#and perhaps it's better when I'm young to have to make this decision

[3-aem]

All i can say is I'm really really grateful for everyone here

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Circus

I've been wanting to draw some of my dolls for the longest time and this turned out to be my most detailed artwork so far :') And since I really love the circus, I thought I could turn this into an interactive story, too. Let me know what you think! Based on classic stock characters from Italian theatre, Commedia dell'arte. Content: gender neutral reader, horror, dark comedy, human and monster romance

You're finally here! Come on in, don't be afraid. Where is everyone else, you ask? Why, you're our only special guest, Darling (Y/N). This is all for you. Come, do not upset the Ringmaster. We will show you everything.

A night carnival? You've never heard of such a thing. Nonetheless, curiosity got the better of you when you found the trampled poster on your way back home. The actual message almost escaped your attention; you'd been too focused on the thick, ornate border, and the colorful, swirling patterns intricately filling the page.

"Last night in town! 'Wizard of Ozz' Night Circus, a mesmerizing show that will keep you glued to your seat. We're still searching for our Columbina. Perhaps you could become part of our story?"

Might as well check it out. Which is why you're currently here, in the outskirts, trying to find a walkable path among the weeds. It's dark and you can barely see anything in front of you. They're not trying very hard to provide an inviting atmosphere, you think to yourself.

Eventually, you discern a glimmer of light in the distance. You have found the circus tents.

The campsite is quiet and still, causing you to hesitate in your decision. Is it truly open?

There's a faint murmur coming from the main entrance. A small, melancholic Pierrot - when did he show up? - awaits by the heavy curtain, pale hands stretched out.

"Your ticket, Columbina", he announces with decorum. "Me and Arlecchino will show you any tent you want to visit. We are here to entertain you."

He ponders for a moment, before adding:

"I'm sure you'll like him more. He's a very alluring fellow. Me, on the other hand...Oh, forget it", he mumbles through pouting lips, ushering you inside.

"Aha! There's the star of our night! Our Columbina!"

A tall man in a pompous, glittery costume bounces towards you and lowers himself with a theatrical bow, giving your fingers a quick kiss. You pull your hand away, visibly bothered by the odd gesture.

"You keep calling me that. I'm (Y/N)", you argue.

"Yes, yes, of course we know that. Do ya take us for fools?" the Harlequin asks, kicking one foot in the air. The jingle of the bells at the tip of his shoe echoes across the hall. "You have, however - you must understand, yes? - you've entered Ringmaster's Circus. From now on, you are the Columbina to our play."

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief.

"Just like that? Why me, and not someone else?" you scan the surroundings, pursing your lips. "Where are the others?"

"Others?"

Harlequin makes an exaggeratedly shocked face and tilts his head towards Pierrot.

"What are they saying? You're the only one here, Columbina darling. After tonight, we-"

Pierrot's hand lands firmly on his friend's lips.

"You always talk too much. Always, always! And yet, you're the favorite. Of course you are. Oh, what pity, what misfortune", the pale young man laments. "We're wasting precious time."

They both burst into a little dance; a rather silly one, you think with an amused smile. Then, they place themselves besides the entrance, each one standing at one end, back straight and chins raised.

"Go on, go ahead, Columbina darling. This is your carnival. Choose any tent you'd like."

Pulcinella's Tent

The stage is pitch black, save for one spotlight contouring a patch of ground. You can see a large, colorful ball, and two feet clumsily rolling their way atop of it.

You chuckle at the sight. This must be the clown.

"No one can compete with Pulcinella's juggling", Pierrot declares somewhat monotonously. "His acrobatic spectacle has left many guests speechless, acting with such dexterity that one must wonder: is this truly the work of two hands?"

Lights flicker, allowing you to catch glimpses of smaller balls being thrown around. Juggling so many balls while bouncing around is indeed impressive.

"Rest assured, this is the art of one single man. Although four eyes are better than two."

The shadows are abruptly swallowed by spotlights, and you squint your eyes, adjusting to the brightness. A two-headed man continues his performance, throwing you the occasional cheeky smile.

"Ah, that is..." you place a hand over your mouth.

"A bother, truly", the Pierrot remarks, sitting next to you. "They're complete opposites."

He observes as both Pulcinella's heads tilt in your direction, visibly entranced. He sighs deeply:

"You'll love them either way. They're funny and entertaining, unlike me...A pathetic miser. Oh, if only I had half their charm!" he bemoans with a soft sob.

"Hey! Don't sadden my beloved like that", Pulcinella barks, jumping off the ball and running towards your seating with a comically merry jingle to accompany him.

You cannot help but marvel at the man in front of you.

"Enough of this, I've had enough! You don't get to decide yet, Pulcinella", Pierrot exclaims in sudden panic. He claws your wrist tightly and pulls you after him. "It's time to see other tents."

Sandrone's Tent

You peek behind the heavy curtain and freeze. Are your eyes deceiving you? Someone is idly resting at the bottom of a large aquarium, showing no struggle despite being underwater. The mysterious man senses your presence and emerges to the surface.

"Would you look at that! I can't remember the last time I had a visitor."

He gestures for you to come closer.

"Are you the new guest? Our Columbina?"

"I don't know what you're talking about", you speak up with hesitation, eyes glued to the scaly tail that seems eerily genuine. "I think I'll be leaving now."

"Leaving? Didn't the Ringmaster already tell you?" The merman claps his hands, amused. "You're naïve, I like that a lot. Perhaps this time I'll be the one to have you."

He abruptly grabs your wrist, and you jolt at the feeling. His hands are ice-cold and moist.

"Let me have a look at you, won't you? I'll help you hide from the others if you're good and listen to me."

You feel a pair of hands sinking into your shoulders, and you're ripped away from the merman. Harlequin's voice rumbles deeply across the room.

"You're being a fox again, aren't you, Sandrone? Hands off our guest! You don't get to pick yet", he scolds in a low growl. "Ringmaster won't be happy about it."

"Go on then, tell on me! Ringmaster's good boy, eh?" the dark-skinned man smirks mockingly and slams his tail against the glass. "Put a collar on that one, Columbina. See how well he barks", he snarls, then slides back underwater and promptly vanishes.

Harlequin's grip on your shoulders becomes tighter for a brief moment. You can tell he's tense.

"Let's get you out of here. Don't listen to a word he says, Columbina darling. He lies, you see? No one trusts him. You should rely on me."

Pantalone's Tent

You gawk at the impressive height of this tent, head nearly spinning from tilting yourself all the way back. Ah, this must be the trapeze artist. Indeed, one of the two handles is dangling above you, and it occurs to you there's no safety net. A tall, lean man swiftly pounces across, reaching for the trapeze. His movements are slow, yet calculated, and you can't help but wonder if he might actually be flying instead.

Upon closer inspection, it appears he has no arms.

"Madness", you find yourself shouting. "Stop this nonsense!"

He gracefully wraps his legs around the bar, swinging back and forth with a confident smile.

"You doubt me, Pantalone himself?"

With another thrust, he lets himself go, spiraling down against your terrified protests. His heeled shoes clack against the hard tile. Lastly, he stretches out his bandaged stumps, as if signaling his successful landing.

You find yourself bowing to the grand gesture.

"Yes, yes, it's rather impressive, isn't it?" Pierrot follows behind you in his usual dull tone. "Pantalone is our master acrobat."

He lifts his gaze and notices that the man didn't bother waiting for a full introduction; he's already standing before you with a flirty grin.

"...and a charmer, I suppose. What, you're already doing your tricks?"

The sallow clown squeezes himself behind you two protectively.

"Shoo, shoo! Columbina is merely visiting."

He lightly pushes you away, towards the exit. You throw one final glance at the mysterious individual; he waves with his residual limb, and winks.

"You know where to find me, love."

Il Capitano's Tent

You feel a radiant heat coming from this tent. In the middle of the ring stands a grand cage. An animal of sorts? You keep your distance, observing from the benches.

A monstrous giant stumbles within your view with heavy steps. A thick, scaly tail rattles the bars of the cage, swinging itself with the precision of a bullwhip.

"Il Capitano himself!" the Harelquin announces theatrically, bending his arms in the direction of the blue beast. "The strongman, the fire-spitting artist, a most devilish creature captured and chained by our Ringmaster."

"Is this one mine?" the monstrous man pins you down with a predatory gaze.

"Perhaps", Harlequin spits out bitterly. "They decide, not you."

You squirm in your seat, suddenly much smaller under his intense stare. The charismatic guide's smile falters for a brief second, replaced by an envious grimace.

Il Capitano inhales deeply, expanding his torso and contracting his muscles. His fanged mouth then unhinges, releasing a great flame which spreads all the way to you. You're almost tempted to reach towards it, feeling the sting with your very fingers.

"Amazing", you mumble, still mesmerized by the spectacle.

This was no cheap trickery. Capitano is truly a one-of-a-kind artist. No human could replicate such a feat.

The beastly creature holds onto the bars of his cage, shoving his snout outside and grinning. Puffs of smoke escape between his teeth.

"Come down here and I can do even more, little one."

Harlequin gasps and gestures for you to stand up.

"Outrageous! How dare you-!"

He urges you to follow him outside. Enough monstrous sights for now.

"Shall we head towards the other tents, darling?"

Harlequin walks ahead, deep in contemplation. Pierrot scurries after him, whispering the remaining choices. Your shoulders are heavy, and you're quite tired from the eventful night.

You notice a little opening between the lavish curtain folds and decide to sneak away. They needn't know about your departure. You stumble around dark halls, following the cool breeze of the outside, until you're met with the starry sky.

Your path is blocked by two large poles, so you step to the right. Your body freezes in terror when they move with you. Slowly, you raise your head and follow the black shapes, and realize they're legs.

Far, far above ground, towering over the entire circus, you see two glowing eyes.

It's the Ringmaster.

"Bad, bad Columbina", he reproaches.

The voice is off, like an old, broken record reverberating against your eardrums. A cold shiver runs across your spine.

"I'm sorry", you blurt out in fear.

A long, bony hand appears before you, twitching with a loud pop. You wrap your hands around a finger, desperate to not anger this unholy creation.

"Let's take you to your caravan. We're leaving tomorrow."

Oh, God. What have you done?

Now, now, don't fret. There's nothing to be afraid of. Come, put that frown aside. Everyone loves you here. After all, you're their most precious Columbina. What's a Circus without its treasure?

[galedekarios]

gale as a professor at blackstaff academy

i have to say that at first i wasn't too sold on the (then still fanon) idea of a professor ending because of gale's own prior anecdote about being irked by his previous students and their inadequacies.

i thought it might not be a good fit for him as far as professions go.

but reading the epilogue files, i have come around on it.

i think it's just one more way in which he's really grown into himself, become content with who he was in the past, the mistakes he made and what he has learned from them, and the person he wants to be in the future:

Player: You? A teacher? I'd hardly say you set the best example for impressionable young wizards... Gale: I think it makes perfect sense. devnote: Surprised you wouldn't recognise this, a tiny bit offended you don't trust him to do this Gale: Who better to warn of the perils of misusing magic than someone who was once only a wayward sneeze away from destroying a mid-sized settlement? devnote: playing up to his past a bit, you can imagine this is how he acts with his students Tara the Tressym: Don't remind me of those terrible times, Mr Dekarios. My blood pressure has only just recovered.

a few more cute banters & things we learn about gale and his new teaching position:

tara swipes at students who fall asleep in gale's classes, which he himself doesn't mind. he, too, slept through some of them (like his calishite lessons):

Player: Perhaps that's a good thing. I'm sure they're far better students than I was... Gale: Ah, so you still remember our little lesson? devnote: A little bit bashful, it was a vulnerable moment for him Gale: 'Teaching' you was hardly an effort at all. Not like my present cohort of apprentices. devnote: Complimentary, pulling the thought back to the teaching element after getting lost in the memory of the moment Gale: They try their best, of course - when they can manage to stay awake. devnote: Not upset by this - he slept through his fair share of classes as a student Tara the Tressym: The cheek of them! Nothing a well-placed swipe from Tara can't fix, though.

2. gale offered to teach more subjects than illusion via simulacra:

Player: Only a professor? With your expertise, I'd have thought you could teach every kind of magic going... Gale: I did offer, as a matter of fact. devnote: Secretly glad the player thinks so highly of him Gale: However, the Blackstaff insisted I couldn't teach every subject, nor could the simulacra of myself I offered to create for that purpose. devnote: Reluctantly accepts that this was the right decision Gale: So, I've settled for teaching the art of illusion. Magic to confound the senses, to render the impossible into reality, and to allow expression of that most magical attribute of all - imagination. devnote: Selling it a bit - he wants to make sure you appreciate how cool this is

3. gale has told his students about the player's adventures and will invite a player to be a guest lecturer:

Player: I found the love of my life. I'd say I'm pretty happy. Gale: And I couldn't be happier for you. A fitting reward for the sacrifices you made in getting here. Gale: I've told my students plenty of tales about our escapades. You're something of a hero to them, you know. Gale: I'd be delighted to introduce you to my current cohort - as a guest lecturer, perhaps? I'm sure they'd have plenty of questions for you. Player: It would be my pleasure. Gale: Excellent. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the allure of sharing your expertise. Gale: Of course you'll be most welcome to stay with me in my tower- Tara the Tressym: Ahem. Gale: My apologies, Tara. That would be our tower.

4. his students find him somewhat intimidating due to his backstory with mystra and the orb:

Gale: Well, that was quite lovely. I'm glad you're as pleased to see me as I am you. Gale: I have to say, I'm quite grateful to just be 'Gale' for the evening. Gale: I fear my students find me somewhat intimidating, due to my erm, explosive former reputation. I seem to put the fear of the gods into them. devnote: He plays up to his reputations a bit, so he isn't overly surprised Gale: Or the fear of Mystra, to be more specific. Gale: I surrendered the Crown of Karsus to her, as I told you I would. And in return, she cured me of the orb at last. Gale: Even now, I struggle to put the feeling into words. It was like exhaling for the first time, after holding my breath for so very long. Gale: Of course, I haven't clarified with my students that the orb is no longer a threat. The legend of my explosive capabilities is an excellent means of controlling a classroom. Too good, if anything.

5. he wants to teach his students that there is fun in studying magic:

Gale: I spend most of my time trying to convince them how much fun the study of magic can be, but it'd be easier to crack a smile on an intellect devourer than some of my pupils... devnote: Despairing a little, doesn't understand why they aren't all as passionate as he was Player: Or on a mind flayer, perhaps... Gale: Smiling may no longer come easy to you, but I've seen how your tentacles twitch at my jokes. Even the ones I'm not entirely certain I was trying to make... devnote: Last sentence a tiny bit self-conscious, aware that people sometimes find him ridiculous. Gale: Still, I hoped my students might be a little more open to the playful side of such magic.

anyhow, i hope this was insightful to someone! 🖤

[split-spectrum]

Heat Sick

Pairing: Obi Wan/FemReader

Length: 3.5K (One-off)

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content - minors DNI. noncon elements including nonconsensual voyeurism, master/padawan kink, age gap (no ages expressly mentioned and no description of reader), power imbalance, masturbation, angst, guilt kink

Description: While on a mission with your master to uncover an assassination plot, you forget to turn off your security cam. Obi Wan sees more than he's ready to confront, and feels more than he's ready to withstand.

☆☆☆

"We will discuss this later."

"Master, can we not trade one more day of the war for this? Just one day?"

Obi Wan lets his eyes widen as he turns to face you in disbelief. "Young one, the decision is not ours to make. The sooner you learn that and make peace with it, the better."

"Perhaps I could stay behind. Just me. I could ask the council-"

He nods to the ambassador and stands, lowering his tone to you as the rest of the room leaves. "You will pack your things, and we will be on our way tomorrow."

As you follow him down the hall to your respective rooms, Obi Wan makes a concerted effort to keep his shoulders low and his pace steady. Letting his irritation show would do no good for either of you.

No - he thinks - not quite irritation. It stings more than that.

You've been ready for the trials for some time, and the only thing keeping you from completing them is your overloaded schedule of assignments. You aren't yet a knight, though you both know that you likely would be, if not for the war.

But until then, where he goes, you go. And to defy that - to defy him by contacting the council for reassignment... he'd never expected you to go so far.

"Forgive me, Master," you mumble behind him, clearly not sorry. "I- I just want to help these people, and it doesn't seem like anyone besides me can see the extent of their issues."

Obi Wan suppresses any semblance of feelings, turning to face you when he reaches his door. "Perhaps that is true. Let us... let us agree that it is. What then? Are you prepared to stay here indefinitely?"

You fall silent, gazing up at him with those blasted, soulful eyes of yours. Those eyes can simply bowl him over whenever you please. It just isn't fair.

He sighs. "The council sent us here to uncover the assassination plot against the Toydarian king, and we have done our duty. We could spend a lifetime on any planet if we concerned ourselves with internal politics."

"This isn't just internal politics," you insist. "Another attempt on the king's life is almost inevitable, because we haven't rooted out the underlying problems."

Your face is so solemn, he has to force himself to take a beat before answering too flippantly. "Let us hope it happens in the distant future."

"Master, I'm being serious."

"As am I, Padawan." He hits the last word with a little more emphasis than needed. "As I have told you time and time again, we must learn to choose our battles. We have won the day. Now we must move on to where we are needed most."

Your brows pinch tight. "And I suppose we just hope the Toydarians can last until the end of the war without falling into a civil war of their own."

"Indeed, let us both hope so."

You'd clearly expected another answer; had wanted a longer argument. Your mouth falls open in indigance, but nothing comes out.

You turn and stalk away, and Obi Wan heaves another sigh as he enters his temporary quarters. There is nothing he can do to make you see reason when you're like this. The only thing he can give you is time.

Which is why a few hours later, your knock at the door is expected, but still welcome.

"Master?"

Obi Wan ends his meditation and answers the door, finding you standing rigidly behind it, clearly making an effort to keep eye contact.

"Come in," he ushers you, stepping to the side.

You look at the floor, then back to him as you enter. Your voice is soft and low. "I... wanted to apologize for my behavior... earlier."

Obi Wan lifts his eyebrows, but holds back his words, for now. He's already forgiven you, perhaps too quickly. Perhaps you know that.

"I just feel so... frustrated lately, with all these short, temporary assignments. It doesn't feel like we're making a difference at all."

He nods, gesturing for you to join him in sitting on the end of his bed. "I understand your need to help others. But we must not allow our fleeting feelings to blind us to the greater picture. We are a part of an order. You must never forget that."

Your stare is fixed on your lap, and you nod. "I know. I know."

"Letting go in order to focus on the greater good is not always an easy thing. But you will learn." He allows a small smile. "I have faith."

Your eyes sparkle when you finally look back up at him, and Obi Wan swallows, forcing himself to keep his smile in place before he looks away. It stirs something within him when you hold him in your gaze like that, as if he'd hung the stars themselves. Reminds him why it is best that you complete your trials and leave his side.

"I'm... sorry I mentioned a reassignment. I wasn't thinking clearly. My place is with you, Master. I don't want to be anywhere else."

Your earnestness sends a little wave of warmth through him, and Obi Wan quickly tamps it down, reaching for your clasped hands on your lap. He pats your hand gently. "I... appreciate that very much. But your place will not be here much longer."

You give him a wry little smile. "That's true. I suppose I should use my opportunities to disobey you sparingly, or you may not speak to me anymore after I'm knighted."

He returns your smile. "You won't be rid of me so easily. Not when I'm expected to use the new graphic software for mission reports."

He enjoys the way your lightened gaze slides over to him, lips splitting into a full grin. He knew that would get a rise out of you - you hate it when he asks you to help him with his datapad.

"On second thought, maybe I should transfer to a new quadrant as soon as possible."

Obi Wan laughs again, patting your leg this time. His big hand rests on your thigh a little longer than it should, and he draws it back, clearing his throat.

"I..." Your softened voice fills the silence. "I suppose I'll also need to get used to calling you Obi Wan."

Hearing his name in your mouth sends another little ripple of warmth just where it shouldn't be - right between his ribs. He steadies his thoughts.

"Let's agree to hold off until the trials, shall we?"

He hopes you hear it as a brush-off; a simple reassertion of your relationship, and that you don't hear the way his voice is pulled tight.

You grant him mercy, standing to face him again. "As you wish, Master," you answer. "Thank you for accepting my apology."

Obi Wan shakes his head. "There is nothing to forgive. Caring for those around you is no weakness. Now, get some rest."

You bow your head respectfully as he sends you on your way, and Obi Wan closes the door behind you. He rests his palm flat against the cool durasteel of the closed door, standing still for a moment.

The way his words no longer come easily in your presence, he knows he should be pushing you toward the trials as quickly as he can.

But that's another issue, for another day. Right now, he should be taking his own advice and getting some rest.

He crosses the room, removing his outer robe and hanging it in a nearby closet. Finding the light control panel and clicking off the remaining lights, he turns to look back at his bed and frowns. There's still light emanating from a small screen at his bedside. Then he watches as the image of you moves across the screen.

Oh. Right. The security cams.

Each of your rooms had been equipped with them when you'd moved into the palace a week ago. It's a closed circuit, meaning that you can only view one another. There had been some other channels available, including the king's chamber and other important locations. Those have been shut off since the investigation concluded. The cams in each of your rooms were only meant to be used when you were gone, to secure your living quarters when you weren't using them. Evidently, you'd forgotten to turn yours off - probably because you'd come back to your quarters in such a huff earlier.

Obi Wan walks over to the screen, ready to shut it off, but finds himself standing there, lingering. Hand at the ready, but never quite pressing the button.

You shrug out of your heavy outer robe and hang it over the back of a chair, your movements graceful and slow. Bracelets slide from your wrist down your forearm, and although there's no sound with the image, he can practically hear the way they jangle together. Those blasted pieces of jewelry - he's told you a thousand times not to wear them, but you keep them tucked under the sleeve of your robe anyway. Probably stuffed into the fabric so they don't make a sound.

His hand comes back to his side, watching as you admire them while taking each one off. They aren't practical. They could catch on something during a fight. But they'd been given to you by a friend, and you'd stubbornly held onto them. And if he's being honest, they are beautiful.

Beautiful.

The word hangs in his mind.

He clears his throat, refocusing on the idea that he should work to accept that there are some things he was able to train out of you, and some things that remain a part of who you are. Now that you're moving on, no longer his padawan, he needs to force himself to view you differently.

He watches as you put away your bracelets, packing them with the rest of your clothing. After another moment, he lifts a hand to the button again. Any longer and he'll be infringing on your privacy. He just... wanted to take a moment to reminisce.

He continues to reminisce while you're bending down to roll out your night clothes, and he can see down the front of your-

Click.

His breathing is unsteady.

The blank, darkened screen stares back at him. Every one of his nerve endings feels like they've been dipped in molten lava.

He's never done anything so improper.

You are his padawan. 

His padawan. He leans into the word, branding it into his mind, with all that it encompasses. All the expectations and the prohibitions. All the sleepless nights and grueling days he's spent committing himself to you; to do right by you.

He's let this thing, this fascination, fester within him for far too long. Lingering looks, over time, have become a habit. And just now, the habit has been unspooled in front of him, spilling out like thread from a cut cloth. He'd never realized it had become this much a part of him. Not until just now, when his gaze didn't have to turn away. When it could run rampant with no consequences.

It fills him with a sort of dread. As if his feet are on a path he knows he can't turn from. No, indeed - he's already on it. Just by not moving from this spot in front of the screen, he's already taken the first steps.

He feels like every muscle in his body is taught, ready to snap. This moment could be so easy to resist, if he knew it would happen again. If this weren't the one time he would ever, ever have the chance to see you - really see you, without hiding his desire. Without the chance of you knowing. Without the need to control himself.

Click.

You've taken off your tunic, spreading it flat to roll it up. All you're wearing are your leggings and a thin undershirt that wraps tightly around your stomach and hangs loosely at the top. When you bend to roll the tunic up, his eyes are unable to tear away from the screen. The dark crevice where your shirt falls open draws him in, dangerously close to revealing more. His eyes are fixated on it. Pleading for it to spare him and stay in place. Pleading for it to slip.

He drinks in the features of your face. Your relaxed expression. The curve of your jaw. The length of your neck.

How many times has he imagined it - brushing a knuckle along the nape of your neck, just to feel your warmth. The thrill that would run through him as you might look up at him with wide, confused eyes. A shudder runs through him, filling him with unwelcome heat.

He's been on enough desert planets to experience heat sickness. The way it courses through the body in nauseating waves. Making him jittery, uneasy. Shaking with the feeling of wanting to burst, yet knowing there's nothing he can do to fight it. He could not beg the suns for mercy. The only thing he could do was let the sickness crawl through his veins, poisoning him slowly until he lost all sense. And hope he could come back to himself when it was all over.

You finish folding and turn around to unclasp the front of your leggings.

Obi Wan sits, the soft edge of his bed catching him.

He can feel his heartbeat in his throat as you seem to take an eternity to slowly slide the pants over the curve of your ass, exposing skin he's never seen before. Even in the smallest of your training clothes, he's never seen the full, soft cheeks of your ass on display like this. He sucks in a breath, eyes dancing over every inch.

You step out of the leggings, bending at the knees to pick them up, and he watches the arch of your back, the sway of your hips. When you put away your leggings, he considers it a blessing that you're behind a table, yet still feels the pull of frustration - waiting, waiting, waiting for you to step back into view.

When at last you do, your hands slip down to your sides and you turn to face the cam again, showing him the smooth skin of your stomach as your shirt lifts up.

"Stars, help me," Obi Wan whispers, unblinking.

But you're walking back and forth as you undress, and at the moment his breath hitches, you turn away again, and he sees nothing but your back. You stride across the room, completely at ease, and just as you enter the doorframe of the refresher next to your room, your fingers lazily slip under the waistband of some sort of obscenely delicate fabric, peeling your underwear down your body.

Obi Wan has to stifle a soft moan, imagining his own larger, rougher hands in place of yours, dragging the lacey thing down your legs to the floor.

You step out of them, and at a distance that's quite blurry, he can just see the soft bounce of your breasts from the side. His mouth is slackened, watching you walk away from the cam and into the next room.

His chest is tight. He shifts uncomfortably in the bed to reposition. He can feel the thrum of his own flushed face, can feel his pulse between his legs.

When you come out of the other room, you're clothed - just barely. You've put on a silky little slip. It's practically see-through. It might be worse than seeing you with no clothes at all. The slip itself is almost painfully innocent. No lace or adornments. A simple, soft garment worn for your comfort in bed. Nothing more.

The idea sends another shameful jolt through him, at watching you like this. Then he catches sight of the small pod in your hand. When you draw up one of your legs onto the bed and take off the lid of the pod to swipe your fingers through it, he realizes that it's a salve or lotion of some sort. A new level of agony overtakes him as you slide the lotion over your leg, rubbing in soft circles over your skin. Each time you lean forward to rub another circle, your slip rides up to show a teasing glimpse of your ass.

Obi Wan follows your every movement, feeling his gaze go glassy, heavy, and lost. The ache throbbing between his legs seems to thrum in time with your entrancing, repetitive movements. You start on the other leg, and when you bend forward this time, he groans into his fist, seeing even more.

Almost absently, he palms down his straining erection through his clothes. His eyes flutter shut at the feeling, and then snap open again to watch as you drop your leg, smoothing the lotion over your arms and neck, then sliding your hands around your breasts. You may as well be wearing nothing, the way he can see your fingers working beneath the fabric, squeezing the soft skin and teasing delicately over your own nipples.

His lower lip juts forward when his mouth falls open, and Obi Wan bares his teeth as if that will help him. As if the futile gesture of his struggle will somehow stop the way his hand is rubbing himself. As if it will keep him from tearing his off clothes as he watches you touch yourself.

Your hands slowly work their way down to your stomach, then down the lengths of each of your arms, and you finally put the lotion away. You dim the lights, but the picture is still fortunately - cursedly - clear enough that he can see every curve of your body as you climb into bed. You pull back the covers, and Obi Wan's palm presses hard into his lap and stills.

"Oh, darling, no..." he murmurs as you crawl forward, giving him a clear view of your perfect, glistening center. You're a little wet, and he feels himself losing a small piece of his sanity trying to imagine why you might be.

Once you're in bed, lying on your side, the light from the next room bathes your face in an ethereal glow so that he can see your every expression clearly, though your body is a little shrouded by the blankets piled at your feet.

He can, however, with the way you're angled, see right between your legs.

Hands trembling, he unceremoniously yanks down his pants to wrap a palm around himself, letting out a short gasp at the relief.

Your perfect pussy, bared just for him. He curses under his breath as he drinks in the sight of you, knowing he'll only last a few moments and squeezing himself, trying to draw out the moments as long as possible.

Obi Wan's heated gaze ratchets upward when he notices you yawn - soft, sweet and pure.

Entranced by the way your lower lip is hanging open, he imagines what it would feel like to shove two fingers into your warm, wet mouth. The image makes his cock twitch in his hand, and he imagines that going in next.

He admits it - he wishes he were there with you. Right now. Standing over your bed and looking into your big, luminous, trusting, tear-blurred eyes and shoving his cock into your lovely little mouth.

He wants to run a finger along the folds of your pussy until you soak his hand, and then he wants to ease your legs apart and tease circles around your swollen clit until you're babbling with pleasure. He wants you in every way. Stars save him - he wants to fuck you.

The thought makes him grunt low in his throat, and he tightens his grip. He's disgusted with himself, grinding into his own fist as if he could wring the very thought out of his body.

His padawan, bent over her bed, legs spread for him. His heavy palms on her waist, holding her perfect body, her skin too young and smooth for his calloused hands. Her pussy engulfing his dick, making him cry out her name with every thrust.

With every harsh tug of his pulsing, drooling cock, he's more damned. But he can't stop. Can't think of anything but you. His whole mind - his whole being - is concentrated on nothing but you, and how much he wants to paint your stomach, your face, your cunt with the cum that's about to shoot all over his hand.

He watches as you roll to your other side, tits nearly spilling out of your bedclothes, and imagines the way they would feel under his hands. The way you would bounce under your clothes as he ravaged you, coating his dick in your slippery, soft, innocent little cunt, taking absolutely everything he'd ever wanted.

And Obi Wan explodes, trying to block what he can, but failing miserably and covering his hand and the screen with ropes of hot, white mess. He chokes back a groan, forcing himself not to wake half the palace and grunts quietly into the arm of his tunic as he finishes soaking the bed and himself in his own seed.

He pants, watching the mess dripping over your warm, clean, clothed form on the screen. His mouth is hanging open, and he closes it to swallow.

Your eyes are shut, expression peaceful. You've fallen asleep.

He's shaking and sweating, staring at your beautiful face when the shame overcomes him.

The worst thing about heat sickness - once it takes you, even if you slake your thirst, even if you cool your brow, even if your pulse stops pounding for the moment - it will inevitably happen again. 

--

A/N: Shoutout to @slinkygail who kindly encouraged me to work on my WIPs! 💜

And thank you as always to everyone who reads. Hope you liked this one-off. :) It's been bouncing around my drafts for a while. A situation I don't believe for one second that Obi Wan would actually find himself in, but was absolutely necessary to indulge myself.

[wordstome]

kingdom come - iii

king König x princess & assassin reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, afab reader, romance, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, kind of age gap because König has been king for a good chunk of time but it's not really much of a factor, fantasy/medieval setting

7.7k words

tw: explicit smut, animal death, mentions of child death, violence, mild body horror, ableist language (use of the word "cripple")

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"I'm not going to sleep with you." -quote from woman who is about to sleep with him

There’s a portrait of a woman in your room.

Of course, König offered to have it removed or replaced, but you’ve procrastinated the decision because you never thought you would be here long enough for it to matter. Yet here you are, staring up at this lovely young woman on the wall.

You tilt your head, studying her. Her expression is neutral, almost pensive, but the artist captured a playful sparkle in her eyes, as if she’s keeping some sweet secret.

It’s the first queen, of course. König’s first wife. The one who died many years ago. It’s strange that after so long, he hasn’t gotten rid of the portrait.

What happened to you? you wonder. If someone had asked what you thought when you first arrived here, you would have said, without hesitation, that König had her killed. All your life, you had been taught that he and his father were evil, unfeeling tyrants. Now, this conviction has wavered.

You keep trying to tell yourself that it’s ridiculous, to be thinking better of his character. You only ever wanted to know him better to kill him. But the more you understand about what makes him tick, the less you think that he would do such a thing. Perhaps it’s true, then, that she died in childbirth.

Your eyes travel all over the portrait, poring over every detail of her features. Did you know him? Did you understand him? Did you love him?

Did he love you?

What did that feel like?

“Good. You haven’t left yet.” Calliope comes into the room, bustling with energy even before the sun comes up. You don’t know how she does it.

“We’re about to.”

“That’s why I’m here.” You notice she’s wearing gloves, but more importantly, she’s holding a necklace: a silvery chain with a small, intricate pendant. Vine-shaped pieces of metal hold a white, almost clear jewel in place, its various facets reflecting the candlelight in vivid colors.

“Jewelry? I’m going to be living in the woods for the next few weeks,” you tease as she lowers the necklace over your head. It does look quite durable, but you’re not exactly dressing for a costume ball here.

“Consider it a reminder that I await your safe return,” Calliope responds, securing the necklace behind your neck. “Look at it and remember me. You’re not to do anything reckless out there, am I understood?”

“Understood.” You give her a soft smile as she arranges the necklace on your collarbones. You’re grateful for the gift: though she can’t come with you, a small piece of her will always remain with you.

“Good. And don’t let that handsome husband of yours distract you and get yourself killed.”

“Calliope! What happened to ‘something’s not right with him’?”

“That doesn’t mean he isn’t handsome!”

You snort and roll your eyes, but there’s a smile on your face.

You used to think that living in König’s home already exposed you to an exhausting amount of the man. As it turns out, going on a journey with him is even worse.

There’s nobody else to talk to, nowhere to run or put distance between you two when he frustrates you. It’s not so bad for the first few days: the towns surrounding the capital are still populated enough to provide some respite from him. But once the two of you have made your way outside the bounds of civilization, it doesn’t take long for things to become stilted and awkward.

“You’ve been awfully quiet since we left the last town.”

“I don’t feel talkative.”

“Really? I’m out of my mind with boredom right now. Come, you’re not in the mood to get to know each other a little?”

You give him a look. “What else is there to know? I’ve lived with you for several months.”

“But we don’t talk.” König nudges his horse to walk closer to yours. König is such a large man, his horse is massive too: comically so, next to your normal one. You let out a sigh.

“There’s nothing to know about me.”

“I doubt that. All I know about you is you’re a princess trained to be an assassin. ‘Your whole life’, according to yourself,” he says with a touch of mocking.

You purse your lips, determined not to let him get under your skin. “There’s nothing else to know.”

“Truly? Nothing about what you like?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…your favorite food. Or hobby.”

“Hobby? …I suppose I spend a lot of time at target practice.”

“That’s not a hobby.”

“It’s relaxing to hone my skills.”

He gives you an amused look. “You remind me of myself as a young man.”

Something about that irks you. “We’re nothing alike.”

“I used to have the same mindset as you, at least. I held one objective in my mind and didn’t seek purpose outside of it.”

“I…”

As much as you loathe to admit it, he’s right. You have been focused on one objective your whole life. If you probe deeper, you can’t remember having any friends outside of Calliope, nor any interests outside of the curriculum your father set for you. “It wasn’t as bleak as you seem to think it was.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not like I never had fun. I had my own way of finding it.”

“Such as?”

“Well, when my training progress stalled, I’d be sent to bed without dinner. Naturally. I eventually learned how to climb out of my window at night and go foraging in the woods for something to eat.” A smile curls your lips as you reminisce. “Eventually I even worked my way up to hunting—little things, like squirrels. I spent many a cozy little evening cooking for myself over a fire.”

You turn to find an abject look of horror on König face. “What? What’s wrong? Is there danger?” You turn around to scan your surroundings, but nothing immediately jumps out at you.

“No. No danger. I just…he sent you to bed with an empty stomach so many times you learned how to crawl out of your room and hunt squirrels to eat?”

You blink at him. “You’ve never had squirrel before?”

He looks scandalized. “Of course I have! That is not the issue with what you just said.”

You shrug. “It was important discipline. Besides, it gave me hunting experience at a young age. Squirrels are hard to skin, but I could do it in twelve seconds flat if you gave me one now.”

König looks like he wants to say more, but instead he looks up at the sky. “We should make camp soon.”

“Is it that time already?”

“It needs to be set up before it gets dark. We should also start hunting while it’s light out—not all of us can catch things in the dark, squirrel-girl.”

“Hey!”

Later, you’re both chewing on a rabbit when he speaks.

“You know, when you said you wanted to travel with me, I was quite concerned.”

“Yes, I know. You didn’t think I was capable of handling myself.”

���Not just that. I was worried you would be…unaccustomed to living rough.”

“You thought I would be a spoiled princess.”

“I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes.”

You snort. “Well, now you know. I can handle myself in the outdoors.” You toss the rabbit bones you’ve just picked clean into a small hole dug into the dirt. When you leave, you’ll cover it with dirt to prevent predators from smelling the remains and following you on your journey.

“You want the other leg?” you ask. König seems startled, for some reason.

“You caught this one.”

“Yes, but you’re bigger than me. You need the food.” You reach up to pluck a leaf from a nearby tree and wipe your hands. Rabbits sure are greasy…

There’s a strange look in König’s eye as he regards you. You raise an eyebrow at him in response. “What?”

“…nothing.” He reaches for the rabbit while you shrug and walk off to find some water. The back of your neck prickles as you go, as if his stare is physically touching you.

You can’t stand to be near him nowadays, and you don’t know why.

Of course, you have no choice but to. There’s a tension that feels weighty, forbidden. You know he can tell, because he’s been more cautious around you, giving you as much space as he can afford to. Somehow, that irritates you even more.

Tonight, the two of you are camping in a dense, thick part of the forest not far from a road. It’s quiet, secluded: even the usual soundscape of ambient animal noises is silent.

The fire crackles and pops as you stare into the flames, as if you’ll find any answers in it. Instead, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as König returns from washing himself in a nearby stream, approaching you from behind.

“This won’t work if you’re constantly upset with me for some unknown reason.”

You don’t turn to look at him, though some invisible force compels you. “Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable?”

“I’m worried about your comfort too, you know. If you just told me what I’ve done wrong, then we can resolve it before it breeds resentment.”

“I’m just stressed.” Everything he does or says seems to irritate you nowadays, but you know in your heart of hearts that it’s not his fault. It’s your own problem—you assume camping outdoors for so long has taken its toll on your psyche.

He frowns at you, but doesn’t pry any further. You can’t help but watch as he walks around to the other side of the fire, drying his hair with his shirt. God, he is a work of art: all chiseled muscles and glowing skin. Your eyes travel down his torso, drawn by the line of his abs, down to the happy trail leading to the slightly askew waist of his trousers.

“You’re drooling, princess.”

Your eyes snap back up to his face. His eyes are dancing with mirth as he realizes he’s just caught you ogling him. You make a face at him, but it only makes him laugh. “Was not.”

“Incorrect answer. You should have attempted to strike at my ego. Now I know you were looking.”

“I think I’m just being driven mad by spending so much time alone with you in the woods.”

“I know several ways to drive you mad, sweetling.”

You slouch against a tree, your face hot—and not from the fire. In a blink, he’s standing before you, with a gleeful expression on his face like he’s just discovered a cure for dropsy.

“I know what’s making you sour as vinegar. You need to be fucked.”

You bury your face in your hands, unable to look at him. “I thought we had moved past this,” you groan, trying to ignore your rapidly quickening heartbeat.

“What, your ever-growing carnal lust for me?”

“You being a pervert.”

“I’ve never made a secret of it. You, however…” You suck in a startled breath as he leans down, trapping you against the tree just like he had the day you sparred with him. “You’ve been denying yourself.”

Your breath is ragged as he looks you in the eye, the tension between the two of you as taut as a bowstring. A familiar sense of panic rises in you, the same way you feel every time he’s close to you like this. Before, you thought it was because it felt dangerous to be so close to your enemy. Now, you’re second-guessing yourself.

“So what if I have?” you mumble.

“There’s an easy way to fix that.”

“…The last time you had me in this position, you were threatening me.”

He tilts his head slightly, a wicked gleam in his eye. “You don’t feel threatened now?”

You don’t respond immediately, and heavens forbid, he takes it as hesitancy, his demeanor instantly transforming. “One word. One word, and we will never speak of this again. But if you tell me you want this, I will fuck you senseless.”

“Yes,” you whisper, and his lips on are on yours.

It’s a strange sensation, considering half of your mouth is pressed against the cold, smooth surface of his mask. You don’t even ask him about removing it—it’s become a part of him in your mind. And maybe part of you even finds the mystery of it alluring.

You all but melt into the kiss, against him. It’s different, everything is different than that first awkward kiss from when you were younger. It makes you ache, makes you long for him in a way you’ve never wanted someone before.

You have to separate to breathe, but your reluctance to break apart from him is clear by the way you chase his face with yours. He laughs at you, but it’s not condescending at all. It settles in your chest, warm like honey.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you murmur.

“Luckily for you, you’re in good hands.” It’s the cockiness in his voice that does you in, what makes you let go and give yourself over to him.

You feel flustered, awkward, and like the least desirable creature on earth, but he looks at you like he wants to devour you. Like there’s nothing else he wants more than to have you right now.

“You can trust me,” he says softly. You try to respond, but suddenly find you’ve gone mute. All you can manage is a small nod.

To your surprise, he lowers his mouth to your neck. You gasp, a full-body shiver running through you as he kisses you there, sucking and nipping at you as he goes. “W-wait, I’m—”

“Sensitive? I can tell.” You squeak as he continues to lavish you with attention, his fingers trailing down the front of your torso to undo your pants. His movements are deliberate but slow, giving you plenty of opportunity to stop him. But of course, you don’t.

You let out a quick little breath as he finds his way to your pussy, his deep chuckle reverberating against your throat. “You’re so wet…did I do that to you, liebling?”

You’re about to respond, but instead let out a sharp gasp as he dips a finger into your pussy. “How are you ever going to take me into this tight little hole of yours…” he taunts.

Oh, God, you hadn’t even thought about that. Your mind flashes back to your wedding night, and the first time you tried to kill him. You had mostly been shocked by his audacity, but only now do you recall how big he had felt between your thighs.

He’s gentle with you at first, patiently stretching you open as you whine and beg in his arms. You just about sob when he finally pays your clit attention, circling it with his thumb, and in what seems like no time at all, you’re cumming, hard.

“That didn’t take long at all,” he says with that awful smirk of his.

“Th-that’s not fair,” you stammer. “You know…”

“I’m only teasing you.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead as you come down, shivering with pleasure.

He makes you cum twice with just his hand. Your legs are trembling by the time the two of you properly get undressed. You’re soft and pliable, helpless putty in his hands as he lines the tip of his cock at your entrance.

“Ready, liebe?” he asks.

“That is not going to fit,” you say, eyes wide and fearful. There’s absolutely no way, you think, staring down the absurdly thick and long monster between his legs.

“Trust me, remember? We’ll take it slow,” he reassures you. You bite your lip and nod, giving him the go-ahead to sink into you.

Instantly, you realize that no matter how well König could have prepared you, there was no chance that it would have been enough to ready you for the stretch of him. You feel like you can hardly breathe as he splits you in half with his cock, your mouth dropping open in a wordless cry.

“Fuck, you are tight,” he groans, but he keeps his promise to go slow, feeding himself inch by inch inside you until he’s sitting snug up against your cervix.

The two of you stay there, suspended in a moment in time, connected to each other in the most intimate way two people can be. It makes your head spin, makes you dizzy with the sensation of his body pressed against yours.

You nod, and he starts to move.

If you had thought before that his fingers felt good inside you, then his cock is something else. The delicious stretch of him is almost electrifying, and you wonder how you went all your life without it.

All you can do is let him take control—you don’t have the presence mind to do anything but hold onto him, gasping and moaning. He’s all around you, above you, inside you, and it feels like nothing else in the world matters, or that there is a world other than König, König, König.

Your third orgasm surprises you, waves of pleasure flowing through you as you cry out, your pussy sucking him in as if it wants him to stay inside forever. That’s what seemingly pushes him over the edge too, a string of expletives bursting from him as he floods you with his cum.

You’re limp and weak, all but purring as he shifts to lay next to you and pulls you into his chest.

“You are sweet when underneath me like this,” he purrs.

You swat him in the chest, but it must feel no heavier than being hit by a branch, because he just laughs.

“There’s no reason to be shy now. I’ve seen everything at this point.” You pout at him—something that only seems to bring him delight, because he pulls you in for a kiss.

“This isn’t how I wanted to take you the first time,” he says, a hint of shame in his tone.

Your heart twinges with affection. This isn’t how you imagined your first time, either, but the idea of him wanting you so badly he thought about it beforehand, fantasized about it even…“I’ve slept in trees before, this is nothing,” you reassure him.

He shoots you a concerned look. “You continue to share alarming events from your childhood.”

You sleep together that night, curled up against him with your legs tangled with his. He falls asleep first, the slight rumble of his chest as he sleeps against your cheek. You lay awake a little while longer, watching him, breathing him in. Now, you have no choice but to be confronted with the truth that you’ve been refusing to acknowledge this whole time.

You don’t hate him anymore. You don’t even dislike him now. And you certainly don’t want to kill him.

On one hand, things are easier. Crossing the line feels more like having torn down a wall, with no more need for pretense. On the other, König is somehow even more insufferable than before. Or perhaps insatiable is a better word for it. You go from having daily sexual tension with him to daily sex, period.

It’s like the floodgates have opened. He’s always loved to tease you, but it gets a hundred times worse now that he knows just how to make your cheeks feel warm.

“I was thinking…” he muses one night as you cuddle by the fire. “You may have to start riding on my horse.”

“Don’t I already do that?” you ask, sleepily playing with his hair.

He snorts. “Your susceptibility to my corrupting influence is truly something to marvel at.”

“You’ve been enacting psychological warfare on me for months.”

“Anyhow, as I was saying.”

“Your horse is quite large, but I don’t think it could handle me astride it as well.”

“Well. Certainly something else that’s large could handle that…”

You sigh. “Get to the point.”

“It’s becoming quite distracting, watching you moving up and down with the horse’s stride.”

“I cannot believe you. Innuendos twice in a row?”

“This is a legitimate grievance!”

“Riding on your horse would not fix the problem. Unless you plan for me to sit behind you in the saddle, which I refuse to do.”

“You’re no fun.”

You lean forward to kiss the corner of his mouth instead of responding.

Your newfound…activity, however pleasingly distracting, can’t eclipse what comes next.

The mood is somber as you arrive in the village: it’s a quiet, sleepy place, just a scattering of simple houses dotting rolling hills and one singular street lined with buildings in the center of it all.

In sharp contrast to his playful, almost jubilant mood on the road with you, König instantly snaps into his authoritative persona. It especially suits him when he puts on the hood: it makes him seem that much more intimidating and threatening. Almost inhuman.

The first order of business is to hold counsel with what passes for the leader in this tiny village: a local merchant patriarch. He’s a sturdy man in his older years, face lined with both wrinkles and scars. He must have been quite the warrior when he was young: you can tell by the way he carries himself.

He gives both of you the lay of the land, and it’s a grim predicament indeed. Herding the livestock is a job most often given to the children, as it’s a relatively safe job with less skill required than the tasks the adults take care of. That’s changed, of course, with the arrival of the beast a few weeks ago. He confirms the most gruesome details that have been brought before König by previous messengers, and it turns your stomach just to imagine it. Those poor children…

The two of you set off early the next morning, with directions from an experienced hunter who had been keeping track of the beast and reporting its movements. At first, it feels normal: just another walk in the woods with König. The solemn silence between the two of you serves as a stark reminder that this isn’t like normal—followed promptly by increasing signs of a presence in the woods. Snapped branches, giant pawprints, and worse, streaks of blood.

Then you break though into a clearing, and your blood runs cold.

The beast before you could only be described as a wolf for lack of a better descriptor. It’s monstrously large, being König’s height and half again, with all of its proportions just slightly wrong: its legs scrawny and just slightly too long for its body, the snout lean and far too sharp to fit the rest of its head. Dried old blood crusted into the fur of its muzzle and chest belies the savagery of the creature, even streaking onto the fur along its neck. And the most obvious tell-tale sign of an unnatural creature is that fur: a dark, rusty blue that shifts with impossible pinpricks of light, like the night sky is ensnared in this feral animal’s coat.

You heard its growl before you saw it. But now when it lays eyes on you and König, it opens its snout and…speaks.

“What do we have here?” The voice comes out as a broken, reedy croak, as if stretching vocal cords that haven’t been used in a long time.

Something about it raises your hackles, like your body’s responding to an ancient, ingrained fear. Fae.

“Don’t listen to anything it says.” König’s voice is suddenly soft, dangerous. “None of it is trustworthy.” Slowly, deliberately, his hand moves to his back and draws his sword.

“Ah, the boy king,” hisses the beast. “You simply couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“You’re eating my subjects,” König responds. Your eyes flit to where his hand tightens its grip on his sword. “This is not personal.”

“But it always is, is it not?” The beast and König circle each other, like two combatants in an arena. “You are as ever driven by your past mistakes.”

“König, what is it talking about?” You feel like you’re witnessing a conversation you shouldn’t be, but you feel helpless to do anything about it. If you tried to make a move towards the beast now, it would have its jaws snapped around you in an instant.

“It’s lying, liebling. It’s what they do. It’s trying to throw you for a loop so it can catch you off guard.”

“Liebling now, is it?” The beast lets out an awful, barking laugh. “My, the two of you have come far. But not far enough, it seems.”

König gives you a quick, sidelong glance, then tilts his head back towards the beast. The message is clear. We need to distract it. I’ll keep it talking.

“From her response, it seems you’ve been keeping secrets from your lovely little bride.” The beast shakes itself, its fur puffing up to look larger and more intimidating.

“There’s nothing to keep. None of that is important.”

“I would beg to differ. And if your liebling knew what it was, she would disagree as well.”

“You know nothing about us,” König growls. Yes, you’re in a life-or-death situation right now, but the viciousness in his tone sends an excited shiver up your spine. You’re opposite König now, almost completely hidden behind the beast’s monstrous form.

“You know nothing about each other!” Before either of you can react, the beast whips around. Its glowing-white eyes are fixed on you. “Not that it matters any longer.”

You barely have time to scream before the beast is upon you.

“No!” König’s voice rings in your ears. You can feel the creature’s hot breath, its vile drool spilling onto your clothes, its teeth closing around your neck—

Time slows to a crawl, the events unfolding one after the other in sequence. The first thing you’re aware of is the beast’s roar of pain, booming deafeningly all around you. I’m inside its mouth, you think numbly. The second thing you notice is your necklace: it’s glowing red, as if the metal has become molten hot. But you don’t feel any burning sensation, just a faint tingle.

The third thing you see is König shoving himself between the two halves of the beast’s snout, physically holding it open with his body.

It’s truly an impressive sight, like watching Atlas hold up the sky. For a brief moment, all you can do is stare up at him in awe.

“What are you doing?! Get out!” he yells, and you snap back to your senses.

You roll aside out of the beast’s range, scrambling to get back on your feet. König dodges out of the way just as the jaws snap shut.

“Is that..?” the thing wheezes. You rush to help König up as it glares balefully at you. Its beady eyes focus on the pendant around your neck, narrowing in disgust.

“Calliope,” it spits. “I should have known. This bears marks of your meddling all over.”

Your blood runs cold. “What did you just say?” What does your lady in waiting have to do with this?

“You—” The beast doesn’t get a chance to finish its sentence, because König takes advantage of its consternation to stick his sword into its neck. The creature bellows in pain and lunges at König, who barely manages to dodge the strike but loses his grip on his sword in the process. The monstrous animal whips around and around, attempting to grab hold of the sword with its teeth.

“Strike, now!” König calls before promptly getting clocked in the head with the pommel of his own sword as the beast thrashes and screams.

You don’t hesitate to spring into action, unsheathing a wicked-sharp blade as long as your forearm and sprinting towards the creature. König’s left you a perfect opening: as long as the beast is trying to get ahold of the sword, its chest is wide open for attack.

You don’t waste the opportunity. With the running start, you leap forward, sinking the blade into the wolf’s chest, right where its heart lies. The long, keening wail that the beast lets out is confirmation that your blade has struck true.

You have to throw yourself into a roll to get out of the way before the massive body crashes down on top of you. It lies on the ground, its heaving breaths growing shallower by the moment, its wounds staining the ground with a faintly shimmering golden ichor. So the fae do have golden blood, just like the old legends said, you think, watching the macabre scene with stunned terror.

“Brought low by two fae-touched mortals with barely a fight…” the beast huffs. It sounds weary and resigned to its fate, strange for a creature that had seemed so deadly and menacing just moments before. “Fate is cruel.”

“Fae-touched…what do you mean?” you ask, eyes widening. “Wait! What do you mean by that?!”

The beast doesn’t respond, its chest now hardly moving with its breaths. It’s not long for the world, now.

Behind the hulking, dying animal, you spot König staggering into a standing position. “König!” You gather yourself and rush towards him.

He’s visibly unstable on his feet, swaying slightly and looking dazed. The sword must have hit him hard, because his hood has been partially torn away. Despite everything, though, you can’t see any visible blood or injuries from this angle. Until he turns.

A bloodcurdling scream tears its way out of your throat. König cringes slightly at the sound, but you can’t help yourself. The sight is terrifying.

The skin above one half of his mouth is simply gone. He has no lip, not even any flesh up to his nose. His upper teeth and gums on one half of his mouth are just exposed, giving him a grim, unnatural appearance. He looks like Death itself, resembling the skeletal depictions in the manuscripts.

You should be afraid—scratch that, you are afraid. But you realize quickly your fear is not of him, but for him.

“Did it do this to you?!” you say, panicking. You dash forward and grab ahold of his face, turning it so you can examine the injury more closely. The act seems to startle König, who simply looks down at you in confusion.

“What are we going to do? There’s no way this village has a healer who could dress this wound…” you fret. An injury on this level is almost certainly a death sentence if he doesn’t receive adequate attention immediately, and he certainly won’t last the night if you’re forced to travel by horseback again—

“Schatzi…” König grabs your hands with his and removes them from his face. “I’m fine.”

You stare at him in shock for a moment. “You—how can—you—”

He heaves a heavy sigh, as if a massive burden has been placed on his shoulders. “I’m alright. The wound is…not new.”

“How can it not be new.”

König screws his eyes shut for a moment as if trying to gather his composure. “It’s been this way since I was young. Look,” he says, touching the area with a finger. “There’s no blood.”

On closer inspection, you realize he’s right: not only is there no blood, but the skin around his mouth and nose appear to be completely healed. And not even as if it were a true wound: there’s no scarring, no uneven flesh. The skin and muscle are simply…missing.

“What…how…” You’re at a total loss for words. Since he was young? What happened? How had he survived such an injury as a child? You have a million questions, but you find yourself unable to ask any of them.

You watch him, stunned, as he walks past you towards the beast’s body. It lays completely still now, all semblance of life having fled from the corpse. With one hand on the grip and one foot braced against the beast’s body, he wrenches his sword free, then bends to pull your knife out.

“I know you must have questions,” he says, wiping the blood off of both weapons onto the wolf’s fur with a grimace, “but I can’t answer them here. Please, if I promise to explain, will you…will you wait until we’ve left the village?” He turns to look at you beseechingly.

“I…” Now that the adrenaline and initial panic is beginning to fade, your whole body feels heavy and exhausted. You don’t have the energy to be angry, or afraid, or demand an explanation now. You have no choice but to agree, nodding quietly. König seems relieved at your calm response.

“So that’s why you always wear a mask or a hood,” you say numbly as you watch him take the ruined hood off, shaking his head to get the hair out of his face. He gives you a sad, regretful look.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“Did you mean for me to find out at all?”

“I never meant for anyone to find out.”

The villagers throw a celebration. A modest one, to be sure, but the relief on the peoples’ faces is enough of a reward for you. You can tell König is glad to see it as well—though every time you look at his face, hidden once more behind his mask, you feel a twinge in your heart as you remember what lies underneath it.

You can’t find it in yourself to enjoy the celebrations, even as excited children and grateful parents swarm you to give their thanks. You give them all a smile and a kind word, but that’s all you can manage. Dread and curiosity mix to form a terrible feeling in your gut.

The days between your defeat of the beast and your departure go by in a blur. You’re grateful for the rest, but you can’t stop thinking, worrying, about König’s condition. You manage to stop being petrified that he’s going to drop dead of infection at any moment, but you can’t look at him anymore without thinking about it. About the secret that he’s kept from you, from everyone who’s ever met him. You can’t even wrap your mind around what it all means. You have no point of reference for what could have happened to your husband’s face.

Husband. What a strange thing, to be wed to someone whose full face you had only seen a few days ago, months into your marriage. You haven’t thought of him like that at all. He’s always been König: the king, the enemy, the annoyance. And your lover, you suppose. For the first time, you start to wonder exactly what kind of man you’ve bound yourself to.

Because it’s exceedingly clear to you now. You can’t kill this man. Not just because you don’t want to anymore, but because he might be unkillable.

The village hasn’t yet vanished in the distance behind the two of you when you speak. “What the hell?”

König’s eyes slide to you, then back to the road ahead. “Language.”

You sputter in indignation. “Lang—that’s not what I want to hear!”

“Forgive me. I couldn’t resist.”

“König, this is serious! You promised an explanation.”

“I know what I promised,” he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice.

“Well?”

König takes as deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

Then he begins.

“Well. What do we have here? You’re awfully young for this, little prince.”

He’s fourteen. He’s about to make a decision that will shape the rest of his life.

He had done as the crone’s old tome instructed. Bone from an animal slain in its youth. Flowers bloomed under the cover of pitch black night. A blade whet on the summoner’s own flesh. He’s knelt under the light of the full moon, round and blindingly white.

The ethereal creature standing before him is easily twice his height, with an unearthly glow to their skin and hair and a smile that could almost be mistaken for kind and benevolent on their unnaturally beautiful face.

He’s done it. He’s summoned a fae.

With no small amount of difficulty, he rises to his feet, leaning heavily on the cane that helps him walk. The fae lets out a noise of amusement as they watch the young boy struggle.

“Usually, mortals don’t gamble away their lives until they’re older, and greed begins to dictate their actions.”

He glares at the fae but doesn’t respond.

“Come, now. Do not look at me so. Give me your name, little prince.”

“…you may call me König.”

The fae’s expression sharpens, ever so slightly. “Clever boy. ‘König’…don’t you think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself?”

“I want to make a deal.”

The fae sighs. “Straight to the point, I see. Well, I can’t fault your efficiency. Or is it desperation?” They smirk at him, their eyes taking the rest of him in. He knows he must make for a pathetic sight: a cripple with a harelip, spine curled and legs thin and spindly.

He doesn’t care. This is the last day he will ever be this pathetic.

“Let me guess. You wish to no longer be a cripple.”

“I want to be able bodied. I want to be strong enough to defeat my enemies. I want to be rid of my harelip.” Clear, concise language. He’s spoken these words to himself in the mirror countless times.

“You’ve certainly done your research. Then you know what price I will ask for such things.”

He swallows nervously. “Yes.”

“Very well then. Let us begin.”

It starts in his toes, the strange sensation that flows up through him that he will know all his days. He can feel the strength rushing into his limbs, feel his spine straightening, withered muscles coming to life.

Then comes the pain.

It’s white-hot torment, as if his body has become a living coal. He falls to the ground again, screaming and writhing as his bones crack and realign themselves. Somewhere, in the distance, he can hear the fae’s cruel laughter as they watch him suffer. For a brief moment, some primal, animal part of his brain thinks he’s going to die.

“Fret not, boy king. You won’t perish—I won’t let you until you give me what you’ve promised me,” the fae says, as if they can hear his thoughts.

He’s not sure how long he lays there on the ground, body wracked with agony. It feels like hours pass before he regains use of his limbs. But the pain does eventually fade away, leaving him dazed but still alive. Slowly, he manages to stand up again.

He stares at himself in wonder, legs and arms stretching. For the first time ever, he’s able to stand tall and straight on his own, his cane discarded to the side. And he feels strong. At last, he doesn’t feel weak for once.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” The fae’s face has changed: they still look the same, but there’s a beastly, ugly quality to their lovely features that chills him to the bone.

His hands fly instantly to his face. The harelip is still there, he notes with displeasure.

“You forgot something,” he says, frowning in his lopsided way.

“Oh, I didn’t.” Before König can react, the fae’s eyes hollow and grow dark, becoming two pools of endless void. Their teeth sharpen, their face grows gaunt.

“Remember what you owe, boy king,” they remind him. “On the day and the hour your first child is born, I will come to collect.”

He doesn’t even have time to scream before the fae reaches forward with black talons and tears off his mouth.

You’re rendered speechless by his story. Where do you even start?

Your first thoughts are of the way he described himself as a child. König, weak and crippled? König? You look at him now, eighteen hands high astride his horse, the picture of raw strength and dominance. You can’t imagine it at all.

Your second thought is— “You made a deal with the fae? Do you know how foolish that is? Fae never give you what you want, and the cost is always far too high!”

“Don’t lecture me,” he says tightly. “I know what I was getting myself into. I had no other choice.”

“What do you mean, no other choice? You were the king’s son—you are the king! You could have had servants carry you everywhere if need be!”

“You don’t understand what it was like,” König snarls, turning to you with fire in his eyes. “Nobody would have accepted a cripple as their king. My life would constantly have been in danger, having to rely upon others. Unable to even defend myself if an assassin set upon me in my bed.” He’s getting angrier, more worked up as he goes.

“I told you that I was once poisoned as a child with nightshade berries. Did you wonder why there was such a plant in my mother’s garden? Why the royal heir was unsupervised for so long in the first place?” König’s expression is twisted, his voice turned bitter with betrayal. “It was a plot against me by some of my father’s advisors. They conspired with my nursemaid to make it seem like an accident…they expected me to die.”

“I…I’m sorry, König. I didn’t think.”

He glances at you and takes a moment to collect himself before speaking. “I was lucky. My father sent for the best healers he could find. My mother cried at my bedside for weeks.” His brow furrows. “My lot in life could have been worse: my parents loved me, at the very least. But it made me hate myself even more—that I was such a profound disappointment.

“My mother had a difficult birth. Some whispered that it was penance for what my father did: that the spirits of those slain during his campaigns had cursed my mother’s womb. She never was able to conceive again…so all their hopes rested upon my shoulders. My crippled, useless shoulders.”

The venom in his voice when he talks about himself makes your heart ache with sympathy. You move your horse closer to his and put a hand on his arm, squeezing him in what you hope is a comforting manner. His expression softens as he looks down at you.

“It would have been easy for you to kill me if I were still like that, liebe.” You feel your face grow warm again at the term of endearment.

“It makes sense, your strength being fae-given…Calliope said there was something not right about you.”

“Calliope is a perceptive woman.”

You study his face, eyes regarding his mask in a new light. “It really doesn’t look so bad. I only reacted that way because I thought you were injured.”

He shrugs. “Never was that good-looking anyway.”

You make a face. “Are you suggesting I sleep with ugly men?”

“You’ve only slept with me.”

“I’m trying to compliment you.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“When you’re not annoying me.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Well, now you know.”

You study him. He seems relieved to have finally gotten this off his shoulders. “Do you regret it?”

He gets a faraway look in his eyes. “…No.”

The village’s leader had advised an alternate path back home: it might take you a day or two longer, but it was less remote and lined with other villages. You arrive at the first inn just as the sun is about to duck beneath the horizon, the sky streaked with orange.

It’s a serene part of the wood, and the inn is quite quaint as well. Whoever runs it has done well for themselves, you think absentmindedly as you and König dismount and prepare to unload.

A side door swings open, and a quite frankly huge man walks out, facing away from the two of you. Your sense of scale is attuned to König now, so he’s of course not the biggest man you’ve ever seen, but he’s broad-shouldered and thick with muscle. You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can just about spot his blond hair—

“Shit. Shit.” König instantly spins around so his horse is between him and the man who’s just walked out of the building. You squint. Is he…hiding?

“What’s going on? Should I be worried?”

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Is he cringing? “Do you think it’s too late to set up camp?”

“Set up camp? When there’s a perfectly good inn right there?”

“Yes!”

“What has gotten into you? That man is quite big, but he’s not that sc—”

“I’m not scared of him, I just recognize him. And I don’t particularly feel like seeing him.”

You’re agog at the scene before you. “You’re the king.”

“Even kings have their hangups, alright?”

“I am not sleeping in the woods.”

“As your husband and supreme ruler, I demand it.”

“Come now. I know you’re tired of fucking me outside.”

That gives him serious pause, which almost makes you giggle. Ridiculous man. You could probably lead him onto an executioner’s block if you held him by the cock.

“Please,” you beg, stepping forward to hold his hand and giving him the biggest, most wide eyes you can muster. “I’m not ready to go back to sleeping on the ground yet.”

His face scrunches up in a hopelessly endearing, almost childlike way. “Fine. But you have to go in and talk to the innkeep. I’m going to stay out here.”

“I don’t know what all the fuss is, but fine. You big baby.” You hand him your horse’s reins and make your way to the front door of the inn.

You’ve barely pushed the door very far at all before you hear a friendly voice from inside. “Welcome, traveler! Come on in.”

“It’s wonderful to make your—” You stop in the doorway, frozen with shock.

“It’s wonderful to make your acquaintance, your highness.” A pair of familiar sparkling eyes look back at you. “And you can tell his majesty that he can come inside, I’ve already seen him.”

König’s first wife stands before you, watching your reaction with clear amusement.

Forgive me for that smut. It's been years since I've written anything nsfw, and I wrote this at like. 5AM after a very long day because when I'm not exhausted, writing smut becomes impossible. It's quite the pickle.

Well...I did say that part 3 was going to be a doozy! I'm looking forward to all the reactions...🤭

Comments and feedback are of course always appreciated <3

@kneelingshadowsalome @crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @keiva1000 @catluvwr @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @channelsoph @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @lexuria @complexivelovely

[seelestia]

Dunno why I felt compelled to do this, but-

Here's some dialogue I just thought up regarding that angsty af Zhongli oneshot that a certain someone requested (who could it be I wonder 👀👀)

The ones talking are Ganyu and the Reader.

"Do you regret it?"

"Regret what?"

"Your love."

"..."

"I regret not being born earlier."

"I regret not being a goddess."

"I regret not being the first."

"I regret not having the long straight hair he so misses."

"But most of all, I regret not being her."

"But you had no control over any of those! It's not your fault!"

"...That's exactly why it hurts."

We love angst 😩💅💅👍✨

- Ever so sadly yours, 👹✨ Jae (also hi Lia :D been a while since I been in your inbox huehue)

— 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

a continuation to do you love me? choose a decision at the end! only 1/2 endings available as of now.

summary: a cracked heart is like a cracked jar; it can only hold so much within before it shatters — what if you've come to terms that you cannot take the pain of the truth any longer? (1.2k+ words)

genre: angst, "loves you but not most" trope, lovers to ???? (open-ended / cliffhanger i'm sorry.) + read the alt text on the header for extra summary!

characters: ganyu, zhongli, guizhong (implied).

cw: descriptions of crying, one pet name.

thoughts: you came into my inbox after a while and you brought pain with you. i'm not particularly proud of this but here you go, i cannot be blamed for these buckets of tears any longer. (/j)

✰ main masterlist. // series masterlist.

The night was young in Liyue, the breeze was gentle as it swept across the lands — but oh, how you wished the wind could also blow the sadness in your heart.

Blurry sight, soaked cheeks, sheer and pure numbness. For how long had you been like this? Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, and hours felt like days. Whatever perception of time you had left just seemed to crumble to dust.

You couldn't help but wonder why? Ha, what irony when you knew very well why.

Wasn't it the truth that was relayed to you some time ago? Wasn't that why you decided to sneak away whilst your lover was sleeping, why you were crying in the company of a concerned friend, why you were here right now?

"I'm so sorry—" you choked out an apology to Ganyu through bated breath.

Your friend was out for a midnight stroll when she saw you and upon seeing how red your eyes were, she didn't leave your side out of worry ever since. You tried to reassure her that you'd be fine alone, really — but she looked so devastated, equally as sorrowful as you were like the very sadness in your heart was her own.

But you felt pathetic; so pathetic and so pitiful.

Nothing had been the same after that day, as much as you wished to deny it. Curiosity did kill the cat, after all; in your case, curiosity was what condemned your soul to a void of nothingness.

They said love was what filled a human's soul and if that were true, then you would be nothing but a shell of a soul. Zhongli gave you a love that you wished to cradle with your all forever — but he was never yours, never completely yours. Yet, how could you blame him? How could you ever blame him for experiencing a love so great he wasn't able to forget it?

"I'm not her. I could never be her," you finally forced the words out, clutching onto the railing of Liyue Harbor until a stinging pain greeted your hands. It had been the simplest conclusion, yet the hardest pill to swallow. A fate you couldn't change even if you wished you could so bad, someone unrivaled you could only imagine holding a candle to. Bitter and self-deprecating were the quiet laughter you let out at the realization.

Never was, never will.

"[Y/N], you don't have to apologize," was all Ganyu could afford to utter. She knew she should've said more, but the words escaped her barren mind; perhaps, it would be better to listen instead of saying something that could make matters worse. You could tell that Ganyu was disappointed in herself for not being able to provide you with profound wisdom or the right words of comfort.

Truthfully, you couldn't help but feel terrible for putting her in this situation, for possibly ruining her night with your mood. But when the Adeptus placed her hand on the crook of your elbow as a physical reminder that she was here for you, you smiled. Then, you turned your head towards the ocean and closed your eyes.

Finally, the pain of crying finally caught up to you, hoping that the blowing night breeze could somewhat soothe the stinging dryness and heavy bags underneath your eyes. As you did so, in the corner of your mind, a single thought passed by and you caught it by its tail.

Was it a thought meant to be voiced or buried? Either way, you brought it to life and wondered out loud.

"...Would it be better if I broke things off instead?"

Your question seemed to take Ganyu by complete surprise.

You knew why so; before your relationship with Zhongli came to be, Ganyu was one of the listening ears to your constant rambles about him. How much you admired him, how flustered you were when he smiled at you, or how you felt like you could float to the skies whenever he spared you a single glance. You recalled the surprised look on Ganyu's face when you first told her about your feelings for her Lord, but she was supportive towards your endeavor.

Now, here was where both of you stood. Oh, how time flew.

"Do you remember when he accepted my confession?" Even with your eyes closed, you could almost feel Ganyu nodding at your words. You were the same, you felt as if you could recall it like it had only been yesterday too. "I was so happy I felt like I could float to the clouds and never return. The man of my dreams is finally mine! I thought," you laughed, but there was no hint of mirth evident in your tone.

"What was it like? Being loved by him?" That sort of question sounded foreign to Ganyu but still, she asked, a willingness on her part to indulge in your nostalgia.

"Warm like having someone wrap a blanket around you and comforting like feeling the steam from a cup with your favorite tea on your face after a long day," you hummed. If loving Zhongli and being loved by him were a feeling, it would've been one that you'd never let go of... but you knew this feeling was no longer the same after the truth.

"I am not his greatest love, yet he is mine," it was something you stated solemnly, having come to terms with that fact yet not being able to fully withstand the ache that came with it yet.

When you continued, your voice broke and you frowned, "Why does it have to hurt so much? I want to stay with him, I want to pretend I didn't hear anything that day, I want to go back to the time where I knew nothing about her — but I couldn't."

The corner of your eyes began to sting once more, welling up with tears at a possibility of euphoria which you could never go to. "If only I could, then I wouldn't spend all my nights awake, wondering why I wasn't her or thinking of ways I could somehow be better than her in his eyes. If I could, I'd be sleeping happily in his arms right now and... I wouldn't feel this pain anymore."

There was no stopping the waterfall running down your cheeks now and you could feel that stinging pain again as a result. "But that's a fantasy," you breathed out. You were just so tired and your knees were beginning to feel weak — but still, you looked at Ganyu through your blurred vision.

"...What should I do? Should I save myself or dwell in blissful ignorance?" You whispered with a smile that was unbefitting of your melancholic question. Ganyu hesitated but before she could formulate an answer, a familiar spoke from behind the two of you.

"...My love," a voice that was all too familiar and a nickname that caused all that was going on in your brain to halt.

You froze, veins running cold.

"R-Rex Lapis?"

Ganyu's shocked yelp confirmed it all.

There Zhongli was, standing there. A few strands of his hair looked amiss as if licked by the wind from a fast-paced trip, as if he had just gone places, as if he just went everywhere searching after waking up with you nowhere to be found in his arms. Maybe, that was exactly what he did.

His amber eyes were downcast and the way he was standing so fixedly instead of looking like he had just arrived instantly made your heart clench — because that could only mean one thing.

He heard everything.

.

.

.

[ WHAT IS YOUR NEXT DECISION? ]

↪ Stay quiet and dwell on your thoughts of breaking up with Zhongli.

↪ Wipe away your tears and put on a smile as if Zhongli didn't hear anything. — COMING SOON!

─ ⊹ ⊱ ・・・・・・☆・・・・・・・⊰ ⊹ ─

© SEELESTIA, jan 2023. do not repost, plagiarize, translate nor claim as your own.

[dufferpuffer]

Snapes Boggart

I don't think it will have anything to do with Lily. She is already dead, she had already rejected his friendship - the worst has already happened, and he has accepted that. He has taken these events into himself and grown from them. Voldemort's wrath? Mmm... Boggarts aren't really just something that scares you - they specifically try to make you feel your greatest fear. eg. Remus' isn't just a werewolf... but the threat of the full moon coming to make him transform, even though the moon isn't scary. Voldemort could figure out Snape is fooling him, and that would be quite spooky - but being killed isn't exactly something that worries Snape too much. Dumbledore losing faith in him is a better candidate, because Dumbledore is the only one with any care for him. If Albus kicked him to the curb, sent the Ministry after him, cancelled his role of Potions Master, told him to never come near Harry again... what exactly would he have to live for...? He may as well try and kill the dark lord himself. ((oh fuck thats an interesting fic idea - Severus on the run trying to single-handedly take down Voldemort, because he may aswell.))

I think his Boggart is his father.

His father was a muggle and he was abusive. I'm not saying Severus shakes in his boots every time he thinks of his dad, but the memories do still upset and embarrass him. He hated muggles and he loved magic. No muggle children liked him, only Lily - a witch. The muggle world gave him nothing but misery. Him being a half-blood was a shameful thing for a young Snape. His feelings about muggles cost him his friendship with Lily. His feelings about muggles lead him to become a Death Eater... lead Lily to her death. He has grown, he no longer seems to care about blood purity above aesthetic anyway... but his entire life has been irreparably changed and shaped around the fact he has Muggle blood. I think if Severus Snape walked into the classroom when Remus was teaching about Boggarts... his father would have walked right out of that cupboard and started belittling him in a thick Mid-Northerner Black Country accent, perhaps even drunken. Of course Severus is hardly going to cower in fear at his father... but I think just the thick reminder of where he came from, who he was, what decisions he has made in life because of it... it completely unsettles him. Seeing his fathers face is an instant trigger, and the humiliation of a room of students seeing it - god, he WISHES it was just Voldemort killing him...

[deathbxnny]

hello!! platonic scar, jiyan and aalto with a teen!reader who is a fractsidus member and is like sirin?

reader was kidnapped and experimented on from a very young age, which made them hate humanity over time and lead them to joining the fractsidus

As someone who loves Sirin so much as a character, I'm really happy to get this ask from you, Anon!! Thank you so much for it, and I hope you'll like this!!<33

Content: Teen!Reader, vague mentions of child experimentation, angst, hurt/comfort, platonic relationships, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!!

((Not proofread))

》SCAR

Scar treats you like all the other members at first, as he doesn't see the point in treating you any differently after hearing your backstory. All of them had a tragic background, so what's new? But it was your young age and clear anger that reminded him of himself, that caused him to perhaps reconsider his decision.

When you get assigned to be under his care, he makes sure to train you really well to be as good as you possibly can. He's not good at it and never will claim to be, but he tries to be there for you in his own twisted way. Whilst most would attempt to heal you from your past, he acknowledges it as something that's impossible and therefore just pushes you deeper onto it. It benefits their plans anyway.

With that said, he doesn't treat you cruelly and forms an alliance with you. He'll take care of you and keep you out of trouble, and you'll keep his back free. This eventually leads to you two forming a trusting bond that makes you good team partners. Whilst he has a hard time seeing you as anything else but a companion, deep down, he sees you as family in his own odd way.

》AALTO

Yeah, this man essentially just snatched you up and ran off with you, thinking you were kidnapped and forced to be a member by the Fractsidus instead. And by the time he realised that this was not the case, he and Encore were stuck with what essentially was a child criminal. But hey, the more the merrier, right?

With that said, whether you liked it or not, you're dragged onto a trip with them. You were understandably angry and annoyed at first, often complaining and yelling about how much you hated humans, until you eventually calmed down and noticed that it was alot more peaceful with them. They were silly and unserious, trying their best to be kind and there for you, which over time made them gain your trust.

When Aalto found out about your past, it made him ill. He heard about alot in his life, but the horrors you had to endure at such a young age made him upset. From that day on, he decided to prove that humanity can do better by being good to you himself. He wants you to lead a good and calm life one day... but will you accept leaving the Fractsidus for it? That's up to you to decide.

》JIYAN

Jiyan wasn't hostile or cruel to you when you were captured and brought to him by his troops. Kneeling down to your eye level, the general gave you a look that promised safety and security, despite your clear rejection for it. He initially took you in for questioning, but when it was proven that you didn't actually know much, he decided to take you under his wing instead. Some criticized his decision, but it felt right to him.

Having found out about your past through old records dug up from a mad scientist you briefly mentioned, Jiyan quickly found out about your sickening origins, which reaffirmed his decision. He understood and sympathized with your pain and rage, going as far as telling you so. The world hurt you, and so you wanted to hurt it back. A natural reaction, despite him being against it.

He decides from then on to completely take you away from the battlefield and get you into school instead. He gives you a warm and safe home, practically gifts you anything that he thinks will help you get better. There is a trust between you two that eventually establishes itself once you realize that someone was finally helping you.

[positivelybeastly]

Hey there! The post you made about the core of a well written Hank McCoy inspired me to ask if you'd be willing to do a similar deep dive into Hanks various relationships over the years. Not in a shippy way in so much as a pros and cons of the relationships ( all relationships have them , even good ones) and how they reflect on and influence Hanks character over time.

Hello hello! I would indeed be willing to do a deep dive, and, at the same time, find out if Tumblr text posts have a word limit! I also realised maybe 20 characters in that you meant actual. Relationships, as in romantic, and I've done just. Basically. All of his relationships. Including platonic ones. Oops. Oh well, hope you enjoy!

These won't be quite as exhaustive as if you asked me about a particular relationship, since I always work best with plenty of image resources and I already know I'm going to hit my image limit early, but I hope I can give at least my general thoughts on how Hank has influenced and changed, and been and influenced by, the following characters.

Edna and Norton McCoy

X-Men Unlimited vol. 1 #10, 1996.

You have to start all the way back at the beginning, and Hank's relationship with his parents is crucial to understanding why he is the way he is. Hank is the by product of a radiation accident that nearly killed his father, which led to the odd nature of his mutation - namely, that it manifested at birth in the form of abnormally large hands and feet.

This was, in many ways, the best case scenario that Edna and Norton could have hoped for, that their child not miscarry, be stillborn, or be born with a disability that would massively impact his quality of living - this was a very real possibility for them. So Hank being the way he was, actually stronger, more agile, and more dextrous than a normal child, and not to mention a genius intellect even at a young age (not related to his mutation, but it certainly didn't hurt) created a bit of a miracle baby effect.

They were unremittingly supportive and loving - they supported his choice in academics, they supported his football career, they supported his choice of girlfriends, they pushed him to be the best that he could be but never put undue pressure on him. He grew up feeling like he could do anything he wanted to, if he simply chose to.

The worst I can say about this relationship is that you could view it as fostering his ego - perhaps if they had tamped down on his ambitions a bit, maybe he never would have turned himself blue and furry in a fit of 'I know better than everyone else,' but I think that's a lot to put on his parents, honestly. He made that decision, and he has no-one to blame but himself for making it. Blaming his parents for that is like blaming your parents for daring to make you believe you can grow up to be somebody - like, what's the alternative, making you believe that you'll never be anybody? Horrible way to parent.

There's a bump in Marvel Team-Up #124 (1982) where Edna freaks out about her child growing up to be a superhero and more physically obvious mutant, but it's resolved when Hank proves himself to be a man of caliber and altruism, putting himself in harm's way to save a child - proving himself to be the boy that Edna raised, and she returns the favour, putting her life at risk to save him from Professor Power.

He may not be the CPA or 'normal' genius she may have wanted, but he's still brilliant, and she realises that quickly. I also think it's notable that Norton, his father, doesn't go through a similar patch, which is attributable to the fact that he sees Hank's mutation as his 'fault', as you can see in the panels above - he can't exactly blame Hank for being who he is, he's explicitly responsible for it. It would be the height of ridiculous for him to come down on Hank for who he is, when who he is is a direct result of Norton's act of heroism.

In many ways, Hank can do no wrong in his parents' eyes - but in many ways, Hank never does do wrong by his parents. He makes their lives comfortable and improves on it in a lot of ways with his intellect, and he keeps them safe as best he can. They're a little disappointed they aren't grandparents when we last hear from them in 2018, in the X-Men Christmas Special, but they're still defensive of him and love him, even though he's changed for a third time.

Charles Xavier

X-Force vol. 6 #20, 2021.

You knew this one was coming. You'll note that this is one of the few times that I'm going to use something from Benjamin Percy's X-Force in this deep dive, mostly because it's one of the few times that Percy comes close to examining who Hank is and why he is the way that he is. It's one of the few times in X-Force that anyone asks, why is Hank doing what he's doing? Why is he committing these actions?

Because, in many ways, he's still chasing Charles Xavier's approval.

Charles does Hank maybe the biggest disservice of any of his original X-Men, save maybe Scott - while he plucks Scott out of an abusive home and then moulds him into a soldier for his dream, pretty much completely failing to give him any coping mechanisms for what that's going to do to Scott's relationships with other people and his ability to maintain a normal life, Charles plucks Hank out of a loving home, and cuts him off from it. He telepathically wipes Hank's parents' mind of his existence for a while, to 'protect' him, but really, he's isolating Hank, and installing himself as a father figure.

Whether he realises he's doing this or not is immaterial, because it's canon, as established in Marvel Presents #85-92 (1991) and reaffirmed in X-Men Origins: Beast (2008). And though Hank doesn't appreciate it, on some level hates Charles for it forever, he falls for it, because he is a fundamentally altruistic person who knows he has a responsibility to use his intellect and his mutation to make life better for other people - this is the canon reason he joins the X-Men, and it's important to remember that, because he has no need of training to foster his gifts like Jean or Bobby, and he has a home, unlike Scott. In many ways, he's actually most like Warren, but we'll get to that.

There are moments where Hank separates from Xavier, most notably in Uncanny X-Men #8 (1964) and Amazing Adventures #11 (1971), and it's significant that the latter split leads to, arguably, the best years of his life, where he's freest to be who he wants to be and enjoy his life. He joins the Avengers and the Defenders, he becomes a sex symbol, he feels comfortable in his own skin, he explicitly feels no pressure to use his intellectual gifts, and instead is, arguably, most himself.

It's especially interesting when you consider that even with all that in mind, he still matures and grows up and realises, independently of Xavier, that he still has a responsibility to help - but rather than being inorganically forced to take on that role by a man he doesn't know, he realises it in New Defenders #142 (1985) when a mutant activist calls him out on his immaturity and his lack of forward momentum.

Hank self-reflects, and self-actualises, and forms a grassroots mutant political activist group called M.O.N.S.T.E.R (Mutants Only Need Sensitivity, Tolerance, and Equal Rights), which is something that Charles would NEVER do. Its emphasis on elevating mutants everywhere, rather than focusing on providing examples of mutant heroism like the X-Men, is unique, and I really do wish we'd gotten to see more of a grass roots approach to mutant politics. But.

Then, Hank gets pulled into X-Factor, and all of that goes away. Then, he gets pulled into the X-Men, and his life becomes smaller. And smaller, and smaller, and smaller. And his life becomes worse, and worse, and worse. Eventually, he hits the point where Charles is handing him an Infinity Stone, and consigning him to joining the Illuminati in his stead, and Hank doesn't want to be there, but he feels obligated to, because this was Charles' last wish, his literal will and testament, and he can't say no to that. But he should've. Because it tortures him, and it all ends up being for nothing anyway. Thanks, Chuck.

That being said, I think one of the most telling depictions of Hank and the Professor's relationship actually comes from Astonishing X-Men vol. 3 #12, where Scott is dressing down the Professor for enslaving Danger. Something I really appreciate about that scene is that it highlights how different Hank and Scott are in their relationship with Xavier.

Perhaps because Scott grew up with an abusive parental figure in Jack Winters and Hank grew up with very loving parents, Scott was able to recognise Charles' toxic behaviour and break away from Xavier - it might also have had something to do with the fact that at least one of Charles' biggest fuck ups had to do with Scott's brother Gabriel? Hard to say. But Hank, who Charles very carefully isolated from his parents by mindwiping them for years of Hank's whole existence, never really managed to break free of him, and it shows here really acutely.

Hell, it arguably never went away, even into the Krakoan era - a more interesting version of X-Force would have really dived into the kind of fucked up dynamic they have, where Chuck keeps covering for Beast's moral transgressions for seemingly no reason, because in some respects, he's responsible for them. He gave him the power, he gave him no oversight, but even more pressingly, he wasn't there for him emotionally. He pulled him into this life and didn't prepare him for the toll it would take, how much it would ruin Beast by the time he gets to Krakoa. Beast needed someone to help him there, and no-one did, which is part of why he went on the skids, I think.

But anyway, Whedon does a lot of moments where Hank is present for scenes but doesn't speak, which is important for a character who's well known for not shutting the fuck up. This, the initial cure conversation, the whole conversation about Piotr - Hank clams up. He doesn't feel like he can talk about it. He's off in his own head, his thoughts are his own, he doesn't feel the need to share them.

And here, it's especially important, because this is a big moral violation that Charles has committed in their name. I know it may be hard to remember, but back in the day, Hank had a moral opinion that was worth something, so the fact that he doesn't say anything here speaks volumes about just how much he feels capable of calling out the Professor, i.e. not at all. He craves Xavier's validation, his approval, he feels a kinship with Chuck. So he doesn't criticise him like he should.

It's especially interesting given that this would continue through the Utopia era. Every time Scott distanced himself from Xavier, Hank was there to comfort Charles, and I feel like that's just something he feels like he has to do. He feels like the devoted brother to Scott's more radical, more willing to criticise brother, and if Bendis had any interest in Beast as a character, he would've played on that in All-New X-Men - the fact that Scott killed their toxic father figure, and Beast feels both free of an influence he didn't know was choking him, but outraged that Scott would break their 'family' like that.

I find Beast compelling because of his flaws, and this is an interesting moment when you take all of that into account. I don't even know if that was the intention of this scene, or if Whedon just wanted to give Scott the speech, but it's interesting, nonetheless, and it really shines a light on how Hank and Charles see each other. I'm very interested to see Hank's take on where Charles has ended up in From the Ashes, because it has the potential to really change that dynamic.

Scott Summers

Astonishing X-Men vol. 3 #34, 2010.

Hank McCoy is Scott Summers' best friend.

I said it because it's true, and it's true reading all the way back to the Silver Age, honestly. Even as Bobby's screaming his head off about Scott being a stuck up asshole, Hank's quietly reminding Bobby that Scott can't be anyone other than who he is, "he can't help his psychological make-up," and I think that gets at a really important part of their relationship. Just as Scott's mind is attractive to telepaths because it's so neatly ordered and makes perfect sense to them, Scott's personality is appealing to Hank because he makes sense to him. Scott is orderly, anxious, dedicated, intelligent, hides his true feelings, and wants to belong, even as he stands apart. Hank is most, if not all, of these things, and so, they get each other. Bobby fucks around, Warren schmoozes and gets cocky, Jean is a GIRL AND THEREFORE SCARY, but Hank and Scott just get each other.

Which makes it all the more tragic when they fall apart, because Hank sees it all and it makes sense to him, even as it breaks his heart. What a lot of people misunderstand about Hank's arc during Utopia is that they read his moral grandstanding as self-righteousness or hypocrisy or a big ol' stick he wants to use to hit people with, and it's honestly not that. I really don't think it is.

I think he sees Scott sacrificing the parts of himself that make him a good man so that he can make a better general, and it terrifies him. He sees him become callous, manipulative, cold-blooded, willing to risk everything on a course of action because he believes he's right. Hank thinks he's fighting for the soul of the X-Men, for his own soul, for Scott's soul, even as everyone else is fighting for mutantkind.

Hank went through his own journey in Endangered Species, and he knows that there's nothing he can do, so why fight it? Why not just stop, and live out his days being the best man he can be, a member of the first and last generation of mutants, and let it go? Because no-one saw what he saw.

No-one saw the end of mutantkind inscribed on the vellum of reality like he did, saw what he would become if he did what Scott did and did anything and everything to stop the death of the mutant race - no-one else knows how close he came to jumping into the abyss and becoming Dark Beast. And no-one, honestly, cares. Hank doesn't tell anyone, because he never does, but it absolutely informs his views going forward. It can't not.

But no-one is interested enough in Hank McCoy's feelings to really ask why he's so insistent, or what happened when he was gone. He's a private individual, and he never told anyone. He felt profoundly ashamed of what he did while he was gone, which didn't exactly help. So his moral insistence just comes across as hatred, and it's not. He loves Scott Summers like a brother. That's why he fought so hard to keep him the way he was, not the way he became.

I also find it interesting that, in some ways, Hank is responsible for Scott becoming a happier, more well-adjusted individual, if in the most fucked up and irresponsible and manipulative way possible. Even in the midst of their relationship being at its lowest point, Hank was inadvertently responsible for time displaced Scott joining the Champions and getting to spend time with his father, giving him precious memories of a life not lived for Xavier that he didn't have before, and it's arguable that that's part of what mellowed Scott, coming out of the Death of X/revolution era.

It's not a good thing that Hank did that, obviously, he did it because - well, because he was having a brain aneurysm called Brian Michael Bendis, but whatever, it wouldn't have happened without Hank's intervention. I don't know if it's fair to give Hank credit for this, because those are Scott's choices and Scott's relationships, but the sequence of events is such. Idk. I try to see the best in Hank's actions and make them make sense to how I see the character.

A better version of X-Force would have made Scott central to Hank's descent into darkness, because it's frankly too obvious a connection to make, but whatever, we missed that boat. I just know that, just like how Hank didn't want for Scott to hollow himself out like he did, Scott wouldn't have wanted Hank to hollow himself out like he did, either, and I'm glad to see that reflected in MacKay's X-Men #1. I hope that friendship is rebuilt, because it deserves to be.

Jean Grey

New X-Men #124, 2002.

Hank McCoy is Jean Grey's brother.

Okay, so maybe not biologically, but they are basically brother and sister. It's why the stabs at making a relationship between them have never really worked for me, and I just enjoy the friendship moments between them too much to think of them together romantically. They're both intensely empathetic, deep feeling, loving characters, and in some ways, despite Jean being a literal telepath, Hank actually gets people better than Jean does sometimes (see X-Men Annual '95) because where she can be blinded by anger and passion and justice, Hank sees people for who they are and what they want very easily.

Almost any time that Hank is feeling blue (heehee) in 90s X-Men or New X-Men, it's Jean that pulls him out of it, because she's spent the most time learning what his habits are, when he's not really feeling as all right as he promises, and I honestly don't think it's a massive coincidence that the period that adult Jean spends dead (2005-2017) is a period that Hank spends alternately depressed, irrational, or alone. Maybe that's a form of dependency? Possibly. I just think they're best friends and that they make each other better when they're around one another.

Hank believes in Jean. He walks through the snow, thinking the rest of the X-Men are dead, believing that if he can at least get Jean out, then maybe he hasn't failed. He gets yanked onto the Shi'ar flagship, hears about what Dark Phoenix did, and instantly tries to throw the book at Empress Lilandra because he believes in Jean, and he believes in justice and law and due process. He watches her manifest the Phoenix and piece Emma together with her telekinesis, yanking her consciousness into her body once more, and even though he's afraid, he sticks with her. He trusts her with his mind, giving her his anatomy knowledge so she can work informed, even as the flames of her Phoenix form lick at his arm and burn him.

Hank believes in Jean Grey.

Bobby Drake

X-Men: First Class #4, 2007.

Bobby Drake is Hank McCoy's first best friend.

There were definitely great friends beforehand (Jennifer Nyles comes to mind), but in terms of making Hank feel normal, in terms of becoming friends to have fun and just hang out and because you simply like each other's vibes and feel comfortable each other? Yeah, Bobby is absolutely Hank's first best friend.

It's probably best exemplified in New Defenders, especially #122, where Bobby just. Needs Hank. He needs his best friend. Hank always has a knack for chasing away Bobby's blues, and you see it again and again throughout that run, where Hank is just who Bobby goes to first whenever he's feeling bad (as well as in 90s X-Men), because Hank always seems to know what to say.

I also don't think it's an exaggeration to say that there must've been a lot of good feeling going on for notable stick in the mud 60s Hank and retroactively gay Bobby to go out on double dates with Vera and Zelda. Hank bought an entire cabin so that they'd have a place to go to. Can you think of anyone else that Hank's done that for? I rest my case. (Is it all a little gay? Maybe. But it's not gay if the socks stay on.)

Where this relationship falls apart is when Bobby stops growing before Hank does, and what Hank needs outpaces what Bobby can provide, as seen in Uncanny X-Men #518. It's not necessarily Bobby's fault, he's just - not a very emotionally capable person, a lot of the time, his primary character flaw is an inability to grow up, and so Hank throws something heavy at him, and his best, most immediate impulse is to just say, well, deal with it how you've always dealt with it.

And that's just not good enough. And in many ways, I think Hank just stops trusting Bobby at that point, to the extreme where Bobby calls out for every other member of the original X-Men but him at the 2023 Hellfire Gala as he dies, and I wasn't surprised one bit. They stop appearing in comics together, Hank doesn't feature in his modern solo series' at all, and their interactions are fine, but nowhere near what they were.

Warren Worthington

Uncanny X-Men #297, 1992.

Warren is the original X-Man that Hank is most like.

Which, you might think is strange, given that Warren is a rich kid with wings and Hank is a farmboy quarterback with big feet, but it's true, by virtue of three facts - one, they're the two most obvious, physically mutated members of the O5.

Two, they came to heroism on their own. Warren's turn as the Avenging Angel, and Hank's fighting against the Conquistador in his origin, both predate their time as X-Men, and this is massively important in their development because it demonstrates that altruism and self-sacrifice are intrinsic in their characters. They believe in doing good things to help people, or stopping bad people from doing bad things, because it's the right thing to do. Whereas Scott and Jean and Bobby emerged from tragedy and ruin, Hank and Warren came from a place of stability and a desire to do good.

Three, they both undergo a terrifying physical metamorphosis that causes massive changes in their personalities, Warren becoming Archangel and Hank becoming a much more literal Beast. This point of commonality is a rock for them both, and as you can see, it helps them through. They realise that for all their struggles with the other aspects of their new selves, they're still, in the ways that count, the same people - they're still the friends they always were.

It's also very significant to me that Warren is the X-Man that Hank first 'comes out' to as the Beast, in Amazing Adventures #15 (1971), and I don't think it's a real coincidence that even as Charles tries to assert that Hank's protest that he's his own man, not an X-Man, and Jean shies away in shock from the vehemence with which Hank rejects their telepathic call, Warren calls bullshit and just goes.

He asserts himself. He's independent, and he breaks from the X-Men, much like Hank and Bobby did, Hank going to the Avengers and Bobby and Warren to the Champions, then all three of them to the Defenders - even as Scott and Jean stay with the X-Men, a decision that will lead to a whole line of catastrophe that ends with Jean dead, and Scott resigned to a life left unfulfilled because his one true love is dead.

Meanwhile, Hank, Bobby and Warren are clustered in a borrowed quinjet in their best togs, going to a wedding. Warren asks why he and Bobby are going along, given they hardly know the couple. Hank replies Warren that he's family, and he wants them there, and that's that, and there's a quiet, warm little smile on his face, because he is. They are.

I also find it very interesting that Hank and Warren undergo a very similar trajectory, tracking from Utopia to the Dark Angel Saga for Warren, and All-New X-Men to Krakoa for Hank - they cloister themselves off from others, they lose sight of who they originally were, they roll around in the blood of innocents, and in the end, they both end up dying and losing their memories, born anew.

Like I said. Warren is the original X-Man that Hank is most like.

Jennifer Nyles

X-Men Unlimited vol. 2 #10, 2005.

Jen is an underrated figure in Hank's history, and that's mostly because she has very limited appearances, none of which quite make sense with one another. Her first appearance in Marvel Presents #85-92 posits that she was, in many ways, Hank's first love, the person he missed most of all those who were made to forget him, and that the absence of him in her mind compelled her to study the mind so that she might try and unlock what she knew was missing. In the end, he stays away from her, because she nearly dies and he feels he endangers her. He probably does.

Then, we have a retroactive appearance in Origins: Beast, and the above story in Unlimited. Origins: Beast doubles down on her importance, stating that she's the person who encourages Hank to come out of his shell even before he's an X-Man, to use his gifts and be the brilliant person she knows he is, and while Unlimited agrees with that importance, she knows who Hank is at a time when she shouldn't. How to square it away? Ehh. I kinda don't. I like the three stories and how they impact and change and demonstrate Hank's qualities too much to try and change them. Instead, I just enjoy them.

In another life, Hank and Jen absolutely got married and they had a brilliant history together. She's almost as smart as he is, just as fiery (she punches out a bully antagonising Hank), and she has a strong moral, empathetic core. Hank, honestly, has a type. But even more than a romantic figure, I like her as an inspirational figure for Hank, someone that pushes him in the right direction and leads him to the right answers without giving them to him. She accepts him at a time when he needed it most, and helps him rebuild his life.

Tony Stark

Amazing Adventures #14, 1972.

For a pair of geniuses that snark at each other almost non-stop whenever they're around, and who feel almost constantly at loggerheads in classic Avengers, Tony is very important to Hank's development, sometimes by virtue of his faults.

First off, he's the superhero who turns up to investigate Hank's transformation at Brand, and his apparent death there at Hank's hands (a Mastermind illusion) and his mercy and understanding of the torment that Hank is undergoing are massively formative in Hank coming to terms with his new bestial form. He teaches Hank's two lessons - one, that he needs to control himself in a way he didn't need to before, and two, that he can still rely on people to see the human in him if he acts it.

Secondly - it's his inadvertent dismissal of Hank during the Avengers' examination of Wonder Man that sparks off Hank getting annoyed about his genius being ignored, pushes him out of the Mansion in a snit . . . and that's when he discovers that he's not just adjusting to being a beast anymore. No, he's fucking hot now. Even when he's being a dick (without really meaning to), Tony helps Hank grow, helping him realise that he doesn't need to be the high performing intellectual he was on the X-Men, the Avengers have that covered, but also, that he can afford to be someone else as well.

They continue to be friends for years and years, with their friendship built up over the course of plenty of classic Avengers issues, leading to a complete bypassing of a big ol' hero vs. hero fight in X-Factor Annual #1 (1986) because Hank's just like, oh hey, Iron Man, it's me, and Tony's just like, oh hey Beast, what the fuck's all this about? And it just. Fixes the problem.

I also don't think that it's a coincidence that Hank and Tony are the two most visibly affected when the Illuminati mindwipe Steve during the Incursions arc, with Hank unable to even really look at Steve when it happens, and Hank is constantly pulling on that morality chain even as they tie each other into knots, trying to justify the destruction of worlds. For as much as they give each other shit, Hank and Tony can rely on each other to give it to 'em straight, and that's important when their heads can get as big as these guys.

Wanda Maximoff

Uncanny Avengers vol. 3 #30, 2017.

Hank should hate Wanda more than he does.

The event that Wanda caused, the Decimation, was, in a lot of people's opinions, the beginning of the end for Henry McCoy. It stripped him of his morality and his pretensions and his ability to do anything. It was the height of cruelty, and Wanda did it without arguably meaning to. Not casually, but in a moment of instability. Leaving a gaping wound in evolution that Hank tried to fix.

He threw away a lot, trying to fix it. He wrecked a lot of relationships, came away feeling dirty, consorted with demons. Became acutely aware of every one of his limitations. And yet. He never really blamed her. Because how could he?

After all, he knew Wanda before the mess. When she was a brilliant friend and teammate on the Avengers. When she was shining, glimmering proof that people could change and become better, if only they tried and were given the chance. When she was at her best. And he never stopped believing she could be that again. It certainly didn't help that they had a certain wonder man in common, but honestly, they're just great friends.

Hank supported her in Children's Crusade, even in the face of the X-Men going kill crazy, and he never held a grudge. Even when he finds her, at the end of his rope, in Endangered Species, when he's at his most fraught and defeated, he just. Wants to fix things. It would be so easy to be hateful and resentful, but he just doesn't have it in him. After all, he knows what it's like to ruin your life in an instant because of a bad decision, and to want to claw it back however you can.

Carol Danvers

Ms. Marvel vol. 2 #18, 2007.

Honestly, for someone who you often see getting blasted on the X-Men Reddit for the Superhuman Registration Act/where were you when our babies were burning panels, Carol has a lot of really strong relationships within the X-Men, but I think her bond with Hank is especially strong - which is saying something, considering their first meeting was a fight! But, honestly, they just like and respect each other. They don't tolerate injustice, they believe in being heroes for everyone, not just the few, and they support each other.

Even in the midst of Civil War II, arguably the single worst that Carol has ever been written (not counting Avengers #200, take your pick of a character assassination), there's a moment where Tony is begging Carol to rethink her Minority Report bullshit, and she says, fine, I'll consider your evidence - but only if Hank checks it. And he says he has, and it's not wrong. And she knows that that means something.

The best friends will tell you when you're wrong. And you'll listen to them.

Heather Douglas

The New Defenders #139, 1984.

Hank and Heather have an almost constantly combative relationship from the instant Moondragon joins the Defenders, with Hank never afraid to let her know that he doesn't like her and that he doesn't want her on 'his' team. In his estimation she's high, and mighty, and conceited, and possessed of more power than wisdom.

And. Guess what?

Hank's fucking wrong. Heather is trying. Yes, she backslides, she has her moments of true ego and duplicity, but it takes Hank far too long to come to realise that she's trying as hard as she is - and frankly, she's right to smack him down and humiliate him from time to time, because he can be conceited. He acts as though the Defenders are his team, and he harbours pretensions of leadership that no-one takes seriously, because Hank is not a leader, you don't even have to dislike him to know that - and it takes him a while to realise that.

Their combative relationship keeps the other in check. They grow as a result of being around one another, even if they never quite settled things between them. Hank's maturation into a grown adult, into a man able to be more than just a superhero, is in no small part thanks to Moondragon's barbs and pushes and slaps at his ego, and he should be grateful that he got the chance to make good on that chance to mature, because Heather didn't, in the end.

Alison Blaire

Marvel Heartbreakers #1, 2010.

I'm gonna be real, the Beauty and the Beast miniseries by Ann Nocenti is not great. It has moments of fun, some pathos, but for the most part, it's incredibly soapy, incredibly hackneyed, goes nowhere, has a lot of weird anti-set up, and Hank is strangely incredibly violent and cruel in it at times. For someone claiming Hank was his usual charming self, Nocenti sure wrote him as a borderline psycho.

But. The Heartbreakers epilogue for that relationship redeems it, honestly, and it gains added poignancy when a future version of Alison is killed in Battle of the Atom, in one of the few instances of that series actually managing a moment of pathos. There's no magic trick to why Hank and Alison work, they just sort of find each other hot and fun and they're there for each other in a weird, fucked up time in Alison's life, so maybe it was inevitable that it faded to nothing.

I just like to think there's always a lingering softness, a lingering what if, for the both of them. A potential of something, if not an actual something.

Vera Cantor

The New Defenders #149, 1985.

Oh, Vera . . . you deserved better.

Gonna be brutally honest, Hank treated Vera kinda like shit. I don't think he meant to, it was never a relationship he was invested in, and he said as much, he was interested in the stability it represented, but I'm genuinely sorry for Vera that she got caught up in the crossfire of it. She was dismissed and treated like a pick-up, drop-off girlfriend when she was looking for a good man - and Hank is a good man, but at this point? Not what she was looking for. Not what she needed.

I'm glad we see her again in X-Factor and she's doing well for herself. I'm fairly convinced that she's a lesbian because Hank may have ruined men for her (in the not good way), but hey, a pro-mutant activist? That's pretty worthy - and considering how Hank treated her, pretty big minded. I like to think this taught Hank to be more considerate of people's feelings and grow out of his womaniser stage.

Julio Richter

X-Factor vol. 1 #18, 1987.

For a character often defined by his teaching abilities, Hank actually wasn't a particularly great teacher or carer for children when he first started - I always think there's a good deal of significance in the fact that X-Factor #1 has him searching out a position in academia, being rejected out of prejudice, but then finding his way to a teaching position through way of X-Factor, though I doubt that was planned.

Regardless of whether or not it was planned, I do think his relationship with Julio Richter, or Rictor, is massively important to Hank's development, because everything that Hank gets wrong with Tabitha Smith, he gets right with Julio. He encourages him, gives him his clothes, never talks down to him, nurtures his potential, pushes him to learn and think for himself - and it's rewarded.

Julio imprints on Hank strongly, and you can see that he favours Hank amongst all the other X-Factor members for a reason. This relationship largely went away in future, sadly, but I always like to think that it remains in some fashion, even if only in small ways.

Trish Tilby

X-Factor vol. 1 #36, 1988.

Yeah, you knew this was coming.

Honestly . . . I can see what Hank saw in her as a human being. She's a woman of fierce convictions. She believes in truth, and honesty, and justice. She is pro-mutant, after a fashion. And I have to give her credit, she does have her moments of heroism, like in this issue, when she risks her life to help Hank save a bridge of people as Inferno kicks into high gear. There are moments of good between them.

But fuck me she's an awful human being.

Leaking the fact that the Legacy Virus has jumped to humans directly leads to a mutant hate crime that ends in a death. She barges in to a sick, dying man's hospital room in the search of a scoop. And I'm not even gonna get into what happened when Hank turned feline.

She's just a trainwreck of breaches of journalistic ethics, and I hate her to bits. If she taught Hank anything, it was that the people you admire and love can disappoint you, and it says a lot that it's a one-two punch of her, and Cassandra fucking Nova that shatters Hank's self-esteem into a million pieces. What rarified company. The very fact that she tries to get back together with Hank after this, like, what even the fuck, man.

Jubilation Lee

Uncanny X-Men #308, 1993.

These two make me smile.

I think Jubilee awakens something very simple and immature in Hank, but something healthy at the same time - she encourages him, and everyone else at the Mansion, up to and including Professor X, to have fun. At a time when they were losing people left and right, it would have been easy to lose heart, but Jubilee kept Hank and the rest of the team bolstered, kept them focused. That's no small thing, honestly. Maybe she doesn't have quite as strong a relationship with Hank as she does Logan - that's a hard bond to match - but it's hard not to look at these two and see a true blue friendship.

I also adore that it came back in full force in X-Men vol. 4 (2013), where Hank often acted as mission and home support for the all-female team of X-Men that featured in that book. Taking care of baby Shogo, helping Omega Sentinel with her physical rehab - Hank was an invaluable asset in that run, and his scenes with Jubilee were always a treat.

Dark Beast

X-Men: Endangered Species, 2007.

"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."

Dark Beast is such a well constructed character because he is not just Henry McCoy if Henry McCoy were evil. Dark Beast is, what if Henry McCoy were raised in an evil world that believes in evil things and the only thing to do is be evil, lest it kill you? There's such a curious drive to betterment, to becoming stronger, smarter, more, to him, that speaks to the same in Hank, but it's all just so twisted up. It's driven by fear where it's driven by hope in Hank.

Because he is afraid. And he is human, much as he might hate the label.

He's a warning. He's a check and balance. He's a cruel joke. He's a monster. He's the other side of Hank's fears. Hank fears devolution, becoming more of an animal, giving in to the Beast, but Dark Beast represents evolution, becoming less animal and more - other. Something that considers itself above human, animal, mutant. Intelligence without conscience, drive without wisdom.

He's not what all Hank McCoys inevitably become. That's stupid, and basic, and anyone who believes that is stupid and basic. That's genetic essentialism, and it's shit media literacy. It's also the basis for X-Force (2019) and I reject that hypothesis entirely.

Henry's much more interesting than evil Hank - not just because he's funnier, and better at his job, and a more efficient villain, but because try as he might, there's still something essentially human inside of him. Something stopped him from killing Hank's - his - parents.

An essential, viral, inescapable fact.

There's something good in him, just as there's something bad in Hank. And it will bedevil them both forever, because they can't get rid of it.

Cecilia Reyes

Astonishing X-Men vol. 3, 2012.

Honestly, maybe the most grown up and equal relationship that Hank ever had, and I don't really feel like he even really had the chance to have it. Cecilia is everything Trish wishes she could be, and much more besides. Uncompromising in her morals, fiercely dedicated to healing, defensive of her boundaries, strong, independent, intelligent, funny - and kind.

She held a torch for him, for a long time. There's a lot of pictures of him in her apartment, both from the 90s and his feline form. She felt for him in a way maybe he didn't realise. Maybe he's the one who got away. Maybe she is. Either way, these two just. Work. There's a world out there where they became something more, and that's a happier world for Hank, honestly. But, hey ho.

Emma Frost

New X-Men #123, 2002.

Sometimes friendships don't make sense. Other times they do.

The friendship between Hank and Emma always made sense to me. The wit, the banter, the emotional intelligence, the willingness to play to roles assigned to them by their image - they were practically destined to be friends. And yet, often forgotten. Every now and then, it crops up, and I cherish it, but for the most part, they're just irrepressibly bitchy all the way through Morrison's run, and that'll always be special to me.

I always try and see good where I can, and I wanted to post an exchange from Secret Empire Omega where Hank tries to bolster Emma in the wake of New Tian's fall, because I like the moment for them, but in the end, it's just too poor of an event and a context for me to share it. All my props to Nadia Shammas in the X-Force Annual, the one issue of X-Force I thought actually had a decent handle on a villainous Beast - by sheer virtue of actually remembering that people would care. Emma would care.

Abigail Brand

Siege vol. 2 #2, 2015.

Abigail Brand did not make Hank McCoy into a war criminal.

To say so is to betray a basic lack of understanding of this entire relationship, but then, what else is new? A lot of people seemingly don't get who Hank is and why he works. Out of universe, but also in, oddly enough.

Kate Pryde and Kurt Wagner both speculate about what made Hank into what he became in X-Force, and they think it's Abigail, because that's an easy explanation, but it's not the truth. Not remotely. It betrays that they didn't know Hank as well as they thought they did, and Hank died not being known by a lot of people.

Which . . . sucks. But it is what it is.

Abigail knew him. She knew him as a kind man. Kinder than her. Kinder than anyone. She wanted that kindness. Craved it. Needed it. Managed to jam it into her work life, by hook and by crook. But I don't think Hank minded. At that point in his life, he needed what she offered, and though I don't think either of them ever thought they'd catch real feelings, they both absolutely did.

He kept her honest, she gave him options. He gave her moral dimension, she gave him self-esteem. They complemented each other perfectly, and I'm sorry that they never got a fair chance, really.

Sure, it was all essentially motivated by a desire to get good dick, but sometimes, that's all it needs to be.

Kurt Wagner

Uncanny X-Men: The Heroic Age, 2010.

Ahhh, Kurt . . . honestly, I don't think Hank and Kurt were ever shown to be quite as close on panel as you'd think they would be, in part because there's a One Blue Limit on X-Men teams for a while (seriously, check the X-Men team line-ups, and you'll realise that Hank and Kurt are pretty much never on the same team until 2015, with Amazing X-Men, a team Hank promptly leaves at issue #5).

But I like to think they're good friends, even if Kurt does fall for Hank's facade of being okay, just like a lot of other people. I like to think that Kurt represents a kind of ideal to Hank - he's what Hank, in many ways, wishes he could be. A better man. A happier man. A more hopeful man. A man who believes in a higher power, still. I certainly don't think it's a coincidence that it cuts Hank deep, when Kurt dies at Bastion's hands.

Steve Rogers

Secret Avengers vol. 1 #21, 2012.

Hank and Steve have an odd relationship. In a way, he does a lot for Hank, bolstering him during his time in the Avengers, treating him as a valued teammate - even if, as is typical of 70s writing styles, they can both come across as cunts to one another occasionally - and one of my favourite moments for Hank is in Avengers Annual #11, where Steve calls Hank out as a man who won't kill. Doesn't have it in him.

Which makes this moment, a sequel to what Steve pushes Hank to do in Secret Avengers #16, hurt so much. Steve had to know what it would cost Hank, to shortcut his way into an Oppenheimer arc, but he hoped the math would comfort Hank. I don't think it did.

I don't know if it was intentional, but it haunts me that both Scott and Steve use Hank (Scott during Secret Invasion, and Steve in SA #16) to commit acts of mass murder, and try to console him with the numbers of people saved through atrocity. Hank tried to escape all of that, fleeing from Utopia, and maybe he was naive to think a band of Secret Avengers would be a place to hide from doing bad things, but it doesn't change the essential fact. Scott and Steve used Hank to achieve their goals, and he had to just deal with it.

"Are you seriously asking a mutant what he'll do to avoid extinction?" Mindwiping Steve in New Avengers vol. 3 hurt, I'm sure, but it's a fine old thing, trying to morally grandstand to a man you explicitly used to make a nuclear bomb. A lot of mixed up history in that room.

Broo

Wolverine & the X-Men vol. 1 #7, 2012.

If only Hank's adopted sons were given as much attention and care as Wolverine's adopted daughters. Ah well. There was a lot of work being done over this run, to make it clear that Hank, Abigail and Broo were forming a family unit, including Abigail being there as Broo's parental figure during his graduation and a possible future showing Broo as head of S.W.O.R.D, but all of it eventually came to naught, which saddens me. Broo deserved better. So did Hank.

Time Displaced Beast

X-Men: Blue #35, 2018.

There was a kernel of an idea here.

It was inevitable that Hank was going to end up hating himself. He's a character largely defined by self-hatred, in most of his forms. The thread that never got pulled was the fact that, honestly?

Older Hank should hate younger Hank just as much.

Younger Hank is much closer to the man who turns them blue, who's ego tripping at Brand, than older Hank is. That's what leads him down this entire path, of magic and demon summoning and servitude, that's broken only by the intervention of other X-Men.

But, whatever. The era of lost potential, tbh.

. . . . . . . .

Oh, hey. You're still here?

Yeah, I guess there is someone missing, huh?

Simon Williams

Uncanny Avengers vol. 3 #28, 2017.

Avengers Annual #6, 1976.

X-Force vol. 6 #49, 2024.

Avengers vol. 3 #14, 1999.

Wonder Man vol. 2 #5, 1991.

Avengers Annual vol. 2 #1, 2012.

They complete one another.

They simply are their best selves around one another.

Even when sick, and twisted, and cruel, and beyond redemption, Hank couldn't bear for the possibility of harm to an invulnerable, immortal, ionic man. He would rather dash all of his plans, make it all for nothing, kill himself, than risk hurting Simon.

At the start of this whole ass breakdown, you said, all relationships have pros and cons. And I think that's true. Mostly. But when Hank and Simon are together, nothing can tear them apart, nothing can bring them down, nothing can stop them, nothing can keep them from doing the right thing.

I can't think of a negative to them being together.

They love each other.

Thanks for bearing with me. :)

[thatasadbitch]

𖧷 𝒪𝓁ℴ'ℰ𝓎𝓀𝓉𝒶𝓃 𖧷

𝒩ℯ𝓉ℯ𝓎𝒶𝓂 𝓍 𝒻ℯ𝓂!𝒩𝒶'𝓋𝒾!𝓇ℯ𝒶𝒹ℯ𝓇

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: this is +18, it contains unprotected sex, breeding kink and fingering. if you don't like it generally just don't read it. the characters are both in their 20s.

𝓌ℴ𝓇𝒹𝒸ℴ𝓊𝓃���: 1.5k

𝓇ℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉: hiiii , So this is my first time requesting anything so , Idk really what to say 😭 but um can you please write a smut with either neteyam or tsu’tey with breeding kinks 😭 Like they are olo’eyktan trying to make a like an heir , pretty please 🫶🏻

𖧷𖧷𖧷

Neteyam and I had already been partners for some time, when he was proclaimed olo'eyktan and thus head of the omatikaya clan.

After all he was the eldest son of the previous clan chief Jake Sully, the toruk Makto had had to leave the clan some time ago due to various problems with the Sky People and Neteyam being that he does not have five fingers like his three brothers, he would in no way case conspicuous and thus remained to protect his clan as an excellent Olo'eyktan.

But this has now happened months ago, things had relaxed over time and even if not completely, every so often there were expeditions to annihilate some half-human who had gone too far into the forest, but other than that, everything had reconciled back to a sort of normality.

On the other hand, Neteyam is perfect for the role that has been assigned to him and everyone is convinced of it, the only thing that makes someone whisper is still the lack of a son, an heir to whom the position of clan chief would pass.

In reality this doesn't bother us that much the fact of not having had children yet is a decision shared by both perhaps still too young to really think about it, and among other things, as warriors which we both are and things happened not like this a long time ago it was definitely not the best time for me to get pregnant.

But now things had calmed down and inside Neteyam's head, this thought couldn't stop haunting him relentlessly, only the image of his partner carrying his child made him wince with excitement, a kind of excitement that it clouded his mind and made him hard as a rock and that he probably wouldn't be able to suppress those instincts much longer.

I was hunting, my ears were focused on the sounds of the forest and especially on the movements of my prey.

Until another type of noise makes my ears spin, and makes my prey run away, i hiss in frustration and turn around to find my partner watching me from not too far away "how loud are you, you missed dinner?" I say looking at his proud smile "I've been here for a while actually, I had to ask you something, but looking at you was definitely better" I blush and slapped his arm lightly "What did you have to ask me?" I ask looking at his eyes become suddenly more serious and I hear him sigh "I wanted you to give me an opinion on my plan of attack, what I thought I'd do in a week or so" I nod and together we head towards the tree house, more precisely to our hut where Neteyam keeps his ' notes ' for battles etc... I take the map in my hand and start reading the sketched notes on the paper.

The thing I don't know is that while I'm blabbering about some changes Neteyam looks at my figure not hearing what I'm saying at all, the only thing he thinks about again is wanting to cum inside me so many times as to fill my limbs and especially to fill my belly with his puppies.

His eyes are misty with a dark mist as he watches my hips move along with my ass occasionally as I speak, waist narrow and back perfectly arched on the table "you know maybe you should put some more warriors on the Ikran-" is the only sentence that he feels the slightest and that I don't even finish because I feel his big warm and tight hands on my hips with his pelvis against my perfect ass to make his hard cock feel against me.

I initially jump in surprise but it doesn't take long for a smug smile to form on my face.

I feel him move my hair to the side and lower on my body, attaching his chest to my back and his lips to the most sensitive points of my neck licking, biting and sucking them, in response I inadvertently start to move my hips against him, which he hisses biting the soft skin of my neck with more ardor and making me gasp in his arms.

His hand runs up my thighs and then reaches my butt squeezing it gently, but his hand continues to flow, pretending it doesn't reach my intimacy, already dripping for him.

He caresses it a little teasing me by touching the clitoris without ever really applying pressure "Neteyam..." my voice is needy "what's up baby... what do you want?" he asks whispering hoarsely into my ear only making me more aroused and more obviously rubbing against him.

"I want you" I see him take his braid and connect it with mine making my pulse increase for the idyllic sensation "where do you want me baby?...talk and I can give you what you want" his fingers definitively remove my thong before making room between my wet walls, making me moan copiously between his hands, his fingers touch the spongy and most sensitive points inside me and rub my clitoris, and making me water slightly with pleasure "Neteyam…inside me…I want you inside me” at my gasping and disconnected words I feel his heart racing and a rush of excitement disperse throughout my body.

He turns me around making me sit on the table finding the imminent need to kiss me roughly and passionately, bringing my pelvis closer to him as he takes off his thong.

Finally showing me his rock hard cock at my entrance, so horny that I already have some pre-cum coming out of the tip of him wetting him.

He looks into my eyes as if asking for the permission he already has, and as he thrusts himself all the way into me two moans come out of both of our lips, he holds my hips as my legs are locked around his waist.

He rests his forehead against mine, thrusting hard into me relentlessly.

Letting a few noises of pleasure escape my lips and his growls and husky sighs kissing my ears.

One thought kept nagging Neteyam making him frown, he wants to come inside me fill me with his cum and his sons, his eyes were again foggy like his mind but those thoughts make his cock jerk inside me making me moan stronger and stronger, another thing that turns him on more and more, making him empty his mind to the point of not worrying about anything but getting me pregnant tonight, for the world to come he wants to see me full of him and his children tonight.

A loud moan escapes his lips and his hands move up my legs to move them over his shoulders and reach all the way down, letting his cock kiss my cervix and my G-spot so many times it makes me cry again for the frustrating pressure building in my lower belly more and more from my imminent orgasm that will soon overwhelm me “you have to come with me baby ok? " my walls are already starting to squeeze against him " are you doing it? For me” I nod slightly and he gives me soft “Atta Girl” praise.

When his thrusts get stronger and more frantic, I understand that he too wants to come, but this time he doesn't pull himself out of me, he pushes inside me harder and harder.

And without warning we both come, he cums inside me profusely it seems to never end, my walls squeezing him inside me making him moan loudly and making me enjoy such a beautiful sound.

Soon his forehead is back on mine and our gasping breaths mix, letting his lips kiss me softly, feeling his hand reach my lower belly swollen with his cum.

A small smile forms on his lips, a mischievous and sly smile "What are you laughing at" I ask letting my legs fall from his shoulders and stopping them at his waist "I'm just happy" he says kissing me other times letting out a few purrs that they make my chest tremble, I caress his cheeks looking into his eyes letting one cheek rest on my hand to let himself be caressed “nga yawne lu oer” (I love you) I say letting a small smile escape his tired face “nga yawne lu oer, more than everything else in the world” he continues positioning himself next to me starting to prepare the post-sex cures and making sure that I don't lose any drop of his semen.

He places me on our bed, and lies down next to me laying me down on his chest letting his purr, his quiet breathing and his heartbeat lull me into a peaceful sleep.

His hands playing with my hair and sleep making its way towards me "rest baby" he kisses my temple making me purr, but I don't let him get away and I finally fall asleep in his arms .

[synthetickitsune]

A Prince and His Flower ✧ k.sy

Pairing: Prince!Hoshi x reader Genre: fluff, royalty au/arranged marriage au Summary: You know that love is something to be overlooked for the sake of politics, but maybe you wish your upcoming marriage with Soonyoung was more than a practical affair. You try not to get your hopes up, not very successfully, but who could blame you when the prince seems as smitten with you as you are with him? Word count: 2k A/N: based on this imagine by @imagine-svt; I'm still not happy about how this turned out but I've already rewritten and edited this twice and I just love the idea so much and I've tried ㅠㅠ

It was arguably pretty random when Soonyoung asked you, hours earlier - and in hindsight it seems important to stress it was also only hours before the ball - about your favorite flower.

It was cute too. The way he tried to be nonchalant, but his cheeks soon had that pinkish tint to them as he went through the small talk he wrapped the question in. His hum was thoughtful, nod slow, as he took in your answer. It was… strange.  

Then again, Soonyoung is like that sometimes. You’ve learned it’s better to just humor him. He’s too stubborn and when he starts pouting, your heart and your will get too weak to resist him. It’s unfair. Honestly, you don’t understand how the future king can be so lovable and carefree when he’s chatting with you and yet so unyielding and wise during diplomatic meetings. How are you supposed to stay rational and unaffected when faced with that?

Sometimes you wonder if he had a say in choosing his future partner. He isn’t the type to let others dictate what his life is going to be like - well, at least not all of its aspects. Being a crown prince, his hands are pretty much tied. Of course he can’t live his life as he wants to, but from all that he’s told you, he doesn’t seem to mind the responsibility, and is preparing for his future role dutifully. At the same time, instead of horse riding and shooting ducks and whatnot, he demanded to learn how to dance. You found the idea ridiculous when you first heard about it - or rather the image of young Soonyoung stomping his feet and demanding his father, the king, to allow him to learn dance was too funny in your head. Months and many occasions of actually seeing him dance later, you have to say it was the best decision the king has ever made to let his son pursue his passion instead of forcing the traditional hobbies ‘fit for a king’ onto him. Not that he could avoid them completely, but they didn’t make up his entire personality - as was the case with some of the other princes you’ve met throughout your life.

So maybe it’s not all that impossible that he’d be the one to choose you as his future partner… right? 

You really have no idea why you keep hurting yourself thinking about it. It doesn’t matter, after all. One way or another, that’s how it is. Besides, your future marriage was decided long before you actually met. So even if it was him who suggested it, the reason behind it wouldn’t be the great chemistry you have now, or how easily you can communicate and make each other laugh, or how teasing and bickering come to you as naturally as supporting and comforting one another. None of that was true back then - you were strangers, barely even aware of each other’s existence. The reason for your marriage was, naturally, political. And that would remain to be true regardless of who came up with it. 

Maybe you just wished your life and marriage was different from breeding horses and dogs. Just something practical, meant to be efficient and to serve a purpose, to produce certain results.

Maybe you just wished there was more to it. Fate, perhaps, or something like love at first sight.

It was easy to fall in love with Soonyoung. Too easy. And it’s impossible to ignore those feelings - or to hide them you’re sure, even if you hope for the contrary. Again, you shouldn’t be blamed since you can’t help it. You love him. You just don’t want to. Because you can’t be sure it’s not all just your mind trying to protect itself - that’s what you tell yourself, despite knowing it’s more of a question whether he feels something towards you too. 

Of course, you’re the one who witnessed firsthand the growth of your relationship. You’ve seen it all - from the initial polite curiosity, to the genuine curiosity, to the fond and, you’d like to believe, loving gaze he wears whenever he looks at you. The one that makes your heart race. Soonyoung's feelings towards you are obviously warm. Maybe you'd be willing to believe he feels the same as you do, that he's just as in denial and protection mode as you are, if only you were thinking rationally.

But you're far from rationally thinking, stuck on the hurtful fact that no one takes your feelings seriously. That had the marriage not been arranged and were you feeling the same, and if they were mutual, nobody would care.

Sometimes you wish you were only mere commoners, allowed to fall in love and marry and not care about the impact your actions will have. Then you could have the marriage you wish for, based on mutual respect and love. One where he would watch you with those eyes of his, so full of love it’s suffocating.

He’s watching you now, with those loving eyes, from where he stands on the opposite side of the ball room. It’s too far to actually see him and the details on his face, but you’ve seen the way he looks at you more than enough times to know. You’re so stupid to be imagining it.

And he’s so stupid too. Watching you instead of paying attention to his advisors that are no doubt telling him how the ball will proceed or the introductions being made. Yet you still blush, your heart fluttering. You could almost imagine that your marriage is more than just a deal.

People often tell you that you sabotage your own happiness, and you wonder whether they’re right.

Because even though he’s looking at you like he can’t see anyone else, all you think about is how this could all be just a play he puts on. A lie you don’t even believe in yourself, but you try.

Because even as Soonyoung walks towards you, and you see the flower in his pocket and recognize it as your favorite, you focus on the logistics - the flower is native to your kingdom, hours away, there’s no way anything could be done to get it here in time - rather than the flower as a gesture. You have to, because if you don’t you might start believing it’s a sign of more than just an observance of formalities. 

“May I have this dance?” the prince smiles, offering you his hand. You accept, of course, and you try not to shiver at the perfect feeling of your hand in his. 

He guides you through the steps with practiced ease. You know he loves to dance and that he's a much better dancer than you. He’s a perfectionist, you remind yourself, and he must be annoyed with the mistakes you make and that’s why he holds you so tight, why he presses your bodies together any chance he gets. Anyone would be lucky to dance with him. He could make anyone look like they possess skills on par with his.

You avoid his eyes even though you feel his gaze on you. Instead your eyes remain glued to the flower. It reminds you of home, of your childhood and time long ago when you weren’t in love with a prince who’s all you could wish for. Is a genuinely love-filled marriage too much to ask for?

“It’s really pretty,” the prince says and it startles you enough that your eyes meet his. He noticeably perks up and you curse yourself. That tiny smile he wears is too adorable not to fall for. “I was thinking we could use them for our wedding too.”

Your steps falter, but he’s quick to adjust to it, making the mistake seem natural. 

“Is something wrong? You’ve been distant today,” he lowers his head and his voice, close enough that you could forget the world if you allowed yourself the luxury.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you tell him curtly. The wedding… It’d be beautiful, and you can’t say that you weren’t thinking that the flowers of your kingdom would be perfect. Maybe that’s why it hurts more. It doesn’t feel right planning a wedding with someone who’s just the perfect match in the current socio-political context.

“Look, I know everyone keeps staring at me,” he sighs, and it surprises you again. Now that you look around, you see that he’s right. Every man and woman is looking at Soonyoung, and despite your better judgment you use the next twirl to move closer to him. You see him biting his lip to start smiling and it’s not good for your heart. “I know, but I really tried to make them see I’m yours.”

Definitely not good for your heart. Your head spins and you blame it on the dancing.

“How did you get the flowers here?” you ask instead, try to deflect before you start overthinking. But he starts blushing and it’s just as lethal. He’s so nervous it’s you who has to correct him this time.

“I… I actually arranged for them to be grown here, in the greenhouses behind the castle,” he says and winces at your expression, “I’m sorry! I just wanted you to feel more at home here, and these were the only ones I remembered from my trip to your kingdom.”

Something about your shock must be registering in his brain as anger because he keeps whispering apologies and explanations and god, your friends were right, weren’t they? This isn’t something you do just to seem like the perfect husband in the eyes of the people of your partner’s kingdom.

“I wanted to propose to you with them. I thought it’d show I accept our differences - and I know it’s stupid, okay? I just wanted to do something romantic,” he deflates a little, but it matches the music, completely natural and inconspicuous to the onlookers. You think your heart is going to burst. You’re so stupid. He’s so stupid. “I know you’re not marrying me because you want to, but I really like you, and I want to grow old with you… even if you only like me as a-”

“Why didn’t you say something?” you hiss, and alright, you might be a little angry, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline, “God, Soonyoung, why didn’t you say you like me? I thought you only saw this as a business.” He looks as bewildered as you feel. 

“I thought it was obvious!” he whisper-shouts. It’s fortunate that you’re a little bit away from the other couples and the people standing around the room. “Do you think I’d sneak out for anyone else? Or give them private dance lessons? Or grow flowers for them - and don’t even get me started on that! That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done!”

“What are you talking about?” you try to mind your volume, you really do, “You got people for that!”

“Yeah, but that wouldn’t be right!” he argues right back and you’re really bringing too much attention to yourselves, “That wouldn’t be romantic at all! I wanted to do this for you and-”

You swear you’re not one to break the decorum. 

You never act in any way that could tarnish your or your kingdom’s reputation. 

So you have no idea why your arms are around Soonyoung’s neck and why you’re kissing him in front of everyone.

The music’s stopped, and he’s kissing back, and maybe they’re still playing you just can’t hear them over the heartbeat in your ears. 

You keep your eyes closed, so you can’t see the smiles on your and the prince’s fathers’ faces. But you hear the buzz around you and feel Soonyoung smile into the kiss and so you smile too.

Your friends were right. You should’ve realized, but having the prince confess makes up for the lost time, as does the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands around your waist pulling you so close to him. And perhaps, just perhaps, you like that everyone knows he’s yours and you’re his and that it’s not just for the show.

[nerdygaymormon]

Hi, I'm a young queer mormon living in Utah who finished their first year of college and decided halfway through after lots of prompting that I should serve a mission. The choice brought so much joy into my life and reconnected me with the church, my family, my beliefs, and my self. I felt really lost and unfulfilled at school, and the decision to put my schooling on hold for the next two years or so and bring the joy I felt from the gospel to more of God's children has felt so right every step of the way. I've have my call since March now, and I leave in a couple weeks.

But this new church announcement (the transgender policies) has absolutely shaken me. Obviously from a young age I have struggled with the church's stance on queer identities, and many more aspects. But my heart always felt that Christ cared not about these things and wanted only for us to try and be better and accept his atonement into our life. I also felt like the community of a ward or a church was one of the best parts of the gospel, and so many people need it and could benefit from it even if they did not wish to or choose to carry out sacred ordinances or covenants.

But this handbook change has made me feel like that's not true anymore. How can I stand for and represent a church that is directly excluding and prejudiced against my transgender friends? How am I supposed to tell other families and individuals to come to church when I myself can't even seem to grapple with what it stands for right now? I'm really struggling, I don't know if I should cancel my mission or push through in the hopes that more understanding will come through acting in faith. While every step of this process has brought me closer to myself and my family and brought me a lot of clarity in a confusing time, I feel that right now God is giving me a choice. I listened to Him with full faith and put in my papers and put my school on hold, but now I feel like he's telling me to choose for myself what to do next. And I have no idea what to do.

I'm lucky enough to have parents who will support my decision either way and who are also furious at the handbook change, but that doesn't take away the issues that choosing not to serve a mission brings. All the ward members who will be informed about it, all the explaining I'll have to do. If I don't go, I wish to instead use my mission funds to pay for a humanitarian trip to a place near the mission I was called, so I can still dedicate my time to bringing help to God's children, but I'm already so far in my mission process and I know there is a reason I was prompted to do all of this. But I'm so stuck.

Any advice?

Thank you for sharing all this.

I was just telling a friend that I think God's way is to have us make our own choices, especially the bigger the decision. Sometimes there's times like where you got the prompting to serve a mission, but it's still your choice. Often those promptings are making us aware there is another path available to us, perhaps one we weren't aware might be a good choice for us. However, most of the time God doesn't prompt us what to do, we have to study it out and then pray about the choice we made and ask God to affirm.

I think this way we own the decision. If we marry someone, we have to put in the work to make it a successful relationship and not just assume it will all work out because God said to do it. And when things don't go perfectly, if God told us what to do then we would blame God when it's us who messed things up.

I can see that the prompting you received helped you take a step back from a situation you were in (college) that maybe wasn't the right time for you, and get closer to the Lord. This gave you a firmer spiritual foundation on which to stand when these Handbook changes were announced.

My advice is to not ignore your feelings. If something bothers your conscience, pay attention to that.

Another piece of advice is to think about how you want to serve. A humanitarian mission perhaps is the mission you were being prompted towards, you are in a position now to make that choice because of the decisions you made based on the prompting you received. You can make a list of pros & cons, and as you think about what these different experiences will be like, the proselyting mission or the humanitarian mission, pay attention to which one brings you a sense of peace?

The Spirit is accompanied by feelings, think about how you feel when you're getting a prompting or feel that something is the right direction to go. Keep in mind those feelings when you pray about whichever decision you make.

I admire your desire to serve and to stand for goodness, and I commiserate with you in regards to these steps our church has announced.

[madame-fear]

luke having a crush on his eldest sister who is twins with jace and is betrothed to marry him :(( he wishes she could’ve be his wife and lady of the tides but she is to be future queen (can be angsty/ with a more heartwarming open ending maybe)

love your writing i always look forward to your work it’s amazing 🫶🫂

*ೃ༄ 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆'𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 .ೃ࿐

— ☆ amira speaks : I absolutely loved this concept! I'm still practising to write angst, so hope it's of your liking and what you expected ♡ — summary : [ — ✧ request ] — word count : 2.7k

— pairing : lucerys velaryon x older sister!betrothed!reader — genre : slight angst, ends with fluff

“It's strange, Luke.” in a murmur, those whispered words rolled off your lips lowly. The fair, cool breeze that seemed even more fresh than the usual made your hair sway along the wind, hitting briefly on your face as both you and your young brother Lucerys sat on your usual spot late at night: the beachside of Dragonstone, near the ocean.

Earlier in the morning, your mother Rhaenyra had announced that after a long discussion with the Black Council, she was to betroth you with your twin brother Jacaerys, in order to keep the Targaryen legacy. Meaning, you were now to be future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The concept of getting betrothed was not strange to you, quite the contrary — however, that did not mean you would easily adapt to it.

Lucerys' eyes were focused on you as you spoke. A certain glint twinkled on his eyes, seemingly more dim than usual. “I have a mix of strange feelings regarding mother's decision to marry me off to Jace.” you continued, your eyes fixed on the horizon and yet, admiring the constant rise and descend of the ocean waves; twirling and fidgeting with the hem of your nightgown's sleeve. “Mix of strange feelings?” he inquired, in a low monotone expression, raising his eyebrows curiously.

Finally, you darted your gaze to where he sat, nodding. “Yes.” you retorted in approval, leisurely gazing back to the ocean. “One part of me deeply wishes to be able to choose whomever I desire. Or perhaps, have two husbands.” as you spoke, you could feel his green eyes being posed on you the entire time, completely fixed in you. The moonlight knew how to highlight the prettiest of your features, but it felt strangely bittersweet compared to other times he admired your face under the brightness of the moon and the stars.

“Perhaps, two husbands, like Aegon the Conqueror had his sister-wives; but in my case, I'd have my political husband, and then my one and true love.” you continued rambling, your eyes wandering off to the dark sky, filled of stars, being thrilled at the idea of your statements. “And another part of me, knows Jace will take good care of me like a proper husband.” a little grin shaped at the corner of your lips at the thought of it. Of course, you would've never guessed you'd marry your twin brother, but you knew he was a good, gentle boy that treated ladies as they should, and was extremely overprotective of you. “I suppose it's a blessing, in a way. Better than being married off to a wicked man, surely.”

A blessing. What a word for you to use. A word that stinged in his heart as if a knife had profoundly stabbed right through it. Perhaps being in love with his elder sister wasn't the wisest thing that could've happened to Lucerys, especially knowing his sister would eventually get married and produce heirs with her husband — but was there really something that could've prevented his feelings? Not really. Love reached no limits for him, especially when that love he felt was for you.

And knowing you'd get betrothed to Jace, plus hearing you say that your betrothal was in one way or another 'a blessing' didn't make his angst emotions vanish away any sooner. It simply worsened his anguish.

“I see.” lucerys stated, cooing in a low voice. His gaze lowered to the sand under him, trying to hide the sadness that overtook him. “Of course. You'll be in safe hands. And at least, you won't go to a far away castle.” he continued, trying to ease his mood a bit — but nothing worked. In response to him, a chuckle spurred from you. “You're right, Luke. What else could I ask for?” as you responded, you swiftly placed your arm around his body, leaning it closer to your own as you simultaneously leaned it towards his, resting your head against his own.

“Having the opportunity of being with my family, and I won't be stuck in a miserable marriage.” the idea of your betrothal with your twin brother didn't seem so bad after all, even if he wasn't the one your heart shouted out for. “And, besides, I'll be able to stay by my favourite little brother's side more time.” a goofy, yet weak grin graced around his lips at your bittersweet words, his head resting against your own in a feeble manner, being intoxicated by that endearing, characteristic scent of yours that he could drown himself in.

“Indeed. And you will make a beautiful Queen as well.” he complimented sheepishly under his breath, his eyes staring off into the ocean.

Though you were right about having the chance of spending more time together even if you were married and now destined to be a future Queen Consort, the empty void of wishing you were his wife and Lady of the Tides remained there. And would obviously remain there for the rest of his life, wishing he could change his mother's opinion, plus longing at the thought of his in-love feelings he had for you being rightfully reciprocated.

A few full moons had passed after your mother confirmed your betrothal with your twin brother Jacaerys. During those few full moons, until now that you currently prepared yourself to finally marry Jace under the tradition of Old Valyria, you had particularly noticed Lucerys to be more alienated and distant as well.

The sight of him being in such manner made your heart sink. Especially, when you felt yourself truly lucky and grateful to the Seven for having Lucerys' company in your life, and seeing him in such state made you grieve a bit. You sensed there was a certain thing going on with him, that had been the same feeling that overwhelmed your mind for quite some time, though you weren't exactly certain of what provoked such reactions on Luke.

A maiden finished braiding your hair delicately, as you stood in front of the mirror in your quarters, being already properly clothed ready to engage with your twin brother in the Valyrian tradition of marriage. Your eyes remained fixed on your mirror, staring as the maiden finishes her work.

A quivering sigh graced off your lips nervously. You could feel the way your heart pounded harshly against your chest, making your anxiety increase even if you constantly tried reminding yourself that everything was going to be alright — but you couldn't help but still fidget with your own fingers anxiously as time rapidly passed by.

A sudden knock on your door was heard, both you and the maiden briefly turning your gaze to stare at the wooden door of your chambers. “Come in.” you shouted enough for the other person to hear. As the maiden finished braiding your hair for your wedding ceremony, the door was swiftly opened; revealing Lucerys to be the one previously knocking. His face seemed grim, but his green eyes immediatly lit up with delight, and a faint fluster on his cheeks the second his eyes were fixed on your own when you turned your gaze towards him, with a little cheeky grin at encountering your favourite brother.

A wide, ear to ear grin had drawn upon your lips, still feeling the nerves causing a knot on your stomach. The maiden rapidly curtsied before Lucerys, as your brother gave her a single nod. “You are dismissed, dear. Thank you.” you spoke directly to the young maiden whom shortly curtsied to you as well before walking past Luke, and leaving your quarters, closing the door behind of her as she left you to be alone with him.

Luke awkwardly stood in there, with his hands clasped together resting in front of his body. His eyes seemed to be entirely lost on you, admiring how mesmerising you looked. “(y/n),” he spoke, not allowing you to say anything first. With gentle footsteps, he began moving closer to you in a timid manner, feeling overwhelmed at your grace. You were so beautiful, fit for a proper Queen, even if he wished you were his Lady of Driftmark.

“You look tremendously beautiful.” a shy giggle spurred from you, gazing down to the ground as to cover the forming tint of crimson on your cheeks. “Jace is very lucky to have you as his future Wife.” luke stood right behind of you, with his eyes fixed on your features through the mirror. When you lifted your sight, you realised Luke towered you very slightly with his size. It happened rather fast, but Lucerys had finally became taller than you — the thought of it forming a toothy grin on your lips.

A notorious crimson fluster had smeared your face at his compliments. Though, for him, it was more than a mere compliment to his lovely older sister. His heart felt vulnerable at the sole thought you, yet, full of anguish at knowing that as much as he truly desired you only for himself, he'd never be able to demonstrate you how his love for you reached any type of possible limits. It was utterly devastating, but he had no other option than harshly swallow his own feelings.

Before you could reply anything to his sweetening compliments, Lucerys leaned his body closer to your side, extending his now unclasped hand for you to see what he held. In his hands, he carried a bright, golden necklace from which it hung the shape of a small flying dragon. “It's made of Valyrian steel. I pressumed it could be significant for you to use in such special occassion.” your eyes carefully admired the necklace, taking it softly in your hands as to briefly raise it to your sight. The previous wide grin on your lips remained, as your eyes twinkled with a glint of thrill.

“Luke, this is... Absolutely lovely. Thank you!” clear excitement was heard on your tone as you looked into your brother's eyes with certain admiration. Seeing you so joyful made his heart flutter with a sense of pure love and protection for you. “I hope I can have the honours of helping you put this necklace on you?” he inquired, a smile quivering on his rosy lips as his eyes was fixed down on you. Without hesitating, you rapidly nodded in approval. “You may. I would be absolutely delighted.” as you responded, you briefly lost one another staring into each other's eyes in a dreamy way.

When you snapped back into reality after such sudden moment, you turned your gaze back to the mirror, standing straight as you took hold of your hair and positioned it to your side, allowing Luke to place the gifted necklace on you. That sweet scent of yours drowned the room as he approached even closer to you, feeling as if he could melt right there at the sight of you, admiring every inch of your fair, soft skin. His fingers delicately unclicked the necklace, beginning to wrap it around your neck. His movements were daint, and you observed his focus through the mirror in front of you.

Unbeknownst to him, a certain feeling of melting under his touch overwhelmed you as well — being obvious in that scarlet glint of you spread across your face due to his gentle actions.

His hand softly moved in a delicate manner some remaining strands of hair covering your neck to the side, finishing to properly adjust the necklace. Once he adjusted it, he clicked the necklace shut so it would remain there, and your fingertips went to gently take hold of the dragon hanging from the necklace, admiring it's significative beauty that represented the great legacy of your ancestors. The golden colours of the necklace were vivid and shone brightly, highlighting your features even.

Without helping his own impulses, the young Prince wrapped his arms around your body pressing you tightly against his chest, and resting his chin on your shoulder as his eyes observed the necklace with the dragon hanging at it's end, near your chest. A dreamy, lovesick sigh escaped from his lips, giving into the warmth your body provided for him, along your scent. “You look more mesmerising than ever, (y/n).” he complimented, not taking his eyes off your figure.

“The title of Queen suits you rather well, but I think it would suit you even more perfectly the title of Lady of the Tides.”

Those words slipped off his lips smoothly and relentlessly, escaping from the deepest side of his mind. At his statement, falling into the realisation of what he truly meant, your lips became partly open as your eyes widened simultaneously. Of course, you wouldn't have expected him to open up to you in such a free manner, but knowing how timid he was you were certain those words escaped unconsciously from him.

A fluster mimicking your own formed on his fair cheeks, soon spreading all across his face as he realised what he had just said — but it was too late to even take it back. “I-I'm sorry for that, (y/n)... I-I just meant–” his eyes widened in embarrassment, beginning to lose his tight grip around your body with his arms. Interrupting him, your hand took a tight hold of his arm, looking him sternly on his eyes just to make stop him from whatever he'd say.

“Lucerys.” you began with a vehement tone. A small feeling of being nervous began overwhelming his chest, but it vanished faintly once he saw a brief smirk forming on your lips. “You know, when mother constantly tell us that betrothals are mere political conveniences, and we can always choose whomever we truly desire?” his tense, anxious facial expression leisurely softened. His heart thumped so loudly against his chest, he was afraid you might even hear it. Unbeknownst to him, your heart worked on the same way as his did.

Allowing him to lose a bit of his tight grip on you yet remain with his arms wrapped around your body, you turned around to stare at him. One of your hands rested on his arm, and the other one caressed his clothed chest tenderly. “I am simply marrying Jace because mother betrothed me to him as to keep with the great legacy of our ancestors, but he is not whom I truly desire.” a sigh escaped of him, melting under your warm, tender touch along your sweet sounding, soothing voice.

Tiptoeing, you placed a slow, tender kiss on the corner of his lips, fluttering your eyes shut. Like you, the Prince did the same, closing his eyes and giving into the feeling of the butterflies flapping their wings on his heart at your lips. You remained in there for a few long lasting seconds, slowly pulling apart eventually, and opening your eyes just to stare into his delicate face. A dreamy sigh escaped from him, feeling over the moon, not believing the moment he was living — seemingly straight out of his fantasies.

“Even if you get betrothed to a future Lady of the Tides, we should take mother's words seriously, my beloved Lucerys.” every word that escaped your beauteous lips, accompanied by the tender way your fingers glided across his cheeks lovingly, was enough to have him completely under your mercy. Lucerys was absolutely dumbfounded for you.

Abruptly pulling apart from his grip, you turned your body on your heels, and began making your way to the door of your quarters, leaving him confusedly standing in there, yet staring at you like an enthusiastic lost puppy. “Come on now, I should not be late for my own wedding.” you remarked, looking deeply into his widened hazel eyes with a wide smirk, knowing the dazzling effect you had on Lucerys — completely wrapped around your finger.

You swiftly opened the door, beginning to make your way out of it. “Think about those words, Luke.” those last words escaped your lips, while his own were partly open in delightful surprise, feeling paralysed as he simply stood there like a fool in love. “See you in my political wedding.” you finished off shooting him a teasing wink, only to rapidly disappear through the corridors of Dragonstone, already dressed in your engagement clothing.

After all, your feelings were mutual. Unbelievable, but true. And even if he was surprised at your audacity, he couldn't complain; you were right on your words. And maybe, having you as his secret lover even if you were future Queen and future Lord of the Tides didn't seem a bad idea at all.

♡ taglist : ♡

@jjamieberry @anemicroyalcore @countsmoon @tickle-euphoria @beeebo234 @manuholland6 @capellaadara @kyuupidwrites @tchatso @dopepersonacloudllama @phantasyy @tasty-nutella @mstxdes @valeriecash @cookielovesbook-akie @zzz000eee

[blackbat05]

Shining Bright

Fred Weasley x Reader

Plot: After hours gives you and Fred the opportunity for heart to heart conversations.

Genre: PG-13 (Fluff/Comfort)

A/N: Hello everyone! Happy 2024! Can't think of much to say but recent works have been influenced by personal experiences. This is a way for me to process and escape reality even if it's for a few seconds. But I definitely do hope and believe things will be better. Cheers and I wish you a good year!

"Thank you! See you again!" You thank the last satisfied customer that walks out of your bookstore. It was time to pack up for the day. As you shelve new arrivals, the bell at the front rings. A smile is automatically etched on your face as it could only mean...

"Fred!"

"Hello love," Fred Weasley kisses you on the cheek as he takes some books from the box to join you in shelving. "Thought I could drop by to help you and maybe we could head down to a nice Fish and Chip place just outside Diagon Alley. Dad took all of us for Christmas dinner and even Ron loved it."

You laugh at Ron finally finding the appeal in Muggle cuisine. "Sure. I just need to shelve this whole box and I'm done for the day."

Fred could have just whipped out his wand to make the whole process faster. He really wanted to spend more time with you. But he also knew how much your ritual at the end of each work day meant to you. So like the gentleman he was, he starts off with the top shelve.

For a while, the two of you worked in silence. Honestly, it was a much needed reprieve.

"Are you sure that George doesn't need help?"

"Nah," Fred waves away your concerns. "You're more important."

"What a sap." You tease.

"And you love it."

With Fred's help, you manage to shelve the books in no time and the lights to your bookstore go off. Night comes and the street lights give a pleasant warm glow to the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. Families and couples take the streets, eager to spend their weekends away from responsibilities. Fred holds your hand and directs it to his pocket.

A light drizzle comes, bringing more magic to the already magical street. You catch Fred's eyes and no one can see, but he holds you tighter.

"Thanks." You mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed that this came out of nowhere. Perhaps it was the weather that was making you sentimental.

"What for?" Fred cocks his head curiously.

"Supporting me," you say, "I was at my lowest point with everyone doubting my decision of leaving the Ministry. Even my own family. They thought that the problem lied with me. That I was weak minded and I should have put in more effort to prove myself." You exhale shakily. Yeah, it was definitely the rain.

A frown appears on Fred's face and in the artificial lights, his freckles are more pronounced. The both of you stop and you realize that you are under a street lamp. He turns to you with a serious expression.

"This is how I see you." He points up to the lights and back to you. "You shine so bright even when you're going through difficult times."

You lower your head, overwhelmed by the unwavering support that Fred gave you throughout your struggles. It wasn't easy. Having to tell your family that you decided to give up your stable and cushy career at the Ministry to open up a bookstore. It was your passion, your dream. Ever since you were young, books had gotten you through the most tough times.

"So, don't ever doubt yourself. You're doing amazing." Fred encourages you. You smile weakly and he knows it's one of those days where you need a cheerleader. He wraps himself around your waist and lifts you up, voice projecting across the whole street.

"MY GIRLFRIEND IS THE GREATEST HUMAN BEING AND I'M BLESSED TO BE HERS!"

"Fred! What are you- put me down!" You were more amused than anything else and it seemed to have done the trick as you had burst into laughter, positively red in the face.

"Not until you admit that you are the greatest human being." Fred insists.

"What? I'm- Fred don't be ridiculous."

"Nope. HEY EVERYONE-"

"Okay! Okay! I'm the greatest human being on this planet!" You yell, attracting a couple of stares from shoppers. Fred finally puts you down and once you make contact with flat ground again, you grab his wrist and before the both of you know it, the two of you are running through what has now become a sudden downpour.

As you run through Diagon Alley, laughing with your childhood sweetheart and biggest supporter, you can't help but to think that this was definitely the right decision.

One door closes, another door opens. Sometimes, everything happens for a reason. It sounds illogical but it definitely helped you to embrace all sorts of crazy.

At least, you had a handsome (and equally crazy) ginger to support you through everything.

[tartagilicious]

i love the fact that dottore just somehow was able to successfully treat collei's eleazar, and it's always just made me think 😭😭 who in his life had it to the point where he mastered caring for a disease with no cure? insane lore for a mad scientist archetype!! also hello (: this isn't the end of my hiatus, but i'm trying to play genshin more again now that i have the time so dottore brainrot is back!!!! c.w: blood

all the ways to kill the one you love (1.6k)

When you fall to your knees in the dark hall, you can only pray that the person in front of you knows that it wasn’t of your own volition. The only thing to blame is your own negligence for getting you into this situation – perhaps you’d be in better shape if you had been more prepared for your Eleazar to break out. 

Because from the moment you set foot into the frigid country’s very own Zapolyarny Palace, it has been in your absolute best interest to stay under the radar. Coming from the Akademiya, you know well that you are not particularly popular with any of its inhabitants.

Though, that isn’t your concern. You’re here to determine if the Fatui have been able to locate the missing Dendro archon as a vessel of Irminsul; a child of Sumeru and vision holder in the Akademiya. Effectively, you don’t intend to make any lasting friends, so to say. You’re unsure of the Akademiya’s plans with the information you find, but whatever you glean from your time here will be insignificant once out of your hands.

It was easy to convince the Grand Sage that your place amongst the heretics in Snezhnaya would be with their soldiers, despite the fact that your student-life had been plagued by your condition. Because the simple truth is that they didn't care about the technicalities, as long as you’re able to relay the info they require, they could care less if you died with it. 

Your time in the Fatui itself has been anxiety-inducingly bleak, though, and certainly nothing like what you expected. Low ranking soldiers are treated as employees, almost, sent from place to place in order to protect property and officials. But nothing has ever made you rethink your decision to accept a mission as much as this. 

The hydro vision you keep tucked away in your uniform should be helping to push down the pain – it has always helped. But be it the cold weather or something else entirely, your incorrigible disease seems to be flaring up more than usual. Even if you were blessed with a portion of Celestia's magic, you have been reminded from a young age that power is dangerous; and it cannot fix everything. 

However, your vision has never failed you so noticeably until now. 

The awful warmth in the back of your throat is a stark contrast to the cool tile beneath your hands. Your bunkmate is somewhere behind you, you think – she had been the one to find you, after all, clinging to a wall with a hideous mixture of blood and mucus pooling at your chin. 

You call out to her, voice weak as you attempt to stand. No response. The unknown doctor you had been led to is still silent so far, possibly making no move simply to see what you will try to do in your state. You can feel his eyes on you as you croak, 

“Has she gone?”

Something in the quiet air sparks as your voice breaks the silence. You look up begrudgingly, curious to see who you’re at the feet of even as your skin tingles painfully. You’re disappointed to find that the man’s face is obstructed by a mask that is vaguely owl-like, leaving nothing but the very corners of his lips visible. 

You don’t recognise him in the slightest, and yet, he frowns. 

Then, in his expensive slacks and in a way that surely creases his boots, the doctor kneels down to your level. Your heartbeat quickens intermittently as your eyes track his slow movements. You can’t help but be shocked by the sudden display of attention when he had clearly been resigned to only watching you before.

It’s difficult to look right at him when there are no eyes to find, so you can only look at the ground as the doctor studies you. 

You want to speak badly, to ask him to help you, but the words catch regrettably in your throat. Brows tightening, you throw a shaky hand over your mouth as a cough forces its way up. And too quickly, the blood that had pooled at the back of your throat empties into your mouth without warning, the taste instinctually pulling a whimper from you. 

A brief chuckle sounds from above you.

All you can register from that point on is a gloved hand slipping under your chin, tipping your head upwards. You attempt to shake your head in protest. Yet, all the Doctor does is wipe the blood that pebbles from your lips with a careful thumb. 

“How pitiful” The Doctor finally speaks, his rough voice thoughtful. “I’d thought you better than this.”

Your brows wrinkle in confusion as his thumb lingers near your mouth. He provides no explanation to his mysterious remark, though, merely turning your chin from side to side in an effort to look at your face in its entirety. Your chest burns with each movement.

Too helpless to do anything but stare at him, an old image slowly begins unfolding before you – though his face is covered, canine teeth are visible as he teases you. You’re almost certain that if he took off his mask, you’d be staring into the crimson eyes of someone you’d never forget.

Without thinking, you grasp at his wrist. The painful buzz solidifies between you without the barrier of a glove, but you don’t back down. 

“Zandik?” You whisper, brows creasing in concern. “How…?”

The Zandik you know is dead. This much is clear, no matter the way you look at it. But until now, you’d thought the former was undisputable. 

“You disappeared. I thought you were gone, but now you're with them?” You whisper harshly, sadness leaching into your voice.

After a few quiet moments, he drops your chin with a deep hum and pulls himself away from you. 

You crumble in on yourself and cough excess blood into your hand almost instantly, though he does nothing to help you this time. When you’ve caught your breath, he says, 

“You’ve always been one for flattery. I have never been any better than them.”

That’s not true. It’s not. You want to yell it at him, to insist until this awful cold facade of his ceases and you’re able to see the same person you’d gone to the Akademiya with. The same person who, despite having been hardened by the people that had outcased him, still flinched when insulted. The only one who would touch your hands that were inured with violet scales, and who valued your ability to forgive those who have hurt you. 

He was a person whose interest in things stemmed from his want to improve. Who’s status as an outcast came from his inability to compromise when it came to his life’s work, his desire to evolve. You found solace not in his frigid company,  but in the way your condition garnered the most intimate of his attention.

With the very same material that was enough to consider him a danger to Sumeru, he had successfully fought off the more gruesome symptoms of your Eleazar. With you, he was understood; needed. But with him, you finally felt whole. Both were things neither of you were ready to give up.

“Flattery.” Your voice is broken as you stare at the ground, body propped up by nothing but your weak forearms. “It’s so like you to insist anything good about you is false.”

A small frown is visible around the corners of his pointed mask. 

“What brings you to Snezhnaya, ___?”

“...I’m dying, Zandik.” You say quietly. He’s the first person you’ve admitted it to, even before yourself. In your student years, you’d been hopeful, confident, that your hydro vision would be enough to sustain you through a normal life. The very archon it stands for vies for equality on all fronts, between good and evil as well as sickness and health. 

But now, you know it isn’t enough. You’re old enough to look past the thin veil that has been protecting your fragile mind all these years and see the truth – that you were never meant for a long life. 

“What a headache.” He sighs it out placidly. You can’t find it in yourself to meet his eye as he kneels before you once again, every ounce of love he had once felt for you gone, yet somehow seeping from the cracks of his resolve all the same.  

You fully prepare yourself for the inevitable result of being told to leave, to seek refuge with a real doctor and not test fate in his hands. But, he doesn’t. Instead, a gloved hand reaches for your shoulder, pushing you up your knees. Your muscles sting with over-exertion as the cloud of hair leaves your face.

“How long have you been aware?”

Your back aches as you wipe the blood from your lips.

“A couple weeks.” You answer quietly, your words like a ghost in the frigid winter air. 

Dottore doesn’t answer immediately, a frown etched into his face permanently. Your breath catches as he reaches into his pristine white jacket. Gingerly, he wipes the blood from your lips with the steady hands of a surgeon. The action is not necessarily cold, but it is not full of the same warmth you remember either.

His voice is guttural when he says, “You’re foolish for coming here.” for coming to me. 

You want to laugh, to half-heartedly agree with him. You aren’t sure that you would have let your bunkmate bring you here if you knew that this was the fate you were going to meet. Of all the people in the world, Dottore is the only person who would be able to call you on your bluffs – on all of the reasons you’re here, and every reason the Akademiya has to value you. 

You could become nothing very quickly, as soon as he wishes. 

But, there's something inside you that wrestles with the fear -- something soft and carefully hidden that refuses to leave this revelation, this reunion, behind.

And so, you force out a soft, “I know.”

You both know his harsh words don’t hold any real meaning. After all, the fearsome Harbinger is equal to you in this moment, on his knees just as you are. And if nothing else, it gives you hope that things are not as lost as they seem.

tartagilicious 2023

[gurugirl]

Hi, idk really why I want to ask you this but sometimes I just feel so insecure about the fact I’m still a virgin at 23. I haven’t even kissed someone. I’ve always been so insecure about my looks that I’ve never wanted to get intimate with someone, and i know I’m not ugly but I just feel like now the fact I have never had anything makes me feel repulsive. I’ve been on dates but I’ve just never felt that interested in them? I like my alone time too and I feel like I can’t be bothered trying to force a relationship when I want to work on myself. I’m going travelling in 6 months for a year and I doubt I’ll meet someone when I’m travelling so I’ll be 25 almost when I come back and still a virgin. Is that bad? I know I should take things at my pace but I just feel like there must be something wrong with me if I don’t really want to with anyone I’ve met who’s been into me? What should I do?

I got wordy here so a read more was necessary ↓

Hi hon. I say this anytime someone asks me about having not met some milestone yet - but you still being a virgin at 23 really doesn't define you at all and it's not weird. I bet I could post a poll right now and ask who's still a virgin past the age of 23 and you'd see a lot more virgins than not. In fact, I just had a recent anon who is also 23 and a virgin (pretty sure I posted this ask yesterday - check the #ask tag on my blog if you'd like) so you're not alone. Not even close.

Milestones, especially something like when you should lose your virginity, should all be done away with. There's no timeline for something like that. And I'm sure you've heard it before but you definitely want to enjoy your first time having sex and do it with someone you trust and not force yourself to get it over with. While I think virginity is mostly just a social construct, it can be a big deal to us as individuals.

You aren't repulsive, there's nothing wrong with you, and you get to decide when and with whom you do have sex with. No one but you. I actually think you sound like you have a good head on your shoulders. You've gone on dates and have made the mature decision that you weren't that into the people you dated, you know you're someone who enjoys your alone time (me too hon), you already know better than to force a relationship (some people don't get this concept bc they're scared to be alone and by the time they realize what they've done it's too late), and you're about to go on a year-long travel which is huge and there would be so many people your age terrified to travel for a year. You're brave, adventurous, and smart.

I think you're way more amazing than you realize, just from this ask I can pick up how mature and emotionally intelligent you are. Don't compromise. You're doing absolutely amazing. And also don't discount yourself that you're not going to perhaps meet someone on your travels. Who knows what will happen? Maybe you'll still be a virgin after the year is up - but that's perfectly okay too. Be open to what could happen and keep doing what you're doing.

Also, it's going to benefit you to not talk badly about yourself. Start telling yourself how impressive and how unique you are. Do away with saying such negative things. Seriously. No more of that that! You're going to be just fine. Remember that you're still young, you're smart, and you're about to do something that most people in this world cannot say they've ever done, nor would they be brave enough to (enjoy wherever your travels take you!).

xoxo