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jahiera · 11 months

Note

You mentioned in a previous Astarion analysis post:

"But, I think, given his behavior, his casual flirtiness, his "You want to lose yourself in me," (another line I can squawk about endlessly in terms of character analysis)"

I am encouraging you to squawk. I think you've got a really good grasp of his character and I love your posts!

UPDATE***written during EA

@littlemisstrancy Sorry for the late reply! I fell down another rabbit hole of replaying haha.... Aww, thank you! I'm so glad, a good grade in Astarion is a Normal and Reasonable thing to want to achieve. But YES, I find his entire sex scene to be extremely interesting (going off of what Larian said that, paraphrased, nonsexual intimacy with some will mean more than sex with others, because of the nature of the relationship.)

What I find most interesting about Astarion's romance scenes is that the scene itself is remarkably much more syrupy than he, by nature, really is. We can point to, "darling," "my love," as evidence of his tendencies for the dramatics, yes, but given that these are petnames he'll throw out to a Tav he hates as much as a Tav he enjoys, the surface meaning and connotations of dramatic flirtations and even more dramatic pre-sex speeches.... shifts.

The way we filter these interactions shifts because we have to filter what is, at first glance, a typical romance scene, through the lens of the character giving the spiel. If Astarion associates dramatic seduction and slinky purring as simply the easiest way to get what he wants--or, perhaps, more than that, the expectation, the only way for this interaction to occur, because hollow dramatics/play-acting have been likely the only pseudo-""romance"" he's engaged in in the 200 years he's been with Cazador, that changes the meaning of everything, including the line: "You want to lose yourself in me." <- sure laddie, just keep objectifying and disconnecting yourself from the experience itself and repeat the habits of behavior that you've learned from 200 years of being someone else's toy and tool where you weren't even a willing participant in what was happening, merely a mandatory one. that'll be really great. no backfiring here whatsoever.

Okay, sorry, under the cut the rest of this goes because I went off on three different tangents to try and tie them all back together again. This is mostly my background reasoning for above. WHAT DOES THE REST HAVE TO DO WITH TAV. Honestly I'm not sure anymore I started talking and then I didn't stop talking.

It feels like so much of the overarching realities of their circumstances fall away for Tav, but it also haunts the entire interaction with Astarion. Shallow charm. Winning over people. A pretty face opening doors. I'd chalk it up to sexy-video-game-scene-writing if it were any other game, but the other romance scenes aren't nearly so grandstanding and are written I think intentionally to subvert that, so this is an Astarion Thing, and likely goes deeper than that first glance. As it stands, Astarion barely even knows who he is now that he's outside of Cazador's control. "Another thing that I've lost." -- His personhood has been nonexistent, and he's been a tool, and he's been, for lack of a better word, dehumanized to the fullest extent for an insurmountable amount of time. So of course the thing he learned best is that the easiest way to get what you want, or get what you need, is to be easily projected unto. He can't keep the facade up for very long, I don't think, but in that scene his "don't ask too many questions just look at how hot I am" mindset is fully on to me.

The thing is that his circumstances with Tav here are entirely different than the ones he's been in before, but just because the circumstances are different doesn't mean that the behavior will be different, or that habits formed out of severe distress/torture in his own words will be so easily let go of. My ULTIMATE POINT is that charm and flirtations are things Astarion clearly separates from himself and his actual beliefs, and he treats what we conceive as "charming" behavior fairly flippantly--once again, that "my love," means... not... a lot. we just met 2 weeks ago, pal. And I don't think he's interested in using it like that anymore, because he's not making a super great effort to be perceived as likeable. It comes out mostly in scenes where flirting and charisma are expected of the interaction and then they're pushed to their most exaggerated format, when he isn't actually typically like that in other conversations. Dramatic and foppish, yes, and enjoys ridiculousness in several formats, yes, but not nearly so egregiously saccharine, at all.

If he is starting to give a fuck about Tav, or even the group, that's something else to grapple with, and it's still at this point I think partly wrapped up in the idea that Tav makes for a "good ally." His scenes where he says: "we're more alike than I thought" "You're stronger than I gave you credit for," feel more genuine and honest to me in some ways than his sex scene speech. His fondness for Tav and his idea that strength/power/security can be found by sticking close to Tav can be true at the same time, in an interesting dance between his growing connection to them and his general ideas on people, power, and control.

So secondary: is Astarion a manipulator who's using this sex scene to control Tav emotionally and that's what he's got going on here? Eh... maybe yes and no? He wouldn't ask Tav if he wasn't interested--as seen by how he'll shut you down if he can't stand your guts. If he's using sex for that, it's up in the air, open to interpretation, depends on your HC, I can see both interpretations and I'm not going to claim one is more true than the other, since there's evidence for both "manipulating" and "not manipulating" and to me, the truth falls somewhere in the middle. I'm sure the thought has probably crossed his mind, but I don't actually think he's good enough at charm to follow through on that, which I will now elaborate on in INTRICATE detail....

Astarion isn't actually concerned about being likeable, or wanted within the group--or, rather, he may be concerned about it (because there's both safety and danger in a group setting), but he also isn't concerned about it enough to not advocate entirely for self-preservation and selfishness at generally every turn. He also isn't concerned about winning over the group enough to abdicate his firmest belief: that the tadpole is an advantage they should use, and a power he intends to keep.

And, if you relent to the group, he calls you spineless in the face of everyone else. So he's not afraid to insult you, Tav, either, certainly not to preserve some loose semblance image of ""charming,"" which he's already really bad at maintaining in general, because his brand of everything can just as easily piss people off as compel. Bad taste central.

Hell, his intro scene displays this best: He lures you in with a silly little lie that makes him sound weaker than he is ("You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others!") and then he strikes when your back is turned. Shallow charm is an accessible tool, he doesn't have the patience for long-lasting plots or extended slinky charm. Or if he does, and he's been manipulating all of us, he's not doing a great job, since half the party is making faces at him the whole time. Buuut....

During the mirror conversation, if you tell him vanity is a weakness:

(Text - Astarion: It's an indulgence, I'll grant you, but a weakness? A well-presented face can open a lot of doors.)

There is an awareness of beauty and charm that Astarion references often. He isn't really afraid to objectify himself for his own means, or being perceived as weaker than he is (except in certain circumstances). He knows these things are quite relevant, socially. Beautiful people are treated better. Beautiful people typically can get away with more. Actually I could probably approach this from a Class and Wealth related lens too, because his history as a magistrate probably also influences this mindset a lot, but that is. a THIRD separate essay.

He seeks to be strong enough to beat Cazador, at least partly through the same means that Cazador himself uses. The tadpoles give us absolute authority, in the end, and Astarion has zero qualms inflicting onto others what was inflicted onto him when we use them. But prior to the tadpole, what tools did Astarion have at his disposal? Very few, and most of them revolved around empty charm, quick-thinking, and trying to predict unpredictable moods and then enduring whatever came of those moods. That hollow charm falls under these kinds of tools, which gave him very short-term influence over at least the people he would lure back to Cazador. Likely the only form of control or power he had within all of that, and where he himself was without control as his entire being was under someone else's thumb. And those habits will likely persist for awhile, until he relearns who and what he wants to do and be outside of Cazador's purview. Which could mean anything, this is not to make him sound softer than he is or sweeter than he is. His vainglorious bitch syndrome is 4D chess of truth and not truth, empty cloying, vicious lashing out, and 10 degrees of identity issues wrapped up in all of that, so it's difficult to pin down just one thing as Real or Not Real, and I don't think even he knows what's Real and Not Real right now.

#Hi Sorry. Guess who can't shut up. That's me.#astarion #bg3 meta #bg3 #This is fairly incoherent rambling.... I didn't actually have an end in mind when I started talking so you can hear the #pepe silvia meme vc in the background here #COMPLEX CHARACTERIZATION indeed. I want to bite down and chew on him #I'm still not sold on any of this either -- my interpretation of him shifts with the wind and every other thing he says #But these are my first.. initial... thoughts anyways...#thank you again for asking! so sweet of you hgfhghf

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wongyuseokie · 11 months

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Buzz Buzz | l.s.m

Summary: Your boyfriend discovers your sex toys and is now wondering why you need them if you have him, but more importantly, he wants to see what they do to you.

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ♕ smut | ♥ completed works Word Count: 513 words Pairings: Lee Seokmin x Female Reader Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Smut & fluff Content Warnings: Smut, fluff. Kissing. Seokmin is being pouty for a second it's v cute. Smut Warnings: Smut, pussy fingering, use of a sex toy (vibrator). Orgasm. Kissing? A bit of praise. Pet names (kitten, hehehehe) and good girl.

Authors Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SUNSHINE @the-boy-meets-evil. I adore you endlessly and love you so dearly. Wishing you the most wonderful day ever, and since my love language is attacking, here's a little smutty thing for you 💕 (I'm posting this a little earlier because time difference is a nightmare) 💕 Authors Note 2: Thank you so much to @onlyhuis for beta'ing this ilysm June 💕 Authors Note 3: tagging some other Seokmin fanatics @onlyseokmins @seokgyuu @dkakapizzaboy @cheolism Cross Posted to AO3 © wongyuseokie 2023. All rights reserved.

“Is that what I think it is?” Seokmin asked, and you groaned, cursing yourself, damn you should have cleaned up before your boyfriend got home, and you were too slow to stop Seokmin as he walked over and grabbed the device.

“A vibrator in plain sight?” Seokmin teased.

“Baby, am I not enough?” Seokmin asked with a sad pout.

“You are, of course, you are. Now can you please give it back?” You whined.

“Why do you need a vibrator?” Seokmin asked with a pout.

“Because, my handsome, you are often gone, and I get very needy,” you explained.

“What do you think of when you use this?” Seokmin asked.

“You.”

“What about me?” Seokmin urged.

“Your thick thighs, how you let me ride them and fall apart on them, your big cock and how it fills me up so deliciously. I also think about how long your fingers are and how they hit every spot that I can’t,” you answered, making Seokmin gulp.

“Seok?”

“Yes?”

“I also think about your mouth, your sweet mouth, how you eat me out so good, how you make me cum hard, and how your lovely nose hits my clit every time you eat me out,” you elaborated, making Seokmin groan.

“You still want to use the vibrator on me, baby?” You asked, and Seokmin nodded furiously, making you smile, as you grabbed Seokmin by his shirt, pulling him into you, and Seokmin pulled you into a kiss and pushed you down onto the bed. Seokmin moved quickly, his one hand moving to your jeans and undoing them. You kicked off your jeans and panties, and Seokmin’s knuckles met with your wet folds.

“All for me, kitten?” Seokmin mumbled against your lips.

“Always dripping for you, baby,” you said, pulling away from his kiss.

Seokmin helped to pull your shirt off and discarded your bra along with it, and stared in awe at your naked form.

“So fucking beautiful,” he praised as helped you lay down on the bed and started to plant kisses down your body.

“Pretty,” Seokmin muttered as he moved his mouth along your body. Seokmin ran the vibrator along your folds.

“Fuck!” You gasped, hissing as the cold metal touched your aching cunt, and you let out a yelp as Seokmin pushed two fingers into you and switched on the vibrator. While the vibrator constantly pulsated against your clit. You felt your eyes roll back as he started thrusting his fingers in and out of you.

“Fucking hell,” you whimpered as you grabbed his forearm.

“Good girl, you take my fingers so well,” Seokmin praised as he saw you fall apart under his touch. You let out whimpers, biting your lips to stop yourself from screaming in pleasure.

“So, fucking good,” you mewled as you rode out your orgasm.

“Better than me?” Seokmin asked as he turned off the toy and slowly pulled it out of you.

“Never better than you,” you mumbled.

“I’ll let you recover, kitten, and then I’ll show you exactly why a silicone toy can never compare to me.”

#seventeen smut #seokmin smut #dokyeom smut #svthub #kvanity #indigo writes: seokmin

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indouloureux · 2 years

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basically you and Joseph are good friends since being cast together on s4. he comes over to your sleeping place one day, and asks you on advice on telling a girl he's known for a while that he likes her. little does oblivious reader know that the girl is us👹. basically you give him advice (choice), and he thanks you and walks out. in legit a minute he walks back into your house and does the thing you advised him to do.

I apologize for the crappy writing, I thought this scenario up at 3 am

THIS IS REALLY FUCKING CUTE SUKSJSKSJS

when he asked if he could come over and "hang out," you don't expect him to be standing like a lost, nervous child in front of you, with his hands on his sides and head ducked low, eyes on his gently tapping feet.

"what's up?" you say, cautiously, like one wrong word and he'd snap into something preternatural.

joseph's head lifts, wide and glossed with nervousness. he offers you what is a forced smile, laughing dryly before he sits on the couch beside you, patting his sweaty palms onto the denim of his jeans. so wet that they'd grown darker than their usual color.

"so, um, i need...advice," he begins, scratching the hair behind his ear. "it's um- relationship. related."

your heart drops to your feet, shattering on the carpeted floor because it didn't need the porcelain tiles to break it's structure. like a film reel does imaginations of joseph with someone else flip like a lugubrious flashback, but you manage to put a feigned surprised smile on your face.

"oh!" you raise your eyebrows. "tell me."

"i want to, um, ask this girl out," he laughs nervously, almost too forced like he's reliving a faux pas inside his head. "she's um, i think you know her."

"well, i hope i do," you match his de rigueur smile, top teeth poking out between your two pink lips to at least show him how genuinely happy you are. and you really are. really, really fucking happy. "because then it'll be easier to know if they'll treat my friend right."

friend friend friend

fucking friend.

"hah. well, um, she's really close with us," joseph's looking at your lap, hand stops scratching the spot behind his ear to gesticulate into the air. "she's, er, really nice. very kind. humor is out of this world. i really think she's the only person who can make me laugh hard other than my dad and, well, jamie."

you bite the scream that tries to escape, maybe you're even trying not to strangle him at the mention of some different girl making him laugh harder than you do. "what else?"

"she makes these, like, pastas that taste horrible but somehow i still love it because, well, she made it," he smiles, shoulder's relaxing into a slump. "we like to— she indulges in all my food tomfoolery. she listens like, like i'm the most important person in the world and...she's the only person who can truly understand me."

you wonder what his words could break if your heart's already broken down his feet. maybe its your lungs, the way the pain tightens the passage and hinders air coming through. or your stomach and the incessant pit that's forming down there. maybe your fingers as you clench them tightly to stop yourself from harming anything.

because after all this time, you thought you'd been that person he's talking about. turns out you were just delusional — your naive self grasping onto the hope that he might have felt the same, when in reality that hope's linked to a chain that leads into a void; where you wish you could fall into than fall for him endlessly despite the pain.

"that's, that's great, jo," you swallow the thorns around your throat, clearing it off. "w-what's the advice again?"

"i wanna ask her out."

"great!" you scratch your eye, joseph watching right on the corner of your vision. "um, well, obviously you have to buy her flowers. or something that she likes, like chocolate? maybe, if she wants that. then knock on her door and ask her out because asking someone over text is just really lazy."

joseph nods, taking a huge puff of breath, the slapping of his hands on his knees snapping you out of your miserable daze. "smart. great thinking. you're really smart, love."

before you say anything, he's pressing a quick, burning kiss on your temple, the aftermath of his fire still sizzling on your skin. he stands up as well, crossing over the carpeted floor in quick strides that by the time you had registered what he's done, he's already putting his coat on.

"wait, where are you going?"

"i'm gonna ask her out."

"today?" he nods. "i thought we were gonna hang out?"

"i'm sorry but i just, really need to do this," he gives you a sad smile. you stand up from the couch, joseph spraying alcohol on his hands before he twists the doorknob. "i'll see you tomorrow, though!"

the word stutters in your mouth, useless when he disappears behind your door. the loud slam is what opens the faucet, unknown to you that there's tears already dripping down your cheeks.

you drown in the sink of self-pity, bottom lip wobbling and sniffling the snot that drips down your nose as you sob, heart broken by someone who wasn't even your boyfriend.

feet dragging across the floor, they lead you to the kitchen where you take out a pint of ice cream — pistachio, the only one you have, which is very ironic. your hands reach for the wooden handle of the kitchen drawer, taking out a spoon for you to take the sorbet into the silver cutlery and eat the dejected ice cream.

but then the door knocks, and you accidentally choke on a sob as you take your ice cream with you, mind believing that it's impossible that it's him because his urgency to leave was quite obvious he was never coming back until tomorrow.

you twist the doorknob, opening it to see him with a box of chocolates tucked between his elbow, a smile so bright like he'd just won the grandest prize of them all.

"hi, will you— are you crying?" his smile falls, lips turned into an upside down crescent of worry, hands gently placing the box on the table to place them on your shoulders. "what's wrong? is that pistachio?"

you don't answer him, feeling the heavy rock around your throat come back and push your tears through again. you let yourself cry in front of him, pint tucked to your chest that the ice melts onto your shirt along with the tears that race down to your neck.

joseph comes in, closing the door behind him as he hugs you like he doesn't expect you to cry, pushing your head to his chest and it's like he wants you to hear his steady heartbeat, each thump a soft whisper asking you to calm down. he's gently shushing, hands running through your hair like he'd always do when you're sad, or when you're asleep in his arms (as a friend.)

"it's — is it because of the date?" joseph murmurs, pushing your arms away so he'd take a better look at you. he tilts his head down to see you better, eyelashes fluttering at his rapid blinks. he's unconvinced when you shake your head. "oh love—"

"did you leave anything behind?" you place the ice cream on the side, leaving the spoon stuck in the thick dessert. tugging on your cheeks to wipe your tears away, he takes your wrists to stop you, holding it down to the space between.

"is it about the date?"

his repetition makes you finally nod your head.

"aw. babe, i— i was going to ask you out."

you blink the tears away from your lashes. "what?"

"i was going to do what you said," he takes the box into his hands. "i was going to come here, with something that you liked and ask you out. it's — it's the only way that i could think of that sounded cute."

the film reel rewinds the way your heart that's left on the carpet has risen to mend itself. but instead of jumping into his arms with dire contact, you punch his shoulder, mad at him for an irrational reason of him giving you a temporary, fake heartbreak.

"you're such a jackass. a dickhead!" he laughs, in pain, rubbing the spot on his shoulder. "you made me cry and thought it was the end of the world."

"i'm sorry," his thumbs wipe the tear stains off your cheeks. "i'm sorry, darling. never again."

joseph pulls you into his chest, head deep into his tactile touch, smiling when he kisses the top of your head. "god. i was about to strangle you when you said someone else made you laugh harder than i do."

"‘m sorry," he chuckles. "now, will you eat these chocolates and go out with me?"

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

#joseph quinn blurb #???#joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn #fluff #eddie munson #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction

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batrachised · 6 months

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I am SO curious what you think of specific LMM short stories - namely, The Waking of Helen, The Doctor's Sweetheart, and The Growing Up of Cornelia - but also just all of them bc there is so much going on in literally all of them (not even counting the insanity that is tannis of the flats). apologies if you've talked ab them before but I am intrigued as to if you've read them/have thoughts

Thanks for this ask, I find it really interesting! I also find it very appropriate for this kilmeny shebang, because I think kilmeny provides a very good illustration for this.

I don't think I've read all of LM Montgomery's short stories, although I know I've hit a good chunk of them, so that in and of itself tells you something. There are some I really, really love and that I think are LM Montgomery at her best (The Quarantine at Alexander Abraham's), but I find a lot of them to be LM Montgomery at her worst. Some of them encapsulate LM Montgomery's strengths in a really potent, concise way; a lot of them emphasize her weaknesses in parallel.

Because I haven't read a lot of them since I was a teen, I mostly have dim memories of the ones I liked, or of ones where I was like hmmm...that's funny, or the ones that I liked but now looking back am like hmm...that's funny. I used to love the Growing up of Cornelia quite a bit, but now I squint at it for obvious reasons. I LOOOOOOOOOOOOVED the fake dating one because I thought it was hilarious (this spinster lies to the town about having someone courting her, someone she completely fabricates - only for a man who happens to fit the description to a tee show up in a sheer shenanigan of fate). The Strike at Putney is my sister's favorite (the women of a church go on strike to combat sexism).

So overall, there are some jewels in in the mix. The form of a short story is such that in some ways, you have to strip writing and storytelling down to its bare elements. As such, I think the form of a short story is particularly well-suited to demonstrating Maud's strength of humor. When they're good, they're good.

However, as referenced, that often means when they're bad, they're bad. Some are technically well-written but gross in plotline (these are the ones that tend to be the ones I liked as a child, but as an adult..); a lot are both disturbing and imo pretty poorly written, much like a certain novel we've been discussing lately. We have Tannis (YIKES), the Education of Betty (YIKES), and others which kind of pull back the curtain on Maud.

LM Montgomery was no angel, and even beyond aspects of her you'd expect historically, she was just...kind of mean. I remember reading a letter of hers where she visited some equivalent of a girl scout troop and frankly talked about how she couldn't imagine any of the girls finding husbands because they were so plain and ugly. You see it pop up in her books, but it pops up a lot in her short stories as well. In the end, to answer your question in a general sense, I feel like overall the short stories have more kilmeny's than anne's.

Regarding the specific stories, I'd have to reread them. We did discuss the Growing Up of Cornelia on here a while back - I used to LOVE that one, but now as an adult I'm like more errrr. It is interesting to me because Sidney is the Dean Priest figure that ever haunts LMM's work. As for The Waking of Helen, iirc this is @mzannthropy's favorite! Unlike Kilmeny, it actually commits to its premise and so I think it works. I'm not really familiar with the Doctor's Sweetheart - I looked it up and nothing rang a bell.

For my favorite short stories (You didn't ask, but I shall answer anyway) - here are the ones that I remember even years later:

The Quarantine at Alexander Abraham's: iconic, in a word. endlessly quotable. A spinster woman who hates men quarantined with a confirmed bachelor who hates women? Much like the blue castle, this takes a basic fanfic trope (for tbc, 'where is my wife;' for this, quarantined together) and so successfully executes it you're left with your jaw on the floor.

The Strike at Putney: this is a sister's favorite, and I can see why. Women of the church learn that a missionary will not be allowed to occupy the pulpit to speak because she's a woman, and so they go on strike. It's also a emphasized critique of the undervaluing of women's work.

The Materializing of Cecil: GOD I REMEMBER LOVING THIS ONE. This unmarried woman is embarrassed to be unmarried at forty and so flagrantly invents a lover to her sewing circle - only for a man who fits the description to SHOW UP. It's hilarious. However, as a content warning, I reread it to find there is less than fantastic description of a Chinese man near the end.

The Little Brown Book of Miss Emily: guess what? this one is in first person, and that person is ANNE. 😱 this one...it's sad, but it always stayed with me. I have read quite a few lmm stories and forgotten most, but not this one. Also, its final line is beautiful to me.

#thanks for the ask!#lm montgomery #lm montgomery short stories #aogg #kilmeny of the orchard

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autistook · 3 months

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DAISIES - pt 4

Merry Brandybuck x fem!hobbit!reader / soft oc

Words: 4.8k

Summary: Merry has started to behave differently from what you're used to, and you grow worried. You decide to confront him on the matter. Frodo tells you some news, that might just change your life as you know it.

Content warnings: alcohol, a VERY drunk Pippin lol

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

----

You were sat outside, near the gate of Bag End. You were wrapped up in an old moss green felt blanket, observing the running, giggling children. Everyone in the Shire was enjoying the April day, but you were feeling slightly frustrated.

Gandalf had settled into your home, and it felt to you like he was avoiding you with all of his might. You had been fond of him before, but this behavior had made you question if he was just hiding a mean personality under all that laughter and the fireworks. You heard him talk with Frodo endlessly, but whenever you entered the room, he went silent. You had deducted that you must have been making him somehow uncomfortable by your presence. As a result, you had started to spend more time outside, instead of in the calming atmosphere of your own home. Not that it was a safe space anymore, for it had mostly become unbearably uncomfortable to be in.

You saw a familiar face approach Bag End. His short, blonde hair was a little messy, his fingernails dirty and the legs of his pants were covered in dirt around his knees. Samwise smiled at you softly, and waved to you in a friendly manner.

"Enjoying the warm April breeze again?" Sam asked as he walked up to you.

"I enjoy watching the children play," you sighed. "Though I would prefer being indoors right now."

Samwise propped himself against the fence with his arm, looking at you with sympathy.

"You know, Mr. Gandalf is not that bad," he said, trying to reassure you. "I'm sure he is fine with you inside the house. He just is a little secretive sometimes. One of the more odd but good folk, as my Gaffer sometimes says."

"I would like to think so, but I don't feel welcome," you said, lifting your knees up to your chin, resting it there. "Are you here to take care of those weeds by the window?"

Sam's cheeks flushed a little, and he scratched his head, his posture switching to one showing his growing awkwardness.

"No, ma'am," he said, stuttering a little, trying to find the right words. "I am here to see Mister Gandalf. He has asked to see me this instant."

You chuckled, looking at Sam with one eyebrow lifted.

"I should probably start to do some gardening to appeal to him," you jested, causing Sam to try and reassure you more of your worth.

"Oh no, miss!" he said, placing his hands on his heart. "You are of great quality, even when not gardening! Not that gardening means great quality. Oh dear. What I meant to say, miss, was..."

"Relax, Samwise!" you laughed earnestly, amused at his reaction to your small poke at his importance to Gandalf. "It was just a joke. Go inside. I'm sure it's important."

Sam looked at you, his eyes filled with insecurity on how to handle this situation properly.

"I hope you do not mind," Sam said softly, scratching his head in a shy manner. "I am sure, with time mister Gandalf..."

"Sam!" you laughed and got up on your feet, softly pushing him through the gate. "Just go!"

Sam looked back at you, smiling uncomfortably and stumbling on his feet as he made his way into your home, closing the door carefully behind him.

You opened the pastry shop door, and the familiar sound of a bell rang above you. The shop was filled with a sweet smell of freshly baked goods, and the smell of cinnamon and cardamom were particularly mouth watering.

You walked to the cashier, handing her some money. She knew your regular order, and gave you a sizeable piece of carrot cake, without even having to ask for it. Your smile was wide as you thanked her. You took a glass of water with you, and made your way to the same table you always sat at.

Ten minutes passed and the bell rang as the door to the shop opened. Pippin greeted the shop owner cheerfully, while making his way to you.

"Hullo!" he greeted you with a big smile. He sat down across from you and started taking the light blue scarf off his neck.

"Is Merry not coming?" you asked, confused. He was not one to skip the pastry shop hangouts.

"I honestly don't even know where he is," Pippin said casually, shrugging his shoulders. He laid his blue coat on the back of the chair, and started to look around the shop to figure out what he wanted to enjoy as a meal this time around. "He said he would come. I saw him just yesterday."

"Do you think something has happened?" you asked, your worry for your friend growing. "I haven't seen him since the dance."

Pippin shrug his shoulders, not seeming too upset or concerned for the well being of his best friend. Pippin's eyes grew wide as he spotted chocolate muffins on the counter behind him. He got up fast and immediately went to buy it, the delicious looking treat now tempting you too. You looked down at your carrot cake, pouting and pondering your life decisions regarding sweet treats.

"I'm sure he is fine," Pippin said, already munching on his chocolate filled deliciousness. He sat back down and looked at you reassuringly. "I haven't seen him as much either, but he did say his dad has been asking him to do a lot of work around Brandy Hall."

You nodded. It made sense to you, even though it still concerned you that you had not seen him in almost two weeks, when normally you would see him almost daily.

"I hope so," you said, and at that moment the door to the pastry shop opened. Merry was standing there, readjusting his olive green coat. The look on his face was serious, but he still smiled softly at you and Pippin. He walked to the table after getting himself a piece of carrot cake.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Merry apologized, glancing at you quickly and then turning his gaze back to his carrot cake.

"We were worried sick!" Pippin exclaimed, his voice like a worried mother. His banter made Merry snicker, and he shook his head at Pippin. "Where on earth have you been, Mister Brandybuck?"

"I just had some work to do back at home," Merry replied to him in a quiet tone, fiddling with his fork and staring down at his cake. "I guess my parents were not very fond of me having too much fun at the dance. I've been helping my father a lot."

"Did you drink too much?" Pippin teased, making you chuckle softly. Merry glanced at you as he heard your laughter, but he quickly avoided your gaze and shifted his eyes to Pippin. "Or did you go around too many girls and they thought you needed an intervention?"

Merry blushed and cut a piece of his cake with his fork.

"No," he said, eating his carrot cake, not looking up.

"Are you sure?" Pippin teased him, but gave you a meaningful look. Pippin lifted his eyebrow at you, as if to question if something along those lines actually happened. You shook your head, to which Pippin nodded.

"I'm sure Mrs. and Mr. Brandybuck just want to make sure he is not just slacking off like he usually is," you jested. But Merry did not laugh. In fact, he did not react in any way. He just kept eating his carrot cake, making you once again concerned. This was unusual behavior for him, as he normally is always up for banter. You looked at Pippin, but the young Took did not seem to notice his best friend's unusual response, as he was too focused on moaning as he inhaled his chocolate muffin.

"So, what's our plan tonight?" you asked, looking at Merry. He did not lift his gaze. Pippin on the other hand responded with his mouth full.

"Green Dragon, please," he mumbled, mouth stuffed. "I am in need for some ale."

"Sounds good to me," you responded, the suggestion making your lips curl up into a soft smile. You kept looking at Merry. "Merry?"

Merry shrugged his shoulders, still not lifting his eyes off the cake.

"Sure, sounds fine," he said. His face looked like he was full of thoughts that were weighing on him, but you didn't want to push him too hard.

"That's settled then!" Pippin cried happily. "Shall we meet there at dusk?"

"Actually, the sooner the better," you responded. You felt uncomfortable about going back to home for even just a few hours more than was necessary. "I don't want to go home just yet. Can we go after eating these?"

"Is Gandalf still there?" Pippin asked, finishing his baked good. You nodded as a response, to which Pippin reacted with a surprising amount of enthusiasm. "Amazing! Now I might be able to ask him a few things regarding his fireworks."

"You're up to something," you said, squinting your eyes at him. Pippin just smiled mischevously and gave Merry a nudge. "Finish eating faster and stop being so quiet. We want to go drinking."

You noticed you hadn't even taken a bite of your cake yet. You immediately dug in. Merry lifted his gaze finally, and he was smiling at Pippin.

"I really am craving some good brew," Merry said, his mood visibly much lighter. Whatever was on his mind, he must have solved during the staring contest between him and the cake, you thought.

You three made your way to the Green Dragon in no time, the sun still high up. As you entered the Inn, the familiar warmth of it filled you immediately, making you feel at home. The inside was mostly empty from any Shire folk, except a few older hobbits who seemed to have been there since morning. After ordering pints, you walked behind Pippin to a table close to the counter and sat next to him, Merry taking a seat right across from you.

"So, what is it like to live with a wizard?" Pippin asked with child-like enthusiasm. You let out a deep sigh and took a big sip of ale.

"Excruciating. I think Gandalf hates me," you answered. "Frodo and Gandalf keep getting quiet whenever I enter the room."

"Why would he hate you?" Pippin asked curiously, to which you shook your head, a puzzled and slightly sad look on your face.

"I don't know. It just feels like he does," you said, taking another sip of your slightly bitter ale.

"I am sure he does not hate you," Merry commented, looking at you at last. "They probably just have something to discuss that just does not concern you."

Merry seemed very sure of his answer, and Pippin agreed with him. You decided to ignore the uneasy feeling the whole situation with Gandalf and Frodo gave you for now.

A few hours passed at the Green Dragon, and slowly more people started entering. You, Merry and Pippin had drank a few ales at this point, Pippin clearly slightly drunk already, even though the sun was not even down yet.

"I think I should get more," Pippin said, letting out a small burp as he rocked in his chair, balancing it on two of its legs - a dangerous task for someone intoxicated.

"I think you should go home," you teased, putting your hand on his shoulder and gently pulling the chair back on all fours.

"Excuse me, Ms. Baggins, but I am not going anywhere!" Pippin declaired, partly slurring his words. You laughed at his response, and the two of you got into a playful argument over his drunken state.

Merry was observing the bantering between you and Pippin. He was sipping his ale in silence, just staring at you two. Every time you turned to look at him, his gaze shifted away, clearly avoiding looking at you in the eyes. You furrowed your brows, confused about his behavior. You were quickly brought back to the present as Pippin slammed his hand on your shoulder.

"Ow!" you cried out, as his playful pat had come across slightly more forceful than he had intended to.

"My bad! I'm sorry!" Pippin apologized prefusely. "Maybe, just maybe I am slightly more under the influence than I thought," he admitted, still resisting the idea of going home yet.

"Maybe take the growing violence as a sign to go sleep," you snickered. Pippin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Soon he nodded his head in agreement.

"I do have some plans tomorrow that I need to get up early for," he said, struggling to get up from the chair. You stood up and helped Pippin up by his waist and shoulder.

"Alright you fool of a Took," you said, chuckling at the situation. "Time to go home. Can you make it by yourself?" you asked, his arm wrapped around your shoulder and your hand on his waist. Pippin smiled, his eyes barely open. You shook your head and snorted, but you knew he really did have it in him to go home by himself. It was not exactly the first time he had to make his way back from the Green Dragon while intoxicated.

"You are wonderful," Pippin smiled, giving a playful kiss on your cheek. He made an exaggarated kissing sound as his lips left your skin, and you once again cackled at his behavior. Merry was still staring at you, now with more intensity in his eyes.

"Alright, time to go home," you said to Pippin, patting his back and gently showing him the way out of the Inn. Pippin could not walk straight, but could walk well enough to make it home safely. As he excited the door, you giggled loudly and sat back down across from Merry. "He is one piece of work," you said playfully. Merry smiled faintly, staring at his pint.

"That he is," he said in a warm and slightly amused tone, yet more quiet than he normally would.

"Look, I don't mean to pry," you started, making Merry shift in his seat. "But are you sure you're alright? You seem off."

Merry hesitated before answering.

"I am quite alright," he said, taking a big sip from his pint. He looked at you for a brief moment, before looking away.

"It's just that I haven't seen you in a while," you said, voice full of care and concern. "And you're just more quiet than normal. That's all."

"I'm fine," he said in a firm tone, his fingers brushing softly against the outside of his mug.

"Alright," you responded, not quite believing him. "It's just that I have missed you. I know it's been just twelve days, but I am used to seeing you more than that, Merry."

Merry lifted his gaze, locking his blue eyes with yours. His cheeks were turning a soft pink color as he smiled at you, his hands tightly wrapped around the pint of ale in front of him.

"I've missed you too," he said warmly, this time not breaking eye contact. A sense of relief entered your body, as he seemed more like his usual self. "I'm sorry for not really being present today. I've just had a lot on my mind."

"Like what?" you asked, Merry's eyes slightly narrowing for a split second.

"Just," he started, carefully thinking what to answer. "Just stuff. Nothing big has been going on, really. My parents just have needed my help a lot, that's all. I promise there's nothing to worry about," he continued with a reassuring smile.

You smiled back at him.

"Well alright then," you responded, taking a sip of your ale. Merry's eyes lingered on yours for a few more seconds, before he turned to look away.

Some days passed, and Gandalf still was staying in Bag End. You were sitting on your bed, burrowed in your many pillows, wondering if it was worth it to sneak into the kitchen while Gandalf was outside taking a walk.

There were three knocks at your bedroom door, and soon enough your adoptive brother was peeking through the crack of the door.

“May I come in?” he asked. You gestured him to enter, and rose from your comfortable pillow pile.

“What's on your mind, Frodo?” you asked, crossing your legs and smiling at him.

“Are you uncomfortable with Gandalf being here?” Frodo asked without any hesitation. You two were comfortable with sharing almost everything, including uncomfortable thoughts.

“I am,” you responded, a small pout making an appearence on your lips. “I get the sense that I am being a burden in my own home.”

Frodo gave you a soft smile, his eyes full of sympathy and brotherly care.

“He has nothing against you,” Frodo said, gently stroking your shoulder. “He just has some important things to discuss with me, and we need some privacy for those matters. Trust me, he is fond of you.”

You sighed, fiddling with the fabric of one of your decorative pillows, tracing the embroidery on it with your fingers.

“I guess I am just used to him being more welcoming, you know?” you said. “It seems like I have been intruding on some very serious matters.”

Frodo took a moment to answer. He seemed like he had to think about what to say next very carefully.

“You haven't been intruding,” he finally stated. “But the conversations we have been having are indeed of serious matters,” he continued, making you slightly nervous.

“What kind of matters?” you inquired, making Frodo hesitate again before answering.

“Nothing for you to be concerned about for now,” he said, softly smiling, but his eyes were full of worry.

“Frodo,” you said, softly taking his hand. “What is wrong?”

Frodo looked outside your bedroom window for a moment as he sat there next to you.

“I think I am going to go see Bilbo,” he finally responded. “But I worry it is going to be a long and possibly a dangerous journey, and I might not see you for a while.”

You smiled, slightly worried but not surprised. Frodo was very fond of uncle Bilbo, and had often talked to you about his adventures and craving some of his own. But one part of this did not make sense to you.

“What does Gandalf have to do with this?” you asked. “And why is it such a serious matter that I could not be there to hear it?”

Frodo squirmed a little as he fixed his posture.

“I was worried to tell you,” he said. “Besides going on an adventure, I have considered moving back to Buckland, where I grew up.”

You felt confused. Frodo adored Bag End, and was always hissing about the Sackville-Bagginses trying to demand it. They were always complaining about Frodo inheriting it from Bilbo, as they felt like it belonged to them. And you felt like you belonged there alongside Frodo.

“But the house would be so empty without you,” you said, your voice filled with a mixture of confusion and sadness. “I don't think I can take care of it on my own, despite Sam possibly doing the gardening still.”

Frodo took a deep breath and squeezed your hand.

“I discussed selling Bag End with Gandalf,” he finally said, making your eyes widen. “To the Sackville-Bagginses, as Sam is also coming with me, and I think…”

“What?” you interrupted. He was planning on selling his home. Your home. And to Sackville-Bagginses! “You can't sell this place! I grew up here after uncle Bilbo took me in.”

Frodo looked at you, and his blue eyes were filled with sadness and guilt.

“Gandalf said he has heard the Brandybucks could use your help in Brandy Hall,” he said, brushing his thumb on the back of your hand. “And we discussed the possibility of you moving there. Your best friend would be closer to you, and you have talked about getting yourself a job.”

You just stared at him, with a heavy feeling in your heart. The more he revealed, the more everything he said was out of character for Frodo. He seemed like he was making excuses, hiding the real reason behind his plan.

“Why can't I stay here?” you asked, making Frodo sigh once more.

“It is a big house,” he said, making you frustrated, because what he was about to say next you could predict, and you knew he would be right. His next words, he once again chose very carefully. “And I don't think that you necessarily could take care of it on your own, nor do I think that you would feel comfortable with it, my dear sister.”

You pondered for a moment if you should yell at him for forcing this plan on you, or if you should perhaps go yell at Gandalf for supporting this decision. But your brother was right.

“You're right,” you finally said, filled with melancholy. “I just don't understand why you want to leave this place, and why you would make this decision without me.”

“I haven't made the decision yet, but I miss Buckland and in my heart I know I must go on an adventure and after Bilbo, no matter how dangerous it could be.”

You pouted, wondering his words for a while. You gave him a supportive nod. Your body was filled with anxiety, and you kept tracing the golden thread and its swirls on your pillow.

“I understand,” you sighed. Yet a few questions remained, bothering you. “What kind of work are the Brandybucks in need for?”

“Mostly writing down important stuff that Merry’s father has to mail and do as the Master of Buckland,” Frodo smiled. “It is a big hobbit hole with lots of families living in it, so there's also need for cooking, cleaning and gardening every now and then - for a price of course, as you would move in as an outsider, so to speak.”

“Outsider, huh?” you said, in a playfully offended tone, making Frodo laugh.

“You know what I mean,” he said, his grin wide. “They have asked some other hobbits for the job, but I am sure they would give it to you in a heartbeat.”

You thought about it for a moment.

“Is Merry aware of your plan?” you asked.

“Only Gandalf and Sam,” he said. “But I will let everyone know if I decide to go through with it.”

“You’ll let me know first, right?” you said in need of some reassurance.

“Of course,” he smiled.

“One more question,” you said, and Frodo waited nervously for your next question. “How long is Gandalf going to stay here?”

Frodo chuckled and shrugged.

“As long as it takes to finalize the plan,” he responded. “And for however long I need help with deciding which road to take when I leave for my adventure. But do not worry. I can ask him to be a little more welcoming to you. All I'm asking for is for you to trust me, and let us have our privacy. I will let you know every necessary detail.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand.

“Thank you,” you said, feeling slightly flustered about having to ask your brother to defend you, instead of just asking Gandalf yourself.

With enthusiasm, you finally bit into the chocolate muffin you had been craving for two days. You moaned your mouth full, making Merry chuckle.

“It’s so good!” you exclaimed, your words barely coherent from your mouth being so full.

“I can see that,” he smiled. “Seems like it was worth purchasing.”

“Are you kidding me? I have craved this for days!”

The smile did not leave Merry's face as he glanced at the corner of your lips.

“You have some muffin there,” he informed you, nodding his head towards your lips. You wiped it off swiftly, and thanked him for notifying you.

“Too bad Pippin couldn't make it today,” you said, taking another sizable bite of the muffin.

“Yeah,” Merry said quietly. “But we can do something even if it's the two of us, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, finishing your muffin. Merry snickered at the way you devoured your dessert in less than two minutes. “Do you have anything in your mind?”

Merry thought about it for a while, his fingernails tapping the table.

“It's a beautiful day, how does just a walk sound?” he asked.

“Wow, adventurous!” you responded sarcastically. Merry pouted, and a small blush appeared on his cheeks.

“I'm sorry, that was stupid,” he apologized awkwardly.

“What?” you chuckled. “It was a good idea. We don't always have to do something outrageous and stupid.”

Merry smiled at you, relieved.

“Alright” he said softly. “I'm sorry.”

“What do you keep apologizing for you idiot?” you laughed, amused at his behavior. “It's fine!”

Merry nodded, his face still softly flustered.

“Shall we go?” he asked, getting up before even giving you a chance to answer.

You walked for quite some time around Hobbiton, Merry curiously asking more about Gandalf's recent decision to stay in Bag End. You mentioned nothing of Frodo's plans to move out, and instead claimed that Gandalf was just bringing Frodo news of Bilbo, and decided to stay for an indefinte amount of time.

"You seem bothered by this," Merry said, regarding Gandalfs presence in your own home.

"It's fine, really!" you lied, scratching your head. "It will just take some time to get used to. You don't exactly expect a wizard to start suddenly hanging around your kitchen and living room all the time."

Merry chuckled. His eyes were following a small, bright orange butterfly that just flew right past his face, gently brushing his nose.

"Merry!" you suddenly gasped. You took his hand in yours, stopping him in his tracks. "Look!" you whispered, nudging his sleeve and pointing to your right.

At your right, there was a small fox. Its body was slender, the coppery fur looked soft, and its pointy nose was curiously sniffing the air. Your eyes were sparkling with child-like excitement as you looked at the fox. And Merry's eyes were full of admiration, but it was not the fox that he was adoring. You giddily hopped a little, but quiet enough that it didn't startle the curious creature now approaching the two of you. You slowly crouched, putting your hand in front of you in a careful manner, hoping the fox would at least come sniff you. The fox was just an arm length away, and it smelled all around your palm for a moment. Soon the fox wandered off, its fluffy tail brushing against your wrist softly as it turned around. You turned to look at Merry with a smile on your face so wide it felt like your face might just break off. He was in awe of your innocent reaction, and he smiled just as widely back at you.

"That was a cute sight," Merry said to you, grinning ear to ear.

"I touched its tail!" you giggled with joy. Merry let out a small chuckle. "I've never touched a fox before!"

"I've heard their fur is very soft," Merry said, still smiling fondly at you. "I believe you can now confirm if its true or not."

"It was the softest thing I've ever touched!" you said ecstatically, pulling on his sleeve from excitement. Merry shook his head, the smile not leaving his face.

"Do you want to keep walking?" he asked, to which you nodded and started skipping ahead, still over the moon from the interaction with the small forest creature. Merry followed you behind, his hands in his pockets.

Soon you turned around and skipped back to walk alongside Merry.

"I'm sad that Pippin missed this," you sighed. "I feel like he would've loved to witness this. Why could he not come today?"

Merry didn't answer straight away, but soon his posture shrank a little as he looked at you.

"About that," he said quietly, clearing his throat, mumbling a little as he spoke. "I might have exaggarated the reason Pippin couldn't come here."

"What? What was the real reason?" you asked curiously.

Merry cleared his throat again, not daring to look you in the eyes.

"I just wanted to spend some time alone with you, that's all," he said.

"Oh, why is that?" you asked.

Merry's freckles were suddenly surrounded by a growing blush, and Merry was struggling with his words.

"I just," he muttered. "I guess I just needed some space from Pippin. I've seen him a lot more recently, and I have barely seen you at all."

You couldn't shake the feeling that Merry was not telling you the whole truth, but you decided to let it pass.

"Well, everybody needs some space sometimes," you said. "If you ever need space from me, just let me know."

Merry's gaze immediately left the ground and he turned to look at you again.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said.

"Well, if it ever becomes necessary, just let me know!"

Merry gave you half a smile and changed the subject back to the fox. You got giddy again, and explained in detail what the fur on the fluffy tail felt like against your wrist. Even when you were walking around him aimlessly, explaining every second of your excitement as you touched the fox, Merry could not take his eyes off you.

-----

NEXT CHAPTER

@chatteringfox @shiinata-library @ahobbitsjourney23

#daisies #merry x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #the lord of the rings #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #lotr merry #merry Brandybuck #meriadoc Brandybuck #pippin took #frodo baggins #gandalf #tolkien #jrrt

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blue-aconite · 5 months

Text

☆ it's time ☆

-- i'm going to keep this short because i'm too tired right now. this year has had its ups and downs, as always. all in all, it's been a pretty good 2023 for me, so i'm wishing 2024 will be as well. thank you to everyone who has been with me even when i haven't been around as much myself, who has supported me and my writing. i hope 2024 brings you happiness and peace!

☆ @demxters elle, loml, thank you for your endless support and always being there for me. thank you for the love and letting me be a bother and ramble on all the time. your constant support is why i haven't deleted my entire writing folder. you make me feel like i'm actually good. i love you so much, you're the best part and my favourite part of 2023 ♥️

☆ @bobfloydsbabe helena, my love, i cannot express enough words to convey how grateful i am for you. you've been there for me, no matter what. your continued support, love and general shenanigans keeps me motivated and happy, always. i love you. thank you for sticking around, being my friend and supporting me.

☆ @hangmanssunnies coley, my darling, i am so happy i finally gathered enough courage to reach out to you. it resulted in the best possible way imaginable. i've gained an amazing friend, whom i've come to love very much. thank you for everything , for being there for me and supporting me.

☆ @seresinsweetie sofi, my love, your friendship is so treasured to me and i'm glad i've got you in my corner. you've helped me grow as a writer and person, which i am endlessly thankful for. we haven't talked as consistently as we have but when we do, it's like we've never stopped. i love you.

☆ @a-reader-and-a-writer vee, darling, we're not that good at staying in consistently touch but i know i've always got you in my corner. being your friend is one of the best things and i'm so happy i've found you. your constant support, encouragement and guidance means more than you know. you keep me writing, even when i don't want to. i am so thankful for you.

☆ @writercole @wildbornsiren @antiquitea @imjess-themess @ryebecca @reels-and-wheels @hederasgarden @never--doubt thank you for being my coven, my constant support and letting me just be me. thank you for letting me vent and rant when i need to, always supporting me. i am forever grateful to have found you, ily.

☆ @joaquinwhorres @rae-gar-targaryen @veetlegeuse thank you for welcoming me and being so wonderful. i am very grateful for you all.

☆ @yanna-banana @teacupsandtopgun @withahappyrefrain @sailor-aviator @roosterforme @roosterbruiser @top-hhun @thedroneranger @green-socks @ereardon @desert-fern @seresinhangmanjake @notroosterbradshaw @jupitercomet @luminousnotmatter @jakeseresins @anniesocsandgeneralstore thank you all for being wonderful.

and thank you to everyone who has supported me and my writing this year, i always see you in my notes and i appreciate you so much. it's for you that i keep on going. if you ever liked, reblogged and commented on my work, thank you. thank you for being a part of my life.

love,

fe ♥️

#fe speaks #i didn't know i could be this sappy #here's to 2024

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thirdtidemouse · 5 months

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as i gaze upon your blog i wonder, “what the hell is taskmaster?” i’d journey the lands of safari but its much better to hear the words of insight from the enjoyer. quite interested in the au tho, tempted to watch this thingamabob because of it. i like hearing your ramblings about your fave doodabs and whatchamajigits. i am determined to return to you with the holy gift of a singular hilda but finals are kicking my ass and i’m learning a new art program. while i wait i’d love to be graced by your words :3

HI ANON!! first of all good luck with finals and your new art program i hope everything turns out BEAUTIFULLY for you don't forget to have fun!!

i'm so glad you asked! taskmaster is a ridiculously entertaining gameshow that originated here in the uk with other versions in other countries. it's super fun to make aus/character studies around the tasks because they're so telling of personality!

the format of the show is - 5 comedians per season are set tasks by host greg davies (6'8" ex-schoolteacher, and it shows) and creator/cohost alex horne (the brains behind it, but onscreen is very weaselly/neeky and generally picked-on).

each episode begins with a prize task, in which contestants must bring in prizes to be won by the winner each day - the most high-octane item, the thing that makes the best noise, the most difficult thing to take home. prizes range from body parts to furnished bathroom sets. these, along with every other task, are scored in the studio from 1-5 points. the rest of the tasks are filmed beforehand mostly in one house, individually and sometimes in teams, and are incredibly arbitrary, silly, confusing or difficult:

eat as much watermelon in 60 seconds. eat an egg the fastest (it starts raw). interview, then write and perform a song about this stranger. conceal an entire pineapple on your person. take three huge exercise balls to the top of this large hill. make the biggest mess, then clean it up. get this object as far away from here as possible. go the longest time without blinking.

sarah kendall purposefully, blindfoldedly, throws her own house and car keys into the trees in front of the building. james acaster gets taken aside onstage to be told off by greg like a schoolboy. respected academic richard osman throws a shopping trolley into a river in a fit of rage (it is retrieved). nish kumar and mark watson write a genuinely beautiful song together. bob mortimer makes a floor-size chart documenting the amount of piss produced across britain.

the episodes end with a live task in the studio in front of the audience. the show allows the contestants to genuinely go off the rails with comedic creativity and problem solving, and it's SO fun to impose characters onto this template. person gets presented with task -> completes task as they see fit -> is judged on their actions -> reacts to the judgement. like if you want to develop an oc. look no further!! put them on taskmaster in your brain.

every contestant, whether it be famous comedians, up-and-coming stand-ups, or actors & presenters, really shine in taskmaster. people who i don't really find funny become entertaining and i root for them simply because of the genius format of the show.

it gets gross, argumentative, tense, earnest, and never ever loses the clownish spirit and light-heartedness of the meaningless and hilarious program it sets out to be. greg davies is ruthlessly harsh with points, alex horne is endlessly nitpicky and often bullied, and they frequently bring up fanfiction written about the two of them for some fucking reason. they embody such perfectly fine-tuned characters, only to break them constantly to laugh at the show.

if anyone (no one) wants to know a few of my fav contestants rn they are:

sam campbell, lucy beaumont, sarah kendall, bob mortimer, nish kumar, james acaster, and the ENTIRE freakish family team dynamic of frankie boyle, ivo graham, jenny eclaire, kiell smith-bynoe, and mae martin

thank you anon :-) i'm sorry this was so long i hope you didnt mind reading it all and it told u what u wanted to know!!

#taskmaster au #taskmaster

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bakuliwrites · 1 year

Text

Devotion- Cicero x Listener

Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

Relationship: Cicero x Listener

TW: mention of some blood (nothing too violent though), smut, fluff

Summary: He worships her, every piece of her. All of his Listener must be worshipped, as ordained. Cicero, sweet Cicero, eager to please. Eager to serve. His lips on hers, his hands roving, searching, exploring. Venerating. He dies inside her, and it is glorious. He would die a thousand times in her, as many times as she wanted. Immolating in her light over and over and over again. Cicero is unsure of this new Listener, but his feelings are muddled and confusing. What will happen when the Listener is forced to choose to take or spare his life?

A/N: I have been trapped in an airport the past two days and am shamelessly writing smut in the terminal. I don't care, I'm so bored and thirsty for this mad jester. I had to do what I had to do, and if writing smut in the middle of the goddamn airport is what I want, then it's what's happening. As I write this, my flight has been delayed yet again. I'm losing my mind. As always, thank you for reading! Any likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I've loved Cicero for a long time. I know he's not everyone's cup of tea, but I've been desperately wanting to write for him. He's a favorite Elder Scrolls character of mine for sure. Thank you again! Hope you are all having a great end to the year! Lots of love <3

Read here in this post or over on my AO3.

Silence. Deafening, deafening silence. For so many eons it feels as if all Cicero has heard is laughter and silence. Echoing endlessly in his mind, filling it to the brim, pounding against his skull. He wonders, sometimes, as he lays awake at night if the silence and the laughter will be enough to rupture his skull. If they’ll pour out into the world and drown everyone with the jester’s final words to him. And then here she is, listening. Always listening. Hearing the very words he has longed to hear for over a decade now.

And she’s so ignorant with it all. A rube. A newcomer into this underground society, stepping into his territory, granted with a blessing that should rightfully be poor, loyal Cicero’s. Cicero, who lives in abject silence, forced to watch as a stranger is gifted with the boon of Her voice. Mother always knows what’s best. He wouldn’t dare question Her, and he wouldn’t dare question Her authority on gracing a new Listener with the Gift. He’ll be loyal. Oh so loyal, as Cicero always is. But it does not stop him from hating her. Oh, he’ll serve her, faithful and devoted as he is. If this is what the Night Mother wants, he won’t question. He will only do as he is told. But he doesn’t have to like it.

These months, he’s watched the new Listener with scrutiny. Watched as she’s gained the favor of the other members in Falkreath, as she’s wormed her way into the good graces of that harlot, Astrid. He doesn’t trust anyone here. There’s no reason to, not when they question the ultimate authority of Mother. Especially that Astrid. But the Listener…

Well, Cicero isn’t so sure yet. Her kindness made itself apparent when she helped him on the road just outside Whiterun. He recognized her face immediately when he arrived at the sanctuary. She still had that look of bewilderment and awe that fledgling assassins always have. That he once had in his early days in Cheydinhal. Over the months, he watched the Listener’s dazzlement fade and be replaced with the acceptance of life, such as it is. Yet, there was a certain brightness in her that never seemed to fade. A gentility and strength. She’s been genial with Cicero, but he can glean little else from her. Is she a traitor or an ally? Someone he can trust to upkeep the authority of the Night Mother? Or someone who seeks to tear down everything he holds dear?

The Listener speaks little to Cicero. She speaks little to anyone, really, opting to keep to herself on her downtime. She usually works alone, her skills honed enough to take on even the most difficult of contracts. It’s admirable, really, watching her work. He’s had the pleasure of witnessing her train with the others. From the corner of the room, his dark eyes fall on her, observing every swift motion, every swipe of her blade. And every once in a while, she catches his eye and a spark of something curious lights the facets of her irises. Heat blooms across dear Cicero’s cheeks. How confusing. How strange. Best not to think about it, he reasons, returning to his duties.

“Do you ever have time to train, Cicero?” she asks him one day, innocent curiosity softening her features.

“Oh ho ho!” he returns, confusion muddling his already muddled mind, but he wouldn’t dare let her see that, “Cicero has no time to train. Not when the Night Mother needs tending! Cicero has no need. He takes no contracts. Keeps to himself. Does what he needs to for our Sweet Mother.”

Silence. Such deafening silence. But she smiles softly.

“Well, if you ever want to train, I’m always looking for new partners,” the Listener concludes before gliding off through the snaking corridors of the sanctuary. Cicero is left to stew in annoyance and confusion. Doesn’t she understand his role as Keeper? Doesn’t she understand that he doesn’t train anymore? Why does she ask him such things?

This isn’t the last time she asks this question, and ones like it. Cicero is busy, he returns, but should the Listener require other services, he’s a drop of a hat away.

***

She brings him gifts sometimes. Sweet rolls and honey nut treats, little flowers she stops to pick on her journeys across the continent.

“I thought the Night Mother might like these,” the Listener offers, handing him a small bouquet of nightshade, their purple petals flowering out from their dark centers.

“Oh, yes!” Cicero greets, finding himself delighted by the offer despite his distrust of this woman, “Mother will most certainly love these! Thank you, thank you!”

He places the flowers at Mother’s feet and watches as the Listener passes him a tender beam, before disappearing once again into the shadows. Cicero is even more suspicious. Is this her clumsy attempt to gain his favor? To lull him into a false security? This isn’t the first time he’s dealt with traitors and usurpers, false prophets and charlatans. But the Listeners words were the sacred words:

Darkness rises when silence dies.

And she’d said it with such conviction. Surely, the Night Mother wouldn’t lead him astray.

“No, no. Musn’t question Mother. She knows all,” he mumbles to himself as he sweeps up the area in front of Mother’s coffin. He sweeps furiously, fragments of the booming laughter in his head falling to the floor, shattering into pieces and littering the ground with the final moments of the jester. He sweeps them away, but he just ends up breathing them in again, endless dust, endless laughter, endless silence.

He wonders when the Night Mother will speak to Her Listener again. Wonders if he stood beside the Listener, pressed his ear to her, if he could hear the echo of Mother’s voice in her. If the Listener bleeds, will she bleed the Voice? In her final moments, would her death rattle exhale Mother’s words? Would he finally hear? He wonders if he pressed himself to her, tight and close, if her whole body would act as a shell at the beach, echoing Mother’s voice like the powerful waves of a dark sea.

***

“Dear Cicero?” her gentle voice sounds from the doorway, halting his endless humming. He whips around to look at his Listener and freezes. Cicero hates when she prances about in her nightclothes. They’re billowy and thin. Revealing, in a modest sort of way. He can see the silhouette of her curves, outlined underneath her nightgown by the dull light of the sanctuary. The pinpoints of her nipples peek through the fine cloth, and her bosom rises and falls gently with each breath. Silence abates in him for a beat. The laughter ceases for a moment. It’s been a long time since he’s felt- since he’s felt whatever this is. And then she calls him, “Dear Cicero,” and it drives him mad. Mad, mad, mad.

“Yes, my Listener?” he returns, ever loyal. Always ready to serve.

“May I join you? I can’t sleep and- I’d like some company,” she goes on sheepishly, eyes bright and searching. Cicero obliges. Loyal Cicero would never deny such an innocent request, but he wonders why she doesn’t ask Nazir, or Gabriela, or Festus. Why him? He’s wary, but he won’t fight it.

So she huddles up in a chair beside him while he works, while he tends to Mother and talks aloud to himself. The Listener says nothing. She sits in silence and watches curiously as the Keeper goes about his duties. Occasionally, she chuckles at a limerick or song Cicero lets slip from his ever chattering mouth. Her laugh is musical. Her laugh is grating. He hates it. He loves it. Cicero doesn’t know what he thinks.

Eventually, Cicero looks over and she’s fallen fast asleep, head resting against the chair back, knees huddled to her chest. She looks so terribly uncomfortable and yet, so utterly peaceful. Silence abates, laughter ceases. As if he can’t help himself, Cicero brushes back a strand of her hair, gloved fingers lingering for a moment on her cheeks. There is something lovely about this Listener, in all her silence and shroud of mystery. In her small kindnesses and attempts to befriend him. Perhaps Cicero is too cold. Perhaps he’s not cold enough.

“Poor, tired Listener shouldn’t sleep in such discomfort,” he mutters, carefully lifting her from her chair. She stirs, but does not wake, sighing softly and snuggling up in his arms. Heat blooms along Cicero’s cheeks as he carries her towards her chambers. Gently, the Keeper tucks the Listener into her bed and leaves behind only a single nightshade on her bed stand. For a moment, Cicero knows peace. Momentary peace, a mind clear for once, before confusion takes over again. Maybe he hates her. Maybe he's infatuated. It all feels the same. That same deep cutting emotion. Friend or foe? Enemy or ally? Cicero has learned not to trust, but Mother wouldn’t lead him astray. No, Mother would never lead him astray. Right?

***

Sometimes, at night, when Cicero dares to sleep, he dreams of her. Of the Listener, beckoning him into her bed. Temptress, siren. His lustful dreams fill his core with a heat he’s not felt in years. Her naked form greets him, pulling him closer. She takes him in the sanctity of her bedroom, in his, in every room of the sanctuary. He worships her, every piece of her. All of his Listener must be worshipped, as ordained. Cicero, sweet Cicero, eager to please. Eager to serve. His lips on hers, his hands roving, searching, exploring. Venerating. He dies inside her, and it is glorious. He would die a thousand times in her, as many times as she wanted. Immolating in her light over and over and over again.

He wakes in a confused sweat, regretting falling asleep, and continues his duties. He tries desperately to push these lustful fantasies from his mind. But it’s so terribly difficult when she brushes past him, when she gifts him flowers and sweets. When she smiles at him and asks how his day has been. When she speaks to him like he’s a person, and not just the ghost of a jester long dead.

***

Wrack and ruin. That devil Astrid is up to no good. Cicero knew never to trust her, he rages as he stumbles through the snow. Charlatan, pretender, imposter. And that damned sheepdog chasing after him, wounding him. Well, Cicero gives as good as he gets. Better, even. That stinking wolfman can’t chase after him now, not after the slash dear Cicero’s given him.

Dawnstar is a wreck, but it’s better than nothing. Cicero clutches his injured abdomen, crimson seeping between his fingers as he staggers down the stairs and retreats into the inner rooms. He’s always known he wouldn’t get any sympathy, any understanding from any of Astrid’s underlings. But the Listener… Now they’re an entirely different matter. Will she believe that liar Astrid? Side with that devil? Or will she find sanity in madness? In Cicero’s conviction? In their beloved Night Mother?

Protected by an army of ghostly assassins, a feral troll, and layers of branching corridors and locked doorways, Cicero awaits his fate. For hours, it feels, he shivers in the depths of the abandoned Dawnstar sanctuary, pressing his hand to his wound, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. He needs some amount of strength if the Listener chooses to end him. He’s not going without a fight.

And then, after what feels like eternities of silence and of laughter, he hears the door to the sanctuary open, a distant creak . And he laughs. He laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

“Listener! Is that you? Oh, I knew you'd come. Send the best to defeat the best. Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn't slay sly Cicero,” he calls out, waiting eagerly for a response. But he’s met with what he’s always met with: silence. No matter, he thinks to himself. He doesn’t need them to respond to make this entertaining. No, if he’s going to go out, he’s going out with a bang and a laugh.

He can hear them moving through the corridors, swiftly putting down the specters that haunt and protect this sanctuary. Cicero knows it’s the Listener. He can feel it in his bones. And their silence does little to assuage his fears. His death is coming. It’s imminent.

“Oh, but this isn't at all what Mother would want. You kill the Keeper or I kill the Listener? Now that's madness,” he trails off. He doesn’t want to have to plead, but he will. Though he can’t hear Mother’s voice, he knows this isn’t what She would want. All Mother wants is to keep Her family together. Not see it destroyed. Not again. No, Cicero doesn’t want to be left alone again.

“All right, so Cicero attacked that harlot, Astrid! But what's a fool to do, when his mother is slandered and mocked? Surely the Listener understands!” he begs. She’s moving so fast. He’s hardly gotten a chance to steel himself for the battle to come. Surely the Listener wouldn’t kill poor Cicero. She gives him gifts, asks for his company. Smiles at him, talks to him. Like he’s just as much a person as she is. As anyone else is. Not like some madman. Surely this kind Listener wouldn’t end his life so cruelly? Surely the two of them wouldn’t rip this family apart? Because he’ll be as much a part of this tragedy as she is.

The doors creak open and there she is. Relief and fear flood the Keeper’s heart. The Listener appears in the doorway, a shadow opposite the flickering light of the fire in the hearth behind him. Cicero smirks.

"And now we come to the end of our play. The grand finale."

Damn her, she still won’t talk. Her brows are furrowed, eyes lit with anger and mouth set in a deep frown. He’s never seen her look so upset. This is it, Cicero thinks. The end of the Keeper. The end of the Listener. He’s disappointed his Mother so deeply. How will She ever forgive him?

"You caught me! I surrender! Ha ha ha ha,” he chuckles before dissolving into a coughing fit.

“There’s only one cure for your madness, Cicero,” she finally, finally, speaks, but it stings him, “ Me. ”

And then something wild sparks in him. Something fiery and warm. A devilish grin pulls at the corners of Cicero’s lips. His eyes meet the enigmatic gaze of his Listener.

"Oh, I like that!” Cicero purrs, before loudly adding, “Very good, very good! Creative! But killing me would be a mistake! Oh yes. You would displease our Mother, hmm? For she's your Mother too, isn't she... Listener? Walk away! Let poor Cicero live! Tell the pretender Astrid you did the job! Stabbed, strangled, drowned poor Cicero! One little itty bitty lie!"

“You want me to lie to my superiors?” the Listener returns, something unreadable crossing her face as she strides purposefully towards the crumpled up Keeper. He gulps, unsure of her tone.

“You, my dear Listener, are Astrid’s superior,” he reasons, trying to maintain the grin on his face, though finding it difficult in this moment of uncertainty. The Listener steps ever closer. Cicero grips the knife at his side. This is it. It’s the end for one of them. He’s failed his Mother so spectacularly.

And then, something strange happens. As she approaches, the Listener kneels down, features softening, brows relaxing and eyes filling with sorrow.

“You’re hurt, dear Cicero,” she breathes, looking at the crimson blooming through his clothes. She gently removes his hand from his wound, inspects the injury, and tugs off her gloves. She hovers her hand over the slash in his abdomen, Cicero watching with growing curiosity and confusion. A spell, radiant and warm, emanates from her palm.

“I know that you are wary of me,” she begins, her voice quiet, “But like you, I hear a voice long dead. Long passed on. I know about the jester, Cicero. I know about your life before.”

“You- know about the jester?” he offers, wincing as his flesh repairs itself, stitches itself back together with the help of her restorative powers.

“We are both Listeners, in our own ways. Heeding the calls, the orders, the perplexing whims of the past,” she continues, gazing into his eyes, some strange understanding glittering in her irises, “We do not always choose who we hear. But we do not have to be alone in our suffering. Or our boons. Whatever forms those take.”

“I am loyal to the Night Mother, Cicero,” she assures, pulling her hand away, satisfied with the closure of his injury. Good as new, Cicero thinks, poking at the newly healed flesh, flabbergasted by this odd Listener.

“And I am loyal to you,” she goes on, “And should you need more proof, I would be glad to give it. Ask me to cut my hand, to bleed as a pact. Ask of me anything to prove to you that I can be trusted, and I will do it. You have shown me nothing but loyalty and kindness, dear Cicero. Your devotion is admirable. I know you have struggled to believe I am an ally. I have tried to show you, in my own clumsy way. But I assure you, I am with you. I am at your side, now until the end of us.”

Silence. And then laughter. Endless laughter. Oh, how silly he’s been! How utterly silly, foolish Cicero has been! The halls of the Dawnstar sanctuary echo with Cicero’s maniacal laughter. What utter foolishness, imbecilic and doltish. This Listener, in all her kindness, would never betray him. Would never betray the Night Mother. She’s offering up sacrifices to prove it, and here Cicero has been, doubting her. And more confusingly, dreaming of her. Visions of adoring her, of knowing her and her knowing him, fill Cicero’s mind.

“Your imprudent Cicero has been so utterly foolish, dear Listener,” he chuckles ruefully, “You’ve proven your devotion to our Mother well enough. Cicero is the one who needs to prove his devotion.”

Her fingers sweep a limp strand of Cicero’s copper hair out of his face, and he takes the opportunity to gently grasp her hand in his. He holds it by his cheek, a silent “thank-you” for sparing his life. Her pulse is quick, fluttering. Her cheeks are flushed and rosy. When he lets go of her, she does not withdraw, instead tenderly caressing the angle of his cheek with the soft pad of her thumb.

“Your devotion is unmatched, dear Cicero,” she whispers. A breathless tension hovers weighty in the air. A tension that has existed from the moment he set eyes on her. And she, him. Cicero’s outfit is hot, so hot, suddenly, when moments ago he was shivering from blood loss and the chill of winter. No, his devotion hasn’t been showcased nearly enough. Cicero’s Listener must know how utterly, completely, entirely devoted he is.

And so show her, he shall. His lips press against hers, hungry, yearning, desperate. And she is equally as needy. Her fingers tangle in his hair, grip the short ones at the nape of his neck, knock off the cap that rests atop his head.

“My dear Listener, my devotion to you is body and soul,” he proclaims, ripping off the bodice of her armor as she makes quick work of his trousers and shirt. She gasps into him, filling Cicero’s lungs with her warmth. He breathes her in like smoke, letting her ignite him. Destroy and rebuild him. Silence abates. Laughter ceases. The Listener is his sole focus. His loyalty is unsurpassable.

Her skin is warm. So warm. So much warmer than he expected. Warmer than the cold flesh he’s been tending to this last decade or so. It’s been so long since he’s felt anyone’s touch, anyone’s warmth. So long since he could give any part of himself to another, other than as the role of Keeper, and Keeper alone. So long since he’s received. And her touch is so gentle. This savage assassin, brutal and cold, yet so tender and sweet with poor, dear Cicero.

“My dearest Cicero,” the Listener coos, trailing kiss after kiss along his jawline, suckling at the tender flesh of his neck. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, digs his fingers into the supple flesh of her ass.

“My sweet, loyal Cicero,” she praises, nails tickling the sensitive flesh of his thighs.

“My Listener,” is all he can manage to utter, voice cracking as she sinks her teeth into his neck. Gods, he welcomes her markings, her claims on his body. She is his Listener and he is her Keeper. Bound to one another in a union that no one else in the whole world could ever understand.

As Cicero’s hands rove over her body, his eyes drink her form in. He traces the branching veins underneath her skin, each wiry sinew of her muscles, the fibrous tendons of her arms. He can feel the pulse of warm blood flowing through her. Feel the thrum of her heart beating, strong and powerful, behind her ribcage. He lays his lips to the pert bud of one of her nipples and loses his mind at the sound of her keens and gasps.

“Such a pretty voice, my Listener,” he purrs, “You should sing with dear Cicero more.” To this, she gives a twittering laugh. He’s forgotten what a pleasant laugh sounds like and basks in the glory of it. His mind quickly abandons this thought as her hand cups him, massaging and insistent. Gods, he’s so sensitive. It’s been so long. So very long. He won’t last much longer if this keeps up.

Her fingers wrap around his dick, stroke up and down in a languorous fashion. He swallows up her gasp as he swipes a finger along her cunt. She’s so wet already, ready for him. Husky grunts and tiny mewls fill the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire, as she picks up her pace and he dips two fingers into her heat. He pumps, rhythmic and slow, each motion an attempt to show her that Cicero lives to please her. To venerate and worship his beloved Listener.

“Cicero,” she whimpers, breath fanning softly against his lips, her breathing shallow and rapid. She’s close. He can feel her walls quaking around his slick fingers, and he’s not far off either. Her free hand grips his back, digging her fingernails into his flesh, a silent plea for him to fill her. And fill her he shall. Cicero would do anything for his Listener. He would lie prostrate at her feet if she asked him to. Stand guard over her until the very stars in the sky fizzled to nothing but dust.

Cicero withdraws his fingers from her, frowning at the little whine she gives at leaving her empty.

“Hush, dear Listener,” he coos, drawing her in close, “I won’t leave you empty for long. Worry not. Dear Cicero isn’t that cruel.”

His lips press kiss after kiss down her abdomen. He feels her body shiver as he reaches her heat. Cicero’s eyes glimmer with mischief in the firelight, and hers with that ever-present inquisitiveness. She is a vision from any angle, but this one especially. Her breasts rise and fall with each labored breath. She is open to him and he will respect this with every fiber in his being. Now, to worship his Listener as she deserves. Cicero dives into her folds, tongue lapping her up. Her moans are enough to send him into a whole new kind of madness. A welcome, drunken madness. His tongue darts in and out of her entrance, nose bumping against her inner thighs. He grips her legs, tight to keep her in place, but not so tight as to injure her. The feeling of her fingers carding through his hair alone could make him finish.

He lays her on her back, atop his discarded clothes. The floor is cold, hard, and covered in layers of ash and grime. He wouldn’t dare lay her down on this filth. Cicero wouldn’t dream of letting his precious Listener scramble around in the dirt. Cicero will take it all. All the pain of kneeling on the rough stone flooring, fragments digging into his skin. He’ll take the markings and the layer of dark soot that will stain his fair skin. For his Listener. All for her. And he would have it no other way.

This act is sacred. Her pleasuring him, him pleasuring her. This is a reverence he has never known. His tongue swirls around her clit and she breathes his name, a hymn in this temple of night and shadow. She tenses as she comes closer and closer to undoing, her legs shaking in his grasp.

“I want us to finish together, my darling, Cicero,” she begs, and thus he shall oblige. He withdraws from her, licking his lips, lapping her up, luxuriating in the taste of her. She smashes her lips against his, sloppy and desperate. Cicero positions his Listener on his lap, lining her entrance up with his hardened cock.

The scent of iron hangs heavy in the air, his own blood mingling with soot and smoke. His hands grip the supple flesh of her ass and thighs. He kneads and massages as she lowers herself onto his erection, so painfully slow. He handles her carefully. Not like porcelain, no. The Listener is not fragile. Far from it. But he treats her like a fine, ceremonial sword: something elegant and sacred, but sharpened and ready to dole out damage when needed.

“Are you ready, my Keeper?” she questions, eyes dark with lust, cheeks flushed with arousal.

“Cicero is always ready,” he growls. With this, she rocks her hips against his. Sheathed inside of her, Cicero knows what it feels like for the first time to be unioned with the Listener. This bond is beyond anything else he will ever know.

She grinds faster into him, his tip hitting her deep, making her whimper joyously, aching and longing. He’ll gladly let her milk him for all he’s worth. Anything his Listener wants, he’ll oblige. His core tightens, releases, tightens. Her nails dig into his back, his knees into the floor. He’ll be so sore tomorrow, but he cares not. He’d do it again, and again, and again if she wanted. In the enveloping shadows, the Keeper and the Listener come undone for one another. Cicero spills into her, giving all that he has. She tightens around him, walls pulsing, drawing from him everything she needs. Everything he needs. He cries out her name, and she his, prayer-like and hallowed. This sanctuary has become a temple for devotion, for ultimate veneration and reverence. To the union of the Keeper and the Listener.

As they settle, Cicero runs his fingers through her hair, presses kiss after kiss to her cheeks, to her lips, to her temples. Her fingernails tickle his arms, his chest, his cheeks. Is this what peace feels like? He knows the laughter, the silence will return. But for now, he and his Listener can bask in this new silence. This tranquil, unadulterated silence. When he pulls out from her, he lays his lips to hers, an apology for having to separate them. Cum drips down her thigh and he’s swift to help her tidy up.

“My Keeper. My dear Cicero,” she whispers, beaming tenderly as she leans her forehead against his.

“My dear Listener. My beloved Listener,” he returns, drawing her in, letting her rest in his protective embrace. He will protect her, love and cherish her, always and forever. Cicero’s devotion is unmatched, except perhaps by his dear Listener’s devotion to him. He knows the Night Mother will approve of this union. Surely, certainly, wholly and absolutely.

#the elder scrolls #skyrim #cicero #cicero skyrim #the elder scrolls 5 #cicero x listener #the dark brotherhood #the listener #dovakhiin #dragonborn #spicy #skyrim fanfiction #dani writes #skyrim cicero

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rjalker · 5 months

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idk if anybody has said this to u yet but thank u for spreading awareness about how the public domain actually works, if i saw one more "you Have to call him willie and he HAS to be black and white" post i think id have a conniption fit

Thank you! It's very frustrating seeing all the fearmongering misinformation. I've been looking forward to this for the last year, but somehow I didn't realize that so many people had no idea what the Public Domain was at all...

I'm hoping people will actually put in the effort to do research and learn about these things so we don't have this problem every year, rather than everyone jumping on the "lets play attack dog for Disney's lawyers for free by screaming copyright infringement at every drawing of Mickey Mouse" bandwagon.

Like. It is baffling in the extreme how many people have instantly turned into corporate attack dogs over things that they do not in any way understand, but somehow they think they're being anticapitalist by doing so? They think they're being progressive by leaping to fearmonger and uphold Disney's stranglehold over the Public Domain by spreading fearmongering and misinformation that...literally didn't even exist before five days ago.

People now think that because Mickey Mouse is Public Domain, this somehow magically means it's literally illegal to draw Mickey Mouse in any way. It's confounding. And its just showing how deep the corporate propaganda runs. And I'm really really hoping people will start waking up and realizing how fucked up their reactions to this is and start actually learning about the Public Domain instead of immediately just spreading blatant misinformation about it that a five second google search will dispel.

I've now had to see four people proclaiming, with utmost self-righteous confidance, that celebrating the Public Domain, and celebrating that Mickey Mouse is Public Domain, is "corporate bootlicking for Disney" and "free advertising for Disney".

Because these people saw everyone saying not to give JK Rowling free advertising by continuing to celebrate her characters when the books have bigotry baked into them, and now think that they can just say the same thing about anything no matter what the context, even when they have absolutely no idea what they're talking about.

Disney has done so much to destroy awareness of the Public Domain that people are now convinced that celebrating the Public Domain...is capitalistic greed. Really makes you wish werewolf transformations were in real life because god fucking damn do I want to maul some billionaires.

I am once again begging everyone, as a bare bones beginning, to their understanding of the Public Domain, to go watch this presentation by the Internet Archive from 2019 if you're able to. (Some of them have subtitles, some of them don't, I'm going to ask if they have a transcript)

Here's a relevant clip from video 14.

[ID: A short video clip of Joseph Gratz at the 2019 Internet Archive conference about the Public Domain, sitting in a yellow chair as he speaks, saying and gesturing along with his words: "That's the, uh, official, maybe impractical strategy. The unofficial, um, more practical strategy is...be bold! Right?" [applause] "If you're acting in good faith, people are not going, ah, most copyright holders are people of good faith, who do not want to go after people who are acting in good faith, who are not harming their legitimate economic interests. And so if you're doing something, even pretty boldly, that is, that you believe and have a basis to believe, uh, and a reasonable basis to believe is in the Public Domain, or is fair use -- going out and doing it is the way, um, is the way forward, rather than being endlessly afraid." His speech ends, there's a short pause, then more applause. End ID.]

#Asks #replies #anonymous #Public Domain #Mickey Mouse #Steamboat Willie #corporate propaganda #misinformation correction #anticapitalism #disney #fuck disney #Minnie Mouse #Public domain characters #fearmongering correction #you are not immune to propaganda #described images #transcribed audio

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tavyliasin · 12 days

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I'm just going to say this quickly and quietly because it is becoming unavoidable in a corner of fandom I am highly active in and adore with all my heart: I am aware that there is an issue between some prominent people in our fandom. I have not looked into the details of the issue. I will not be looking into it either. I am dealing with a particularly intense and unpleasant time off-screen, one not connected to fandom and entirely personal and health related, and whilst I want to reassure you I am fine and there is nothing for anyone to be concerned about, I don't have the spoons to go diving through a mountain of interpersonal issues or whatever else is happening. I will trust that the servers I am a part of will manage things in the ways they see fit, and will remain within them for the people I know and love there, but I will not engage with anything regarding "fandom drama" (sorry if this sounds like it's minimising things I just have no better term for it) because I just cannot cope with it right now. If there becomes an issue in my own server, either I or the team that I trust will take care of it, but we don't generally allow for fandom issues to be discussed or brought up in there unless it is absolutely imperative. Our space is one for sharing our adoration of BG3 and all the creative works we can make together, and to provide a completely free and open place to discuss all NSFW aspects of the creative fandom. It's there to be our sanctuary, our refuge, and our joy~ So, please do not take silence from me as endorsement of anyone or anything, because I do not know what is going on, and I do not want to be pulled in to it. Please know that I adore and will continue to support all of the friends I have made through BG3 fandom. I will try to be here when you need me. But right now...right now I really need my fandom spaces to remain the positive, loving, and endlessly creative places they have been for a long time. I cannot begin to describe how much indulging in writing and sharing enthusiasm has been, and continues to be, a bright light even on the darkest of days. I know this is also going to sound infuriatingly vague, but I don't share a lot of personal details under this name for my own comfort. I'm less guarded than I was, and have come to trust a good number of you, so I'm trusting you now to put your faith in everything you know of me and the things that I do and do not support in general while I take my time to cope with the things off the screen. Naturally one coping mechanism is absorbing into my writing, so you'll see plenty of that still. So: I simply do not know what is going on, nor do I wish to know. I need to be a little selfish and take care of myself for now, so...long winded as it is, this is the shortest way that I can explain that and to request that nobody try to bring me in to any situations right now that don't immediately require my attention (this list would be extremely limited to things that are going to affect me directly or impact my server in ways that cannot wait a week or two). For anyone concerned for my well-being, please don't worry. I have a partner who cares deeply for me, as well as several very close friends who know what is going on with me and are providing their love, care and support. All I need from you, my darling and beloved fandom companions, is to know that I do adore you more than words could ever adequately express, and that I'm staying out of whatever is going on for my own health right now.

Gods I write too much when I'm stressed. TL;DR - Lia not well. Lia needs fandom to be comfort for a while. Lia cannot deal with anything heavy for a week or two at least. Thank you for your patience, Lia loves you.

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no-oneelsebutnsu · 1 year

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Safe and sound in your arms

A/n: Hii I'm back, I've been lazy and unmotivated this week but here you go, I love you guys, and thank you for the support on my fics mwah, lots of love and have a great day

not proofread because I'm tired.

content: angst then fluff, probably swearing somewhere

word count: 1.2k +

There she was again, she had barely rested since her last injury and just refused to let her body relax. You'd been begging her for weeks now, even before she was injured get some rest, to stop overworking herself -she never listened once. The majority of the time you would drop it, Bast-forbid the argument ever escalated any further than raising your voices, but once it reached that point you would drop it, mumbling something about 'it's no use' and 'forget it, it's fine'. But no, not today you were not backing down, absolutely through with Shuri overworking herself, after all, you were her wife, and you'd hope that she'd listen and you'd be able to get through to her. As you walked into the lab you heard Griot inform the queen of your arrival, and as expected, she was sitting at her desk working on Bast-knows-what, "Hey," she said as you approached her, she didn't even lift her head, much too focused on the task at hand. You sighed a bit, she knew this was the one thing that would irritate you in a matter of seconds, despite your calm nature. You put your hand on her shoulder, rubbing it a bit before sucking in a breath and speaking "My love, we need to speak." You said, trying to keep calm, she placed her opposite hand on yours, "Not now sithandwa", leaving her work briefly to place a kiss on your hand, before turning back to her work, you squeezed her shoulder lightly, "Baby, we need to speak, now." Usually, you would leave it at that going on with your day and forgetting about it, but this was becoming an issue and to have a good relationship you ought to communicate. "Y/n, my love could it please wait, I need to finish this." Despite the urge to go off on her, you stayed calm, "Shuri, sithandwa sam, this needs to be discussed, now, please Shuri I've been very patient with this but it ends now." you withdraw your hand, as she sighs before getting up and facing you, her jaw clenches in irritation, as she stares down at you, "What is it now, speak..!" She says with a sharp tone, her voice laced with irritation. "Shuri, you have been in your lab for weeks now, and I know I endlessly remind you about it but you were injured less than a week ago and you are back in this godforsaken lab cooking up whatever it is that is more important than your health and your WIFE!" by the end of your rant Shuri was looking at you with an irritated face, "Shuri!" you shrieked, Are you even listening to what I'm saying!?", she gritted her teeth slightly before answering "Y/N, I have been working my ass off for weeks in this lab, I am a busy person. You need to understand that, I will not leave my country behind just because you want to be needy, and be next to me at all hours of the day Y/N, could you just get over it!" To say you were shocked was an understatement, you raised your eyebrows at her, "Shuri, I don't know where on this earth, all this is coming from but you need to learn how to cope better, talk to me for Bast's sake I'm your wife, sithandwa sam you need to understand that I'm saying all this because I love you and I care about you!", the longer this continued you felt yourself loosing your cool, Shuri was clearly irritated by you now, she scowled at you "You know what Y/N get out, get out I'm tired of this get out!" "Shuri-" "No, Y/N out, I said OUT!" She said pushing you away, forgetting about the strength she now possessed, you hit something glass off a table as you attempted to ground yourself, glass pieces going everywhere as you hit the floor, the pieces flying around cut your hand, some even cut your face, you stared at your wife in shock as blood dripped down your cheek and hand. You looked at your hand in fear, she could only stare back at you stuck in place, tears began to fall down your face as you quickly got up and left without another word.

-------

You were gone, you packed a bag and left without a second thought, heading away from the palace, going to stay with a friend from the border tribe for a bit, you knew it wouldn't be long until Shuri came looking for you - well not really looking but more so knocking at this door threatening to tear it down. You sat in your temporary room, after taking a shower, and changing your bandages, it was somewhat peaceful, other than your mind constantly reminding you that sooner or later you would have to face Shuri, you didn't know what you'd say to her, nor how to look her in those eyes you loved so much without crying and making a fool of yourself. You looked up from your hands, the room was now dark, had you really spent so much time overthinking. You softly sighed to yourself, deciding to go to sleep after an abnormal and long day.

--------

3 days had passed, and much to your surprise Shuri didn't come busting through the door of your close friend's home, she wasn't here often as she was very busy these past few days. You looked in your suitcase, your clean clothes had run out. You knew it was time to go back and face Shuri, you cleaned up your room and re-packed your suitcase, ready to leave you grabbed it and headed out the door, leaving your friend a notice, you knew she'd understand.

---

Walking down the long hallway, it was quiet despite your footsteps and the rolling of your bag, as you make it to your shared bedroom you stop in your tracks and hesitate to open the door, you breathe in before opening the door. The first thing you see is a Shuri who looks like they haven't slept in days, with dark circles underlining their eyes and a messy but not too messy room. "Shuri?", you squeak out, she looks up at you, with an almost confused look on her face, you take a step towards her as she stands up to walk to you, immediately crushing you in a hug, you hug her back without hesitation as you feel her tears wet your shoulders, "Don't worry, usana I'm right here, it's okay, my love." you coo as you rub her back in a comforting manner. You stay like this for a few moments before your wife reluctantly pulls away, "I'm sorry Y/N, I'm so so sorry, please forgive I'll never hurt you again, please, please just come back to me..." she hiccupped slightly as she held your waist, you cupped her face before saying "Shuri, sithandwa I'm not going anywhere, you hear me, I will not leave you ever gain, ndiyakuthandana." you said gazing into her eyes as you lean in to kiss her, the kiss was sweet, and longing, it was purely innocent as you wrapped your arms around her neck. After a minute you both pull back as you whisper, into her neck that you love her.

Because after all, you just wanted to be safe in her arms again.

End.

A/n: if the end isn't good, it's because I got lazy, but hey I'll probably drop something else tomorrow.

#shuri udaku #shuri x reader #shuri x f!reader #shuri fanfiction #shuri imagine #shuri angst #shuri prompt #nooneelsebutnsu

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never-be-tamed · 12 days

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I find myself often reflecting on the incredible journey we've shared, and I am filled with immense gratitude and love for you. There are not enough words to express how much you mean to me, but I hope this message captures even a fraction of my appreciation for you. From the very beginning, you have been my anchor, my rock, and my constant source of strength. Your unwavering support and belief in me have given me the courage to face even the darkest of days. You see the best in me, even when I struggle to see it in myself, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Your humor lights up my life. I love how you can make me laugh even in the most serious moments. Your jokes, your playful teasing, and even the way you pout when things don't go your way – all of these make my heart swell with joy. You bring so much happiness into my world, and I cherish every laugh we share. I am also deeply touched by your kindness and compassion. You have a way of making everyone around you feel valued and loved. Your generosity knows no bounds, and I am constantly in awe of your ability to give so selflessly. You inspire me to be a better person, and I am proud to stand by your side. Even more, I am moved by your strength and resilience. Life has thrown many challenges our way, yet you face each one with grace and determination. Your courage in the face of adversity is nothing short of extraordinary, and it reminds me that together, we can overcome anything. But perhaps what I love most about you is your heart. You love so deeply and fully, and it is an honor to be the recipient of that love. You make me feel cherished and adored, and I want you to know that I feel the same way about you. Your love has transformed my life in ways I never thought possible, and I am forever grateful for the bond we share. Alex, you are my best friend, my confidant, and my everyrhing. I am so proud of the man you are and the man you continue to become. I am incredibly lucky to have you in my life, and I promise to always stand by your side, just as you have stood by mine. Thank you for being you, and for loving me so completely. I look forward to all the memories we have yet to make and the adventures that await us. You are my everything, and I love you more than words can say.

I— PLEASE send some love and appreciation to this wonderful woman, she deserves the whole load, the whole package of affection and kindness I MEAN SHE IS JUST WOW, SEE i am speechless again. 🤯

You are such a wonderful soul, I JUST WISH THAT YOU COULD SEE HOW WONDERFUL YOU TRULY ARE, I adore everything you are, shadow and light, good and bad, every aspect of you inspires me to be the man that you deserve and I'm trying my very best to be that man for you. And I love love love our honest and pure communication about anything and everything. I am so happy to have you with me, I wouldn't trade our bond for anything in this world. You showed me that it's okay to not always be that strong, that I don't always need to make sense, that it's okay to have days where I don't feel my best, to let the mask fall that I was wearing for so long, that it's okay to make mistakes that I can grow from in the end. You show me so much. And I love love love our journey so far and I'm sure I will love everything there is to come. Everything we went through, lead us to each other. And I would do it all again, in a heartbeat, all that struggle, heartbreak and shit just so I can be with you and near you in the end. I love you so much Babes. Thank you for being you, for being by my side through thick and thin, THANKS TO YOUR PARENTS FOR BRINGING SUCH A GREAT SOUL INTO THIS WORLD, INTO MY WORLD, I LOVE YOU ENDLESSLY, WHOLEHEARTEDLY AND TRULY.

And... since you love it so much and it makes you laugh (🙄) :

#I LOVE HER SO MUCH #:-(#HOW CAN SHE BE SO ... WOW #playing hide and seek and fought with sticks and stones — elena.

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 1 year

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Shed

Perhaps a Janus shedding fic? Idk with who, but maybe with him getting some scratches on itchy scales, from whoever is helping him through it, especially after scratching wayyyy too hard himself. Even better if he’s shedding because Thomas is going through a change, so he’s never actually done it before :) so he doesn’t know what’s happening :) – cherry-sofa-756

Okay, so. You are hands-down one of the best Sanders Sides fic writers out there and I will die on this hill. I will die on this hill and take everyone down with me. Anyway. Dramatic declarations aside (heh), I was wondering if I could make a request? I know this has been done before, but a fic where telling the truth actually hurts Janus, but he does it anyway because [insert one of several reasons here]? You just do Janus angst so well (you do everyone so well, how are you this good, how do you exist, can I tuck you into my pocket for safekeeping and appreciation) and I am honestly excited whenever I get a notification from you, so I figured why not ask? No pressure, though. I wish you all the best, may your ideas flow endlessly as you wish them, my friend! - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: shedding and body descriptions therein

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 2347

It starts as auspiciously as it could have, he supposes, with a slight twinge of pain on the inside of his glove.

"Hey, Janus, do you remember what the consensus was of cinnamon versus blueberry?"

"Blueberry."

"Oh, great, thanks. Is the good baking tray over there?"

When Janus doesn't say anything, Patton glances up only to see him staring at his hand.

"Uh, Janus? You okay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, I just—mmph."

"You sure? You don't sound okay. Is something the matter?"

Janus looks at his hand for a moment longer before shaking himself and smiling at Patton. "Yes, I'm quite alright. You wanted this tray, correct?"

Patton gives him a strange look but doesn't push, taking the tray and continuing to gather the ingredients they need.

Later, back in the safety of his own room, Janus hisses as he carefully peels his glove from his left hand, wincing as it tugs and sticks in all the ways it shouldn't. When the last of the fabric is gone and he can see his hand properly, it's a curse he hisses between his teeth.

He's shedding.

"Of course I am," he spits, reaching for his first-aid kit tucked on top of his desk, "of course, can't just be a snake in the abstract and metaphorical way, no, I need to be a snake literally too, hmm? Have to molt and shed and hissssss…"

He takes out a tube of ointment and opens it, wincing at the crack of the scales on his hand.

"Sure. Why not?"

Getting a little bit of the ointment on the very tip of his finger, he starts to smooth it over the cracked and peeling scales only to stifle a cry of pain when it burns, leaping up from his desk and rushing to the bathroom to wash it off. He shoves his hand under the cold water and scrubs, almost chewing a hole through his lower lip as the pain flares bright and sharp up his arm.

"And of course, I don't have anything that would actually be useful," he grunts as he finally gets the pain to stop, "why would things I have already be helpful? That would be easy, and god forbid things be easy for me."

Alright. So no ointment. Shit, what do snakes do when they shed?

He could ask Logan, although Logan would want to know how he's feeling, what the scales are reacting like—would want to examine him to determine what snake he resembles the most, would want to see how much of him is covered in scales, because Logan is always curious.

He could ask Remus, but Remus might not understand that Janus wants this to be, well, as painless as possible, that he wants to just have a little bit of help and not find out what happens just for the fuck of it.

He could ask Virgil, who is the only one who might know what this is like with his molting cycle or whatever, but…

But trying to ask Virgil for a favor now, especially after all they've been through, seems like rubbing salt into an open wound.

Or rubbing that goddamn ointment over shedding scales.

"So," he grunts, sitting back down at his desk, cradling his hand in his lap, "the Internet it is."

He finds a dubious-looking article that says to try and keep the snake's environment moist and humid, suggesting paper towels and a plant-mister to keep the humidity levels high. Warm water…orchid bark substrate…and oh, not to forget that a snake's scales will become duller in appearance and their eyes will go all cloudy and blue before they really start shedding.

Great. Just great.

He looks back down at his hand, which is already starting to look dull.

"This is going to be fun."

****

The extra fun thing about it is that it seems that telling the truth makes it worse.

Try to tell Patton that yes, he'd like another cup of tea? Burning on the inside of his glove.

Try to tell Logan that no, he's not being ridiculous with his new paper idea? Side of his face itches like crazy.

Try to tell Remus that he needs to calm down and start trying to clean up? His clothes hate him now, actually.

Try to tell Virgil that everything's alright, that he can work out of the spiral he's in? No legs for him, he has to sit down and not move until his scales settle down.

Try to tell Roman that he cares?

More like try not to jump at the sight of his reflection in the mirror, one eye clouded and blue and almost blind.

The good news—if you can even call something good news in a time like this—is that he's forced to lie to keep up appearances for when the others start asking questions, which at least staves off the very worst of it in public. But when he hides in his room at night, he has to wince and tremble as he peels his clothes off of himself and clambers into a bath that is either too cold or too hot, trying to help the shedding go faster.

This hurts. This really fucking hurts.

Shit, how often does he have to do this?

He crawls out of the bath and dries himself gingerly on a towel, crawling into bed and curling up into a little ball. He closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep, tries to get away from the terrible itching sensitivity that's starting to break out across his scales. If he can just weather this until it's over, he can figure out what to do next time and make sure he does it. If he can just fall asleep…

He lies awake for hours that night, fighting the urge to toss and turn to get some relief on his itching scales and fighting the urge to cry out at every rasp of fabric against his oversensitive skin.

The others are starting to get worried. He managed to plead off the issue with his eye by pretending it was a colored contact from Remus when Virgil cornered him about it, but he knows sooner or later Virgil's going to go confirm that with Remus himself and discover that it was a lie. He's got to figure out something before they all bust down his door, demanding to know what's going on.

"I'm fine," he chants in the sheets, "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine…"

It's the only way he's able to get to sleep that night, because the lies make the pain a little bit easier to bear.

****

Of course, no lie lasts forever, and Janus wakes up in a dizzying blur of sensation, body on fire and eyes clouded over, twitching and groaning in pain as his scales do their very best to rid themselves of his body. A cry traps itself in his throat, his eyes welling up with furious tears as he tries in vain to find some comfort on the blankets that feel more like hot coals.

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

No sooner does the pain swallow his senses does he feel the tug of two Sides appearing in his room.

"J? J, I felt that, are you—holy shit."

"Oh, Snakey, you're an idiot."

"Now is not the fucking time, Remus, go go go!"

"Alright, alright, I'm going."

"Hey, J," Virgil's voice says, muffled through layers and layers of cotton, "hey, hey, it's okay. We're here now, we're gonna help you."

Help? How in the fuck are you gonna help me with this?

"Don't worry," he continues when all Janus can do is groan in pain, "I'm sure whatever quip you were trying to make was a winner."

Thank you.

"C'mon," Remus's voice says from a ways away, "I got the door open, bring him through. The cot's still in the spare greenhouse, we can put him there."

"Ready? One, two, three, up we go."

He's hoisted as gently as possible into two strong arms and carried like a babe through to somewhere warm and sweet-smelling. A confused moan leaves his mouth as he's laid to rest on something soft, a gentle breeze following him.

"We need to get your clothes off you, Snakey," comes Remus's voice, "they're only gonna hurt you. It's okay, it's just us."

Hands, gentle hands free him from the worst of his clothing, leaving his boxers to protect what little modesty he has left. When the slightly humid air touches his scales he could whimper from relief. Then there's something soothing and wet pressed against the scaled side of his face and he blinks awake, only able to make out fuzzy shapes as he turns his head.

"Shh, shh, lie still," Remus bids—Virgil must be the one holding the thing to his face— "we gotta get you in a bath, okay? You've started shedding in pieces, we gotta help make sure you get all of it off, okay?"

"R'mus?"

"Yeah, Snakey, it's me. Virgil's here too."

"Hey, J. Long time no see. Oh, shit, uh, I mean—"

A small laugh works its way through Janus's throat and Virgil chuckles.

"Swear that wasn't intentional." He leans down too and oh, there's the blurry Virgil. "Do you think it's okay for us to move you? There's a warm bath over there that'll help loosen up the process for you, okay?"

"Hurts."

"I know, bud, it's gonna hurt for a little bit until we can get you calmed down."

"Why?"

"Blame it on biology if you want. Stress makes the shedding process harder."

"That's stupid."

"Yes, yes, it is. Unfortunately still true."

Janus grunts and leans into Virgil's touch. Remus carefully cards his hair back from his face. "You okay to let us move you, Snakey?"

"Mm."

"Up we go," Virgil says again, carefully lifting him up to carry him across the greenhouse and set him down in a large basin of warm water. "Can we help wash you?"

"Mhm." He turns his nose into the crook of Virgil's neck, breathing in softly. "Smells good."

"What, me or the greenhouse?"

"Both."

Remus chuckles. "That's good to hear. C'mere, give me your arm…"

There's something terribly intimate about letting someone else bathe you. Remus's hands are gentle as they work over the smooth scales—well, less smooth now—and rinse the beginnings of shed skin free from his body. On the other side, Virgil carefully does the same to the scaled parts of his torso, careful to avoid any red and angry bits as Janus begins to drift under the sensation of it.

"You're doing real good, bud," Virgil murmurs, "really good. We're almost there."

"Can we wash your hair," Remus asks, "we'll bring another basin over so the shampoo won't get near your scales, but it might feel nice to not be all greasy anymore."

"Just be careful?"

"Of course." Virgil gets up and he laments the loss for a moment, but then Virgil's sitting behind his head and smiling down at him. "Hey, bud. You wanna let me wash your hair?"

"Mhm."

What kind of greenhouse is this, he finds himself wondering as Virgil starts to spray his hair with a faucet, and why is Virgil so good at this?

Then Virgil starts to work his fingers through Janus's hair and there goes his capacity for higher thinking. If he could be slightly more aware, he might be embarrassed of the noises leaving his mouth, but as of right now he's just going to enjoy not being first and foremost in pain. The shampoo Virgil's using smells really good, not too strong, and leaves a pleasant cooling effect on his scalp even after it's been rinsed out. Remus's hands are sure and gentle as they finish cleaning the last of his scales, sitting back and running a damp hand through his own hair.

"Let's have you soak for a little longer," he says quietly, "then we'll get you out and see what else you need, okay?"

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Remus levels a stare at him. "Just come to us next time, yeah?"

Janus shifts a bit sheepishly under the look. "…yeah, okay."

"Good."

"You look sleepy," Virgil murmurs, still working the conditioner through his hair, "if you wanna doze off, that's okay. We'll wake you up when we need to move you."

"…yeah?"

"Yeah, bud, go on. It's okay, we're right here."

And so he closes his eyes, drifting off to the feeling of Virgil's hands in his hair and warm water lapping against his scales.

Maybe…maybe he needn't have been so scared about asking them for help.

Perhaps the worst of it truly is behind him, because the truth doesn't hurt as the warmth and safety lull him to sleep.

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#dragonbabbles #sanders sides #fic #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #virgil sanders

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