glittered across the sky, guiding those to the land of dreams. It was a calm night, a peaceful night.

Yet, one soul was awake.

Sanji leaned his forearms on the railing, overlooking the sea staring off into the horizon. The sky and sea almost seamlessly blended together. A cigarette lazily hung from his fingertips. The salty water misted in the air, mixing with the light smoke. He brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. The sweet nicotine swirled around, filling his chest. Tipping his head back, he exhaled slowly. His usually pristine suit was exchanged for sweatpants and a plain shirt. The chilly air nipped at his skin, but he didn’t mind. In fact, he welcomed it. Everything about tonight should lull a person to sleep, and have them running to be tucked nicely under the covers, yet he was wide awake.

The only one, or so he thought.

“You know those things can kill you.”

Sanji immediately smiled to himself. He laughed once, then glanced over to you. You strolled up beside him, sporting similar pajamas. Another sign you both should be asleep, you were dressed for it. You leaned your arms onto the railing, mimicking his stance.

“Is that so?” He quipped. “I’m sure a few won’t kill me before the Grand Line.”

“No,” you tilted your head in thought. “But, I might if I see you light another one.”

Sanji dipped his head, leaning in close to you. The smoke wafted off of him, a smell which always lingered around him. A smell which stirred such conflicting emotions in you. A devilish smirk danced over his lips. “Are you threatening me, sweetheart?”

You let out a bark of laughter and matched his smirk. “Definitely.”

You quickly snatched his cigarette then flicked it out into the sea. Sanji blinked, stunned for a moment. “I still had some left,” he mumbled, disappointedly. He shook his head, then smiled back at you. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You rolled your eyes, and bumped his hip, “So, why are you up so late?”

“Couldn’t sleep, you?”

“Same,” you sighed, leaning heavily into the railing. It was just one of those nights, your mind and body were at war with each other.

Sanji smirked, “Bet I could make you tired.”

You snorted, playing into this game of yours. “Yeah? Do you think you could keep up with me?”

“Oh! Well, look at you,” he chuckled. “I certainly will try. What do you say, love? Should we give it a go?”

This was your normal relationship with Sanji. The light teasing, the flirtatious comments; well, him more than you. Sanji’s silver tongue was far faster and sweeter than your own. Yet, you never thought it was nothing else but some simply fun.

Or you thought it was just for him.

Maybe it was because the two of you were alone, maybe it was because you knew you would probably just crawl back to your bed unable to sleep the rest of the night, maybe it was because he looked so unbelievably beautiful in the moonlight, you wanted to push it tonight. Normally, you would have dropped it by now. You would both laugh, and pretend nothing happened. Only for these same heart pounding scenarios to happen over and over.

Yet, a voice called out: your buried desires for the cook.

You wanted to test where the boundary in the sand was drawn between the two of you. Was it only games? Was there some truth behind his words? With the rest of the crew sleeping, you had to take your chance now.

Staring unwaveringly into his dazzling blue eyes, you said, “And if I say yes? What then?”

Sanji blinked, taken back. He opened his mouth and muttered utterly confused, “Wait, what?”

Don’t turn back now.

“I said -“

“No, no, I heard you. It’s just I, uh, I didn’t really expect you to ever answer with a yes.”

You cocked your head. Sanji’s smooth, wicked tongue was failing him. This was a side you never thought you would see, let alone a side he had. His words then replayed in your head, making you question a few things. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Sanji was handsome, sweet, kind, a great friend and cook. Only a fool would say no to him.

And a fool you were for a long time.

He licked his lips, glancing away. “I, uh, I don’t know -“ he fiddled with his hands, wishing desperately you didn’t toss away his cigarette - “I just never thought you would or if … if …”

His voice trailed off.

Your eyebrows knitted together. You stared more and more, watching him with confusion while he oddly retreated within himself. Under the moonlight, a faint blush dusted across his cheeks. His eyes widened, actively avoiding your gaze. He fidgeted in place, picking at his nails or part of the banister.

He was so nervous, so unlike him, almost as if -

Realization finally struck you.

“Oh - oh!” You twisted around to face him directly. There was no way to beat around the bush, you just had to ask him. “Sanji, have you ever been with anyone before?”

He tensed up at your question. You hit the nail square on the head. He sighed, dropping his shoulders. Was there any real point in hiding it now? “I may or may not have been busy with the Baratie and the old man, never had much time to myself.”

“Really?”

You would have never guessed. You would have assumed he had flings almost every night with the constant stream of customers. A new love, a new interest, with every ship that came in.

“Yes,” he groaned. Shame and embarrassment bubbled up inside of him. He may talk a big game, but he had nothing to back it up.

“Hey.” You gently rested your hand on his arm. His attention dropped to your hand then up to your kind face. “I’m not judging you, I don’t care honestly. I’m just surprised because you’re just so - so … flirty? Sauve? You’re just really good with your words.”

Even if he can be a bit cheesy at times.

Sanji laughed through his nose. “I find words are easier, sweetheart.”

You smiled at him, so endearing and sweet. His heart skipped at such a loving sight. “I don’t blame you, people can be a bit more complex,” you chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood.

He smiled softly in return, then glanced away. You both looked back out towards the sea. Sanji still naturally leaned into you, seeking out your warmth and comfort. Despite it all, nothing seemed to truly change. He was still Sanji, and you were still you.

Or so it seemed.

You, on the other hand, were now utterly restless. An idea was planted inside your head. One you couldn’t quite ignore. You bit your lip, nervously.

Where is the line? And do I dare keep pushing it?

“Sanji?”

He hummed, almost absentmindedly.

“Could … could I be your first?”

“What?” He whipped his head towards you.

“We don’t have to go all the way, I thought maybe I could just …”

How could you word this? You didn’t want to be harshly blunt and possibly frighten him.

“Just to start off small, I was thinking maybe I could … suck you off?”

You winced internally. That wasn’t entirely smooth. But, like you said, Sanji was better with words than you were.

He gulped, gawking at you. His quick fire mouth silenced for once. How could he say no? Why would he say no? To be his first, it was almost like a dream. Excited nerves sparked across his growing hot skin. His heart pounded feverishly in his chest, and he licked his lips trying to find his voice again.

“Are … are you sure?” He asked in a soft dazed whisper.

You smiled. “Sanji, I don’t mind but this is about you. Do you want this?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, without needing a second thought.

He wanted this, he wanted you. He wanted you the moment he saw you, but he never thought such fantasies could become reality.

“Good,” you whispered. You slowly sank to your knees in front of him.

“Out here?” He whispered out in surprise.

“Why not? Everyone else is asleep, and we’re at the back of the ship so no one should see us.”

His body buzzed. “Are you sure?”

You glanced up at him for a moment. Nerves were written so plainly all over his face. Maybe, this is a bit too much. “Sanji, we can go inside if you want. This is about you so -“

“Out here is good.”

You blinked, shocked by his quick change. “Are you sure? Because I want you to be comfortable.”

“Yeah,” he sighed then smiled. Honestly, the place didn’t matter. He just wanted you. But, out here on the deck, oh it sent a pleasant chill down his spine. “I’m sure, love.”

“Okay then,” you nodded.

You situated yourself, ensuring Sanji’s back leaned into the railing while you sat on your knees before him. Your hands skimmed up his thighs, just dipping your toe into the water. And yet, Sanji shook slightly under the simple touch.

“Relax, Sanji.”

“Sweetheart, I’m trying but - oh my god, you look so - so -“

Amazing. Beautiful. Stunning.

You peered up at him with adoration. Yet, a sinful darkness swept over your features. A viper-like smile crossed over your lips. You couldn’t hold back your desires. Seeing him stuttering, so unlike his usual composed self, was absolutely thrilling. You chuckled at his rosy tinted cheeks and ears.

“What happened? You’re usually so good with your words,” you teased, running your hands up and down his thighs.

His knees nearly buckled. You hadn’t even truly done anything, but any touch left his body dizzy. He was trapped in a whirlwind of building desires. “Hard to think when you’re looking up at me like that,” he mumbled.

You hummed, smirking to yourself. “Well? Can I take these off?” You snapped the band of his sweatpants, almost making him jump.

Sanji didn’t trust his voice for once. He simply nodded.

“Wonderful,” you purred.

You carefully tugged down the sweatpants, revealing a wet spot on his boxers. You bit your lip. You hadn’t begun, and yet he was already turned on. It fueled your ego a bit.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” You promised.

But, you would also have your fun along the way.

You softly blew on the wet patch. Sanji’s hands grabbed the railing, holding it in a crushing white-knuckling grip. He swallowed, and groaned very softly.

How was he going to last?

You kissed directly over the patch.

Sanji shoved a fist into his mouth, forcing back an awfully loud moan.

You slowly slid down his boxers, and his cock sprung out. You shivered at the sight of it. To say the cook was packing was an understatement. You snuck a glance up at him. He looked adorable. No, appetizing. His cheeks were flushed, and a hand covered his mouth preventing any wayward sounds. He was fighting back against his own desires, but you desperately wanted the cook to lose control. You wanted to see this side of him, to see pleasure wrought into every inch of his body.

And to know you were the first made it all the more delicious.

Your fingers curled around the base of his cock. Sanji fiercely but his lip, trying to keep calm. Your thumb brushed over his red, swollen tip, gathering up precum. You gave him a few soft and teasingly slow pumps. Sanji tipped his head back, falling under your spell. His hand slid from his mouth, latching onto the railing. Your hands were far better than his own.

You then swept the flat of your tongue over his swollen tip. He bit down on his lip harshly, almost about to draw blood. His eyes squeezed so tight, losing a part of himself with every passing second.

“Fucking hell,” he hissed out.

You chuckled, mischievously. Teasing him was so easy now. His reactions were delightful, and spurred your own growing desires.

Your tongue ran up the underneath of his cock. He slapped his hand over his mouth, groaning into his palm. Then, you peppered kisses up and down. With each kiss - each sweet butterfly kiss - he became more and more vocal.

If only you could hear it so clearly.

Kissing his tip one last time, your lips finally wrapped around him and took him inch by inch. Your tongue glided along his base, tasting him and feeling the weight of him. Taking all of him, you held him in your mouth for a second before slowly pulling back. You repeated the movements, slow and steady. A teasing pace, or a way to warm him up to it.

Your eyes flickered up, eager to see all of his reactions.

His eyebrows were pinched together in pleasure. His soft pants could not be completely silenced by his hand. While, the other held firmly onto the railing. He needed stability, he needed support.

You removed your mouth completely. You reached over, gently grabbing his hand on the railing and guiding to the top of your head. “Here,” you encouraged. “You can keep your hand here, and tug on my hair if you want.”

He peered down at you like some dazzling treasure. “I - really? Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You laughed lightly. Your hands wrapped around his thighs. “You can’t hurt me. Besides -“ you threw him a wicked smirk - “maybe I want you to hurt me.”

Fuck.

He could have came right there.

“You’re dangerous, sweetheart,” he muttered in awe.

You winked, then chuckled darkly. You quickly took him in your mouth again, setting a faster pace. Your tongue swirled and grazed along him. Your fingernails dug into his thighs, eager to do all you can for him.

And dear god, you were.

Sanji was losing himself. Pleasure was filling his veins, and blood rushed in his ears. He was becoming wildly desperate for his release. His hips bucked once, unconsciously chasing his high.

You groaned, feeling his tip kiss the back of your throat.

Sanji flinched, and froze in place. Has he hurt you? He grunted, forcing himself to stay still and enjoy it.

You pulled away with a pop.

Sanji nearly whined.

“Don’t hold back,” you said, a little breathless. “I don’t mind if you move your hips.”

‘You can fuck my face,’ you almost said. However, you tried your best to be a little tame.

Sanji’s heart nearly bursted. He nodded, humming in response.

“Good.” You kissed his tip, and Sanji almost fell backwards into the sea. “Because if anything was wrong, I would tell you. Now, enjoy yourself.”

Your lips wrapped around his cock. Your head bobbed up and down again. Sanji bucked his hips again. You hummed, encouraging him.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. He was panting heavily. His head fell forward, watching you. Your lips covered in spit, wrapped so perfectly around him. It was a sight he never thought would happen. Your eyes locked with his. His hair clung to his forehead. His eyes had pooled into the sinful black, and sweat glistened along his skin.

He hasn’t looked more beautiful until now.

You hummed. He hissed then moaned softly. His lovely lips were now an incoherent mess.

He gasped, “Love, I - I -“

He choked on his words. He couldn’t form a thought, let alone a full sentence.

But, you understood. His cock twitched in your mouth. He was close. You wanted to whisper to him, to whispering loving praises in his ear. ‘Come for me, Sanji’, or ‘you’re doing so good’ but perhaps another time.

He moaned, and leaned heavily back into the railing. He could barely keep himself upright anymore. He rocked his hips, matching your pace. He tugged on your hair, drawing you closer. Your nose brushed against his abdomen with each thrust. You relaxed your jaw, allowing him to use you.

You moaned, loudly.

This was all so hot.

His head fell back, mumbling your name over and over. This was heavenly. You were heavenly. This was better than he dreamt over, far better knowing you were the one doing such things.

God, he was already imagining other things. He wanted fuck you, he wanted to make love with you, he wanted to have you on the counter, he wanted to see you riding him, he wanted to try it all. He wanted to do it all with you.

“Please,” he whimpered. He wanted this to last forever, but the pleasure was too much. “Can - can I come in your mouth?”

You moaned a ‘yes’.

That was all he needed.

He came down your throat, moaning out your name. You hummed, taking it all. Sanji glanced down at you with heavy eyes. He panted loudly, gulping down air. Ever so slowly, he released his intense grip on your hair. His legs shook slightly reeling from all of this.

Peering up at him, you pulled away then opened your mouth. His cum sat on your tongue. He whimpered faintly, utterly spent and in awe. You gladly swallowed it with a devious smirk.

His reaction was priceless.

You pulled up his boxers and pants. Standing up, you patted his chest, feeling his chaotic heart race under your fingertips. A swell of pride surged through you. You opened your mouth to ask if he liked it, when he swiftly grabbed your face kissing you.

Your eyes widened, but instantly fell into him.

His tongue slipped past your lips, drawing out your wondrous sinful sounds and desires. He could taste himself on your tongue. He groaned.

Fuck, he thought.

He pushed off the railing, flipping you around. Your lower back dug into the wood, but you didn’t mind. Your hands wandered up his chest into his hair. Your fingers tangled into the blonde locks, tugging on them softly. He moaned against your lips. He nipped on your bottom lip, loving your small gasps.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips. “Please, I want to return the favor.”

His hands skimmed down your sides, gripping your hips. He drew you close to him. You grinded softly against him. A small, sweet moan fell off your lips.

Sanji was greedy for more.

You had only given him a tasting, he now wanted the meal.

“I … I want to … please,” he begged again.

He was already sinking down to his knees. His fingers dug into your thighs, bunching up your sweatpants. Your heart pounded in your chest as you bit your lip. Just as he thought earlier, why would you say no? Even if he was inexperienced, you didn’t care.

“Okay, okay,” you mumbled, shakily.

His eyes twinkled with glee, like a kid in a candy store. You hastily kicked off your sweatpants, and about to remove your underwear -

“Let me.”

Sanji’s hands stopped yours. You froze then nodded, letting go. You wanted him to try and take charge, to see what he would do.

Sanji hummed. He slowly pulled down your underwear. He was entranced. His fingers delicately traced down your thighs and legs being as gentle as possible. As he brought them down, you stepped out of them. Sanji placed them with your sweatpants. Glancing back, he groaned at the sight of your glistening cunt.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, licking his lips.

His breath on your dripping folds made you shiver. You were immensely turned on by all of this. But, it was the hunger in his eyes that made you weak. Such hunger and want. He wanted to please you in any capacity, he wanted to be good for you.

Holy shit.

“Sanji,” you breathed out. “Can - can I -“

“Do whatever you need to, love.”

“I just want to -“ you carefully hooked one of your legs over his shoulder. You leaned backwards using the railing and Sanji for support.

He firmly grabbed your thigh, thrilled by this. He turned his head, kissing all over your thigh. Up and down, up and down, until he trail led back to where you needed him. You shivered, tipping your head back.

“Sanji,” you sighed.

“What do you need? Tell me what to do,” he purred, buzzing with excitement.

“Your tongue, your tongue, I -“

His tongue quickly swept through your folds. You groaned. His mouth latched itself onto you, swirling around. His tongue was like utter magic. You supposed you should have known from the kiss. Sanji knew how to work his tongue, he had experience in that field. All he needed was a little guidance and encouragement elsewhere.

“Higher,” you gasped. “Go higher.”

His mouth moved. His lips wrapped around your clit and you whined.

“Right there, fuck,” you hissed.

Sanji hummed.

For a brief moment, you saw stars. He sucked on your clit, feeling your thigh twitch. Sanji groaned at the thought of both of your thighs wrapped around his head.

Another time, he swore to himself.

His tongue slowly swirled around again, lapping up your juices. His movements were hesitant, yet with each of your sighs and praises he grew more and more confident. Every sound was music to his ears. Sanji pulled away. He stared up at you breathless. His chin coated in your juices. He wanted to savor this moment.

Savor you.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled. Your eyes dropped down to him. He smiled softly with such a boyish charm. “You are absolutely stunning.”

You laughed once, shaking your head. It seemed he had his silver tongue back. Sanji dived back in. His tongue parted your folds, curling around, and pushing inside of you. You moaned. Your fingers tangled into his hair.

“Fuck, Sanji,” you hummed.

Your foul mouth only encouraged him.

With his hand still on your thigh, he tugged you forward. His nose brushed against your clit. You gasped. Pleasure shot through you. You whimpered as your hips unconsciously bucked forward again.

More. You wanted more.

Your heel dug into his back, and you yanked on his hair. Sanji moaned, sending sweet loving vibrations throughout you. “Keeping going, Sanji, just like that.”

Sanji listened perfectly. He devoured you.

Fuck, he’s a natural.

Just with your gentle guidance, and your soft moans, Sanji had quickly learned your body. His tongue swept against your folds again and again. You moaned, almost pornographically. You rode his face, bucking your hips against his wondrous tongue.

You were panting as your pleasure built and built. “Fuck, Sanji, I’m about to come.”

He whined, “Oh, please, sweetheart.”

His fingers dug into your thigh. His lips wrapped around your clit, hearing your sweet sharp inhales. All your weight fell into the railing. You gasped, chanting Sanji’s name over and over. Your eyes squeezed shut, and finally let go, let pleasure consume you. You cried out his name. Sanji moaned as you came all over him. He greedily lapped up everything, not daring to waste a single drop.

He carefully pulled away, and your leg slid off his shoulder. He stood up, and cupped your face. He kissed you passionately once more. His expert tongue slid inside, making you taste him and yourself.

“Fuck,” you mumbled into the kiss.

Your knees were weak. You clung to his arms, humming into the kiss. Sanji slowly broke the kiss, enjoying your soft whines of protests. Both of you were panting, filling up the quiet still night.

Sanji chuckled once. “So? How did I do, sweetheart? Tired yet?”

You may have created a monster.

You blinked, then shook your head. You smirked, “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, unless you’re tired.”

He wrapped an arm around you. “Oh, sweetheart, I can keep going.”

I want to keep going, I want to have it all, he thought. Besides, what meal isn’t better without some dessert?

#one piece #one piece live action #Opla #sanji vinsmoke #opla sanji #opla x reader #sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke x reader #smut #afab!reader

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aquaquadrant · 7 months

Text

Philophobia

Word Count: 5,271 Warnings: Shipping, inappropriate/crude humor, paranormal activity, suspense/mild horror, descriptive kissing, mild language Summary: For architecture major and paranormal skeptic Grian, his friends’ after-hours ghost hunting group was just an excuse to spend time with his crush, Scar, without having to actually ask him out. But one fateful night, he finds there just might be things in this world that are scarier than emotional vulnerability… even if only by a very slim margin.

A/N: Did someone ask for a Phasmophobia-inspired Scarian au? Oh yeah, my friend @lunarcrown did! Inspired by the art she made here.

So this is kind of a modern-day college au (not set within the fictional universe of Minecraft), howEVER there are some fantasy aspects in that non-human species (like mob hybrids/monsters) still exist cuz they’re fun and I’m not giving anyone a normal modern name cuz that’s too weird. This is only Phasmophobia-inspired in that GIGS have a ghost-hunting group that functions the same way, but rarely find any conclusive evidence, and don’t have unlimited lives cuz they aren’t playing a game. With that out of the way, hope y’all enjoy, please reblog/comment if u do! - Aqua

~*~

Philophobia

~*~

“I think this is gonna be the one, guys,” Impulse says, turning their van into the driveway.

The suspension creaks as they roll over gravel, rattling the frame in a way that hums through Grian’s hollow bones. His arm is cold where it presses against the window; it’s almost sunset and Impulse has yet to get the van’s heater fixed despite his promises. Stupid demon blood keeping him warm while Grian shivers in the stupid custom pleather jumpsuit that Scar insisted they had made, for their stupid ‘brand’ as a stupid ghost-hunting group. Great, his stupid zipper’s come down again- he stubbornly zips it back up because unlike Scar, he doesn’t like constantly having his bare chest out on display.

Of course, he hasn’t got as much to show off as Scar, who must be getting up at 3 am every morning to work out in order to maintain all that muscle. No wonder Scar prefers to keep his zipper down to his belly button, and doesn’t seem to have ever met a shirt that fits him properly.

… Not that Grian’s ever paid much attention to that sort of thing.

Grian gives an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been saying that about every case we’ve had for three years!”

“No, no, I really mean it!” Impulse insists. “I feel it in my bones.”

“Yeah,” Scar agrees, leaning forward so his shoulder brushes against Grian’s, “you know Impulse bones good!”

The earnest nature of his statement- and the unexpected physical contact- makes Grian flush. “Scar!” he shrieks, swatting Scar’s shoulder.

“What?” Scar defends. “What, he- he’s got big and strong bones, wonderful bones…”

He acts as if he’s got no idea he said something that could be taken the wrong way. And if it weren’t for the upturned corners of his mouth and the barely-restrained laugh in his voice, Grian might actually believe him.

“Dude,” Skizz chuckles from the front seat, “shut up, that’s awesome.”

Impulse sighs. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “the place recently had a change in ownership. Previous owner passed away-”

“From murder?” Scar gasps.

Another sigh. “No, from liver failure.”

Grian snorts. “From all the drinking he did to forget about the ghostly hauntings?” he presses, exchanging a cheeky grin with Scar.

“No,” Impulse says, with the patience of a saint, “just normal old-age organ failure. The guy was ancient, and some kinda recluse. House had been in his family since it was built, but uh, he had no living relatives, no will when he died. So the bank took ownership and it’s been sitting off-market for like, fifteen years, til some hot-shot investor thought he could flip it-”

“Ughh,” Grian groans, tipping his head back against the seat. “Investors are the worst-”

“I know, I know,” Impulse soothes, “but um, he’d barely begun when things started happening. Contractors reported it day one, then the owner experienced an event himself and called us. So it’s basically still untouched.”

They haven’t even reached the end of the driveway yet, passing by seemingly endless rows of tall, gnarled pines. Admittedly, Grian’s curiosity is piqued. When he agreed to join this stupid ghost hunting group three years ago, he didn’t do so in the hopes of actually discovering any real paranormal activity. The whole idea is laughable. Ghost hunting is a pseudoscience, at best. Just a bunch of idiots scaring themselves silly in an empty house- and now they’re the idiots! Even their name is stupid: Ghost Investigation Group Services, or GIGS, embroidered on their ill-fitting pleather jumpsuits.

But despite his outright skepticism and dislike for pulling late nights in his already extremely limited free time, Grian’s got one very good reason for agreeing to join.

And his name is Scar.

Grian spent half a semester pining away at the fellow architecture major from across the lecture halls of their many shared classes. Charismatic and easy on the eyes, it was inevitable that Grian would develop a bit of a crush. But as they spent more time together during class projects and conversations in the hallway, he found out just how kind-hearted and passionate Scar was, and how easy he was to talk to, and how strong his arms looked in long-sleeved shirts…

… Yeah, ‘crush’ perhaps isn’t the right word.

So when Impulse- the engineering major who Grian was partnered with for physics lab- got the brilliant idea to start a ghost-hunting group with his best friend and roommate Skizz, and Scar expressed interest in joining, Grian made a split-second decision in a moment of weakness. He maintained his skepticism, claiming that he wanted to tag along just to prove how silly the whole idea was. Impulse was fine with it, while Scar said Grian had to wear the same uniform as them, and the rest was history.

(To be fair, that was before Grian knew it’d be a pleather jumpsuit.)

So here they are now nearly three years later, rumbling down a long gravel road in the dark and cold, up late on a Saturday night even though he still isn’t finished with his condominium model that’s due at 8 am on Monday and he’s fresh out of popsicle sticks. Moments like these almost make Grian wish he could just ask a guy out like a normal person, so they could spend time together without chasing pretend ghosts around dusty houses all night.

But that’d require him to talk about his feelings. Ugh, he’d rather let the ghosts get him.

“Alright.” Impulse slows the van to a halt. The doors unlock with a heavy clunk. “What do you guys think?”

Grian isn’t expecting much when he glances out the window. But the sight that greets him immediately prompts a hasty exit from the vehicle, scarcely noticing the sudden chill, his jaw dropping open in awe.

It’s a Victorian. Not a house that someone has mistakenly called ‘Victorian’ just because it looks old. A genuine, honest-to-goodness, Queen Anne’s style two-story Victorian manor with an asymmetrical facade and a rounded corner tower and a generous wrap-around porch, silhouetted against the fading light of the evening sky.

Grian reaches for his flashlight. Sweeping over the exterior, his breath catches. Knots of ivy creep up the walls, and there are a few places where the intricate wood trim has been lost to previous repairs and weather damage. A couple of the windows are bricked up. Most of the paint is faded and peeling. But overall? It’s beautiful.

“Oh man,” Grian murmurs, pushing his glasses back up, “look at the shape of it... look at the dormers!”

A second beam of light joins in; Scar’s emerged from the van. “Lots of character,” he says, sounding similarly entranced. “And still in great condition! Oh, it’s beautiful. It’s enough to make a man cry.”

Impulse hops out of the driver’s seat, chuckling. “I knew you two would like it. It’s an ‘85.”

Grian gives an appreciative whistle. “Look, I still don’t think we’re gonna find anythin’,” he says with a sideways look at Scar, “but I gotta tell ya… if- if I were a ghost… I think I’d haunt a proper house like this. Not those builder-grade boxes in the suburbs.”

“Right?” Impulse says, his forked tail flicking through the air. “That’s what I’m sayin’... I uh, I think this place has real potential.”

Skizz, who’s come around the van to stand with them, nods thoughtfully. “Definitely somethin’ special ‘bout it, that’s for true,” he says, exchanging a look with Impulse. Then he claps his hands together. “Alright gentlemen, let’s get movin’!”

Impulse and Skizz turn towards the van, heading to open the back.

Grian stares after them, squinting suspiciously. That wasn’t just any look. That was a Look. A Look that he knows all too well. They had that same Look on their faces at last year’s frat mixer, when they rigged the speakers at the Heta Kappa house to play ‘Margaritaville’ every time someone flushed a toilet.

It means that they’re Up To Something.

… Grian’s sure he’ll find out sooner or later.

“Well, Grian,” Scar says, hands on his hips as he surveys the property, “if it’s any connotation, at least we’ll get to study some real architecture tonight.”

Grian gives him a bemused look. “Consolation?”

Scar blinks. “Cono- what, what’d I say? Con- coronation?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, ey,” Grian chuckles, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”

~*~

“Check it out, dude,” Skizz calls excitedly, “temp’s dropping in here! Five degrees colder than the rest of the house!”

Grian makes a noncommittal noise. “It’s an east-facing room and the sun’s only just set, of course it’s colder than the rest of the house,” he says, idly passing his UV glow stick over an armchair. No prints, of course. “I doubt they’ve updated the insulation anytime within the last two decades.”

“And hey, look,” Impulse chimes in from the corner, “I’ve got EMF 1.3!”

Grian doesn’t even look up. “There’s an exposed outlet in here and I’ll bet the wiring’s older than I am. And in any case, it’s still below the recommended threshold.” Ew, okay, now that’s a suspicious UV stain on the floor, but not of the supernatural kind…

“Oh, it’s definitely not up to code,” Impulse agrees. He waves his EMF reader around a bit, making the pitch warble. “But I dunno, I think this must be the ghost’s favorite room. Might not be here right now, but I’m getting some real vibes…”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Sure…”

Twenty minutes in, and despite the house’s hauntingly elegant construction, it’s been the same old story. The house is empty and quiet, as abandoned houses tend to be. Quite sparse, as most of the furnishings probably went to auction. The furniture that’s left is covered with tarps and every surface is coated with a fine layer of dust. He can smell mold somewhere in the floorboards and there’s apparent water damage in the ceiling.

The only renovation attempted thus far was the removal of some cheap linoleum tiles that were laid in the kitchen at some point- a renovation Grian can heartily agree with, there’s some absolutely gorgeous hardwood underneath- but they didn’t get far. The removed tiles are still sitting about in a haphazard pile, hammer and chisel abandoned on the floor beside them. Frantic footsteps smeared in the dust and powder paint the scene of a terrified contractor fleeing for their life from the reported ‘ghostly hauntings’.

In any case, they haven’t heard any activity from the spirit box, nothing unusual has stood out on UV, and the salt Impulse laid out is still undisturbed. Surprise, surprise. Grian’s spent most of his time admiring the elaborate wooden trims lining every wall, scuffed as they are. What he wouldn’t give to properly restore this place…

“Hey, Dipple Dop?” Skizz calls suddenly. “Your radio working okay?”

Impulse gives him a curious look. “Huh? What, is there-” He pauses, glancing down at his radio. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, actually, mine’s on the fritz, must be overdue a battery change.”

“Oh?” Grian tilts his head innocently. “You don’t think it’s a ghoooost?”

Impulse purses his lips. “I don’t think everything is a ghost,” he says mildly. He clips the radio onto his belt, turning to the door. “I’ve got extras in the van, hang on…”

“I’ll go, too,” Skizz says quickly, slinging an arm and his wing around Impulse’s shoulders. “Buddy system! You know what, I- I’m tellin’ you, you never split up when hunting ghosts. That’s how they get you, dude.”

Oh. Oh, no.

Grian gives them a warning Look.

They give him a cheeky Look back.

“Yup, yeah, that’s true,” Impulse says with obvious feigned sincerity, steering Skizz out of the room. “So uh, you two keep at it, okay, and we’ll be right back…”

“Oh, okay!” Scar says cheerfully, busy setting up the tripod over in the corner and completely oblivious to their scheme. “Have a great time not getting murdered!”

Grian opens his mouth to protest, but Impulse and Skizz are already gone out the front door. Leaving him and Scar completely alone. Totally by coincidence, surely. Oh, he knew his drunken confession to Impulse at the school’s annual bar crawl fundraiser night would come back to bite him eventually.

It’s almost insulting, in a way. Like they think the only reason Grian hasn’t made a move is because he hasn’t had ample alone time with Scar. Like he needed them to give him an opportunity. But if he’d wanted to confess to Scar, he already would have. He’d have had it well done by now. They could give him a little credit.

See, the thing is, he’s thought about it. Plenty of times, in fact. But the issue he keeps coming back to is that if he tells Scar about his crush on him, then Scar will know about it. There’ll be no going back at that point. And if Scar doesn’t feel the same way- well, Grian can kiss their friendship goodbye. So yeah, no, he doesn’t think he’ll be making any dramatic love confessions tonight, strangely enough.

The risk of an awkward silence developing is astronomical, so Grian clears his throat. “Man… isn’t this place somethin’,” he says, then immediately fights the urge to cringe.

Scar, luckily, gives an emphatic nod. “It is, it truly is amazing.” He straightens up, dusting his hands off as he turns to Grian. “You know who’d really love this place, is Gem?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Grian agrees. He busies himself with the UV, so he’s not just standing around. “We should take some pictures for her.”

“Oh, good idea!” Giving the tripod a final once-over, Scar wanders over to Grian. “So, any fingering goin’ on, yet?”

Grian nearly drops his glow stick. “Sorry- any what?!” he screeches, whirling around on Scar.

“You know, ghost fingers!” Scar says, perfectly innocent. He holds his hands up, wiggling his fingers in demonstration. “On the- on the glowy light?”

Grian takes a deep breath, face burning. “Oh Scar, buddy, you gotta think through your words better before you say them, alright?”

“Whaaat?” Scar pretends like he doesn’t know. “What, I’m just- you’ve got the stick, you know, little glow stick for when the ghost touches, uh-”

“Nevermind,” Grian groans. “Anyways, no, I haven’t found any ghostly handprints and I never will, because ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar folds his arms. “Well, hey, maybe the ghost is just polite! You know, he- maybe he’s just minding his business, not touching anything or- or anyone. Just because we don’t get anything on UV doesn’t mean ghosts aren’t real, I’ll have you know.”

Grian sees the challenge for what it is. “Alright…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his spirit box. Holding the transponder to his lips, he belts out, “Where ahhre yewww?” in his best imitation of an over-exaggerated pop-punk accent. If Impulse and Skizz are eavesdropping through their radios, he hopes he gave them a start.

Scar laughs. “Oh man, been a while since I heard that one! You-”

I’m close.

Grian jumps so badly he nearly drops the box, his wings puffing out involuntarily. “What?! Wha- who said that?” he demands, spinning around.

Scar blinks at him. “What? Did you hear something through the box?”

“I- I dunno?” Grian says uncertainly. The box seems to be working as normal; when he holds the receiver down, there’s a faint hiss of static, and the bulb remains white. No further noises come from the speaker.

After a couple seconds of tense listening, Grian feels silly. Way to play it cool. He switches the box off with an exasperated sigh. “No, of course I didn’t hear anything through the box. Like I said, ghosts aren’t real.”

Scar hums noncommittally. “Oh, Grian... you know, there are some things in the world that can’t be explained.”

Grian snorts. “Oh, yeah? Well, I- I got a few explanations for ya.” He counts on his fingers. “It could’ve been this old house creaking in the wind, or an electrical surge causing feedback through the transponder, or- or, not to mention, Impulse and Skizz pranking us through the radio?”

Scar snickers. “That does sound like something they’d do, I’ll give you that.”

“Yeah.” Grian slips the box back into his pocket. “And y’know, being in a creepy abandoned house, after dark, out in the middle’a nowhere... it’s easy to think you’re hearin’ things.”

Scar rolls his eyes, but his expression is fond. “I know, I know, so you’ve told me. But one of these days, mister, you’re gonna eat your words.”

“Right,” Grian drawls. “I’m so scared…”

The front door slams shut.

That makes Grian pause. They always leave the front door open while out on a job. It saves time when they have to go back and forth from the van, and saves battery life on their radios when they can just shout to each other through the open doorway. Obviously this job is a little different, because Impulse and Skizz have clearly got it in their heads to try and get him and Scar together, but he wouldn’t think they’d go so far as to-

The lights suddenly flicker and go out. But in the split-second before they do, Grian sees a shadowy figure silhouetted against the door.

Pure instinct takes over. Grian spins on his heel, grabs Scar by the arm, and absolutely flies down the stairs to the basement. He knows they’ve disturbed one or two piles of salt but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His wings are bumping against the walls and he’s certainly never tried carrying someone as big as Scar before but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even process the ache of it rattling through his body. He bursts into the basement, feathers flying, and careens towards the back of the room, around a tall shelving unit, and into the corner.

There’s a heap of boxes stacked up in this corner; Grian unceremoniously shoves Scar over top of them, dropping him in the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. He’s wedged in as far as he can himself, laying across the boxes, his double pair of wings preventing him from squeezing in beside Scar. He’s still got the UV light clenched in his fist, he realizes belatedly- he braces his forearms against the wall to try and cover it, fanning his wings out behind him to block it out from the rest of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder, he tries to gauge how much light is getting through when a noise makes him freeze.

Footsteps.

They’re soft and light- certainly not the heavy boots of Impulse or Skizz. No, they sound almost barefoot. And as they gently tap down the stairs, the sound of giggling fills the air. It’s a feminine voice. Young, like a child. Like a little ghostie girl is prancing down the stairs to murder them.

Grian thinks he might pass out. Can ghosts actually kill people? How would they do it if they’re incorporeal? He’s never considered the question before, he never thought he’d have to because it’s ridiculous, ghosts aren’t real, of course they can’t kill people-

The footsteps stop.

Grian isn’t sure if he’s still breathing. He doesn’t dare move. A chill runs up his spine, making every single feather stand on end. He can almost hear the high-pitched violins that would be playing right now if this were a horror movie; the cheesy, overdrawn kind of horror movies that are always playing at the drive-in that the four of them watch while piled into the back of the van in a tangle of limbs and spilled popcorn and oh god he’s spiraling now because he’s about to be killed by a ghost-

Bye-bye!

The chill recedes. Somewhere in his peripheral vision, he sees the faint glow of light from upstairs return.

It’s over.

Grian’s mind is spinning. What was that? What was that? It seems impossible, it doesn’t even feel real to be in this situation right now but he is, there was a ghost, there was a ghost. It feels insane to even think it. But the residual adrenaline coursing through his body reminds him it was very real, he just encountered a ghost.

A ghost! Oh, after three years of very loudly decrying the entire concept as rubbish. He can’t believe it. He really can’t believe it, this is the absolute last thing he expected to happen tonight. Ghosts are real. Ghosts are really, really, real. He doesn’t know what to do, who would ever believe him? Is this how the others have been feeling this whole time? God, he can’t believe this-

“G...?” Scar’s voice pipes up hesitantly. “What... what are we doing?”

Oh, right. Grian glances down at Scar- and his heart jolts. He’d been so focused on getting away from the ghost, he’d acted without thinking, so only now does he realize the... predicament he’s put them in.

Scar’s slumped against the floor beneath him, head tucked just below Grian’s arms. His long legs are still draped over the box that Grian’s laying across, resting on either side of his waist. And due to the odd posture Grian’s in, his chest has been thrust rather close to Scar’s face, lit by the soft purple glow of the UV.

This is probably the closest Grian has ever been to sitting in Scar’s lap.

Grian’s not proud of the yelp that escapes him. “Sorry, sorry!” His wings flail as he struggles to push himself off of the wall, stumbling back onto his feet. It’s clumsy and uncoordinated and he nearly falls backwards, his heart pounding.

Scar manages a laugh, easing himself up off the floor. “No, no, it’s okay, I- I just... what- why’d you bring us down here?” he asks, dusting off his jumpsuit.

Grian catches his breath. “Wait, you... didn’t hear the creepy ghost on its way to kill us?” he asks, frowning.

Scar‘s eyes widen. “What? There was a ghost?”

No way.

“Are you-!” Grian throws his arms up. “Honestly, I- I know avians have better hearing than most but that’s insane. She was laughing! Laughing and skipping down the blumin’ steps! And you didn’t hear any of it?”

“No…?” Scar shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry, okay! I- I don’t know, I was- a lot was happening, you- you’re grabbin’ me, pulling me down the stairs and into this little corner, I didn’t know what was going on! I didn’t know, I- I was all disconbodulated- disco- bobo, bobumated? I was a little distracted, okay. Jeeze, give a man a break…”

“Distracted?” Grian repeats incredulously. “You’re the one who actually believes in ghosts, here, how could you get distracted? What do you…”

He trails off. Scar is very clearly fighting to avoid looking at Grian, but for the briefest moment, his eyes dart down to Grian’s chest. Suddenly confused, Grian follows his gaze, and-

Oh, for goodness sakes. At some point during his frantic flight, the stupid zipper on his stupid jumpsuit came down again, exposing a frankly scandalous amount of skin. Not Scar-level of scandalous, but pretty close.

Grian immediately feels himself turn red. “Oh. Uh- right,” he hastily pulls the zipper back up, “sorry ‘bout that…”

Wait. Wait just a second.

Scar was distracted from a literal ghost hunt going on... because Grian’s bare chest was showing? Does that... does that mean he liked it?

Scar’s avoiding his gaze again. His cheeks are tinted pink.

“Scar...?” Grian ventures carefully. “Were you... lookin’ at my chest?”

Scar’s cheeks darken. “Ah, I- I- don’t- I mean, why would you- I didn’t mean to, it’s just...” He fumbles for the words. “What- what am I- hey, your pecs were basically in my face! I wasn’t trying to look, I- I just-”

“Scar,” Grian says, keeping his voice light and teasing, “did ya… did you like what you saw?”

Scar splutters for a moment. “Well, sure, Grian,” he tries to laugh it off, “I mean, anyone- anyone with eyes can see you’re uh, you know, you’re- you’re pretty attractive. I- I’m secure enough to say it, I don’t care, it’s- sure, of course, you’re very muscular! You’re a- you’re a muscular man, it’s just not always obvious with the sweaters you wear. Or- sorry, you call them jumpers in Britain land, right, they’re jumpers-”

“You been checkin’ me out, Scar?” Grian asks, caught somewhere between playfulness and utter disbelief.

“Uh...” Scar rubs the back of his neck. He exhales slowly, clearly debating with himself. “I... maybe? What... what would you say... if that were the case?”

Grian swallows. His heart is absolutely racing now, and he’s broken into a cold sweat that’s definitely not supernatural in origin. The air between them feels fragile; he’s acutely aware that a single word from him could swiftly plunge them back into the realm of safe familiarity, of casual light-hearted teasing between friends. Scar’s always said things that bordered on the flirtatious, and Grian can hide behind the plausible deniability of teasing. This entire interaction doesn’t have to mean anything. It can be easily moved past and forgotten.

And yet, strangely enough… Grian doesn’t want it to. Maybe it’s the post-haunting adrenaline or the fact that he could’ve died tonight, but all of a sudden, he feels like taking a chance. Like he could finally say what he’s wanted to say for the last three years. He managed to hold his own against a blumin’ ghost, for goodness sakes- he should be able to face his own feelings head on.

He takes a breath. “I’d say that’s a relief… ‘cause I’ve been checkin’ you out since day one of first year.”

Scar stares at him for a long moment. His expression is utterly unreadable. The silence draws on long enough that Grian feels a spike of panic, worried that maybe he’s mishandled the situation-

“... oh my god,” Scar says finally. “Really?”

It sounds like the good kind of surprise. Grian offers a shy smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he admits. “I- Scar, I know I’m real good at playin’ these things close to the vest, but uh, I- I’ve had a massive crush on you since... basically since the day we met.”

“Huh.” Scar blinks. “You’re serious. You- you’re not pranking me right now?”

That startles a laugh out of Grian. “No! Scar, I don’t- we just survived being hunted by a ghost, I’m not pranking you!”

“Well, that’s- that’s amazing!” A grin spreads across Scar’s face- and man, oh man, does he have just the most wonderful smile. “Oh my gosh, G, I don’t- you don’t even know how long I’ve been waiting for this.”

The relief is almost overwhelming. “Yeah, me too!” Grian laughs, half-dazed and half-giddy, running a hand through his hair. “I- I even- look, the whole reason I even joined this group was as an excuse to hang out with you!”

Scar’s mouth falls open. “No way! That’s- that’s the whole reason I joined in the first place, too!”

Now it’s Grian’s turn to gawk. “Are you joking?”

“I’m not!” Scar insists, “I swear, I’m not- Impulse said he wanted to start the group and maybe we’d all join and get to hang out and I thought ‘hey, ghosts are cool and Grian is cool’ so I just-”

“Oh, I can’t believe this…” Grian groans, hiding his burning face in his hands. “We really are idiots, we’ve wasted nearly three years…”

Scar’s hands close around Grian’s wrists, lightly pulling them down from his face. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” he says smoothly, leaning in.

Corny, but Grian will allow it. He closes the gap, tilting his head up to meet Scar’s lips.

In that moment, everything else fades away. All the nervousness, all the second-guessing, even the bombshell discovery of the existence of ghosts- there could be one standing in front of them right now and Grian wouldn’t care. The way Scar gathers Grian in his arms, hands gently roving through his feathers- it’s bliss. It’s perfect.

Scar kisses him strong and purposefully, with no trace of carelessness or haste. He doesn’t rush. There’s intent written into every single movement, jaw working to deepen the kiss. Grian curls against him, hands splayed across Scar’s chest. He can feel Scar’s heart pounding through his flushed skin, and it’s wildly exciting- to think Scar is just as breathless as he is.

Growing bold, Grian dares to slip his tongue into Scar’s mouth, and the noise he makes- part surprise, part delight- sends pure electricity fizzling up his spine. His mind is starting to drift away from him, lost in the sensation of weightlessness, of floating, that almost makes him feel like he’s gone completely incorporeal- like his own spirit has become untethered from the mortal coil.

Then Skizz’s voice comes down the stairs.

“G-Sharp! Scarface! You down here? We just saw a freaking ghost on the cams, and- oh my god!”

Grian breaks away from Scar, but not quick enough. He turns to see Skizz and Impulse standing at the bottom of the stairs, expressions shocked. And then, as if they’d rehearsed it, they both break into massive shit-eating grins and spin around to high-five each other.

“Woo!” Impulse cheers. “We got ‘em! Ladies and gentlemen, we finally got them.”

“Yeah, baby!” Skizz pumps his fist in the air. “Oh, I love it!”

“Oh, would you two stop it?” Grian huffs, but he’s not really cross. Hard to be cross when he’s on cloud nine. “The ghost did most of the work, alright?”

“That’s right,” Scar sniffs, winding an arm around Grian’s waist. “You know, I- I’m startin’ to think you all were in cahoots! Cahoots, I say!”

“Dude, if only,” Skizz laughs, walking over to clap them on the shoulders. “Could not have planned it better, that’s amazing. Well done, gentlemen!”

“Yeah, it’s about time!” Impulse adds, crossing his arms. “I was starting to think we’d graduate before either of you fessed up, I- I had to take drastic measures…”

“Impulse,” Grian says warningly, “if you’re about to tell me you started this whole paranormal investigation group just as a way to push me and Scar into confronting our feelings, I swear-”

“No, no,” Impulse assures him, chuckling. “I really do like the ghost-hunting deal, don’t worry. But uh, we did deliberately ditch you guys in the hopes that something would happen.”

Scar waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, things happened, alright.”

“Scar!” Grian swats at him, but he’s laughing and it feels good. It feels right. After all this time spent worrying about worst-case scenarios, about denying his feelings for the sake of maintaining the comfortable mundanity of his comfortable life, it turns out the scariest part was the fear itself.

The irony doesn’t escape his notice. A bit on the nose, if he’s honest.

“But in even bigger news,” Impulse graciously continues, “you saw the ghost? And you believed it? You, Mr. Non-Believer in all things ghostly?”

Grian sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I know…”

“This is incredible!” Skizz claps his hands together. “Okay, okay, we gotta go cleanse the area and I wanna hear everything, got it? Don’t leave a single detail out!”

Grian slips his hand into Scar’s as they follow Impulse and Skizz back up the stairs. “Yeah, alright,” he relents. He supposes he’s due for a lot of ‘I told you so’s’. But really, it’s a small price to pay for the life-altering knowledge that ghosts are real… and for finally finding the courage to believe in something extraordinary.

Scar hums. “Wait, details about the ghost or about the kissing?”

“Scar!”

~*~

#hermitcraft #hermitshipping #scarian #my writing #listen i am only a casual phasmo enjoyer and idk anything about architecture school pls don't come for me abt any inaccuracies #just here for a good gay spooky time #wanted to see if i'd be any good at writing commissions (ie. solely based off someone else's idea) and i had FUN #but it's always easy to be inspired by mel <3

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grandline-fics · 2 months

Note

I love love loooooove your work! If I may, I'd love to request a little friends to lovers scenario with Ace ❤️‍🔥 perhaps with a bit of meddling from the crew, perhaps with a hint of a drinking game/drunken flirting? No matter what, I'm sure I'll love whatever you write as much as I've loved everything else so far 🥰 Hope you have a wonderful day!

DESCRIPTION: Tired of you being 'just friends' some of the crew decide to interfere to get you both together

WARNINGS: Nothing, just the fluff that comes with the friends-to-lovers prompt

CHARACTERS: Ace

WORDS: 1,590

A/N: I honestly don't know where I was going with this half the time but I really hope it's to your liking and fits what you were looking for. Thank you for the request!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

———————

From the day you and Ace met on the deck of the Moby Dick, your friendship was instantaneous and unshakable. After a week the crew had made bets on when you two would finally get together. Sadly for all of them, they were all unable to cash in on their guesses because still after all this time the two of you had yet to see the obvious. As far as you and Ace were considered the two of you were best friends and absolutely failed to see how utterly perfect you both were for the other. It was infuriating for the crew to see both you and Ace hook up with people on evenings the ship docked at an island. It annoyed them even more so to see that neither you or Ace would become in anyway jealous of those evenings. It wasn’t long before a new bet began to circulate around the crew about how long it would take for you and Ace to finally see what everyone else saw. Some were beginning to believe it was a lost cause for you both. Others however weren’t going to let that happen.

One evening you were sat on the railing of the ship, your back against Ace’s side with your head relaxed against his shoulder as you stared out at the ocean. This was your usual spot with Ace, one neither of you questioning how intimate it seemed as to the both of you it was just comfortable. Besides Ace was a naturally affectionate person so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to do this with anyone in the crew, it was just coincidence that you were the one he sought out most of all because you two were practically joined at the hip. Keeping your eyes on the calm waves you wordlessly took the slice of apple as it was being held out to you on the tip of Ace’s knife. As you finished chewing, the ship hit a rogue swell of the wave and lurched forward. Because you weren’t expecting it you tumbled forward, almost being knocked overboard. Thankfully you were saved by Ace’s arm bracing around your waist and pulling you back to safety.

“My hero.” You grinned up at Ace playfully, swooning fully into his arms as his laughs joined yours. Your moment together was interrupted when Marco called for Ace. You yelped when he adjusted his hold on you and hauled you up onto his shoulder as he stood on the railing before jumping down onto the deck. Ace approached Marco who stared at you both with a practiced neutral expression. He was one of the members of the crew who was waiting for you and Ace to get together. This arrangement wasn’t anything new for Marco so he brought Ace into a conversation about the individual Division tasks needed to be done when they docked at the next island. Through it all you merely continued to be draped on Ace’s shoulder, enjoying being carried about the place. Just as you were getting comfortable in the position Izou called your name. With a sigh you expertly disentangled yourself from Ace’s hold while Ace also helped you back onto your feet, maintaining eye contact and his conversation with Marco through it all, his actions practically as natural as breathing. The sickening display of synchronicity only furthered Marco’s resolve that enough was enough.

“Um, excuse me?” Izou and Marco turned to see a woman approach them not long after they all settled into the tavern. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself but that man over there. Is he single or is he-” She moved to love over her shoulder at Ace but stopped when she saw you were now at his table, pulled onto his lap due to a lack of seats. “Oh…never mind. They’re a cute couple.” Together Marco and Izou shared a look and grinned.

“This next round is on the house in honour of the newlyweds!” A voice shouted out from the bar. You and Ace cheered out with the entire bar at the prospect of free drinks, looking up in happiness in hopes of seeing who the married couple were but you couldn’t see them. It was a large building and already filled with groups. When Marco and Izou appeared with the drinks you sat forward in Ace’s lap to reach for your mug only to be stopped when Marco leant in to you both. “Thanks for the free drink you two-yoi.” He grinned before taking his seat.

“Wait…what?” You laughed out slightly, glancing over your shoulder to see the bar owner smiling at you and Ace. Quickly you forced yourself to smile back and quickly turn your head back to Marco while Ace looked just as bewildered. “What made him think we were married?”

“That’d be my doing.” Izou answered smoothly, hiding his disbelief that even with you literally in Ace’s lap with his arm around your waist that either of you would find someone believing you two to be a couple to be confusing. “Marco bet me that I couldn’t wrangle free drinks from the barman and well, who can resist a couple of newlyweds?”

The lie came from the Division Commander so cleanly and with such ease that you and Ace couldn’t even find anything in his demeanour to make you doubt his words. Together you and Ace shared a look, momentarily tense as you now really noticed your seating arrangement. Unable to help himself, Izou added more fuel to the fire. “I hope you two can convince him you’re actually a couple otherwise we could find ourselves in trouble. Remember we promised Pops we’d be on our best behaviour tonight.”

“Please,” you scoffed leaning back to settled against Ace’s chest and reached back to lightly cup Ace’s jaw while Ace tightened his hold around you, leaning into your touch. The both of your met Izou’s stare with mirrored confident smirks, never backing down from a dare. “There’s no way he’ll doubt us. Right sweetheart?”

“You got that right babe.” He chuckled before quickly pecking a kiss against your cheek making you laugh. Grinning, Ace placed another kiss against your cheek to draw another laugh out of you, finding this game to be enjoyable. He paused however when someone started to chant ‘Kiss’ at you both, drawing more and more voices into the chant until it was all you two could hear.

Clearing your throat you turned in Ace’s hold until you were properly facing him, your hand remaining against his jaw while your other hand settled on his shoulder. You both met each other’s stare evenly and filled with trust and playfulness. To you both this was just a skilful ruse to avoid the owner of the bar from getting suspicious that you were both merely friends. Leaning in you let your breath ghost over his lips for just another brief enticing moment before the distance was closed and your lips met to the sound of whooping and whistles of the excited patrons. Not that either you or Ace were paying attention to the outside noise.

All you two could focus on was the magnetic pull of each other, the kiss too dizzying and intoxicating to just stop right away but slowly and reluctantly you both parted. Sheepishly you both smiled at the other, eyes flickering down to the lips you couldn’t help but want to taste again. Both you and Ace didn’t truly know what to make of what had just happened but you knew something certainly had happened. Something that while it had been started because of a silly game, was something very real. Smiling softly, you turned in his hold to grab your drink and pass Ace his too, settling against him once more. Regardless of the kiss you felt no different in his arms, it still felt like security and home. A small smile played on your lips as you felt Ace’s hand remain on your hip and let his cheek rest against your head, showing he too didn’t feel uncomfortable with what just happened.

When the crew began to scatter about the bar you felt Ace’s nose lightly nudge your cheek to get your attention and you turned your head slightly to meet his stare. Even with the alcohol in his system he still held a bright sharpness in his gaze. “I don’t know about you but that was one of the best kisses of my life…”

“Well it’s because of my kisses that you proposed, surely?” You teased before settling your hand on his arm that kept you anchored against him. “But seriously…yeah. One hell of a kiss.”

“I feel like if I ask for another it definitely wouldn’t be because we need to convince someone we’re together. It’ll be because I want us to be together.”

“So we’d have gotten married first, had our first kiss second, and now start dating third? A pretty weird order to do things.” You laughed, sitting up to wrap your arms around Ace’s neck and let your lips inch closer to his. “But you know what? It doesn’t feel weird at all.”

Ace nodded in agreement before eagerly closing the space against you once more to kiss you insistently and more heated than the previous kiss.

Against the bar, Marco slid the large bundle of money over to the bar owner to cover the round of drinks that had been claimed as ‘free.’ “Worth every penny-yoi.”

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

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trashytoastboi · 6 months

Note

Can I request headcanons of Luffy, Zoro, Sanji and Ace with a sleepy head S/O? They just love sleeping and taking naps.

Hiya! Sure thing! My apologies for the long wait on your request and hope you enjoy ~

Headcanons: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace with Sleepy head S/O – They just love sleeping and taking naps

> (Gender Neutral) <

Monkey D. Luffy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍖 Luffy could always find {Name} in their favorite nap spot. They had developed little napping corners, all throughout various places on the ship. Some were cozy, others unusual. Luffy initially found it to be entertaining like a game every time he had to seek out another new place that {Name} dubbed as their sleeping spot. He had even adopted some to be his own sleeping corners that he would share a refreshing nap or two with {Name} especially after a big meal. He didn't understand how one could sleep so often but nevertheless, {Name} had their moments of energy. Although everyone could agree it was an unusual match up considering how low energy {Name} is compared to the ever energetic Luffy.

🍖 Luffy loves that {Name} is so trusting of him that he could move them around in their sleep and instinctively they’ll know it's him and won't wake nor stir. Simply entrust themselves to him. That trust is a precious thing to Luffy, and he would never seek to betray it. Out of curiosity they had tested if it worked with anyone else on the crew and with the exception of Chopper, no one else was able to even touch {Name} without waking them up. Knowing that they don’t stir or get disturbed Luffy is still always careful when handling them while sleeping.

🍖 It goes without saying that naps are a daily occurrence, {Name} enjoys napping with Luffy. It’s a two in one, they get to sleep and spend time with their beloved. How could they possibly pass that up? Especially after a delicious meal served by Sanji, a satisfied stomach makes the eyes heavy. {Name} already heads to their spot of the day and Luffy follows. I mean nothing beats a post meal nap, and it’s only got all the upsides. He does find it surprising that {Name} can easily sleep more than Zoro but when you’re tired, you're tired. He’s understanding of that given the amount of times he would see Ace just fall asleep in the middle of things. He wouldn't even wait until after the meal until he was passing out.

🍖 Luffy has tested how deeply they sleep. He’s poked, prodded, tickled, raised a ruckus and yet they slept through it all. Honestly you’d need that kind of deep sleep to survive the craziness of the Straw-Hat crew. He also finds it adorable how they koala to him. If they sense that Luffy is near they’ll stretch, shuffle and pull him into a surprise snuggle. Which 99% of the time also results in Luffy deciding to take a nap too.

🍖 Luffy can tolerate a lot, but there are some sleep habits that just don’t fly with him. He can tolerate the blanket stealing, snoring and cold feet. But the sleep talking- specifically sleep talking about food is just one of the worst habits {Name} has. It makes Luffy so unbearably hungry that he has to go and find food as soon as possible, even if it means getting through Sanji and the padlocked fridge.

🍖 {Name’s} sleeping habits, believe it or not have actually gotten a lot better. One of the trickiest things to deal with, was {Name} falling asleep in the middle of fights. One second they’re dominating, next someone is yelling to rescue them before they’re injured because they decided to stop, drop and nap right on the spot. The only saving grace was that their adversary was so stunned that they just stopped fighting momentarily, which gave Luffy an opportunity to save his partner and take them to safety. Which usually entailed tossing them as gently as he could to some random corner.

Roronoa Zoro

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⚔️ Zoro never thought he’d meet someone who shares his need to nap. If not more so, he appreciates that they understand. Who can refuse the true beauty of a good solid nap, you wake refreshed and energized, sometimes a little hungry but right as rain. Sleep was the magic cure all, and {Name} embodied that. When awake they were sleepy, yawning and dazed as if they were constantly on the verge of going to bed. Zoro finds it charming in his way, and {Name’s} constant bedhead is something he also finds quite adorable. He’s even gotten to the point of being able to rate the quality of their naps based on their bed hair. A neat little party trick. Not that he could say he’s met someone that sleeps that match, so he likens his partner to a cat because that’s the only creature that comes to his mind that naps as much as {Name}

⚔️ All of Zoro’s napping spots became {Name’s} napping spot and underwent a metamorphosis, to become extra comfortable. A whole upgrade, things were far more comfortable than Zoro thought possible. {Name} had the magic touch, Zoro swears that he had never in his life ever slept that comfortably. His partner was genuinely happy that they could make his naps, along with theirs a little more peaceful and accommodating. Hell, even Franky swore left and right that they must use sorcery because he couldn’t see HOW it made any sense. {Name} has often said that to understand the art of sleep, one must sleep a lot.

⚔️ Zoro wasn’t much of a cuddler, not at first at least. He would fall asleep his usual way, on his back with his hands behind his head. Sometimes he’d be holding his swords and other times he’d just lay on his side on the deck. {Name} would scoot, shuffle and shift until they were snug against him, comfortably and using Zoro’s chest as their pillow. They said it was the best pillow and it was hard to nap without. Eventually Zoro got so used to them, that he just always fell asleep expecting {Name} to eventually join him. Oddly enough Zoro discovered he was quite the big fan of snuggling. Having them in his arms, and feeling the warmth of another person was so comforting. Unless there was a heatwave, being the only exception when {Name} didn’t cuddle up with him.

⚔️ Zoro never knew whether to be impressed, entertained or creeped out by the fact that {Name} could hold full conversations in their sleep. They’d said it’s all basic and autopilot answers. There were plenty of times when they weren’t supposed to be sleeping and at least being able to answer questions and speak saved them a lot. If someone tried to wake them they would simply reply “I’m not sleeping, just resting my eyes.” The most common excuse in the book is that someone would ask a second question and [Name} would respond, even going as far as being able to make small talk. All for the preservation of a good nap..

⚔️ Constricting. Zoro absolutely detested this strange sleep habit of his partners. For literally no reason, their cuddles would turn into crushing death grip, strangle holds and gentle arms turned into constricting snakes that would have Zoro being crushed. He thought it was related to dreams, nope. Come hell or high water, good dreams or bad. {Name} would get these random moments when they would just tighten their grip and send Zoro into mild panic until he wakes them up or slips out of their hold. Now it’s just a thing that happens and he handles it easily, the first few times however were nothing short of terrifying.

⚔️ Well Zoro has had his fair share of badly timed naps, during a crisis when he’s napping so soundly. But one thing he wishes {Name} would work on, is having no sense of crisis. Mid fight and they’re eepy? Sleep. The amount of fights he’s had to undertake with {Name} slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. If not that, then falling asleep in the bath and literally fearing for his partner drowning because they decided to take a quick nap in the bathtub.

Sanji

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

🍽 Cute, so cute, adorable- precious. Sanji has many adjectives to explain his partner, not that they ever do any justice because {Name} exceeds them. He thinks their sleepiness is adorable. Sounds odd, but seeing how they yawn, eyes barely open and they waddle towards Sanji to hug him and wish him a good morning, nuzzling into his chest as the warmth lulls them back to sleep. Sanji is literally trembling from how cute that is. “{Name-chan} You should go back to bed.” He helps them back to bed, and even prepares the usual. {Name} gets an exemption from the dining table to enjoy a leisurely breakfast in bed, benefits when one’s boyfriend is the chef.

🍽Absolutely adores what a snuggle bug they are. Sanji loves it. If he’s cooking they’ll usually hug him, leaning into him while he’s busy. They’re half asleep mumbling half asleep answers, occasionally being fed bites to taste test while Sanji deciphers and translates based on their hums and mumbles. If he’s sitting down, they want to use his lap as a pillow, if in bed, they’re snuggling him. Sometimes they intentionally seek Sanji out, pouting until he agrees to join them in a nap just so they can cuddle him. He loves the affection.

🍽 {Name} has gotten Sanji into the habit of taking naps too, in the small time gap after lunch and before dinner. Sanji originally didn’t see the appeal, only if he had a poor night's sleep, then he’d do it for a boost of energy. Ever since {Name}, naps were his daily ritual. His little bit of me time, and thankfully he convinced {Name} to sleep in relatively normal places. Some of their previous places were questionable if not downright dangerous. One long lecture later, they shuffled around until napping spots got Sanji approved.

🍽 Sanji discovered the greatest joy he has. {Name} who is always extra ravenous after waking up from a nap. They say food always tastes better after a nap and eat whatever Sanji serves up with such enthusiasm that it genuinely touches his heart. He loves being able to cook and prepare light meals, snacks, anything they crave really after a particularly good nap. Even with their sleepy and low energy selves they express such clear excitement for whatever Sanji cooks up.

🍽 Sanji has very little to complain about when sharing a bed with them at night, the only thing he’ll probably say was tricky to get used to was how much {Name] moves around in their sleep. They change sleeping positions every so often, occasionally banishing the pillow from the bed unintentionally or throwing the blanket off, Sanji always wakes up to return their pillow and cover them again. This happens a few times a night, even if they’re cuddling sometimes {Name} will very abruptly change their sleeping position and smack Sanji in the face, giving him a nosebleed. (Oh the irony)

🍽 Sanji was wholly curious about what would happen should {Name} not sleep as much for a day. Satisfying his curiosity they didn’t nap and it was hard. They were so groggy and tired it made them sluggish. They grew irritable beyond belief, and grumpy. They would hug Sanji everytime they walked past but instead of enjoying it, they would leave almost immediately saying it would make them sleepy. Sanji knew that naps were like snickers to his partner. Because {Name} wasn’t themselves without having a nap.

Portgas D. Ace

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🔥 Ace is very high energy, he is always in go mode. Ironically until he has those sudden naps that recharge him for his next bout. {Name} found that relatable and cute on Ace’s behalf. Meeting while he napped in his soup probably wouldn’t make the best first impression to most. {Name} reassured him it's quite alright. It happens to them often too. Ace took it as a joke, not exactly knowing that it was almost the truth. {Name} is so sleepy all the time, that a couple of instances of falling asleep in their food was actually pretty commonplace. Ace thinks it’s cute though.

🔥 {Name} loves sleeping with Ace, he’s always warm and loves cuddling as much as they do. Ace enjoys seeing them so peaceful and undisturbed, he strokes their head to calm them and it works. It soothes {Name}, anytime they’re with Ace and he starts doing that, it’s guaranteed that they will fall asleep. He knows it too, he doesn’t mind if they fall asleep though. Ace takes it as a sign of their trust in him, enough to fall asleep near him and entrust them with their safety. That trust is something precious to Ace even if it stems from something like sleeping near him, he still values it.

🔥 {Name} will occasionally ‘kidnap’ Ace to join in their afternoon naps. One minute he’s socializing with the crew, the next {Name} is sprouting up out of nowhere trying to drag him to their favorite napping spot, which of course is decided at the time. In consideration of a few key factors, such as the weather, the sun, the wind, comfort factor, and {Name’s} mood of the day. Do they want an indoor nap? Outdoor? Is it cold or hot?

🔥 One of the most entertaining things for the crew to witness is Ace trying to escape from {Name} after they’ve fallen asleep. Him trying to stealthily slip out of their grasp and every time they stir, threatening to wake up he freezes. Holds his breath in this game of red light, green light until he’s finally free. Eventually he shuffles a pillow closer to act as his body double as {Name} snuggles into it and goes on sleeping without a care in the world.

🔥 An annoying sleep habit that {Name} has is ‘mood swings’ in a sense, one minute they want cuddles, snuggles and fine, the next, they want their own space and roll away from Ace or violently boot him out of bed (All unintentionally), Ace never knows when the mood will shift. One moment he snuggles, the next he dodges an elbow, a knee, a foot and resorts to sleeping on the cold side of the bed, banished to the forsaken realms until [Name} is rolling back towards him.

🔥 Ace learned to deal with his adorable partner who just curls up and sleeps on any comfy surface, even if it’s an inappropriate place that could potentially be dangerous. The amount of times he believed his heart would give out when he saw half of the strange and perilous places his partner fell asleep in. Ace had the tendency to worry about them and made {Name} promise that even if they’re tired they have to hold on endure until they get to a comfortable and safe location above all.

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tropes-and-tales · 8 months

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Not Real Just Yet

Day 14: Breeding Kink (Bob Floyd x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!)

CW: Breeding kink; the appearance of dub-con but with clear consent discussed; smut (PiV, unprotected); 18+ only. Again, this is a breeding KINK with an element of dub-con (but consensual), so if that isn't your thing, pass on this one.

Word Count: 1513

AN: This was requested by an anonymous person! It was also not edited in any way!

It’s not real.

It’s not real just yet because Bob is active duty, often deployed for long stretches.

It’s not real just yet because you’re in a PhD program that requires long, long hours: as you TA for undergrad classes, as you pore over old archived papers buried in colleges across the U.S., as you spend late nights on your thesis.

It’s not real just yet because you and Bob are sometimes just ships passing in the night, and you both hate it, but you’re both committed to each other and see this current pain as paying off in the near future.

It’s not real just yet because Bob, modern though he is, has old-fashioned ideas. He wants to put a ring on your finger first, wants to carry you over the threshold of a shared home, wants to settle into a nice stretch of married life as a couple before adding to your family.

It’s not real just yet. It’s just a fun way of playing around in the bedroom, and it’s more about the power dynamics of the breeding kink. You have an implant, so the risk is minimal, but it’s still fun to pretend.

Bob, the back seater who often feels powerless: he gets to take the dominant role.

You, the harried student who often feels like there’s too much piled on your shoulders: you get to take the submissive role.

-----

It’s not real just yet, but it sure as hell feels real. Bob is finally home from a tour around the South Pacific, and you’ve finally turned in pages to your thesis advisor. You each have the luxury of time, for once, and you turn your respective life frustrations on each other in the best possible way.

It’s easy to forget it’s not real when Bob slides inside you, the wet silky heat of your pussy and not a single barrier to stop him from feeling every sensation. The delicious slickness of your arousal, the molten warmth, the way you bear down when he’s buried in you and whispers in your ear. He whispers the filthiest things he’s ever said in bed with anyone, and sometimes he’s embarrassed in the morning when he remembers it, but the embarrassment never lingers—because he loves you, because he feels safe to explore this side of himself with you.

I’m gonna breed you, sweetheart.

Just take it. Good girl, take it.

Gonna look so good, full of my baby.

Gonna make you a mommy.

Take all of it.

Taking me so good. Can’t wait to see your belly all round with our baby.

Just lie back and take it like a good girl.

He fucks you slowly, deep, purposeful thrusts that he punctuates with his dirty talk. He knows it’s not real, but it’s so easy to fall into the fantasy, especially when you whimper at his words, when you cling to his shoulders and whine out your answering script.

Wait, Bobby…wait…

Maybe we shouldn’t…

It’s all a game, of course. It toes the line of dubious consent but Bob knows it’s all consensual because you never utter the safe word and neither does he. And sometimes he thinks maybe it’s sick, maybe it’s twisted, and maybe no one else would understand it, but when he voices those concerns to you, you always allay them. You always cup his face and tell him that what the two of you do in the privacy of your bedroom is your business and no one else’s.

“Besides,” you told him once. “You have no idea what your pals in Top Gun are into when it comes to kinks. I bet Bagman is a foot fetish weirdo.”

So he pushes those doubts aside because fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s done, exploring all the weird and surprising twists within his own sexuality and yours.

Your first orgasm is always the strongest—maybe because you pretend to fight it, pretend you don’t want this. Bob notices all of your little tells: the way your fingertips dig into the blades of his shoulders until he knows he’ll have dusty little bruises there in the morning. The way your arousal absolutely soaks his pistoning cock, soaks the thatch of rough curls at the base of him. The way you whine out no, please, as if your body is betraying you, and isn’t that part of the fantasy too: that he fucks you so well that you can’t fight off the orgasm he works from you?

“Good girl,” he whispers against your temple. “Good girl, coming for me.” He slows his thrusting, savors the spasms of your aftershocks, allows you to recover.

“Please Bobby,” you breathe out. “It’s too risky—”

He closes his eyes and kisses your temple, feels the sweat making your hair damp. “You think too much,” he murmurs. He shifts his head, nips at your earlobe before he whispers in your ear, “just take it like a good girl.”

“Bobby—”

“You’re going to look so fucking hot, swollen with my baby.” He says that staring into your eyes, which are wide in mock-fear, part of the game, but he can see how wide your pupils are too, your eyes damned near black, and it’s a reassuring reminder that yes, you are into this game too, you’re enjoying it as much as him. And sure enough, there’s the answering clench in your pussy, the way you unconsciously bear down on him as he starts to resume his slow, firm rhythm of fucking you.

And now that you’ve come once, he takes it up a notch, ratchets the moment higher. He gets an arm under your knee and hoists your leg up and out, spreads you out more for him to bury himself in you. It grants him that extra bit of depth into your pussy, and each time he hilts his cock in you, it draws out a low groan from you, a throaty growl that makes the coil of tension in his gut tighten.

Here is usually where the game falters just a bit. Bob’s never had this with any other girlfriend before; sex was always a fraught, anxious thing for him. He always worried about his performance in bed. Most of his girlfriends before you usually laid in bed like a starfish, limp and unresponsive, and it took Bob a long time to realize that it was them, not him, that was the problem.

But sex with you is always good. Sometimes fun and playful, sometimes intimate and soulful. Sometimes, like now, it’s both of you working through your own personal demons—him and his feelings of inadequacy, you and your feelings of overwhelm—but doing it together. Exploring shadowy sides of yourselves in a perfectly safe, perfectly loving way.

How could he not want to put that ring on your finger, carry you over that threshold? Bob could travel the world for the rest of his life and never find anyone half as suited to him as you.

And now, your second orgasm approaches. Now your hands shift from clutching at his shoulders. Your palms lay flat on his chest and you push lightly against him, the climax of your game timed to the climax you’ll share with him.

“Bobby, please,” you pant out. “It’s not s-safe. Pull…pull out—”

But he doesn’t because it’s part of the game, and a beat later, when you arch underneath him, when your eyes flutter shut and you wail out his name, he pushes into you and stills. He feels his own tension snap, and he comes with a pained fuck, baby, take it, and it’s absolutely perfect: the way your pussy ripples against his cock, how it pulls the thick ropes of his cum deeper into the confines of your body.

Here is where the game falls apart. Or, rather, it ends. Sex is a release for both of you, but since you are generally more stressed and wound-up than Bob, you have the habit of giggling directly afterwards. Which might make a lesser man wither, but the tic charms Bob, and now he chuckles along with you.

“Oof,” you breathe out once the laughing passes. You wrap an arm around his neck and pull him down to you. “That was great.”

Bob is still half hard, so he shifts his weight carefully to avoid slipping out of you. He leans his weight on one forearm and gazes down at you with a smile. He brushes gentle kisses across your warm face. “I missed you.”

You smile up at him. “I missed you too. I’m glad you’re home.”

Home. Right now, it’s just a crummy little apartment near campus, but as Bob settles closer to you, he can already picture the future with you: a better apartment or maybe even a house somewhere. You with your PhD, him with his military career. Each of you with rings on your fingers, vows made and received, maybe a dog adopted from a shelter.

And maybe, after that, you can play at your mutual kink for real.

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #top gun maverick #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 6 months

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Love is Stored in the Cat: A Nepeta Leijon Character Study

I guess these are a series now! I also have a request for Feferi in my inbox that I'll get around to eventually.

SO! Dear, sweet Nepeta.

Nepeta is the troll that is most against the existence of the hemocaste.

I believe the Ultimate Self speech was originally going to be from her, not Davepetasprite^2.

She's bad at shipping.

These all make her extremely impurrtant!!!

So furst of all, I'm going to start with the same disclaimer as my Eridan essay (go read that first!!! It sets up a lot of ideas that I'm expanding on here), which is that the things Hussie says are going to be lowered in value, because he likes to play coy about plot stuff. I'm also not counting anything but the actual text as canon, and even with in that text, I'm counting everything after GAME OVER as soft canon - a suggestion of what would have been, often truncated for time, often a deliberate middle finger to the shitty fandom.

Okay, so with that squared away!

Nepeta Says Fuck The Hemocaste

I'm not going to bother doing a deep dive on Nepeta's characterization, because fur the most part, I think the fandom more or less gets her right - she wears her heart (h33h33) on her sl33ve, after all! She's a very sweet little catgirl who loves roleplay and shipping, who is also a vicious hunter of wild beasts and lives in a cave. She's very nice and friendly, but has a tough streak and a spine.

She also says fuck the hemocaste, why does that even exist:

CT: D --> Your fraternization with the base classes have 100sened your morals, can't you see this AC: :33 < no! i dont care, they are fun AC: :33 < and i dont know anything about classes or bases or blood color, it doesn't matter! AC: :33 < what does gr33n blood even mean! it doesnt mean anything to me and it shouldnt mean anything to anyone else!

This is a radical stance not outright shared by any of the other trolls. Aradia calls highbloods "hateful sn0bs" that she and Tavros shouldn't have "ever had anything t0 d0 with", the highbloods are, of course, all casteist to varying degrees, and even Karkat seems fairly accepting of the class divide, at one point taunting Vriska that her rejection from the blue team is "ANOTHER INFURIATING VICTORY FOR GUTTER BLOOD OVER ARISTOCRACY". Not to mention his long-held dream of becoming a threshecutioner.

Even Feferi, despite saying to Eridan that "W-E AR-E NOT B-ETT-ER T)(AN ANYBODY!!!!!", is actually perfectly comfortable with the caste system's existence, comparing having to stop using her royal typing quirk to "peasant-IFICATING" herself - and let's not forget that a Beforus under her rule had its caste system 100% intact.

This means that Nepeta is the ONLY troll who has said, in no uncertain terms, that the caste system should not exist. It's stupid, it's bad, and it doesn't meowtter!

AND SHE'S RIGHT.

But she's never able to fully express this opinion, which brings us to:

A COMPLICKATED RELATIONSHIP WITH EQUIUS

Now, before I say anything, I must insist that I do believe these two work as good moirails. That does not, however, stop them from being 13, and therefore, being poor to each other the way 13-year-olds sometimes are. I don't think they should break up; I think they should re-examine certain dynamics, and I think they need some space to breathe apart from each other.

Equius has a lot of problems, which I won't get into overmuch here, because... that's a whole essay on its own (are you people seeing a trend yet). But with regards to Nepeta specifically, he's extremely controlling and protective, to the point where she's a little scared of him before the game begins:

AC: :33 < well it does sound like it will be a lot of fun but i think i should get purrmission first GC: BL4R!!!!! GC: TH4TS SO STUP1D GC: H3S NOT TH3 BOSS OF YOU AC: :33 < i know! AC: :33 < but still im kind of scared of him and i think purrhaps its best to just run it by him first so there isnt a kerfuffle about it or anything

She's also afraid to tell him about her crush on Karkat, since she knows he doesn't like Karkat:

AC: :33 < well AC: :33 < i have never told anybody this not even my moirail AC: :33 < heh, actually hes the LAST guy i might tell, he so wouldnt appurrve X33 AC: :33 < but yes i have liked somebody for quite some time, but alas he doesnt know it

By the time they end their game, she's gotten over this fear, seeing as she spends many hours curled up with Equius in a pile of robotics parts, but it still must be noted that they have some issues in their relationship that were never resolved, primarily on Equius's end. What this means for Nepeta, however, is that in addition to setting her up as the most outright anti-classism troll, the comic sets her up to be socially isolated due to her moirail's paranoia about letting her associate with both lowbloods (seeing them as bad influences) OR other highbloods, seeing them as dangerous.

He's not entirely wrong - his refusal to allow her to participate in FLARP kept her from winding up entangled in the horrible chain of revenge, as Tavros alludes:

AT: iT'S PROBABLY FOR THE BEST, AT: tHAT YOU LISTEN TO HIM, AC: :33 < i dont know AC: :33 < you think so? AT: wELL, AT: iF YOU DIDN'T LISTEN TO HIM BEFORE, AT: yOU MIGHT HAVE PLAYED GAMES WITH US BEFORE, AT: aND SOMETHING BAD MIGHT HAVE HAPPENED TO YOU, AC: :33 < hmm purrhaps

But he's still wrong. And it's probably an uncontrolled manifestation of his Heir of Void abilities - he's both consciously and unconsciously hiding her from other people.

This isn't to say she doesn't stand up for herself! Many of her discussions with Equius are pseudo-arguments, and she does get her way often enough, managing to get him to roleplay with her, and managing to get him back in the roboti% pile to talk about his feelings about Aradia. She also talks to the humans explicitly against Equius's orders, although she's keeping it a sneakret from him:

NEPETA: :33 < but equius already furbid me from doing that :(( NEPETA: :33 < not that i am listening to him, but shhhhh! :33 KARKAT: WAIT, HE DID? KARKAT: OK, THEN AS YOUR LEADER I ORDER YOU TO RP WITH THEM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. BE AS OBNOXIOUS ABOUT IT AS YOU CAN. NEPETA: :33 < yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

But the fact that she has to tiptoe around him like this speaks to them having issues in their relationship that go unexamined and unresolved, especially since it's clear that Nepeta really would like to be friends with more people, were Equius not getting in her way. So, even though I do think they are good moirails for each other - they clearly genuinely, deeply care about one another. But they could use some relationship counselling.

In fact, Jasprosesprite^2 outright calls her lonely:

JASPROSESPRITE^2: Or the girl who likes ships! Cause they made her less lonely. ;3

So, she's anti-hemocaste and lonely, two character traits that were set up and never resolved. And beclaws this is Nepeta, in her honor, I'm going to talk about a third:

Her Unrequited Crush On Karcat

She has the BIGGEST flushed crush on Karkat. It's seen on her shipping wall twice, once with the word OTP on it.

And, despite never discussing it with her moirail, Nepeta mentions it once to Jaspersprite, and once to Jasprosesprite^2.

Now, I'm not really here to debate on the validity of KatNep - I think it's fine, even if I don't personally ship it, and don't personally think it would work out (there are lots of indications that they wouldn't work out, including Jasprosesprite^2 outright saying so). However, her crush on Karkat is both complicated and creates some interesting setups for her character. I am going to discuss it fairly critically either way, so KatNep shippers have been warned.

A lot of her feelings about Karkat - and about shipping in general - wind up being heavily interlinked with her status as a Hero of Heart, so I'm going to expand on it more there. But what I will note in this section is the fact that, despite Nepeta insisting twice that she doesn't think Karkat knows about her crush on her:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < it was karkat NEPETASPRITE: :33 < but i never told him and im pretty sure he never found out how i felt!

He tooootally did:

KARKAT: OK, BUT TO BE FAIR, I'M PRETTY SURE SHE'S STILL OBSESSED WITH ME. KARKAT: IT'S A VERY UNFORTUNATE, VERY RED AND VERY UNREQUITED SITUATION I'VE BEEN TRYING TO TIPTOE AROUND FOR A LONG TIME, OK?

Interpret that how you will for shipping purposes, but I want to propose that this is a reflection of their statuses as Heart and Blood players. Heart, despite its players' obsessions with romance, is not the romance aspect, Blood is. Karkat displays this very same romantic acumen when he tells Dave that he's known Terezi and Gamzee were a thing for a long time, despite everyone else on the meteor trying to keep it a secret from him. Heart is, instead, about identity, feelings, motivations, souls, and self. In other words:

Nepeta Is Kind Of Bad At Shipping

Let's take a look at those shipping walls.

Let's break this down a little. Nepeta's ships are not entirely wrong, but even the successful ones are kind of wrong. Here's what I mean. We've already discussed how Equius and Nepeta's moirallegiance has some... issues in it. If we go down her list of ships that actually do happen, most of them have some issues in them!

Aradia expresses her regret for getting together with Equius in the Ministrife. Kanaya and Rose suffer some major relationship problems when Rose starts drinking, to the point Karkat feels a need to step in as an auspice. Karkat and Gamzee fail, as Karkat is not calmed by Gamzee, and Gamzee stops listening to Karkat. And while Sollux and Feferi seem to be fairly healthy, after they both wind up in the Furthest Ring, he's pretty much always next to Aradia - he and Feferi don't even get to exchange words with each other once they're in the Furthest Ring. Purrsonally, I think he and Feferi are meant to end up as moirails, but shhhh.

So what's happening here? Well, this goes back to her identity as a Heart player. Heart is concerned with feelings and motivations.

They simply want to understand the one thing we all are stuck with for our entire lives, i.e. our own minds. Forging an identity is extremely important to the Heart-bound, and every decision and action goes toward building a coherent narrative of their own story. That isn't to say Heart-bound don't care deeply for their friends and allies; they just have a tendency to assume that everyone is as concerned with identity as they are.

Nepeta's shipping has also been associated with her isolation and loneliness. When you put this together, it implies that Nepeta's shipping is about her desire to understand others, and much of her ships are based on one of the parties having feelings, regardless of compatibility, feasibility, or broader implications. After all, despite the fact that she has pretty terrible romantic acumen, she IS able to instinctively identify that Eridan's advances toward her were insincere:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < well ok i guess eridan hit on me a few times NEPETASPRITE: :33 < but his advances always struck me as cr33py and insincere

And that Karkat secretly LOVES and RESPECTS his friends:

JASPROSESPRITE^2: On the contrary Nepeta. You deserve someone who will RESPECT and ADORE you. NEPETASPRITE: :33 < well... yes NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i always hoped to find someone like that some day NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i dunno maybe youre right but in spite of whatever problems he might have i always felt like i saw something in him that made me think he could be that purrson!

Or knowing that Equius loves to play games, and still feels sad about Aradia exploding:

AC: :33 < i s33 right through your stupid act, who are you trying to kid! AC: :33 < look how you go out of your way to use words that have x's in them so that you can use your silly purrcent signs AC: :33 < or use these absurd words that you can shoehorn a '100' into, even if its not strictly replacing 'loo'!!! AC: :33 < you are so transpurrent AC: :33 < i can tell you like to play games, d33p down you are a guy who likes to play games! AC: :33 < i can smell a guy who likes to play games from so fur away with this nose, you have no idea X33

NEPETA: :33 < she was so happy, just like she used to be, and she said she would s33 you soon! EQUIUS: D --> That's a nice thought, and thank you for sharing it EQUIUS: D --> But it was only a dream, and will surely have no consequence in reality NEPETA: :33 < equius? NEPETA: :33 < are those f33lings i an detecting with my wiggly whiskery nose? EQUIUS: D --> Maybe

Because feelings, and not relationships, are her actual domain.

And speaking of Heart powers...

Nepeta and the Ultimate Self

So from this point forward, I'm going to assume you're more or less agreeing with my take that at some point after Game Over, Hussie - for whatever reason - gave up on his original ending, and wound up truncating his ideas so he could finish the comic faster. I go more into detail about that here.

So, in this hypothetical original ending, I firmly believe that the speech about the Ultimate Self would have come from Nepeta. First, let's take a look at what the "Ultimate Self" entails, as it appears within the comic:

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < everything that ever happens to every version of you is an important part of your ultimate self... like a superceding bodyless and timeless persona that crosses the boundaries of paradox space and unlike god tiers or bubble ghosts or whatever, it really IS immortal DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < but in your physical form there are all these partitions in your mind that prevent you from remembering any of that which makes your existence f33l totally linear DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < which is probably for the best! DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < in a regular body s33ing all that would be too overwhelming ... DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < and after it sinks in for a while you start coming to this understanding of a greater self DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < maybe i "got it" quicker though because of the two people i was and their aspects DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < understanding heart is all about the nuances of a distributed self DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < nepeta never got to make much headway with her aspect but shes finally gettin the chance DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < the time aspect is all about running into different versions of yourself so you kinda get confronted with it in a really literal way that can be disturbing DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < obviously davesprite stuggled with that too, but now its fine DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < hes fr33 from worrying about it all and what it means for his place in reality DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < because he can s33 now all his selves have relevance in painting the full picture of who he truly is DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < im not COMPLETELY sure because im not like some sort of ASPECT MASTER but DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < my avian slash feline intuition tells me that all roads will lead you here eventually DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < gaining the d33pest possible understanding of any aspect will bring you to the same final conclusion about your ultimate self

Now, I believe - and I hope you'll agree - that it's kind of lame, narratively, for Davesprite to have been set up with so much angst about not being the "real Dave," and for Nepeta to have all her issues with loneliness and shyness, and for these two specific iterations of each other to have never interacted, but suddenly getting double-prototyped fixes all of their problems, and they achieve Ultimate Selfhood despite being two total strangers to each other. So let's instead break down the more salient points about what Ultimate Selfhood entails, divorced from the fact that it's Davepetasprite^2 doing the narrating:

Every player in the game possesses an "Ultimate Self," an ultimate culmination of all their experiences and memories, specifically referred to as a "persona"

Normally, people are not aware of this, because it would be too overwhelming to deal with so many memories and iterations of each other.

Everyone will achieve Ultimate Selfhood eventually as the final culmination of their understanding of their aspect.

Heart is all about the nuances of a distributed self.

Let's talk about that last one some more, and by that I mean, let's see what Calliope has to say about it:

TT: I don't know why it had to be this way for me. Juggling these two waking selves at once. TT: I guess I'm used to it, but it still makes for a pretty intense existence. TT: Do you even know what the deal with that is? Like is there any precedent in your readings? UU: i don't know aboUt precedent, bUt it makes plenty of sense to me as the type of path one might expect for a hero of heart. UU: a path rUled by the heart aspect can be a joUrney of splintered self. UU: that is, the player's being may exhibit the same kind of fragmentation which certain classes coUld caUse in others. UU: i think this is what has triggered yoUr dUal-awareness between waking and dream selves, thoUgh it woUld not sUrprise me if the symptoms manifested in even more ways than this.

Now, Dirk has a clawmplicated relationship with his alternate selves, given that he's a Prince, but Nepeta wouldn't have the same struggles, or at least, not to the same degree. The problem is, hampered by Equius and her own shyness about discussing her thoughts and feelings with others:

NEPETASPRITE: :33 < i get so shy and worried what people might think of me if i say how i f33l NEPETASPRITE: :33 < im always so scared that they wont f33l the same way or just think im stupid or pathetic or something

She never actually gets to explore this part of herself.

But What If... She Did?

The way I imagine the original ending going is that each troll that gets saved by John's interference in the timeline then asks John to help them fix their own mistakes, thereby saving somebody else. Each successive trip through the meteor brings new character development, and also riddles the comic with progressively more password pages, which I think would be really funny. And throughout all this the Game Over team is searching for Vriska, Meenah, and the treasure, and resolving their arcs that way, so it's not like they would be replaced - they're the ones who get to kill LE. The process, in my mind, goes like this:

Terezi asks John to save Vriska, and prevent her from getting too spades with Gamzee, as these are her two greatest regrets.

Vriska obviously had great regrets about killing Tavros, both pre- and post-retcon, so she asks for his death to be prevented.

Tavros staying alive means that he and Gamzee wind up hashing out some stuff - Gamzee mentions that he feels "So aT ChIlL WiTh yOu" while talking to Tavros, and Tavros reciprocates the friendship and also - interestingly - acknowledges Gamzee's religion, calling it beautiful even if he doesn't necessarily believe in it. This is interesting because Karkat's inability to do so is explicitly one of the reasons their moirallegiance broke down. So having Tavros back, alive, means that he and Gamzee would likely end up in some sort of relationship, probably pale despite flushed leanings, and would bring Gamzee back into the fold.

Gamzee would then be like, yeah, wow, that time I killed Nepeta and Equius was pretty bad, huh? Especially since his decision to hang onto his friends' bodies and prototype them is often interpreted as him genuinely feeling bad about his dead friends (he tells Kurloz to shut up when Kurloz mentions all the dead friends, and his religion seems to be about a paradise he wants to share with his friends anyway). So he'd ask John to prevent him from killing them, resulting in the two of them getting to live.

Things get much more hypothetical from here, since so much of the character dynamics would have changed, but I think by this point, Equius might command ask John to let him say goodbye to Aradiabot before she explodes, which he expresses feeling very sad about. However, in doing so, John and Aradiabot end up in the same room, and when she realizes that he has the ability to change the timeline without repercussions, she'd seize him by the arm and demand that he take her back in time, to before she died. After all, she expresses regrets about her reckless actions, and how she always felt like it was all one big setup.

She would take Aradia's place in the Vriska revenge chain, being once more freed of her robot chassis, and from there, would trick Doc Scratch and the Handmaiden into thinking everything was still going according to their designs. Meanwhile, Alive!Aradia would be hanging out at Equius's place, borrowing his void powers to avoid notice, coordinating a new timeline that keeps the beats of the original (too much deviation causes unpredictability, and an paradox'd timeline offshoot without John's direct interference would still become doomed), but allows them greater freedom and the ability to overcome the machinations of Doc Scratch and associates.

This would also prevent Sollux from becoming so self-loathing, since it's no longer "his fault" that Aradia dies, although he winds up in that hole again after Feferi gets killed. Now that his Aradia is alive, he wouldn't feel like he might as well stay in the bubbles because his closest companions are there, so he'd make it to the end, and would ask John to prevent Feferi's death.

Eridan still dies; he's so disconnected and isolated from all his friends that his course of actions is largely unaffected even by everybody else's timeline tweaks. But before Feferi can suggest bringing him back, Karkat would butt in.

The Friendship Troll should be the one to demand that ALL of their friends be revived, especially if they had everyone except only one guy, and Karkat and Eridan are heavily implied to be moirails anyway. The course of Karkat's fixes are so comprehensive, and primarily romance-based, that the end result of this final loop is everybody not only being alive, but god-tiered, with appropriate character development.

Now, where Nepeta's Heart powers would play into all of this is that she would start to notice something going on. After all, Heart players are sensitive to their splintered selves, and (Nepeta) is probably much closer to Nepeta than regular doomed timeline offshoots. As the loops continue, and Nepeta has more and more time to talk to people, and meets her dead alternate selves, and even meets (Nepeta), she starts to awaken to her Ultimate Self - to come into possession of alternate memories.

And if the Ultimate Self is a very soul-y kind of concept, such that Heart players have a natural advantage in coming to understand it, then isn't it a natural fit that a Rogue of Heart - one who steals from Heart or steals Heart for others - would be naturally inclined to share the wisdom of her alternate selves, and even the very concept of the Ultimate Self, with her friends?

Because the Ultimate Self is actually, in my opinion, a pretty good narrative device. It turns the sadness of the dead and doomed timelines into something littersweet instead, and makes it so any weirdness regarding time travel and not really knowing your friends anymore will eventually be resolved, even if off-screen.

It's not really narratively satisfying when Davepetasprite^2 suddenly comes into being and reaches enlightenment, but imagine if instead it's a post-character development Nepeta comforting Davesprite on his relevance, or Jade on her loneliness, or John on not really knowing these new post-retcon versions of his friends? It would feel a lot better, since in this hypothetical, she would have reached that point after on-screen character development. Being able to share her true self with her friends on the meteor - by necessity, since what else are they going to be doing for three years - leads to her finally being able to fulfill her role as a Rogue of Heart.

Also, at some point during these repeated meteor trips, she dates Karkat (whether that's successful or not, I'll leave to reader interpretation - you already know where I stand), fulfilling Jaspersprite's musing that she might only be able to date Karkat after she dies.

So that's two out of thr33 of her outstanding plot hooks resolved... okay. So, I try not to make these essays into ship propaganda, but hear me out:

Hate Is Stored In The FefNep

Okay, so, remember that thing about how Feferi is actually a huge casteist hypocrite? Well, let's also note that the comic, post-Murderstuck, seems to put Nepeta and Feferi together a lot - they're a Commodore and Rear Admiral in the ghost pirate army, respectively, and they also wind up as Fefetasprite. So I think it's not entirely out of left field to say that these two were implied to have SOMETHING going on.

And that something... is a difference in political views.

I mean, let's be real, there's a reason Fefetasprite is the most explode-prone after Tavrisprite. Miss "The Hemocaste is Stupid and Shouldn't Matter" vs. Miss "I Love Being A Princess And Call Jade Hornless and Finless (Derogatory)"? Come on, tell me you don't see it.

Without getting too much into Feferi, this hypocrisy, and unwillingness to check her privilege (so glad I found an excuse to use that term unironically), are probably her greatest character flaws - ie, the things you would expect the story to address about her. Meanwhile, one of Nepeta's flaws, which she laments to Jasproseprite^2, is that she feels too shy to talk about her feelings to other people, leading to her having never expressed her views on the hemocaste to anyone but Equius.

I think that they initially think they'd be friends. Each one of them would go "oh man, this other girl is soooo cute, I wish I could talk to her more often!"

And then, once they do, they realize they fucking hate each other. Nepeta would go "X00 < you are such a hypocrite who f33ls like youre better than all of us!!!" and Feferi would go "You're suc)( an uneducated glubbing P-EASANT! 3X0" and then they'd claw each others' eyes out. It would be so funny, and if a homestuck ship isn't extremely fucking funny, then why are we even here.

But more importantly, this would further them along into resolving each others' arcs - Feferi would be forced to grapple with the greater implications of classism, and Nepeta - who is shown having a spine the most in defiance of somebody else - would grow more aggressive about being open about her feelings in defiance of Feferi. Even Equius would get roped into it in a positive way - you can just imagine him going "D --> Can I really believe my auricular sponge clots D --> Nepeta, you are finally taking interest in politi%" and be 100% on board with teaching her so Feferi won't be able to call her uneducated.

And then for flushed, I dunno! Karkat's an option, and Jade and Jake also both love the fuck out of furries, and Tavros seems nice. But yeah I'll die on the fefnep hate ship. Guys it would be so funny.

Thank you as always for reading! Let me know if there's a troll you want to hear me ramble about next.

#homestuck #nepeta leijon #feferi peixes #equius zahhak

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spindlewoed · 2 years

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You have to understand. I don't "ship" Harry with the smoker on the balcony, I think whatever they have going on canonically is way funnier and touching than anything anyone could come up with.

There is so much within the dynamic itself. It’s a middle aged man and a younger man who are nothing alike and everything like each other. It’s the smoker being the person that kickstarts Harry’s sexuality journey anew, seeing Harry’s fascination with him and being amused by it because (aside from Harry being probably the first man in a while who’s managed to leave him dumbfounded in a positive way) the smoker *knows* what’s happening in Harry’s mind and as he puts it, it’s beautiful.

Don't get me wrong, the mutual attraction is there. The smoker flirts with Harry every other two lines (girl why the fuck are you flirting with a cop you're insane. I'm obsessed with you) yet makes fun of him in the same breath while Harry is absolutely clueless the whole time because he's too busy staring at his abs. Couldn't come up with anything funnier if I tried.

I love this high drama check, this is exaclty what it feels like to speak to clueless boomers who have no idea what they're talking about. Still, once Harry admits that he might be part of the "underground" as he puts it, the smoker is immediately excited and encourages him to think about it. It's very sweet.

(I know everyone has probably seen this dialogue 100 times by now but I love the phrasing here. literally twink_boutta_pounce.jpeg)

And as a side note I really like this emphaty check in response to Harry's little breakdown after the failed suggestion check the first time you meet him. The smoker like damn he just like me fr.

I don't think more smoker interactions were needed at all or that they would ever talk again post-game but it's interesting to think about what other converations they could have, even just so we could learn a bit more about him. They both have an interest in art. They're both stuck in a place they can't leave if they wanted to and yet find beauty in it, they both have regrets about past relationships. They both find talking with the other a charming experience in a way or another. If I want to be indulgent, they both could benefit from learning about what being gay means for a younger/older generation, especially since they both have such different life experiences with their identities.

It's all fanfic talk, and obviously no cops at pride and so on but their interactions did make me think about community and recognition through the other. A flirt for the sake of a flirt, a “maybe in another lifetime” but this lifetime is good too because they did meet and leave an impression on each other before parting ways. That's *beautiful* too.

#disco elysium #smoker on the balcony #harry du bois #they can boink too if you want them to I support you. honestly good for them #but overall I do think about the greater scope of their dynamic it's just. it's nice.#de meta #don't know where else to put this other observation but it's fun to look at how the smoker is framed from Harry's POV #I can't give specific examples bc it's basically all over the pov narration when talking to him #but it feels very femme fatale in a noir detective novel. it’s very refreshing to see that portrayed as a twink idk. I liked that detail #I mean you could argue that klassje is more of the femme fatale of the game and I’d agree with you #but harry’s bi he can have two of them. as a treat

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lint-beetle4 · 1 month

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Okok hear me out...

Macaque...

Teasing with toys.....

HEAR ME OUT--

Endurance Training (Macaque x Reader Smut)

Anon, you goddamn genius

Macaque is a bit of an asshole

Anyone who's met the monkey for more than 5 minutes could tell you that

Even as you two were dating, Macaque's personality never changed--something you hold dear

He was an honest man, someone who refused to change

Macaque was snarky and full of bite--he didn't bow to anyone anymore

Before your relationship, he was on you like cat fur in black clothing, usually hiding in the corners of your vision

It turned less creepy and more endearing the way he made himself more obvious to you as you got closer

Of course, he was still rough, he didn't pull back verbal punches, and you wouldn't either

That's when he knew you were a special one, the way you reacted so well to him

You read him like a book, able to pull him away when he needed space, able to drag him back in when he was drifting too far

To him, you were his ocean, always following his presence with nothing more than instinct and grace

Macaque was more open to you, more comfortable in letting the roughness of his words become softer, vulnerable even

It was that openness that led you to quiver in front of him with vibrations running through your body

You were stuffed with anything but the monkey you needed and you knew it was just the beginning

"Now, now cherry blossom, you can handle a few minutes, can't you?"

You squirm against Macaque's shadow tendrils as he inserts yet another toy into you. Vibrations already shaking your core dangerously. You'd probably cuss him out, but he's already taken the precaution of gagging you with his cock.

You're not even sure how he didn't cum yet, but there was one rule between the two of you that was set before the night began.

"Remember, you don't cum until I tell you to."

There was a signal you could make to your lover if you were ever overwhelmed. Macaque seemed slightly afraid at the idea of gagging you, but if you moved your hand a certain way, Macaque would stop everything.

"There's no shame in tapping out, y'know?"

You're the type of person to go down with the ship, and if you lost to Macaque, you wouldn't hear the end of it. Instead, you bobbed your head against his dick, tongue swirling the head as you tried your hardest to win this little game.

Macaque hissed underneath you, pulling out of your mouth quickly with a slight glare. He tugged at your hair, eliciting a deep moan from your throat.

"You want to play that game, huh? Fucking slut."

Macaque's voice sent shivers through your core as he tore out a vibrator from you, ignoring the high-pitched yelp that escaped you. You were gently lowered onto a larger object, a dildo that stuffed you to the brim.

"If you want to get me off that much, the least you can do is give me a show." Macaque growled at you, leaning down to whisper a gentle, almost worried question. "Color?"

Green, you were green to the heavens, and if you stopped, you'd charge after your lover like no other demon had seen before. Macaque chuckled, shadows forcing your body to move.

"Then suck, and if you cum, we'll make this night go on as long as you need to be a proper bitch."

You obeyed, feeling your insides twist and turn as you clench onto the dildo while dutifully sucking off Macaque. You held back a smirk, knowing that the stone monkey was also reaching his limit. You sucked harshly, tongue running through the sides of his member, lapping up any precum that escaped him. You felt claws running through your hair, Macaque's voice rumbling with another deep, barely hidden moan.

You worked harder, sloppy noises drifting through the air as the dildo inside of you sent jolts of forbidden pleasure through you.

Macaque seemed to have enough of you, his claws digging into your hair as he thrusted into your throat with an animalistic growl. You moan against his cock, legs shaking as he used you like the arsenal of toys you had.

With a stifled groan, you felt his cum leak into your throat, forcing you to swallow the salty mixture.

Macaque pulled out of you, watching your love-struck face as you focused on fucking yourself into the dildo beneath you. Macaque pulled you gently, sliding the toy from out of you as he pulled you into a deep kiss.

You panted against him, feeling worn out and empty. Yet, the urge to cum was still igniting a stubborn flame in your body.

"What's that look for, my little sparrow?" Macaque smirked, fingers teasing your body as your hips jerked impatiently. "Surely, you can last a few more minutes?"

#lego monkie kid macaque #lmk macaque #six eared macaque #macaque x reader #macaque x y/n #lmk x y/n #lego monkie kid x y/n #lego monkie kid x reader #writing tag #certified first macaque post

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myownwholewildworld · 4 days

Text

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

“I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

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