#much less drew anything to this extent

[vrieseasees]

My old job had a security guard that would say this every time he was caught with a crumb on his face (and I just realized he and Reigen are both libras and suddenly things make sense)

[nanaminsmoon]

busy boy. - a. arlet.(mdni.18+)

a/n: i haven't written smut in a minute y'all so bear with me lol.

wc: 3000+ & lazily proofread.

armin never thought he’d see the day that his every limb would be consumed by the guilt spawned in his chest by the sight of his hands and your golden ‘eren’ necklace fighting for a spot on your bare chest. small tinges of the sickly feeling deformed every cell in his body, as he had you on his bed with your face buried in his pillow and your ass cheek meeting his open palm.

“eren stretch you out like this?”, armin asked against the skin at the top of your back and, fucked out beyond measure, all you could do was shake your head against the pillows. remorse wasn’t a concern for either of you; any loyalty to eren riding the stream spilling out of your eyes, to leave your body and sink into the armin-scented textile pushing against your cheek.

you had expected nothing from armin; he was an unassuming suburban boy, raised by a wealthy grandfather who was loved by everybody in his community, and had instilled immovable morals in his grandson. the first, on a long list of many, being extreme loyalty—a value you wouldn’t have guessed he held so dear to his heart with how fast he let you in after seeing your pretty face on his gate camera. that was because the former was the armin he allowed to leave the confines of his home. and in reality, behind a tightly shut titanium door, was the armin that wanted nothing more than to fuck his best friend’s girlfriend senseless.

that fact unbeknownst to you, walking into it, you felt that expecting armin to bend his personal ethos for the sake of your retribution was self-serving at best, and asinine at worst, but you’d still given it a try. because the chances of your plan backfiring may have been high, but your dignity would not allow for anything else. and receiving a text that was evidently meant for someone else meant that you wanted to hurt eren in a way you knew would cut deep, and rid him of any trust he held in anyone. if he wanted to fuck around, then you’d do him the honour of helping him find out.

as the gate slowly opened, anxiety would inflate and deflate your lungs raggedly as you let go of a very deep breath. though your brain was void of any thought, your body would work for you—moving your legs to walk through his gate once there was enough space to do so. then your path to armin’s front door would be illuminated by the light casting a shadow around the figure stood in the doorway, watching you with their hands in their pockets. judging by the frame, you knew it had to be armin. and that’s when your anxiety increased tenfold.

the surprise brought by you pushing past him so suddenly twisted armin’s lips, making the corners of his mouth rigid. cerulean curiosity would begin a journey; starting at your choice of clothing—a dress unfit for the cold spring night air—before moving down to your legs. smooth brown skin was covered by a translucent façade of comfortability that, judging by the light convulses in your upper body, was not doing much to keep you warm. every intricate detail drew the conclusion that your hasty actions were a consequence of the, less than kind, weather conditions. but that conclusion was made before the scorching words brewing within you, travelled at lightening speed to leave your mouth,

“fuck me”. those two searing syllables rolled off your tongue, sweeping the space separating the both of you—their intensity causing armin to blink dramatically. and the thud caused by the closure of the heavy door would be the only thing to fill the deafening silence.

“huh?”, was all armin could gather amongst the heap of his scattered thoughts flooding the ground beneath his laden feet. but yours would move towards him, cautiously; three steps in his direction would be the extent of your movements towards armin, before you took your coat off—noticing the way he watched you narrowly—and casually let it drop to the ground.

wool lined slippers left the wooden floor, to meet it again, as your advances had armin retreating. one step backward would be the extent of his withdrawals—his limbs frozen by the way you moved towards him in a sensuous slink. not one thought of what to do next came into armin’s head, even as your arms rose—forearms delicately resting on his shoulders and impatient digits entangling themselves in his golden locks, each carrying their own portion of your ulterior motive.

“i said, fuck me, armin”, you reiterated, and words had never carried a physical weight until that moment. their gravity overtook the presence of that already in the air, forcefully pulling him into the ground.

“eren set you up to do this?”, armin asked, his question accompanied by a harsh swallow of whatever he could gather in his dry mouth. tawny lashes flittered longer than they should have at the foreign warmth sat at his nape, before armin grew irritated at their obstruction of his view; your face, the closest it’d ever been to his, with its features firm at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. your fingernails would cease their gentle scratches on armin’s neck, and you’d let out a heavy sigh,

“nah, he's too busy fucking other girls to do that”, you commented, sarcastically. but that one comment would be all it took to clarify your intentions to armin, and the dismay that realisation birthed made his stomach turn.

“so this is your getback? fucking his childhood friend?”, he scoffed in disbelief, mixed with anger. the usually cheerful visage of the blonde boy disfigured into something that made you lower your head; his evident disappointment drowning you in shame.

armin could vividly remember the acidic stinging in his throat when the pretty girl at mikasa’s birthday party introduced herself as eren’s girlfriend. any glimpse he had caught of you, before that, had inspired paragraphs of rehearsed lines he had prepared to ask you on a date. but his best friend’s protective arm around your waist had sent all his preparations falling to his feet. but now, they were all resurfacing and ascending very quickly—leaving his skin blushed and blazing in their wake. the sudden increase in his blood flow all migrated to one place. and, for the first time in all the years he had known eren, armin’s loyalties dissipated and anything holding him back evaporated; leaving behind a desperate man with the only woman he wants right in front of him.

“i don't know if you're brazen, or just a slut”, he said quietly. that last word would surprise you more than it offended you. and, though your vision was zeroed in on the floor, armin could see a slight head tilt of confusion present itself. so he'd place two fingers under your chin, forcing you to face him,

“you're not a slut, are you baby?”, his eyebrows would furrow in feigned concern, as he mirrored your shaking head, “no~, you're not. you're just a very needy girl”, he'd say to you, laughing when your features scrunched in rejection of his statement. albeit far too late, the voice of reason in your head began contesting your previous decisions. the lascivious hands embracing your waist to pull you into the body of the man in front of you had you questioning every thought process that had gotten you to this point.

“the fuck are you doing?”, you asked, moving back. but the hands on your waist would move to the bottom of your spine, to bring you even closer to armin than you were before.

“you said you wanted to fuck, so we’re gonna go upstairs and fuck.”, he answered, kissing the exposed skin on your arms and shoulders. the salacious sounds resounding from just below your ear, mixed with the feel of his wet lips on your skin made you pulsate underneath your underwear, as you let out a deep breath.

it was obvious that your want for him was surface level; shallow, and just a reactionary course of action. but armin’s was the exact opposite. he could feel his affections for you buzzing throughout him; first growing aflame in his heart, before every pump of the muscle distributed them throughout his entire central nervous system. that funny feeling, he couldn’t quite ascertain, circulated throughout him—making his palms and fingertips fuzzy as they gently smoothed over your skin. the moment an explorative hand up your mini dress had discovered the wetness at the front of your underwear, armin had metamorphosed into anticipation incarnate; the thought of drowning himself in your arousal tightening his already taut boxers. yet, despite this, he peeled your dress off you at an agonising pace—practically pausing after every square inch to exhale, as he slowly stroked himself through his pyjama bottoms.

“fuck”, lowly slid out of his mouth. with the way he was acting, it was laughable to think this was the man who had called you ‘needy’ not too long ago. because armin was anguished in front of you.

“you good, arlet?”, you teasingly asked—the sweet taste of your gloss dancing on your tastebuds, as a portion of your bottom lip found itself sucked into your mouth. the rest caught the minimal light from the lamp on armin’s bedside table. cerulean orbs scrutinised the shimmer that wasn’t sandwiched between your teeth, his tongue simulating different variations of how your lips would taste. his hands would take on the responsibilities of his transfixed eyes; traversing your bare body, fingertips feather-light as they did so. and his busy hands left his hardened bulge far too lonely for your liking. so your hand would pay it company—stroking at it gently. and only then would armin’s eyes break away from you, quickly shutting before his head tilted to rest on his shoulder.

“shit.”

once his head raised again, armin’s eyes would be greeted by your provocative ones; coquettishly looking at him as if to taunt him. it was as if you knew of his thinning resolve, and how easily he’d yield to you. as if you knew one look would be all it took for him to lay you flat on your back, your legs elevated by his hands; his palms flat against your thighs, as his lips pecked the insides of them. and, unlike your boyfriend, armin took his time: he languidly made his way to your core, humming against the wet patch on your underwear as he kissed it. the thin barrier between the blonde and the consequences of his actions would be gently pushed aside, exposing your wetness to the gentle breeze blowing into the room through armin’s open window. the only solace provided to you was armin’s delicate lips moving to peck your bundle of nerves, before it was sucked into his mouth. it’d shortly be joined by his tongue; the muscle swirling around it as ungodly noises left both of your mouths. after a few moments, the fabric under his fingers would become annoying, so you’d be hazily lifting your hips so he could slide it off you, spreading your legs wide open as soon as he did.

admittedly, eren ate your pussy well but, for him, it was merely just a means to an end. but you were armin’s end. you were his beginning, as well as his ruin, and the reason why the heavens had given him tastebuds. the nth time his eyes explored their sockets that night would follow his tongue licking one strip from your hole to your clit, and that motion would be all it’d take for armin to taste liquid insanity. once he had, his sole objective became to ravish you and, judging by the cramping fingers he could see in his peripheral vision, he was succeeding. too busy arching, your lower back hadn’t touched the navy duvet since armin had laid you down on it. pleasure was storming its way through you; leaving behind, a light layer of sweat glazing your heated body, adhering you to the fabric beneath you. subconsciously, your hips would search for armin’s mouth and your hand ran through his hair to push him further down onto you. your legs would be clamping around his head, and he’d welcome it; happy to be smothered by your scent and the heat exuded by your blazing skin.

this wasn't about foreplay for armin. it most certainly wasn't about reciprocation and, with the way he was rubbing himself against the bed, you were starting to question if it was even about your pleasure anymore. a myriad of various daydreams his mind had thought up over the years meant that armin was in heaven in between your legs. every year, you and your friends rented out a beach house. and, after he had passed out on his bed half-drunk, armin had been rudely awoken by the muffled sounds coming from you and eren’s room. abashedly, it ended in him pulling his dick out and stroking himself until he had to bite his lip to hide the moans. he knew he shouldn't have, but he couldn’t just turn his ears off. so he had just laid there, listening intently. focused on every vocal fluctuation and different intonation of his best friend’s name, armin couldn’t help but imagine all the positions eren had to have put you in to make you sound like that. at that point, his dick was so hard that there was no way he could possibly go back to sleep. so he’d sat up, the back of his head against the wall, as he fucked into his hand. at the end of it, he’d been left with a wet hand and a soaked ego. but today he had you all over him, and armin had always been a messy eater, so it was no wonder he had you on his chin, cheeks, lips, nose, and anywhere else your wetness could reach.

“armin, i'm gonna cummm”, you cried, and armin’s ministrations slowed—his tongue moving slower against you. there’s nothing he wanted to hear more than you whining underneath him, and he got it. as well as your acrylics scratching at his scalp, and his arms. once you did finally cum, armin licked it all up with a smug smile.

any second armin spent with his dick in his boxers, instead of in you, was time frivolously wasted. so they, as well as his pyjama bottoms, would be landing somewhere on his floor very quickly. red with rage, and leaking, his tip flirted with your hole for a moment—collecting any arousal that hadn’t dripped onto the bedding beneath you and tapping the combination of that and his precum on your stomach and thighs. a sick part of him wanted his nut all over you, cloaking you so he could coerce his brain into thinking that you were his. even if it was just for the night. those fantasies distracted him from what was in front of him and once he’d come to, and taken a look at your face, he’d find that you were a mess. so his palm would meet your cheek gently, a fond smile plastered on his face once your eyes glimmered again.

“wake up for me, baby, i need you here for this”, he said, picking up your hand to kiss it. following this gesture, romanticism would seem to fizzle out; your face would soon be in armin’s pillow, while his hand carved out an arch in your back. missionary seemed too personal; intimate. wanton need was radiating off armin, and the last thing he needed was it being fuelled by the hazy fucked-out look in your eyes. because he could only imagine how he would’ve felt seeing the facial expression that accompanied that small whine that came out of your mouth when he slid his tip into you—the small action driving you to insanity already. impatience would push you further onto him, but armin’s smart wits would hold you before you got any further.

“what’s eren been doing to you for you to be this needy?”, he chuckled, kissing your shoulders. initially he pushed himself into you very slowly, giving the both of you time to adjust to each other.

the buried anger armin felt when he realised he was just a pawn in a lover’s spat would soon reappear and you'd feel every inch of it. it was vengeful and unforgiving in a way that stuck your drooling lips to the pillowcase. swallowed emotions flowed through him, concentrating themselves at the place your bodies met, as he slammed into you. discipline was a concept too far gone for the both of you, and all you had to go off of was unfiltered carnality weaving between your bodies. five of armin’s fingertips imprinted themselves into your hip, while the remaining five grappled to grab onto his headboard, after trusting you to maintain the deep arch in your back. helpless hands had been searching for a grip on reality, but they were denied every time,

“don’t tap out on me, y/n, you wanted this now i need you take it”, armin chided. yet your hands wouldn’t cease their search for solace and, in gross irony, they had knocked over the only framed picture armin kept in his room; an old image of him, eren, and their other friends. and, as if an act of orchestrated symbolism, it’d be ignored. the framed expression of their friendship would dramatically fall to the floor, while armin remained hyperfixated on your soft whines—melodic and far too quiet. he’d lean forward, but the only coherency you’d maintained allowed you to turn your head in embarrassment. obviously he’d make you face him, smirking when he saw the teeth marks below your lips,

“nobody’s home, so be as loud as you need, baby. we got too much money to have neighbours, ain't nobody hearing you but me”, he smirked, kissing your skin, and approvingly humming against it when your volume raised.

each time armin slammed into you, it displaced any sound thought—leaving behind a babbling mess and a mouth fighting to beg for something armin couldn’t comprehend.

“speak to me, baby. i need words”, he said onto your jaw. and, again, that forbidden aspect of ‘intimacy’ would push any thoughts of kissing you out of his mind. so he’d refrain, and distract his eyes with the white ring forming at the base of his dick.

“’m gonna cum, armin.”, is all you'd be able to get out, but it'd be all armin needed to move his hand down to rub at your clit. and the extending rubber band in your stomach would endure one more poke from armin’s dick before it snapped unceremoniously, robbing you of your vision. lightening knuckles and cramping fingers accompanied unrestrained moans of armin’s name. in your body’s attempt to get more of armin, it’d push you back and, in turn, force armin’s release out of him. he’d already been on a thinning rein, but it finally gave in at the feeling of you tightening around him.

“i'm gonna—ffffuck—you want it, baby? want my nut leaking outta you?”, he asked, eyebrows scrunched at both the feeling, and deep contemplation of which part of your body would be painted by his release. but, ultimately, his stuttering hips would make that decision for him. as well as your bold words.

“nut in me, armin, pleaseee”, you begged loudly, and armin would fulfil your wishes instantaneously.

for a good few minutes, all that was audible in armin’s bedroom was heavy breathing, neither of you said anything. it was as if you had somehow mutually agreed that expressing how you felt at that point was ghastly inappropriate. though you both knew, and you could feel all of armin’s emotions leaking out of you to slip down your leg, you just remained quiet. the only sound you’d make would be a hushed hiss caused by armin hastily pulling himself out of you. the hands holding you would also remove themselves, not even bothering to catch you when your arms gave out and you fell onto the pillowy surface beneath you. turning around felt physically impossible; how were you meant to face armin when the trajectory of your relationship had been altered for life? instead you’d just lay on your side, staring at the wall.

“don’t tell eren, okay?”, you said to armin once he came into your line of vision. knowingly, his head would be shaking as his hands busily rummaged through his bedside draw.

“of course i won’t”, he smiled at you, finally pulling out a tube from the draw before closing it again.

“the fuck is that?”, you sat yourself up.

“lube”, he answered, prompting you to look at him with confusion scrawled all over your face, “you got your getback for him cheating, but i haven’t got mine for being used”, he smirked.

©2023 nanaminsmooninc. All rights reserved. You may not copy, reproduce, or modify works without permission.

[saintwyfe]

࿐ ˚ . ✦ STAY THE NIGHT? jude bellingham

summary. when you're just not ready for your bf to leave yet

cw. aggressive reader smh fluff

word count. 819

your dry eyes exclusively stared at the bright, white screen in the middle of your dim bedroom. you were bundled up in heaps of blankets alongside your boyfriend, jude, who’d also lent his arm around your neck and snuggled away. there was a spot on his chest left warm from the imprint of your cheek, marinating on it for an hour or so. the fluorescent blue light of the tv screen was slowly burning your eyes, but being preoccupied with the movie in front of you, you could truly care less.

along the movie, you felt your boyfriend fidgeting next to you, shuffling his legs, adjusting the hem of his t-shirt, and tapping his phone every now and again. you didn’t pay much mind to it when it first began, but now it was becoming a little repetitive. he hadn’t been giggling like he typically would, either, which drew worry within you. 

your head drifted from the movie in front of you as you stole a glance at the boy who’d once again quickly clicked the power button on his phone.

"you okay?" you asked out of concern. you trusted he wasn’t being sneaky—if anything, maybe he was uncomfortable.

he swiftly cleared his throat, "yeah, i’m good." your eyes peered upon his stoic appearance while he attempted to seem preoccupied, squinting at the tv screen with his arms crossed in a formal demeanor.

"i actually," he paused, taking a second to (once again) peep at his phone, "think it’s getting pretty late." he shifted himself onto the headboard of your bed. 

"what? we’re already so far into the movie—just stay for however long there is left," you protested, stationing your body upright as you watched his turned back begin to face you.

"listen, princess, i really have to get up early for training tomorrow. you can finish the rest without me, right?" he cooed in a sweet, drowsy tone while lowering himself to cup your cheek.

you frowned, gazing into his eyes. you took the opportunity to grasp the big hand fixed on your cheek, stroking it, as you two shared a few seconds of physical affection.

"do you really have to go?" you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating that somehow your innocent gape would stir him back into bed.

he sighs. his head scans the ceiling of your room for a second before returning his gaze to you. you can sense that there was contemplation emanating from him, weighing the consequences of either spending the night or going home.

"last time i stayed the night, i was an hour late to practice," he says, pinching your cheek before grabbing the hoodie laying on the corner of your bed and flinging it over his head.

"i got into so much trouble too. i promise i’ll stay longer next time, but i really have to go." he continued, adjusting the collar of his hoodie, which draped so nicely on his broad frame.

as much as you hated to admit it, he was right. for whatever reason, every time he stayed the night, it just so happened that his alarm didn’t seem to go off. you two would be an hour into cuddling before he darts up and realizes that practice started 45 minutes ago.

you took the opportunity to sit on the edge of the bed as he fiddled with the hood of his sweater. you stood silent for a second, watching him before his departure.

"well, at least hug me before you go," you plead, tilting your head among the boy perched in front of you.

he let out a soft chuckle as he approached you with open arms. the fabric of his sweater etched across your cheek as you pulled him closer in your embrace, hugging him tighter.

wrapping your legs around him, you had the bright idea of keeping him home a little longer.

"you’re not going anywhere," you muffled into his clothed chest, sinking back into the bed with him still bound to your arms.

"y/n—" he cried, startled by the extent to which you went to keep him for the night.

"you’re so heavy," you mumbled under him. he chuckled in the crook of your neck before pulling himself from above you, though he didn’t fully plunk his weight on you. (😔)

"gosh, you really want me to stay the night that bad?" he teased, mounting himself between your legs. instinctively, you swathed your legs around his thighs once more.

"mhm," you nodded, dragging your bottom lip between your teeth. 

"and, if you try to leave again, you’re dead, okay?" you declared before your boyfriend chuckled, bending down to peck your cheek.

"got it, ma’am" he hummed in agreement.

"but, if i'm late again, i swear—" 

"shush, you're not going to be late, promise." you cut him off, knowing fully well it was destined to happen again, but that's for tomorrow to decipher.

an: chronic writer's block does not mix well with my notes list of ideas to write abt...

[genshin-impact-unofficial]

Hi!!! I've really been enjoying your writing, especially Albedo's spicy reading one I blushed and giggled so hard 🥰 it was very sweet and cute!!!

Which leads me into my request if that's okay! Can I please request something sweet and spicy with Albedo? I adore him so much and I don't really have much of an idea so really anything with him would be great!!

I'll probably be an anon for a while cause I'm shy so you can call me 🦊 fox anon if you want!

I hope you're having a great day!!!

Can i get a muthha fuckin uhhhhhhhhh.... Albedo deluxe with extra sweet and sour sauce. 🍔🍟🥤

Lmao fr tho, thank you 🦊 anon for both your praises and your request! I hope this fills your saucy Albedo needs! 💝

Hold Still, My Muse.

Albedo had a vision of you that must be made into reality.

Tags: GN!Reader x Albedo, Technically SFW, PG-13, Suggestive, Pining, Confessions, Everyone always writes Albedo as a dick but he is a polite boy FIGHT ME

The first time Albedo drew you was in passing. A candid sketch that a quiet man gifted to you without reason. When your paths crossed once more, the alchemist asked so politely for a moment of your time and you found it impossible to say no. He asked to draw you again, just as you were, sitting there in the sunlight. It felt awkward having someone stare so intently at your every detail. Albedo worked silently without mentioning how stiff your stance became under his gaze. That just won’t do…

You received a letter from the blond knight only a few days later. He’d like to see you again, but to share a meal this time. It was odd to receive such an invitation from the recluse Kreideprinz, but you were no less delighted to accept.

Albedo was quite charming when he put in the effort. Over dinner he asked to learn about you and your interests. He listened patiently, like he was committing it all to memory. In turn, you learned about Albedo's endlessly fascinating experiments and even about his artwork. You became so engrossed in the man's mind that time nearly got away from you. When Albedo asked you to pose for him once again, your anxieties were easier to push away in his familiar company.

You grew fond of both the alchemist's attention and presence. It became common for Albedo to take you to view scenery around Mondstadt, sit and chat, and eventually take his sketchpad out to draw you. Your heart would skip a beat whenever he held your chin to position your face toward him. Sometimes, you would even do it on purpose. After Albedo finished his sketch, you would both carry on and enjoy the rest of your date evening together.

Curiosity got the better of you regarding how often the blond went out of his way to draw others.

"Hm.." Albedo took a moment to ponder, as if he never considered this. "Besides you, I can't say I've ever went to this extent to draw someone."

You were hid a blush when he invited you to his home for a more private session. Albedo explained how he wanted to test some paints that took longer to dry, thus the process would be quite long. For your comfort he suggested his abode as a solution. Your mind hardly processed the boy’s reasoning, still stuck on being alone together in his home.

-

You regretted your choice of attire as soon as you arrived. The anticipation of the evening had you feeling bold. The revealing blouse and skin tight pants under your coat felt far too forward now that Albedo was right in front of you. If it didn’t mean trekking down the snowy mountain again, you would’ve already made an excuse to leave and reschedule.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’m almost done setting up.” Albedo gestured past his lab and toward a room further back. You entered and held your breath when you saw it was a small neat bedroom. There was very little in the room, just a fireplace, a bed, a couple of chests, and an easel set up towards the room's center. You sputtered out a question, asking where you should sit.

"The bed. We may take a while and it's the most comfortable seat I can offer. Plus, the lighting would be optimal." Albedo stated simply, entering in the room with the last of his supplies. You could only nod at his oblivious logic and take a tentative seat on the edge of his bed. There was no way you could take your coat off now, you were sure you'd burst into flames. The blond didn't question your choice and proceeded to place his paints while letting you get settled.

Maybe you would burst into flames anyway. The healthy fire kept the small room toasty enough that you felt suffocated under your thick coat. It took less than five minutes for you to feel the sweat forming on your brow. You willed yourself to stand strong and hold your pose, maybe he would finish quickly if you were perfectly still.

"Do you mind if I sit beside you?" Albedo's voice cut though your thoughts like a searing knife through butter. You blinked in confusion and shock, unable to find your voice you shook your head and scooted over. Your eyes followed the man's movements as he put down his tools and drew closer. The mattress dipped beside you when he sat and you could feel his gaze on you. You could bare to look just yet.

"Did you know when I began my drawings, they were simply to illustrate my notes? I felt I could study things in far more depth when I sketched their every last detail." The alchemists spoke casually, as if the two of you were sharing over a meal. You turned to look at him, made curious by the man's words.

"I found that the process was something I also enjoyed. It became calming to just observe and create. My mind could stay clear and calm." Albedo continued, "But I have never experienced having a subject enthrall me as much as you."

Your eyes widened and your mouth hung slightly open by the sudden confession.

"My mind isn't quite clear when I draw you. I feel inspired and challenged. I have yet to capture it truly on paper or canvas. I try again and again, and although beautiful, it doesn't truly capture what you evoke." You processed each word over and over in your mind. Finally, you worked up the courage to ask why he was telling you this.

"When you get nervous, you close off from me. I wanted to make my intentions clear so that you may have no reservations about me. You're someone I cherish as an inspiration and as a companion. So please, tell me how I can make you feel as such." Albedo told you earnestly.

You recognized there was vulnerability in his expression and that he was asking for the same. There really wasn't really anything standing in your way but your own fear. For this man, you were willing to be brave and show him what he wanted, what he all but pleaded for. Your expression softened and you told him you were alright to continue now.

Albedo returned to his easel and allowed you to get comfortable again. His eyes followed intrigued while you stood and started to undo your coat. You watched the man's every move while the garment fell to the floor. He didn't bother to hide the way his gaze followed every curvature of your body, as if committing it to memory again. Albedo's features held a mild expression but his body language showed he was restless. You sat farther up the bed, posing modestly yet arching your body ever so slightly for show.

"That position, while... appealing, doesn't lend itself to the lighting. Your leg, perhaps, bend it a little." Albedo, attempting keeping his composure, guided your pose.

"Like this?" You moved slowly, bending your leg up. The position now seemed far more provocative.

"Ah, No." Albedo tried to correct himself, not wanting to insinuate he was trying to put you in a questionable position. "I meant the other way. I apologize."

"Can you show me?" You ask feeling particularly bold now that you've received a reaction. "It would help me a lot." You added when you noticed a small hesitation.

"Of course." Albedo nodded. The blond stepped away from his painting and towards you perched on the bed. His hand hovered over your leg for a moment before looking you in the eye, "May I?" he asked ever so politely. You nodded in response and felt his warm hands begin to guide you.

You asked him how else you could improve your posture and watched as Albedo became eager to teach. Each touch becoming less and less cautious than the last, until the man had you pinned under him. You held each others charged gaze while he gripping each of your wrists against the mattress.

"This isn't very chivalrous of me as a knight." He breathed, looking you over again and again as if expecting you to ask him to stop. You let him observe you and even offered a open view of your neck and chest.

"Isn't it the job of a researcher to uncover what is before you." You remarked, not moving an inch. Albedo unclasped your wrists and you feared he may have had second thoughts. Before you could say anything, arms wrapped around your waist and his face was buried into your neck. A low rumble was spoken across your heated skin.

"Then I'm going to need you in a few positions for research purposes. I'll have to sketch down a few observations for reference as well."

<A/N: Ngl this got away from me a little. I expected this to be far shorter but it I think too hard. I hope you enjoy!

[aheckinmess]

Seeing Stripes (Dad Sukuna)

(Part 4 of Cursed, Not Cute.)

Read on AO3.

Tags: Dad Sukuna, OC Child, Child Gojo Satoru, Lazy Day Stroll, Protective Sukuna, Soft Sukuna, Sukuna's Original Form, Gojo Satoru is a Little Shit, Sukuna Has a Daughter, She Stays Throwing Shade, Did We Expect Anything Less?, Also There's a Tiger Spirit, She's Just as Sassy

Word Count: 1,535 words

Summary: Besu's thoughtful stroll turns into the start of a new friendship. Only problem is she has no idea how her father will react since it's a boy.

Chapter 4: Seeing Stripes

“I think you’re crazy.” Besu huffed at her tiger companion, kicking the gravel beneath her feet. “Why try to make friends when they’re only going to try and take my power or gain influence with my father?”

“You don’t know everyone seeks to harm you.” Baekho chuffed and rubbed against her leg. “It is not good for you to be alone.”

“I have you.”

“I cannot be the only one you interact with, Little One.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“You’re eleven now.” Baekho licked Besu’s hand once. “You need others around you to support you. Your father and I can only provide so much. You need peers your own age you can learn to trust and socialize with.”

“I don’t need anyone else.”

. . . . .

As she’d gotten older, Sukuna trained Besu extensively in her use of cursed energy and techniques. She no longer feared walking through the streets of Shibuya. Those who initially viewed Besu’s life as free game soon learned the extent of Baekho’s wrath.

“Your father is worried about you, you know.”

That gave Besu pause, but only for a moment. Then, she shoved her hands in her pockets and redoubled her pace, storming down the streets. She shoulder-checked a fruit vendor and the cabbage man, sending glares at anyone who met her eyes.

“Cub, you know he cares about you. As hard as it is for him to show it, he wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t fully understand why.” Baekho continues. “Your need for companionship is as evident as the stripes on my back.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know where I’d find that.” Besu sighed, kicking a pebble in her path. “Father only teaches me how to fight.”

“Perhaps he teaches you to fight because it is the only thing he knows.”

Besu opened her mouth to respond when a green-haired man flung himself in front of her.

“May your reign be short-lived, Princess–” His voice abruptly ended as Baekho caught him in her teeth and crushed his bones between her jaws.

She dropped his body in the street and kept walking with Besu, whose expression didn’t change.

“He homeschools me and teaches me everything at home. Am I just supposed to walk out in the streets and befriend the first person I see?” Besu gestured with her hand and it smacked straight into a boy with white hair. “I am so sorry.” She squeaked, covering her mouth with her hands. In an instant, Baekho’s spirit drew back into her body.

“Pfft. Was that supposed to hurt?” The young boy rolled his eyes behind a pair of stark, black sunglasses. Based on the cursed energy radiating from him, there was only one person he could be.

“Was that supposed to insult me?” Besu quipped back, quirking an eyebrow at him. One pair of hands stayed in her pockets, but the other pair rested on her hips in irritation.

“You’re the daughter of the Curse King.” The boy said, tilting his head as his posture reflected her own. “Besu, right?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “And you are?”

“The princess of the Curse King doesn’t know who I am?” He scoffed.

“I know who you are, but I’m giving you the option of introducing yourself before I confirm that you are, in fact, an asshole.” Besu shuffled her feet, reaching out to Baekho with her mind. Keep an eye on him. I sense no threat from him. He seems to be cautious, like you.

The boy’s lips twisted into a smirk at her attitude.

“I like your style, Princess of Curses. I’m Gojo. Satoru Gojo.” His smirk disappeared as soon as it surfaced. “Why are you out here? Fancy a destructive stroll through the streets?”

“I don’t harbor the same destructive tendencies of my father.” Besu started walking, letting him decide whether or not he wanted to follow. “Though you’d think otherwise based on the amount of people that have tried to kill me.”

When the world grew quiet again, Besu assumed Gojo left, leaving the residue of his massive cursed energy behind him.

“People are constantly trying to kill me too. I’m sure you know why.” His voice startled her back into reality and she spared him a glance.

Besu knew. Father had schooled her on a plethora of well-known sorcerer families and their techniques. With the vast variety of cursed techniques she would encounter, narrowing down the families with techniques passed down proved vital for survival. The less wild factors she had, the safer and stronger she’d be.

“I understand.” As she passed her favorite sweet shop, she nodded to him. “Do you like sweets? Do you wanna go get something to eat?” That’s a friendly gesture, right? A respectable invitation, Little One. I’m proud.

“Sure.” Gojo smiled.

. . . . .

Besu sat at a table eating ice cream while Gojo stuffed his face with warabi mochi; she racked her brain for topics of conversation, as well as possibilities to help protect her new friend from assassins like the ones she faced daily.

“Besu, yeah? What sort of cursed spirit latched onto you?” Gojo asked after his last bite of dessert. He folded his arms behind his head and reclined. “I saw a glimpse earlier.”

“She didn’t retreat, she just likes staying inside me to keep other spirits and people from clocking my cursed energy easily.” Besu growled defensively. No need to protect my honor, Cub, he’ll learn soon enough. “But she’s the White Tiger Guardian, Baekho.”

“Baekho, huh?” Gojo tried to appear disinterested, but his eyes shone behind his glasses the same way her father’s had when he’d first heard. “Not often a cursed spirit so powerful as Baekho bonds to anyone, not even a sorcerer.”

“Yeah…” Besu nodded absently, before her face lit up. “Hey! Maybe I can get Baekho to help protect you…from the people trying to kill you, too? Baekho, can you do that?”

A swirl of smoky blue swirled into the air as Baekho’s glowing blue figure materialized beside them.

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that. We are tethered, little love.” Baekho rubbed her head against Besu’s hand and turned to Gojo.

“Ha!” Gojo chuckled, wrinkling his lips into a shit-eating grin. “You think I’m so weak that I need her protection? What do you take me for, a whelp?”

Baekho bared her teeth, a warning for the young cub to stand down. “As it stands, your power is great. Few would ever surpass it. But should you ever find yourself in trouble, rally your cursed energy into a pool at the top of your head as a flare. Energy that’s stored away in the mind is the most difficult to ignore, and we will find you.”

Gojo pushed his glasses down far enough for Baekho to see the roll of his eyes. Then he stood and dusted off his shirt.

“You think I need a house cat to keep me safe?”

Besu blinked and Baekho had Gojo on the ground, her massive paw on his chest.

“Hold your tongue, Young Cub. I am tethered, not tamed.”

. . . . .

By the time Besu returned home, Sukuna waited for her in the den. On a throne of bones, he appeared sorely disinterested in the book he read, but Besu she’d been gone long enough for him to hide his worry behind the pages.

“Father, I have returned home.”

“Besu, I am glad you are back safely.” Sukuna bookmarked his page and turned his full attention to her. “You were gone longer than I expected.”

“Yes, sir. I did not mean to delay. I met a new companion.” She chose her words carefully. Anyone else and Sukuna might find them unworthy of her attention. But Satoru Gojo? Besu was sure Sukuna would find him worthy, but his disdain for the Gojo family was of no question.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. We stopped by my favorite sweet shop for idle chatter. I hope that’s alright.”

“Depends on who you were with.”

“A boy my age by the name of Satoru Gojo.”

Sukuna’s red eyes suddenly locked with Besu’s and he bared a set of sharp teeth. At that moment, they seemed like fangs on a feral tiger, not unlike Baekho. She couldn’t tell if the murder in his eyes was because of Gojo’s namesake or the fact that he was, well, a boy.

“What did you talk about?”

Baekho, I’m scared. I am here.

“Well, we mostly just talked about how we’re both constantly trying to stay safe from assassins.” Besu explained, leaving out their discussion of Baekho. “I suggested the sweet shop. I wanted a companion.”

“A companion, I understand. But a boy?” Sukuna groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And not just any boy, either. Satoru Gojo! Of all the sorcerers you could encounter…”

“I’m sorry, Father.”

With a heavy sigh, Sukuna stood and placed four sets of hands on her shoulders.

“Well, as long as you have someone other than Baekho and me to keep you out of trouble…I’ll allow it.” Sukuna surprised her with a kiss to her forehead before stalking away. “But if he ever lays a hand on you, I’ll dismantle and cleave the little ass until he is a puddle of blood and marrow.”

Continue Reading -> Ch. 5

[grandmother-goblin]

Field Study - Chapter 13

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: After Astarion and Cas's tryst in the woods, they have a much needed conversation about their relationship.

Relationships: Astarion x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Word Count: 4.8k

Chapter Tags: Fluff, admitting feelings, cuddling, hand holding, she's wearing his shirt.

“Do you have any interest in astronomy?” Cas lounged beside him on the blankets and bedroll she had laid over grass beneath them, gazing up at the starlit sky.

After their tryst in the forest, Astarion had carried her all the way back to their private, makeshift campsite on the border of the river. Crickets and frogs mixed with the gentle rush of water as fireflies blinked wherever he looked. Though it was well past midnight, the summer air was still warm. Warm enough that Cas felt comfortable laying around in her panties and his shirt without making use of one of the blankets.

His shirt was far too big on her, but he couldn’t help but stare. He didn’t normally wear a shirt when he rested, so he didn’t mind the theft. In fact, he kind of liked seeing her wearing something of his. Cas claimed she wanted it because it looked comfortable, but he had a feeling it was more than that.

It almost felt like she was claiming him, in a small, private, way. Just like he had claimed her with his bite mark, she claimed him by wearing his clothes. But it was more subtle than the bite. Less permanent. While those twin puncture wounds on her neck aggressively marked her as his, she quietly marked him in return. Cas knew him well enough to know he would never allow her to mark him physically. But the fact he was allowing her to wear his clothes at all…. It was something. Something difficult to explain.

Just like his feelings towards her. Difficult, confusing, and often contradictory. It was like everything about her, about their relationship, ran perpendicular to what he knew. The lifetime of cruelty Cazador had drilled into him insisted that none of it was real. That he didn’t deserve her or the moments of peace she gave him.

But there Cas was. Laying beside him with her dark eyes glittering with the reflection of a million stars. Gorgeous and understanding to a fault, but all his. At least for tonight.

He didn’t dare think beyond that.

“Eroc tried to teach me some constellations once upon a time,” she continued, completely unaware of all the thoughts coursing through his mind. She drew an invisible line with her finger as if to paint an image in the stars. “I can recognize them, but I can never remember their names.”

Astarion hummed, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t because he found the conversation boring. In fact, he typically enjoyed talking about everything and nothing with Cas. But he felt like there was something they should have been doing other than talking.

Hells, she was practically laid before him like a gift that was already partially unwrapped. Long, slender, legs bare beside him and the v of his shirt revealing the soft curve of her breasts. He could have her so easily. Any way he wanted her. That was what they were supposed to be doing, right? Wasn’t the point of the entire night to get lost in one another? To have fun?

They hadn’t promised anything else. All he knew was that she wanted him enough to look past his mistakes. But he couldn’t fathom why.

Briefly, he wondered if Cas would have suggested the hunting idea if he was anyone else. If he wasn’t a vampire. Hunting her, biting her…. Was he fulfilling some deranged fantasy of hers?

No. Cas wasn’t like that. They had talked a little bit about her research, and that research seemed to be the extent of her interest in vampires. At least, vampires in general. From what he knew, her friend Eroc was working on various treatments and quality-of-life improvements for those cursed with the affliction. Most likely for his own sake rather than for the benefit of vampires everywhere. However, Astarion never bothered to ask for details. It seemed pointless at the time.

But now? Now he wanted to know everything that was going through Cas’s head. What did she really think of him? Why did she still want him, even after what happened with the drow? Did she mean all of the things she said?

‘You’re clever and funny and you’re one of my favorite people to talk to.’

‘Whatever you’re doing with me — this whole sneaking kisses in the middle of the night — doesn’t need to happen for me to help you.’

‘Thank you for being my friend and making me laugh.’

Then there was the portrait she made for him. It was the most wonderful gift someone had ever given him. She had put thought and time into it, and wrapped it up and left it as a surprise for him. He certainly didn’t deserve such kindness. Not from her and definitely not at that moment.

He didn’t deserve someone like Cas.

Instead of looking at the stars, he tilted his head toward her. She was the prettier sight, after all. And the gods knew she shined just as bright. She seemed so relaxed. Content. Like she wasn’t expecting anything more than exactly what they were doing.

Fuck….

He was falling for her, wasn’t he? Oh, who the hells was he kidding? He had started falling for her the night she let him bite her. Or maybe the night when she brought him a bottle of wine. Maybe when he watched her draw while they were keeping watch in the swamp or when they discussed the changeling detective novel. Moments of where she didn’t gain anything from him except his company.

Hells, Cas had given him her blood just because he had asked. Without any expectations or asking for something in return. Just because she had wanted him to be strong. To be happy.

Strangely enough, Astarion found himself wanting her happiness as well. Not just his own. And he wanted to be the one who brought a smile to her face.

But that could never happen. Not while Cazador loomed over Astarion’s shoulder like a headsman with an ax. If Cazador ever regained control over him, if he ever found out about Cas…. Astarion would have to bring her to his old master, wouldn’t he? With a snap of his fingers, Cazador could turn Astarion from Cas’s lover to her tormentor. Or her executioner.

He couldn’t bear the thought.

“Astarion, are you okay?” Cas’s soft-spoken question snapped him out of his thoughts. A cute little frown tugged at the corners of her lips and he wanted to kiss it away. She turned onto her side, propping her chin on her palm as she gazed down at him, eyes full of concern. “You’ve gone quiet.”

“Just thinking, sweetheart,” he assured with a practiced smile. Force of habit, he realized. He gave false assurances all the time when he was luring people, but he didn’t want to deceive Cas. Yet, he wasn’t quite sure how to tell her what was on his mind. Or if he even should.

Her brow drew together slightly, but her frown didn’t fade. “About?”

It was supposed to be a fun night. He couldn’t let himself ruin it because he couldn’t get out of his own head for a few hours.

Astarion brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face, letting his fingertips ghost over her soft skin. “About how beautiful you are and how lucky I am to have met you,” he tried, his false smile still firmly in place even though his words were technically true. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

A puff of laughter passed her lips as she rolled her eyes. “Now tell me what you’re really thinking about.”

Instead of replying right away, he caressed the side of her face and guided her lips to his. For a second, she held back, simply letting him kiss her. But then she relented. He rolled her onto her back and caged her beneath him, kissing her slowly. Giving himself a few more seconds to think.

Hells, he wasn’t even sure how to define his relationship with Cas. Beyond the fact that they both seemed to enjoy each other's company both in and out of the bedroom. What if she just wanted a fling? What if he was simply thinking too much about it because… she was special to him? Maybe it was time to admit that he wanted more. Though he wasn’t sure what “more” entailed.

But their relationship still seemed so fragile. It wasn’t but a few hours ago that he had convinced himself that Cas wanted to end their love affair. But they never really talked about what they wanted. All he knew was they wanted each other.

A warm, gentle, hand pressed against his chest until he broke the kiss. Once he did, Cas immediately cupped his face in her hands as if to stop him from trying the same tactic twice. “You’re trying to distract me,” she chided, a soft smile on her pretty lips. “If you don’t want to talk about something, just say so. I’ll leave it alone.”

“Like you are right now?”

She narrowed her eyes at him and the look of annoyance on her face drew an unexpected laugh from him. It was a more playful sort of annoyance than something that stemmed from a place of genuine frustration. Though he couldn’t really fault her if it was genuine. He was being difficult on purpose.

“Stop looking at me like that or you’ll wrinkle your pretty face prematurely,” he said and smoothed her brow with his fingertip.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world, she looped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him, eyes full of mischief. “Is that what happened to you?”

“How dare you.” Astarion placed a hand against his chest with mock offense. “You drew that lovely portrait of me and didn’t capture a single one? Here I was thinking you were a competent artist.”

Cas shrugged. “I took some liberties,” she teased but then her smile fell as her dark eyes locked with his. “And you’re still trying to change the subject.”

Instead of answering right away, he leaned down to kiss her again only to be blocked by her palm over his lips. She bit back a smile and shook her head. “Astarion.”

“Fine,” he groaned. “There is something that I want to ask you about. Something kind of important.”

“Okay,” she said as she settled back against the bedroll, her fingers playing idly with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ask away.”

Shit. His nerves caught in his throat. He was committed to asking her now, wasn’t he? He couldn’t retreat without drawing her suspicion. Briefly, he considered just making something up. A question that sounded important but that he really didn’t care about. That way no matter how she answered, he wouldn’t get hurt.

No. He had to be honest. He had to talk to her if he didn’t want things to blow up in his face like they did before. If she didn’t give him the answer he hoped to hear, well, he could always improvise. He was good at that.

Before he could lose his nerve, he took a deep breath. “What made you decide to give me another chance?” he asked. “I was surprised that you still wanted me after, well, everything.”

There. The words were out and there was no taking them back. It wasn’t the exact question he wanted to ask, but he felt like it could get him the same information regardless. If he were to have any hope of having something real with her, then they had to be able to have hard conversations.

“To be completely honest, I was surprised too,” she said, her tone soft and contemplative as her fingers paused in his hair. “I didn’t want to at first. And I probably won’t if something like that happens again.”

Astarion could have guessed as much. It was completely understandable after all that happened. Nevertheless, the words still stung.

“But after we talked and you gave me some time to think….” Cas shrugged and gave him a gentle smile. “I realized how much I enjoy our time together. I like you a lot and I have fun with you. I didn’t want to give up what we could have over one mistake.”

Something about her choice in words didn’t sit quite right with him. On one hand, she could be completely genuine and meant exactly what she said. Nothing more and nothing less. On the other hand, ‘spending time together’ and ‘having fun’ were euphemisms he frequently used for activities of a more carnal nature. Considering how most of the time they spent together ended with them doing things with their mouths other than talking ….

He tried to shake the thought. He couldn’t let his mind go down that path, no matter how badly it wanted to. Cas was different. No matter how many times the ghosts of his past told him that nothing had changed, he only had to look at the woman in front of him to know that wasn’t true.

If Cas only wanted him for his body, she wouldn’t have been so upset over what happened with the drow. Even though their conversations turned into something more, Cas was never the one to initiate it. He did. He initiated their first kiss, second, third… their first time together, their second… Even if she was the one to suggest the idea of him hunting her, he was the one to agree to it. Knowing what he knew about Cas, she wouldn’t have batted an eye if he had said no.

His mind drifted back to the night when she saved him from that monster hunter. Afterwards when they kissed and then he changed his mind. Cas didn’t push it, even though she was very into it.

Cas never pushed him into doing something he didn’t want to do.

But… he needed some reassurance, he realized. Between the passionate kisses at the party and him taking her in the woods like a wild beast, he just needed to hear that she still saw him for more than just a body to be used. That she saw a real person inside the vampiric husk of the man he once was.

“You like me that much?” he asked, his voice much smaller than he intended as he stroked her arm with a featherlight touch. “What do you like about me?”

Cas grinned at him. “Are you looking for a sincere answer or just flattery?”

“Sincerity, love,” Astarion said and leaned down to kiss her neck. Just to give himself a moment. A brief reprieve from the kindness and patience in her eyes. He wasn’t used to anyone looking at him the way she did, so just to keep the mood light he added, “Then you can flatter me all you like.”

She hummed as her hand traced along his spine, over the bumps and grooves of his scars, from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. But the touch didn’t feel sexual. It felt nice. Comforting even. “I’ll tell you only if you answer a question for me first. Deal?”

As if she had asked him to fold the laundry or some other boring chore, Astarion huffed. “I suppose it’s only fair,” he said.

Even with his agreement, there was a sense of anxiety radiating off of her. Anxiety that worked its way into his veins and made him nervous in turn. Not knowing what to do, he delicately nipped her neck, lavishing attention around the bite mark, everywhere he knew she liked. Partly as an attempt to soothe whatever worried her. But there was another part of him that said that the better he made her feel, the more likely it was she would give him the answer he hoped for.

“Ask me,” he whispered against her ear, his voice falling into the tone he so often used when he was seducing people.

A shiver went through her when he nibbled her earlobe. The peaks of her breasts brushed against his chest through the material of her shirt— his shirt — when she arched into him. “Is this all you want from me?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pulse. “Sex?”

Astarion stopped. It seemed like the whole world went utterling silent as her words. He blinked twice as his brain caught up with what Cas had just said.

A laugh threatened to burst out of him, but he bit it back. It wasn’t because he found the question funny. That wasn’t the case at all. But because it never once occurred to him that she could be worried about the same things he was.

Cas had every right to be worried. After all, he had planned to use sex to manipulate her feelings for him in the first place. A plan that ultimately failed, considering how he got tangled up in his own trap, but the plan had existed nonetheless.

Placing his palms flat against the bedroll on either side of her head, Astarion hovered over her so he could see her face. There was a false smile on her lips as she tried her best to pretend she didn’t care about his answer, but he could hear her heart beating like a war drum. A tear glimmered in her eye before she quickly blinked it away.

“Is that what you want?” he replied, his voice tight despite how he tried to sound indifferent.

“Not really,” she said. “But if that’s what you want or if you don’t feel ready for anything more, it would be wrong to try to change your mind.” Cas averted her eyes as though it hurt to look at him, and in the quietest voice she added, “No matter how I feel.”

The answer shouldn’t have surprised him. For two centuries he was subjected to the whims of a cruel man. What he thought, what he wanted or what he felt never mattered. Obey or be punished. That was his entire existence. But Cas was giving him a choice. A choice he never could have fathomed only a few weeks ago.

Astarion rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and breathing in her scent. “What would ‘more’ look like?”

A single, nervous breath of laughter passed her lips. “I don’t know,” she said. “Going on fun dates. Or dates that go so terribly we can laugh about them years later. Doesn’t really matter as long as I get to spend time with you. I just want the chance to get to know you better, because I like what I know so far. You’re smart and sweet and so fucking funny I—” Cas shook her head as color darkened her cheeks. “I’m going to stop talking before I embarrass myself.”

“Oh no,” he protested as a smile, a real smile, snuck onto his lips. “Please go on about how wonderful I am. It’s great for my ego.”

It was amazing what just a little bit of reassurance did for him. Hearing the words from her lips melted away his fears for the time being, leaving only a vague sense of hope in their place. Cas liked him. Him. Not just his face or his body. Or the fact that he was a vampire because that apparently did it for some people.

Just him.

Centuries of being used, of being exploited and abused, screamed at him not to believe her. Told him there was no way she was telling the truth. That all of this was just another bizarre act of deception and cruelty.

But he didn’t need the tadpole to know she meant what she said. It was clear in her eyes. It was clear in every part of her. Everything she had done for him, from fighting for him and even fighting against him when appropriate. It was because she saw him as a person. Not a plaything, not just someone to be used and discarded. But someone worthwhile.

Astarion took her hand in his and pressed a lingering kiss to the inside of her wrist. “I don’t want this to be just about sex either, love,” he said, doing his best to hide the faint tremor in his voice. “I’ve had enough of that to last several lifetimes. I don’t want to be thought of in those terms, especially not by you.”

Something about her expression softened. Cas smiled at him, all warmth and adoration. “If anyone thinks of you that way, then they’re missing out on all the best parts of you.”

Those might have been the kindest words anyone had ever said to him. The words were like honey. Sticky and syrupy, making him vaguely uncomfortable, but also so sweet that he almost didn’t mind. Darkness at the back of his mind told him to wash it all away before he gave in and drank it all in.

After all, some of the most fatal poisons tasted deceptively sweet.

Words failed him. It wasn’t often he found himself not knowing what to say. He had a quip or a snappy comeback for just about everything. But all it took was a few kind words to leave him utterly speechless.

So instead of saying anything at all, he kissed her. He kissed her like she was the most precious thing in the world. His lips moved against his in a slow, silky caress. Different from any of the kisses they shared before. Less urgent. Something to be enjoyed for what it was rather than what it could lead to.

Cas’s fingers sunk into his hair and she kissed him back as if she were trying to breathe him in. Like he was someone to be cherished. Someone treasured. With no pressure for anything more.

They didn’t have sex again that night. They kissed between conversations about everything and nothing. They listened to the crickets and the sounds of the lazy river as they gazed at the stars that painted the perfect indigo sky. Cas pointed out some constellations, but since she didn’t know the names, they made some up.

One of the names he proposed (and the subsequent reasoning for the name) had Cas laughing so hard she started crying. He tucked the name away in his memory so he could remind her when she least expected it. Just to see her smile. Or maybe to make her laugh at an inappropriate time. Whatever suited the occasion.

As it turned out, Astarion had an interest in astronomy after all.

—

As much as Astarion loved the sun now that he could tolerate it, the morning light crested over the horizon far too soon, painting the dawn in shades of orange and pink. However, it was still nice to watch the sun rise without having to run for the nearest spot of darkness. What made it even nicer was Cas snuggling up next to him, her head against his shoulder and her legs tangled with his beneath a soft blanket.

For a while, he simply enjoyed the moment. Warm, comfortable, with his hunger for blood sated and a beautiful person who cared for him beside him. What more could he want? Beside getting rid of the tadpole and ensuring Cazador died a gruesome death, of course. Those pressing matters aside, he felt almost… happy.

It wasn’t too long before Cas stirred. She smiled at him as she bid him good morning, her eyes still a little tired and her hair a mess. It was cute. Endearing even. It was something he could see himself getting used to all too easily, starting his day with her.

Perhaps they could start sharing a tent.

But he was getting ahead of himself. There was far too much to do, far too much that could go wrong, before he could even entertain such ideas. For all he knew, they could both be mind flayers tomorrow. Or one of Cazador’s monster hunters would come and snatch him away.

So as much as he would like to, he couldn’t let himself get comfortable. It would only lead to disappointment.

Part of him wanted to sequester themselves away for a few more hours, but Cas needed breakfast and he needed to get back to the real world. But as they dressed and packed up the campsite, erasing any physical evidence of their night together save for the bite mark on Cas’s neck, Astarion tried to commit everything he could to memory. Just to have something wonderful to keep in the back of his mind for a rainy day.

Dried leaves and twigs crunched under their feet as they leisurely made their way back toward camp. They weren’t taking the most direct route, he realized, but he didn’t mind. Just a few more minutes for just the two of them.

Walking shoulder to shoulder, he felt calloused fingertips brush against his skin once, hesitating. As he glanced down he saw Cas's fingers loosely intertwine with his own.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice hushed as though not to disturb the stillness of the forest.

Astarion swallowed and held her hand a little tighter. “Of course, love,” he said just as quietly, down by his best to sound casual even as his heart felt like it would burst from a simple act of innocent affection. “So long as you recently washed your hands.”

She gave him a broad grin, as bright and brilliant as the morning itself. Gods, he never thought he would love seeing someone smile so much. Seeing her happy made him feel happy in turn. It was a foreign feeling, one that he didn’t completely understand but he was in no mood to contemplate.

Her thumb brushed over his as she gazed up at him, furrowing her brow as if she was unsure about something. “Define ‘recently.’”

“Oh, just in the last tenday,” he replied as if that were perfectly reasonable. “I’m not overly picky.”

Mischief glimmered in her eyes as she gave him her best sheepish smile. “You might want to let go of my hand then.”

“Never,” he said and pressed a kiss to the back of her very clean, washed-as-of-that-morning, hand.

Cas gave a girlish giggle, a short and sweet sound that he already wanted to draw from her again. If it was because of the joke or the gesture, he couldn’t tell. But it didn’t really matter either way. What mattered was that he was enjoying the moment with her.

He wanted to enjoy every moment he could get.

She had all but given herself to him entirely last night. Not because he tricked her or coerced her, but because she chose to. Because, for whatever reason, he made her happy. The gods had given him so few gifts, and he wasn’t about to question it.

After everything they talked about, after the time they spent together and the way she made him feel, he would fight tooth and nail to keep her. It meant that he had to kill Cazador. No matter what. It was the only way he could keep them both safe. The only way they might have something of a future together. For however long that could last.

With Cas, he could picture himself living again. Truly living. That was worth whatever perils that laid ahead of them.

All too soon, their campsite came into view, and one of the best nights of his life had officially come to an end. Astarion flexed his fingers around Cas’s, unsure if he should let go because of their proximity to camp. He didn’t know if Cas would be okay with their companions seeing them like this.

Even though they all knew that he and Cas had been intimate with one another, none of them seemed to be aware of the nature of their relationship. Hells, he barely knew what their status was. We’re they a couple? Dating? Some weird limbo between friends and lovers?

A sharp gasp from Cas pulled him from his thoughts, startling him. His head whipped towards her, trying to identify what had happened. To make sure she wasn’t hurt. But he only saw a smile spreading across her face as she stared straight ahead towards the camp.

He followed her gaze and almost swallowed his tongue. His entire body iced over in an instant. Time seemed to stand still and a high pitched ringing in his ears drowned out any other sounds.

Leaning against a tree at the edge of the campsite was a man Astarion had never met, but he immediately recognized.

A wood elf. Copper skin. Sharp facial features. Dark brown hair. Even darker brown eyes.

Eyes that went from Cas’s face, flickered to the bite mark on her neck, and trailed to where her hand intertwined with Astarion’s. Like an eagle locking onto his prey, the elf’s eyes finally landed on him.

And all Astarion could do was stare back as the Huntsman of Neverwinter approached.

---

Beginning

Previous Chapter

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[ego-meliorem-esse]

Drawing Matt truly calms my soul. Drawing fashionable Matt tho sets my heart on fire. The duality of man...

I've been thinking about Matt's younger years and these are some quick thoughts that I just can't get out of my head:

Matt was born, and for a while lived on Francis' big estate outside of Paris, before being taken to Quebec. Due to not being born on his own land and the uncertain state of New France at the time, Matt was a sickly child with a lot of health issues. Francis of course had no time nor did he have the interest to devote his time to his sickly baby so Matt had quite a few governesses and maids taking care of him. He would hardly see his father most of the time that he was in Paris. The time that they would spend together was short and mostly during social gatherings and parties hosted by the French elite where it was expected of Francis to show up and bring his boy. While not being completely cold towards his son, Francis wasn't the warmest father either. Matt would get whatever he needed in the material sense. He had the best clothes out of the finest fabrics, the best toys, and later on the finest tutors. He rarely received any kind of emotional support that a regular parent would give though. While having all these things, Matt in reality had received very little love from Francis. In the modern day, Matt is afraid and uncomfortable asking for basic needs directly as a result of this.

Because he would spend so much time on his own, Matt picked up the habit of reading long into the night. He has read almost all the books on Francis' shelves during his long stays in Paris. His favourite genres are any type of fiction and all sorts of encyclopedias. If he was alone he would read and try to cure his chronic loneliness with books.

Matt can draw pretty well. It's a skill he believes he got from Francis. He can draw anything from portraits to landscapes. As a child, he drew much more than he does these days.

Matthew would hear less and less from Francis before he was eventually traded for sugar colonies. He would receive fewer and fewer letters from his father. Still, he hoped his father would come and get him after the war was over and the dust had settled. Nothing of the sort happened though. Francis was nowhere to be seen and Matt was completely heartbroken for a very long time. The transition from a French colony to an English one was difficult for Matt. He would sit on his new bed in the English manor and cry until his little heart couldn't take it anymore. Getting to a point of numbness quite early on. The only consolation was his newfound brother. Alfred (for the time being) was godsent. While he was a bit too loud and a bit too excited, he listened to Matt and spent time with the boy. Alfred gave Matt attention which he so desperately needed.  Matt finally had a friend.

Arthur was a different story altogether. At first to him, Matt was a small version of Francis. That in itself annoyed Arthur to no extent. What annoyed Arthur as well, was how much the boy looked like his father. At first, Arthur's treatment of Matt was cold and unrelenting. He didn't give the boy much thought and avoided him as much as possible, until finally realizing just how much the boy was in a need of a father and just how different he was from Francis. Being family-oriented, Arthur finally gave in and reluctantly read the boy his first bedtime story.

When Al left, Matt once again found himself surrounded by loneliness. Arthur was bitter and Alfred didn't respond to his letters. The only consolation was his uncle Alasdair who came around every once in a while for official business with Arthur (who for a while, neglected Matt due to his own grief). Though Matt suspected his uncles' visits were more to check up on Matt himself. Matthew hoped for the ladder to be true.

Sometime after 1815, Matt's and Al's relationship became more stable. They traded letters and visited each other more often. It took time but they eventually forgave each other.

I know these are not really written that well it's the thought that counts :))))

Aghhh i missed drawing my good boy so much!

[nikeiyomiurioverthinker]

Hey i just saw your reblog to my post about void and I'd love to hear your theories/headcanons on what Nikei's backstory is like

Hey!! Thanks for the ask, I like to yap a lot and this is fantastic to scratch that itch.

I do have a bunch of theories about his backstory, but I wouldn't say I have exactly a MAIN one? Also because a lot of the theories are technically just the same theory with a few slight tweaks. I don't want to settle on one only because I don't wanna be disappointed once Linuj drops the backstory and it isn't like how I imagined it.

There isn't much in the game itself that tells us about what Nikei's backstory could be like, but we have three things you always have to consider when creating a backstory for this guy:

Nikei's family is absent by the time Utsuro saves him and he cannot reconnect to them in any way

You have to think up why exactly Nikei is so obsessed with his right hand

The picture Linuj drew 4 years ago has to fit seamlessly in it

It has to explain his fixation on power and control

So, having stated that, here's the details that I match together fairly arbitrarily when I'm thinking about Nikei's backstory:

As far as his family is concerned, he most likely lost them before Utsuro even came into the picture- he does talk about them exactly once, and it is in this specific comment:

I know it says household and not family, but I checked the Hangul and from what I've found online, the term he uses is often used in the context of expressing the social position of one's family- so, he is likely talking about his own parents here. It's a fleeting comment, not the type I would imagine one would make when talking about abusive parents- so since his family likely has nothing to do with his trauma (or at least, isn't the direct source of it), they definitely disappeared before it all started.

Personally, I believe that Nikei was probably kidnapped- either that, or he was sold off. It depends on how nice I want Nikei's parents to be. In the kidnapping case, it could happen in any context, really- on the way home from school, or even inside his own home. His family most likely died during that encounter, and Nikei was then whisked away by his future abuser. In the case of him being sold off... well, Nikei states that his family wasn't wealthy- it isn't a stretch to say that maybe they were struggling financially, made a risky contract with loansharks that clearly didn't pay off, and therefore they had to either give Nikei away to their creditors, or they just sold him off for money so they could pay the debt back. What's important here is to establish that Nikei physically cannot (or in the second case, simply wouldn't want to) go back to his family.

Either way, it ends with Nikei being taken away from his family and forced into a life of servitude by his abuser(s). Most likely, Nikei had to deal with CSA- I don't want to get into that conversation, but there are two main reasons as to why I believe that to be the case. First, Nikei fits the profile of a victim, and is shown getting stressed and fearful when someone physically threatens him- like in the case of Mikado in chapter 4, in that one CG. Also, and this reason has less to do with the story itself and more with the writing of it all- Linuj is clearly giving each Void a different type of trauma, and it wouldn't make much sense for Nikei to be 'only' physically assaulted by his abuser, since that is already a subject explored in Emma's backstory. This then would explain his need for control- it's more out of fear of being forced into that situation again than anything else.

Skipping to the meeting with Utsuro now- I like to explain away Nikei's obsession with his hand as him touching Utsuro with it, and thus believing that his hand was blessed and is the reason why everything starts to look up for him. We are never explained how or to what extent each Void meets him, so it isn't unlikely to think that they were close enough to touch. Either that, or after the meeting with Utsuro, Nikei gathered up enough courage to actually stand for himself and attack his abuser- likely killing him and therefore causing the hand obsession. It might also just be a mix of both? Either way, Nikei gets out of this terrible situation, and he then doesn't live happily ever after because even after meeting Utsuro his life objectively sucks, just slightly less than it did before.

This is the most sensible of the theories I have? Nothing groundbreaking, I know.

Allow me now to introduce you to the Nikei Grew Up In A Cult theory. This one is significantly less strong that the ones above but hey, I'm just having fun here.

So, in this theory, Nikei's family is fully entrenched in a cult- Nikei probably was born into it. The details of the cult itself aren't really important, but I'm imagining something vaguely Christianity-inspired (on one hand because it's stupidly easy to just create a cult with Christianity as a basis, but also because of the very weird relationship Nikei seems to have with specifically Christianity- I could probably make a whole separate post on that). As in most cults, the leader is a wholeass fucking clown who definitely takes advantage of the kids in his group of yes men. Nikei definitely hated everything that was done to him, but no one would listen to him or they would actively scorn him for not accepting what their leader gave him- which also definitely counts for his parents.

Nikei grew to despise being submissive to others- due to the fact that he would always be taken advantage of if he wasn't the only in control. Which influenced his desire for power- when he met Utsuro, he touched the other boy with his right hand, and after the encounter was blessed with the luck to escape the cult.

Despite hating what was done to him, Nikei had grown up fully entrenched in the cult's dogma, so it wouldn't be insane to presume that he assumed the boy he met had been an angel or even a God, that had bestowed upon him luck as a way to pay him back for his suffering. Therefore, he starts seeing his right hand as something that was touched by God, causing his obsession with it.

Then again, I'm projecting a liiiittle of my religious trauma on him with this theory. It kinda was born out of my brain assuming the True? Or False? on his shirt referred to religious doctrine. Don't take it too seriously.

Anyway, that's all I got. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[xkseii]

⎮Final Arc⎮

⏤ Character: Aether

⏤ Including: Angst

⏤ Summary: His wish was granted, but at what cost

You got transported to the Genshin world along with Aether and his sister. Since then, you have been travelling around this world, discovering every nation, searching for any clues about where was Lumine. Days became weeks and then months quickly, but you never lost hope.

At some point, you could feel that you were close, after meeting Dainsleif, you were sure you would find her. And you did, but she disappeared before Aether or you could do anything. So you were forced to start all over again, running after someone that wasn't looking back.

It was getting more difficult physically, you got hurt many times, and you refused to count how many scars you received during the last three months. But even by ignoring your injuries, your mental was down, you were tired, irritated about anything and everything, and you were breaking down. You just wanted to find Lumine and leave.

Despite being as destroyed physically and mentally as Aether, you were holding up for him, you couldn't let him give up, even if it means driving yourself mad. You were sleeping less, since you were looking over Aether's bed most of the time, ready to shake him awake if he was having a nightmare. Paimon would do it for you sometimes, but you could see that the anxiety was growing on her, and you started feeling bad.

You were pushing yourself to another extent, the thought of finding Lumine and helping Aether to be happy with his sister again was motivating you. And finally, again, you managed to find her, you were all happy to be reunited, but not everything could end up well. And in order to leave this world, you had to fight until you were able to fly away together.

During the fight, you got hurt multiple times, and you were all tired, the sleepless nights and days without a break drew you to this mistake. Aether had no strength left either and Lumine wasn't physically able to fight, and in the last hope of not dying together, you pushed the two away. Paimon watched with wide eyes as the portal closed in front of your eyes, and you were left alone here, with her.

She didn't have the time to say her goodbyes to the twins and was going to witness the death of her friend some minutes later. She wanted to help you, save you, but you pushed her away, saying to save herself first. She floated away under your words, crying as she knew the adventure was over, she lost her three friends and none of them could come back.

She could still hear the sounds of fighting as she leaves, until it stopped suddenly, with no grunting or sounds of swords and shields clashing anymore. Everything went silent for a second. Paimon turned back, watching as the monsters were leaving in groups, going back to their camp as if they had nothing to do here anymore, crushing her dying hope.

They won the fight, but it was bringing them no joy or sadness, they just did what they were created for, and her heart broke as nothing was remaining except the burned grass and some drops of blood. You disappeared, without Aether here, there was no coming back, you just became a ghost that nobody would remember. Even Paimon knew, that she will disappear soon, she had no purpose anymore, and she would take with her the remaining of those memories created within those months with you.

As for Aether, he could only watch in shock as the portal close and disappear in front of his face, only leaving an empty void behind. Even after months of fighting to rejoin his sister, he couldn't find the heart to celebrate, he couldn't feel this oh-so-much-needed joy as he held Lumine closer.

He had his sister, she was here with him, Aether could hug her again but, in exchange, he lost his two closest friends. He lost this world he grew to love, the acquaintances he made, the memories, gifts, the time spent together.

He lost them, he lost you.

The only thing remaining, was his sword, which he fought with, along with you for months. And this seelie, which he chooses only because it was your favourite colour, that was still floating beside him, reminding him of Paimon too. The seelie moved closer, stilling on his shoulder as Aether cried. His twin was here, but he lost everything, and would never find it again.

He had another occasion to find his sister, it could have taken another two months, but she would still be here. But he was so focused on finding her by doing anything, that he forgot what he was putting in danger, something he could bring back. In his last hope, he tried to open another portal, but the only thing he saw, was the back of the monsters, leaving the area.

Nothing was left, and his last hope died at this moment. He wasn't happy to have his sister, he was devastated and broken. Maybe he should have confessed before, before this, before everything.

His wish was granted, but at what cost.

⏤ Thank you for reading! I wish you a great day.

⏤ here is my masterlist & ko-fi ⏤

[veldettestuff]

Hazbin Hotel- Velvette x Odette- Guess I don’t have a choice, all because I liked a girl.

Chapter 2: A Longtime Crush

Odette had liked Velvette for years.

It had started out small. Odette wouldn't have even called it a crush; it was more like a fascination. When Velvette entered a room, Odette was aware of Velvette's outfit and the perfume she had on. Later, it all went downhill, with her crush intensifying. At every overlord meeting, she seemed to hang on to every one of Velvette's words. She seemed to be under a spell. For a bit, she even thought Velvette drugged her. But no, a drug didn't make her unable to start her day without checking Velvette's posts; no, feelings did.

Looking back on it, her confidence is what drew Odette in. It was the fact that Velvette was everything she wasn't. Velvette was confident, brazen, and bold, not caring about the consequences. In comparison, Odette was shy, nervous, and overthought everything. Not a day went by when Odette didn't worry about how every action she made would affect her family. And how some of the actions she made still impacted her family. Odette certainly had always remembered what her family had done to get their power.

It was weird, though; these feelings for Velvette scared her more than anything else. Maybe it was because if Velvette had any chance, she would crush the Carmines. And it would be all Odette's fault. 

She felt like a moth drawn to a flame. A flame that would use her, break her, and then burn down her entire family.

Her only consolation was that Velvette would never feel the same way about her. Hell, she even doubted Velvette knew her name. At one of the overlord meetings, she had tried to insult Clara and her but instead called them Laria and Cosette.

But no, frigid and cold, that was all Velvette thought of her. I mean, it made sense, though; Odette barely showed any emotion. She had crafted a perfect exterior for the outside world so no one could know how truly broken she was inside. She could barely stand herself most days; how could an overlord, let alone Velvette. Stunning, brave, bold Velvette, stand her?

“Odette!”, her mamá yelled.

Quickly being snatched from her thoughts about Velvette, Odette responded, "What?!".

"Clara, leave!" her mamá said.

"Wait, no, Clara, stay!" Odette pleaded. But it was no use. Clara left, mouthing a  sorry  and  good luck  before she left.

"What the actual fuck Odette." Her mamá asked while grabbing a drink.

"It's just …" Odette tried. 

But she was cut off by Carmilla, stating, "I don't want excuses. We both know you couldn't care less about a turf war. Tell me the truth, and you won't be in any trouble."

Odette tried to say something, but all that came out were stutters. Her goddamn stupid stutter that came out when she was nervous. 

God, how could she explain what happened with Velvette when she didn't even know what had happened. It all happened too fast. She just knew when her mother was going to kill Velvette that she couldn't live without her. God, she was stupid; Velvette didn't care whether she lived or died. Why did she care so much about her? Why did she come up with all that stupid bullshit to save her?

Frankly, the extent of Odette's feelings scared her. Until that moment, she hadn't even realized her feelings were that strong. They should never have been that strong. They hadn't even talked. Hell, if Velvette ever figured out the extent of Odette's feelings for her. God, what would Velvette make her do? She would probably use Odette until she was broken, and   then she would throw her away after killing her family. Frankly, Odette was broken enough as it was, and she couldn't take whatever Velvette would throw at her.

Again, her mamá snapped her out of her thoughts about Velvette, but this time it was welcome. "Just as I thought, you like her."

"What, no!" but as always, Odette was a terrible liar. Her body betrayed her, her whole face flushing bright red.

Carmilla sighed, resigned to the fact that one of her daughters fell for Velvette's stupid tricks, "Baby, te amo. You know I love you and just want what's best for you. And Velvette, she's not good for you. We both know she would use you to get to me. We've seen what she has done before. You and I both know those rumors about her are true. And I just couldn't bear to see you get hurt. If she knew the secrets you have, god, she could destroy us. I won't let that happen to you, and I won't let that happen to your sister. That's why if you ever get too close to her, I'll  kill her . I don't give a fuck about the consequences! Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother, I'll stay away from her. I understand," Odette replied timidly. And she did understand. She knew everything her mother said was right. All Velvette would do is hurt her. She had to stay away for her sake and Velvette's. But why did it hurt so goddamn much?

Chapter 3: A Little Stalking Does a Lot of Good

[solitary-star]

I finished chapter 15 of Cryptid Sightings last night and realized I may not have the time to draw for it, but I do have time to ramble about it. And oh boy do I have a lot to ramble about.

@naffeclipse, prepare yourself. I’ve been too scared to ramble on here for the most part, but today’s the day. Here are some things I’ve noticed/interpreted on the last chapter. No obligation to read all this, of course, because it is… a lot. Apologies for chunky paragraphs.

I. Originally, Sun/Moon thought it would be a mercy to leave their true nature out of the hunter’s field of vision. But now that they’ve seen the toll it’s taken on the hunter—how much harm half-truths and secrets can do—they see it more so as a detriment. They’re itching to tell the truth, because now, the hunter knows there’s a truth to be told—feels hurt because of the fact. And the guilt of hiding that truth from them is beginning to wear on the fear of them fleeing. At least in revealing their nature, they would have the ability to hope the hunter could understand. But where they both stand now is a cold war. Sun/Moon don’t know the full extent of what the hunter would do if they found out; would they cry, scream, lash out, accept? And the hunter, meanwhile, doesn’t know the full extent of the secret they keep, just how painful it will be to their ears. Both are kept in the dark, and both are caught in a disquieted stalemate. The moment the safety of secrecy drew blood, it was no longer a viable option.

II. The way the story is setting up to become, the reveal will be vastly different from what I previously thought—and vastly different from the one portrayed in the Lost Episode. In that reveal, it was a statement of, “so you are a demon.” But with this, it is instead a statement of, “so you are a demon.” In earlier chapters, the thought never occurred to the hunter that their friend could be a demon—at least, no thought that wasn’t immediately cast out as overly skeptical or ridiculous. The poltergeist’s odd words, the dark reflections in the water or their detector—they were puzzle pieces that the hunter never thought to put together, was never pushed to put together. But now, with Lambert openly accusing Sun/Moon of it, the hunter is forced to pay that idea mind. They’re now faced with a person who sees less ridiculousness in the notion that the animatronic is a demon and more ridiculousness in the hunter’s aversion to testing it, pouring more holy water or performing an exorcism. The hunter is forced to question whether or not their friend is a cryptid, something they never would have done had this time come sooner. The reveal that Sun/Moon is a demon will seem less of an off-the-wall shock, and more a confirmation of an already present fear.

III. With this new chapter, it is also becoming more and more apparent why the hunter hasn’t figured it out yet. Because it is only partially due to their inability to put together those puzzle pieces. For the most part, it is because they don’t want to. All the evidence is there: the odd behaviors of other cryptids, the detector, the mysterious substance leaking from metal sockets, the secrets. And all it would take to prove or disprove it would be a little bit of salt, or silver, or holy water. All it would take, as Lambert pointed out, is an exorcism. But the hunter would rather live in avoidance than risk the confirmation of that truth. They would prefer to live not knowing the truth than live knowing that is it. Because to the hunter, it is either that Sun/Moon are their friend, or they are a demon. To them, they could not be both—would not be both. So, while in avoidance, they instead use Sun/Moon’s kindness as evidence to disprove the notion that they are anything more than they’ve been led to believe. They think of their sweet words, their soft touches, the fact that they themself are still alive. They dread the possibility that their friend is a demon, because in their eyes, “friend” and “demon” are mutually exclusive. It’s either that Sun/Moon are are not a demon, or that they seek to manipulate the hunter. And they fear finding out which one is it.

Anyways. I could probably come up with more to say, but these are the things that have been bouncing around in my brain most. Thank you for listening to my incoherent ramblings!! It will probably happen again

[inquisimer]

mer mer mer hi for Zevran and Ariya, perhaps:

But like earth heaped over the heart Is love grown perfect. Like a shell over the beat of life Is love perfect to the last. So let it be the same Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; Let us know this for leavetaking, That I may not be heavy upon you, That you may blind me no more.

ro ro ro hap friday beloved💜 I looked at this prompt tonight and it suddenly clicked as exactly the right way to explore Alistair's unrequited love for my Tabris, so here we go :3

for @dadrunkwriting

Alistair thought Ostagar would be his Great Reckoning. He thought that nothing could lay him so low as the loss of a family so recently acquired, the knowledge of Duncan’s corpse half-devoured and forgotten on the battlefield, the isolation that sank into his bones outside of the witch hut in the Wilds. All of the Wardens had them and he would need one so that someday, gray and grizzled, he could swig ale and bark laughter at foolish recruits who were eager to bathe their blades in darkspawn blood.

He thought it would be Ostagar.

As they set off, he anchored himself to Ariya. The only two Wardens left facing the Blight. If he was a bit too clingy, she didn’t seem to mind—surely she was as adrift and uncertain as he and he thought perhaps she clung to him in comfort just the same. She was the dagger in the back of his enemy and he was her shield against their swords. They were a perfectly matched pair.

Until the assassin came.

She’d lost her mind, for sure. Helping the elf up from the ground as though he hadn’t just laid a trap to kill them. Was she crazy? Alistair asked her as much and she gave him such a derisive eye roll that he wished he could shrink into his armor like a turtle.

“Half the people in Denerim would have killed me for less than however much gold Loghain offered him,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

And suddenly things were different. Ariya no longer came to finish off his opponents in a fight; she stood back-to-back with this Zevran, her style mimicking his more and more each day. There was no more crouching about the fire with her to cobble together a stew over the coals—at night the pair of elves snuck off together and they took the same watches, leaving a rather disgruntled and increasingly jealous Alistair with Leliana (if he was lucky) or Morrigan (if he wasn’t).

Still, not all hope was lost. Even if the assassin was warming her bed there were things he could never share with her that a fellow Warden could. Alistair was more interested in her  heart, anyhow. He thumbed the faded rose and stared out into the darkness of the woods, thinking of how things had been before Zevran came and wishing things weren’t so desperate, so she would have agreed to leave him behind.

Weeks, months passed. Despite the pitying looks and thinly veiled derision from their companions, Alistair wasn’t oblivious. Ariya and the assassin grew closer, as time was wont to make them, but Alistair knew the truth. Her eyes were warm when he managed to steal a moment of her time and she fit perfectly in his embrace when the nightmares wracked them both. Perhaps she just didn’t realize the extent of his feelings, he thought one night, a great epiphany. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d told her. Likely she was with the assassin because he’d been open with his affection from the start.

In the end the rose stayed in his pocket until Eamon brought them to Denerim. He just couldn’t work up the nerve. But now there was tension between her and the assassin and he knew the inevitable decline of that misadventure must be nigh, so he seized the moment. When they trudged back in from a day’s worth of running errands about the city, he drew her into one of the empty guest rooms and shut the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. She was loosening her braid and Alistair’s breath caught. He so rarely saw her with her hair down and the fiery halo the flickering torchlight gave her felt like a sign that the moment was right.

He produced the rose and spun a metaphor of beauty and faith that he’d only half rehearsed in bed at night. When he’d finished, he looked up with a hopeful smile and held the faded flower out for her to take.

“Alistair…” her voice broke on his name, and not in the way he’d imagined a thousand times before. She bit her lip.

“I—you know I’m with Zevran, don’t you?” she gave an uncertain laugh. “I mean…we haven’t exactly been hiding. Literally everyone else has noticed, trust me.”

“Well, yes, but that can hardly be serious.” Alistair gestured aimlessly, confident in his assumption until he saw how her gray eyes went cold and flat at his words. “I mean—we’re the Wardens, Ariya, he can hardly follow—“

“We don’t even know how this is going to end,” she snapped. “Don’t presume to tell me what can and can’t be done.”

Lithe fingers twisted her hair back into a braid and ran an aggrieved hand over the plait. Just like that, the moment broke. Alistair’s hand dropped back to his side and the rose crumbled in his fist.

"You should go, Alistair," she said around a clenched jaw. "Just....go."

They didn't talk much after that. She left him to stew in Eamon's study, taking Leliana or Sten in his stead. One day they came back covered in blood as usual, but her smile was just a bit brighter, her shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks.

(He wished he could stop noticing such little things about her).

When she finished her report to Eamon and turned to go, Alistair caught sight of the little gold loop glinting in her ear and he slumped so low that the arl snapped at him to stand up straight.

He thought it would be Ostagar. Instead, it was the Landsmeet.

Whatever their personal drama, Alistair had no doubt of Ariya’s capability. Denerim was her home and she was in her element here, so it hardly surprised him to see her standing over that traitor as he knelt and gave himself over to her mercy. Alistair held his breath; justice, he thought. Duncan was about to have his justice.

Except—

“He’s right.” Ariya dropped her blades at Riordan’s objection and stepped away. “Put him to the Joining.”

“What?” In his white-hot rage, Alistair didn’t even realize it was him speaking. But all the Landsmeet turned to stare at him and for once the attention didn’t stagger him. He stared directly at Ariya and she stared back for the first time since that awkward, heart-wrenching moment at the estate.

“Alistair and Anora will marry and rule together,” the elf said. Her eyes never wavered from his, even as her voice carried around the chamber. “For his crimes, Loghain will be given to the Wardens, his fate left up to the Joining.”

For a moment, he was absolutely frozen. King? Marry Anora? Why hadn’t he heard of this plan before? Eamon had been talking about putting him on the throne all along, of course, but he’d thought that when it came down to it he’d had some say in it. Or Ariya would and she would ask him, at the least.

But they hadn’t been talking. And that was his stupid fault, but in the moment he couldn’t accept that. He felt nothing besides blinding anger.

“Absolutely not—“ Alistair stormed forward, close enough that only Ariya and the few closest to her could hear his hushed anger. “What are you doing? This man betrayed our entire Order and blamed us for the crime! He’s the reason Duncan is dead! And you would welcome him to our ranks?”

“We are not judges,” Riordan interjected. “Wardens have historically been thieves, beggars, murderers, criminals of all kinds. The Blight does not discriminate and so neither do we.”

“He’s right, Alistair—“

“No.” He cut her off, heartbroken and angry and desperately wishing he could truly blame either of those things on her. “If you do this, I walk. You all may force the crown upon me, but I’ll sever all ties with the Wardens and they’ll have no claim on me, if this is your decision.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “This is my decision, Alistair. If that’s yours well…you’ve made it, at least.”

And he had.

A week later at the coronation he stared out at the crowd. Even amongst all the nobles, she was infuriatingly easy to spot. Ashy white hair in her usual braid, griffon-stamped leathers freshly oiled and looking like they hadn’t been recently spattered in darkspawn blood.

And hanging off the assassin’s arm, of course.

He scowled at his boots.

“Chin up, Alistair,” said Anora without looking at him. He turned his scowl on her instead.

“It is good that you’ve been disillusioned,” she continued, unphased. “It was hardly going to work out between you two. Besides the political implications, just use your eyes for a moment and look at her. Really look.”

Alistair stared out across the crowd, watched how the assassin looped an arm around Ariya’s waist and pulled her flush against his side. She canted her head to let him whisper in her ear and a smile spread across her face, warm and adoring and just a hint scandalized. He couldn’t see it from here, but he could imagine how the tips of her ears were gone pink as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Zevran’s mouth.

“You see?” Anora said crisply, directly contrasting the warm smile and wave she was giving the crowd. “She is in love.”

Alistair frowned. Of course she was; that was the problem, wasn’t it?

She was in love.

And so was he.

[the-haunted-office]

An explanation of how Doomsday's ability to spawn in objects works!

While September also has this ability, she uses it to a much lesser extent and isn't nearly as practiced at it as Doom is, so you will see her do it far less often. The reason both of them can do it is because they were both killed in the same manner - by the Dampening mist. Their souls were digested and broken down into Dampening energy, and it is from this energy that they are able to create objects.

Dampening energy isn't something that is well-studied or indeed much known about in the universe. It's a source of energy that's created by the Dampening when it digests a soul. That energy is then used by the Dampening mist, and as we all know, the soul is gone. Occasionally there is a mutation that occurs during this breakdown process and the soul "survives" - pieces of it survive mixed in with the Dampening energy to form a kind of soul soup. The two known cases of this happening are September and Doomsday.

One of the things Dampening energy can do is create objects, but it can only do this if it has an understanding of what object it is creating. The Dampening mist gained this knowledge by taking hosts. It read their memories and could produce objects from those memories.

Sept and Doom are able to spawn in objects the same way - from their own memories.

This means that there are some limitations in what they can spawn in.

They can't spawn in an object they've never seen. You can't tell Doom to spawn in Thingamabob #499 if she's never seen or heard of it. If you described it to her and drew it in enough detail or provided a photograph of it to her, she would be able to recreate it, but it might not look right or function properly either. In this same respect, you can't expect her to spawn in something like a space rocket and expect it to function properly either - she has no idea what all it takes to build a fully-functioning space rocket. She can spawn in the space rocket, yes, but don't expect it to be going anywhere or to get you anywhere safely.

You can see now why she goes out and steals things like books. She can spawn in all the books she wants, but they won't be complete, because even her favorite books she hasn't memorized verbatim every page.

Food works a little differently and yet the same. She can technically spawn in any kind of food there is... except the caveat is it'll always taste like her memory of it. So if you think an apple tastes different than how she remembers an apple tasting, if you eat an apple she spawns in it might taste differently than how you remember it. If she spawns in food she's never tasted before it'll either have no taste or will taste like what she thinks it tastes like - i.e. something like sea cucumber will probably taste like sour jelly because that's what she thinks it tastes like.

Her perceptions on food can change, though! Since she's gotten back some of her sense of taste, if she tries something new, obviously the next time she spawns in that food item it'll taste like her new memory of it.

Another limitation is that neither she nor Sept can spawn in living things. They can spawn in vegetables after they've been harvested, but not like an apple tree. They can't spawn in another person, or any animals, or imaginary creatures, or anything like that. Nothing that could be considered alive or sentient.

She also can't spawn in things like entire planets or universes. At least, she's never tried, and please don't ask her to.

I think this is about everything I can think of regarding her object spawning abilities. If I think of something else later, I'll update this!

[twelverriver]

Okay, all those little touch prompts are just so damn cute and it’s hard to pick one! So could you pretty please pick one for me + Wesley/Lilah??

<3

28. feeling for each other in the dark / 55. tracing the lines on the other’s hand.

used a numbers generator and it gave me these two numbers! hope you like this <3 it reminded me again how much i love these two!! putting this under a read more here already <3

also on ao3 now!

when lilah returned to her apartment, the electricity was still out from the beast's attack and it's gotten dark. she got in her apartment with great difficulty, one hand trying to turn the key, the other holding her wounded side. her mind was wretchedly empty, her only thought focusing on the first-aid kit that was stored in her bathroom. Though when she tried to make her way across her apartment, there was a knock at her door. She opened it, against her better judgement, and found precisely the last person she thought would be standing at her door: Wesley.

"Now what? Come to finish me off, lover?", she asked roughly, his behaviour from earlier still on her mind.

He just stared at her, then gestured to be let in.

"Let me..."

She left her door open, really beyond caring for anything he had to say or do now after the day from literal hell that's been clawing her out. It chewed her up and spit her out, and no fancy office or seeing Wesley back in her apartment when he swore he never would be could fix that. She made her way over to the bathroom, when he touched her elbow and looked at her.

"Sit down on the bed. I'll get it."

"You don't even know where it is.", she argued.

He turned around to roll his eyes. It was barely noticable in the dark, but the annoyed look on his face was something she memorized, something she could recognize even with the bare light of the moon.

He returned a minute later, successfully with the kit in his hand.

"Will you finally sit down?", he asked, now exasperated.

Lilah finally sat down on the bed, walking slowly so she didn't walk into anything on the way. When she sat down, Wesley took place in front of her, motioning for he to lift up her shirt. Something about the position of him right in front of her, instead of on the bed next to her made her feel the intimacy of the situation. She lifted up her shirt, trying to slip out of it, but her body protested.

She caught Wesley's look, and nodded once, before he lifted the shirt off her, being careful of her wounds that were on her whole torso. He started washing off the blood that stuck to her like a second skin, and instead of feeling more comfortable, she felt like he was removing her battle armor with every spot of blood he removed from her ribs. They sat in silence for a while, until he stopped washing and applying bandages to her tortured skin. Then, letting off from her ribs, he drew up a line from there to her shoulders and back down to her hands, almost as if... a more romantic person would've said he wanted to ensure himself that she was safe, but lilah knew the extent of their arrangement. whatever she felt for him was of no regard and better off without mention. not wanting to show off more of her vulnerability than she had already offered today, she tensed underneath his touch. Wesley began tracing lines on her hand, keeping his gaze there even though she knew he couldn't make out much of anything, less of all her the form of her hand in the dark, but eventually, she did relax again. in the darkness, she felt like she didn't have to keep as tight a mask on as usual, could allow herself a moment of simply being touched and not having to deal with what it meant or how people perceived her. Wesley already knew she was tough as nails and he's seen her at her worst today (the less thought about that, the better), so she just stopped trying to school her expression in any form of a mask, and just let the day's emotions be. She sighed quietly, then looked back down to him.

"Why are you here?"

He didn't reply, but after a few moments, got up and got close to her again. Wesley gently put his hands on her cheeks, then they kissed again. It was gone before she could could reply, him closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against hers. He remained like that for a while, just listening to each other breathe in the dark, take a moment in the city's chaos for themselves, then he held his lips to her forehead and took a step back.

"I meant it. You should hide.", Wesley let go of her hand, then left her apartment.

[the-algebra-thing]

I'm about to confess something that does not sit right with me at all for one reason or another but it's absolutely and undeniably a thing at this point. throughout much of my first reread of the left hand of darkness I drew COUNTLESS parallels to the organization of themes and the literary devices used in captive prince. I kept trying to put it out of my mind because I didn't like the comparison, but it's so potent and I can't just let it fall by the wayside. and I've even cut it off so you can easily scroll right past. but here's the deal.

the easiest comparison to make here is that estraven narrates much more often than laurent does, but it works to serve a similar purpose: for one, bringing clarity to the cultural aspect of what's going on now and has been going on for the entire story. we also respond to estraven's changes in mood—whether or not he's narrating—with the same cat's whisker sensitivity that we do laurent's, for the same reason: we get so little exposure to them, as these characters are very withdrawn. they also serve the same purpose of guiding our feelings about what we're reading towards a specific idea. this is what I noticed first.

in fact laurent and estraven are very different. the reasons they behave as they do are actually pretty diametrically opposite, with estraven's behavior coming directly from how steeped he is in his culture and how rightfully unequipped he is to deal with anything different, while laurent's stems from trauma that exposed him to the worst of his world, and caused him to widen his scope to an unhealthy degree—and he cleaves to values that contrast clearly with his culture's appearances in an attempt at defense. laurent's behavior is taken as simple incompetence, and revealed to be complex machinery; estraven's is taken as complex, cruel irony, and revealed to be simple, frank pragmatism. laurent snares damen intentionally; estraven snares genly ai sort of as a side effect of greater purpose.

still, they both guide their respective stories with an invisible hand and with the same dedication, devotion even, to goals beyond the scope of the duality their worlds present them with. they both have a much bigger and more complete picture right off the bat of what's going on—and how they can use it to steer the future—than we do, or than the main characters do.

on the other hand. genly ai and damen experience the same revolution of worldview, and thus identity, almost to a tee, it would seem. their role, in contrast to their respective narrative counterparts, is to bumble through the world they've been thrust into and discover along with us readers what the story is about. their role is to gain this new understanding of duality and what lies outside of it.

genly ai does this conspicuously. this is what the bulk of the left hand of darkness is dedicated to, without artifice. we follow along with him and are maybe a little surprised by the reach of estraven's goals and actions, but it's not a complete bombshell. damen does this mental legwork less obviously, as he doesn't realize that it's happening really until it's almost over—and I didn't begin to grasp the far reaches of this process until at least my third time reading. and we are both shocked hopefully on some level by the sheer godlike extent of laurent's machinery. but they both travel this path, inescapably shepherded by someone whose role they do not initially understand, and are equally shocked when they find out the extensive grasp those characters have on the narrative. and they both bring the idea and the means for the revolution the others so desperately needed.

honestly, the way these stories approach and use the idea of sex and sexuality is their most interesting similarity and their most potent difference. it holds a shit ton of symbolism, obviously, everything being about sex until it's about sex and all, but the directions they approach it from are almost opposite. and their resolutions specifically regarding it are pretty much opposite as well. there's also something to be said for captive prince not even trying to pass the bechdel test, and genly ai's thing about using "he" all the time because gethen's languages lack gendered human pronouns. I honestly don't even want to get into it because that's just a whole other post that I don't care nearly as much about. but it's there.

these stories are not one to one, obviously. captive prince takes on awareness pretty strictly through the lens of interpersonal relationship, while the left hand of darkness takes on awareness through a balance of like five different things, though politics do feature prominently in each. the scope is wider at first glance in tlhod, and in the end it really is, but not nearly as much as it originally looks, I think. still, it lacks a lot of the fetishism and directness that captive prince comes at you with, and utilizes more variety in proving its point—by the end, you feel less like a besieged dead horse. this is because captive prince's greatest strength, its scrupulously guarded limits to its purview, is also its fatal flaw. but again, that's an issue for another discussion I don't care to get into.

I'm not trying to say which one of these stories is better. I just am saying, directly off my second time ever reading the left hand of darkness, that a lot of the parallels are super wild

[send-up-my-heart-to-you]

50% into kotlc, here are some thoughts ive had since the 25% mark :D

@aylin-hijabi @that-multi-fandom-hijabi sorry for tagging yall a lot lmao

first thing that comes to mind thats plot-related n not character-related is prentice. he was exiled 12 years ago, same age as sophie. its so obviously not a coincidence. tho i wonder whats up w him n tiergan (idk how to spell lmao i feel like thats wrong)

also, i wonder just how strong sophie is. like, the way she knocked fitz into the wall ??? thats her not knowing the full extent of her powers. i have a feeling shes always gonna be one of those main characters whos extremely powerful but constantly throughout the series she finds new abilities she has. kinda like percy jackson

im also realizing how stupid ill seem if im just overanalysing everything and my guesses are too far-fetched or too deeply thought out to really mean anything lololol

moving to character-related, i adore dex. he seems kinda spiteful tho ??? esp towards fitz. thats prolly bc the vacker family is apparently rlly famous n shit n meanwhile dexs parents were a bad match. still dont rlly get what that means. i feel like theres more to him. also his crush on sophie is adorable

KEEFE. nothing, just... keefe. havent seen much but from what i HAVE seen, hes hilarious. i remember aylin mentioning that hes like leo valdez in that theyre both hot, funny, and traumatized... still waiting on the 'traumatized' part. she also said hes less major in this book n more major in the second book, so maybe ill find out then

midterms are gonna go wrong just wait i just know it

biana seems acc genuine in wanting to be friends w sophie. but there was one point when she was talking to sophie n there was smth like a glare for a moment ?? idk kinda sus to me. maybe im overthinking it cause i cant think of a possible motive

marella seems cool. in the art, shes absolutely gorgeous, but so is everyone in this goddamn book. also notable that the first time i saw her name i misread it as 'redneck' 💀💀💀

stina is a bitch. nothing else to say, except that she looks terrifyingly like me? except different eye color n i wear glasses loll. i hope to see some character development cause i personally hate the trope of "token mean girl" in books (like drew tanaka or zoya nazyalensky) cause theyre so one dimensional n boring (although zoya does become majorly more likeable throughout the grishaverse books, im hoping to see the same in stina)

irrelevant but the amount of times sophie is ending up in the infirmary reminds me of a roleplay w my friends from like three years ago oml the nostalgia (cause there would at all times be at least one character in the infirmary injured or nearly dead bc we needed that drama to keep the rp going LMAO)

overall, theres not as much to say as there was at the 25% mark. (i feel like theres more i wanna say but i cant think of anything.) prolly cause since then, the book has mainly been abt learning abt the elves' world n culture. i think by the 75% point im gonna have a lot more to say, n then ill post the final update thingie when im 100% done w the book

ill be 75% done in 89 pages, but the last day of midterm is tomorrow, so god knows how long thatll take me :') i promise to try thooo

oh also galvins a bitch but i feel like she has trauma fsr idk shes just giving