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whumpback-wail · 6 months

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03 - More Questions than Answers

Trial by Fire (Wriothesley x Reader) - TW/CW in masterlist

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Her hair seems longer spread around her pillow like this.

Wriothesley mused, his thumb and index finger playing with her locks. After (y/n)'s panic attack, he was told that it's better to sit somewhere she can see him, and to have the lights on. The next time she wakes up, he would be able to ground and reassure her that she's no longer in danger.

His eyes watched the curve of her nose, and the lashes that twitched ever so slightly as she slowly regained consciousness. He stroked comforting circles along the baby hair that grows close to her forehead.

His heart seemed to skip a beat when he saw her eyes slowly open, blinking a few times before her eyes focused on him. She has such beautiful eyes, he mused to himself, but then felt a pang of hurt when she involuntarily flinched from him.

"Good morning, (y/n)."

"Wrio-" (y/n) coughed

Wriothesley grabbed the glass of water on the bedside and helped her drink.

After he laid her back down, (y/n) was dazedly blinking at him, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

"A-am I dead?" (y/n) started, looking down at her body which was tucked underneath the blanket, a hand that wasn't held down by the IV went to touch her face,

"Is this.. real?"

He took her hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. "You're alive (y/n), and this is real. You're safe with me now, no one's gonna hurt you anymore, not on my watch."

(y/n) nodded, as if still processing his words.

Wriothesley wanted so badly to gather her in his arms and kiss her on her lips. She was all bandaged up, and her hair stuck up on some areas due to the pillow, but in his eyes she had never looked more pretty. He cleared her throat. The nurses would be against such actions, for fear that too much physical contact would trigger another panic attack.

"I should get the nurse, tell her you're awake." He stood up, lightly squeezing her hand. She only nodded, still eyeing him as if he would suddenly disappear into thin air.

Soon enough, the nurse came in. It was a middle aged woman with grey hair. She smiled at (y/n), "good afternoon, my name is Komaki, can you tell me your name?"

A pause.

1102.

"I'm... (y/n)"

Nurse Komaki smiled hearing her response, her eyes glued on her charts, "how old are you?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"Where are you right now?"

(y/n) paused and looked around. She could clearly see her room now that the lights are on. While it was clearly a hospital, it was not the same one as... wherever it was with doctor Arderne. She shivered.

"I-in a hospital?"

"Which city?"

(y/n)'s eyes locked with Wriothesley's, who had been silently watching from the doorway. He gave her an encouraging smile.

"Fontaine I think."

Nurse Komaki smiled, "very good!"

Turning to Wriothesley, she nodded to him. "I'll keep checking her memory, and I'll need to do a physical examination of her vitals and wounds. If you don't mind, sir?" She tugged at the privacy curtains around her bed. Wriothesley got the message.

"I'll go uh... walk around." He nodded at nurse Komaki, and promptly left.

(y/n) is awake at last. A new wave of nervousness swept over him. He was almost afraid of the results of her checks. What if she lost her memories? Her feelings for him and his for her? What if she had no recollection of the time they spent together? Chlorinde and Aether still couldn't find her vision aside from the metal bit, so what if...

He pushed the thoughts out of his head. In any case, he has some important matters to attend to.

• • •

Wriothesley rolled his shoulders, feeling a bit sore from sleeping on the couch for multiple nights in a row. He stayed there despite the urges from everyone, telling him to go home and sleep in his bed, only leaving occasionally to help with the investigation and get a quick shower. He didn’t mind the hospital meals. As long as it nourished him, he didn't care what food was served. The tea, however, was terrible, and he started to miss his office in the Fortress of Meropide.

Walking briskly, he found himself standing before Monsieur Neuvilette’s office doors, which he promptly pushed open. Neuvilette, who was seated behind his desk, nodded towards him in greeting, along with Navia, who Neuvilette hired to help in the investigation.

“So you had updates?” Wriothesley skipped the pleasantries, noticing the two’s somber expressions. He sat on the unoccupied chair beside Navia.

“Yes.” Navia handed him a file.

“We went back to the building where (y/n) was kept. As we all guessed, it was a facility used for human experimentation, under Dr Arderne.”

Wriothesley winced at the name. How could he not notice anything about the man? Arderne has been under his nose all this time in Meropide, that is… until he escaped and took (y/n) with him. But even so, he was a great Doctor while he served his sentence in Meropide, he was in his best behaviour that Wriothesley overlooked him.

Neuvilette leaned forward, “We also found some tapes and files on the things they do there. They have files for everyone, including (y/n).”

This made Wriothesley frown. “What was in it?”

Neuvilette and Navia shared a knowing look with each other, before turning to Wriothesley with sympathetic looks. Neuvilette gestured at the file handed to Wriothesley, “Hers was not complete, some data were taken by the accused party. But in general, they did… a lot of experimentation on her. Something no one should have to endure.”

Wriothesley opened the file and flipped through the papers, the voice of Neuvilette and Navia sinking to the background as he read through the pages.

Subject 1102.

Log 01

Subject 1102 is aggressive, and would not stop fighting the doctors. Despite the restraints used, Subject 1102 refused to take any treatment from the facility. She will be subject to two weeks in the padded room with one meal per two days to treat her aggression.

Treat. He knew it was another word for “to break her spirit”. Wriothesley gritted his teeth and continued.

Log 09

Subject 1102 was severely weakened after the padded room, but still refused to cooperate. Dr Arderne now personally handles her. He reports that for a higher chance of success on vision tests, the subject has to be physically weakened-

• • •

Returning to the hospital his head swam with the new information. Navia said she will continue to investigate but they would also need information from (y/n) and the doctors.

Damn the missing files.

He swore to himself that he would get to the bottom of this, hopefully without the need to ask (y/n) herself.

First he spoke with Nurse Komaki, who told him (y/n) didn't seem to have any brain damage, at least not on her memories. She thought this was weird considering how (y/n)'s vision was missing, normally people with their visions taken would lose their memories, their sense of self, and their drive to achieve what they wished for in the first place.

Other than that, her physical wounds were healing nicely. The melusine healers had done a great job at helping her recover.

He thanked Komaki, and proceeded to walk towards her room. Where he knew his fiancé was probably, hopefully, awaiting his return.

(y/n) wanted to go home. She never liked hospitals, and after what… happened, she felt herself hate it even more. She felt constantly on edge, especially after Nurse Komaki left to check on her other patients. The nurse did not say anything to her about her results, but the puzzled look on her face says a lot. Something is not quite right. Wriothesley was not back yet, but she knew he will return, right? She could trust him. If he said that she’s safe, and that this wasn’t a dream, then she should be okay, right? The walls felt like it was closing in on her.

It’s okay, youre safe now, breathe (y/n), breathe.

Despite her efforts, she felt panic rising. The feeling of the sheets against her skin felt too much. The ticking of the clock too loud. Why are the walls so white? Everything looked too bright. Pain. Pain. Pain. No more please- she couldn't let her thoughts drift back there-

The door opened, and Wriothesley’s figure appeared promptly.

(y/n) was not sure what expression she was making, but Wriothesley’s smile morphed into concern.

“(y/n), are you okay?”

“I- I’m safe, right? You trust this hospital?”

Wriothesley was instantly by her side, “May I touch you (y/n)?”

(y/n) hesitantly reached out and pulled his sleeve closer to her. Taking this as a sign, he brought her closer for a hug.

“You’re safe now, (y/n), your room is watched over by Navia’s men, remember? Spina di Rosula. They are very capable, and they will not leave their post unless told otherwise.”

“They’re not going to get me again right?”

Wriothesley kissed the top of her head. “Never. I’ll make sure you stay by my side, sweetheart.”

(y/n) froze. Sweetheart.

Deep breaths. You’re safe, it’s just Wriothesley, it’s not-

“Rise and shine, sweetheart” a kick to her ribs, “you’ve stayed in this boring old padded room long enough, don’t you think? Ready to cooperate with me now?”

“...Go to hell, Arderne.”

“Looks like you still have some fight left in you huh?” Arderne bent down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, "maybe some electro-slime therapy would work better-"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" (y/n) screamed, her leg connected with Wriothesey's stomach, making him stumble backward, wincing. Hearing the outburst, the two men stationed outside burst into the room. Wriothesley signalled to them that there is no danger and the two went back outside. He made a mental note to thank Navia again later.

"(y/n)," he groaned, slowly making his way back to her, "it's not real, you're safe."

He watched her helplessly as she continued to hyperventilate, her eyes glued on to jim but ay the same time, seeing nothing. She' having another flashback, but why? Was it something he said?

"Sweetheart-"

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she curled further into a ball, shivering.

"I- Please no more. I can't-"

It finally clicked. So they had been calling her sweetheart there huh… Wriothesley felt anger bubble up. It was how he always called her, a term of endearment. How dare they taint that.

He took another step closer, "(y/n) please come back to me. It's Wriothesley. You're in Fontaine's hospital, guarded by the Spina di Rosula. You're safe here with me."

Blue eyes met hers, and he noticed how her eyes seemed to slowly focus back on him. He took that as a good sign.

"Yeah, no one will hurt you anymore. I promise."

A few seconds of silence.

"...Wriothesley?"

"Yes darling, it's me."

"I'm… what?"

"You had a panic attack (y/n), you were screaming," Wriothesley took another step. "May I come closer? Please?"

(y/n) silently opened her arms for a hug and Wriothesley took the invitation as a yes. "I'm sorry Wrio, I don't know what happened." she mumbled against his chest.

"Sshh don't be," he kissed her forehead, "it' not your fault okay? Your brain is just having some horrible flashbacks."

A few moments of silence fell over the two, with Wriothesley rubbing comforting circles on her shoulder.

(y/n) hesitated. "can you… stay with me for the night? Like this?"

"Of course, anything for you, love." Wriothesley shifted them both so that they both could fit comfortably in the small hospital bed. Rules be damned. He wanted to make sure (y/n) feels safe through the night.

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(´-ω-`( _ _ )

A/N

A long one this chapter, it was one of those moments where I start writing with a plan A in mind but the characters decided plan B. For now it's just everyone being confused, but there will be more answers in the next chapter!

Taglist: @almosteggs @quuela @tempest1art @yamanaka13-blog @arseneumbra @kimmeaahh @cottonfluffs @randomidk-123 @applejayee @keigo-hawks-takami-simp @mechanicalbeat1 @aribae14 @bforbiblio @supernerdycookietrashblr

#wriothesley x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley angst #wriothesley x reader angst #whump #whump writing #whump series #whump fanfic #whump fanfiction #genshin impact whump #genshin impact wriothesley #whump community #anime whump #genshin character x reader

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themissinghand · 6 months

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i was wondering if you could do another story with the 12th Harbinger you created "brighella" if if remember. i really liked reading the two stories about her

Genshin Impact: Oh Hydro Dragon, What is Your Wish?

Summary: In which Neuvillette discovers a new Miracle Magician in town, one who brings joy and wishes to life. He learns that humans are complex beings and that human feelings can be delightful, to the depressing.

Or, you, as Tsaritsa’s proxy, Brighella, infiltrate Fontaine for the purposes of watching over Arlecchino, but a certain Hydro Dragon appears to be more fun than you thought.

Pairing: Neuvillette x GN! Reader

Note: Thanks for the request! Also, with the 4.2 update of the game out, how could I NOT write about it?

Warning: A bit of angst and betrayal, after all, everything is just a play, and you are all characters of a show.

Also, spoilers for Fontaine Archon Quest!

★・・・・・・★

The Opera Epiclese glittered with splendor as noble laughter and melodies echoed through the opulent halls.

A new talent has emerged.

A magician, not of mere tricks but of miracles, with the power to weave dreams into reality. The people of Fontaine, including the Hydro Archon Furina herself, and Ludex Neuvillette, were charmed by this mysterious enchanter.

“Tell me what you wish for, little noble child.”

But perhaps it was not just their show that caught Neuvillette’s attention, rather their genuine love for humans.

“I wish for you to heal my mother’s face!” A gasp echoed throughout the room with a mix of disbelief and mockery.

Indeed, all nobles and VIPs did not believe such a thing, but even with so much noise, Neuvillette could easily pick out what the magician whispered.

“Which one is your mother, little one?”

When the child forcefully pulled her mother to the stage, the noble lady already had a veil to cover her face. With the rumours circulating the room, it appears that the lady was burned badly in order to save her child from a house fire.

Due to such a bad burn and scarring, no doctor has been able to restore her original beauty.

Neuvillette did recall such a trial occur a while back.

“Shh, Shh. Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to ask everyone to quiet down. After all, you could only witness miracles if you paid attention.” Neuvillette watched closely, curious and attentive despite Lady Furina pulling on his sleeves and excitedly waiting for a miracle.

“Madame, please repeat your child’s wish. Only the person who wishes for it, may the miracle occur.”

Thinking of nothing of it, the noble lady repeated the wish outloud. The magician slowly drag one hand from one side of her face to the other, and right before everyone’s eyes, her burn had completely disappeared.

“W-What?” The lady touched her face with shock, then with gratitude, and broke down on the spot.

“Mom!”

“What did you do?!”

“That is a secret of course.” The magician out a finger on their lips.

“Thank you for helping my wife.”

Neuvillette was confused, he did not sense any use of a vision. He expected the magician to perhaps possess the powers of a dendro vision, after all, some of them could heal wounds.

But this…he had never seen such power before.

“Please, can I make a wish?” This gentlemen seemed like a middle-age worker, one who barely compiled enough money to enter the opera house for a show.

“Go ahead sir.” The magician ignored the nobles and beelined for the gentlemen.

“My house and many other homes near the sea was washed away with the large rainstorm last week, please...I wish for them to be rebuilt!”

Once again, despite the gentlemen pleading and even tearing up for a wish, the magician smiled gently and held his hand.

“Your wish is my command.” The magician handed him multiple unique keys, and looked at Neuvillette with a patient look.

“If Monsieur Neuvillette could lead this gentlemen to his house safely, there would be no doubt to my credibility.”

There was absolute confidence in their voice, and since everyone was looking at Neuvillette with such curious and pleading eyes, Neuvillette stood up.

“Alright.”

With a snap of fingers, Neuvillette felt the world shift underneath his feet. No, it was the shadows that engulfed a group of people to teleport them here.

In an instant, they had travelled from the center of the city, to the edge.

As promised, those who were curious arrived at the area where houses were supposedly washed away, but instead were brand new as if a disaster has never struck.

Neuvillette saw many people who cried at this miracle, and the gentlemen who made the wish immediately rushed into his own home to check everything.

"How? It was a wasteland just a day ago...how...you are a saint!"

When all the residents confirmed their house and nothing out of place, Neuvillette truly saw a miracle.

An entire village built with just a wish.

A truly great, but dangerous power.

When Neuvillette turned to find the magician, they were already gone.

The Miracle Magician.

A name that danced through Fontaine, and gained great popularity especially among the middle and lower class.

Neuvillette made it a mission to find you and talk to you.

It wasn’t hard to find you.

Where there are moments of joy and wonder, the Miracle Magician will be there.

You who stood at the center of it all, made others smile and grateful for everything you’ve done.

The people loved you for your miracles and kindness, and gave back with what they can.

Captivating outdoor performances that left Neuvillette enchanted, not just by the magic, but by the warmth and understanding that the Miracle Magician exuded.

The Miracle Magician was popular as they were desirable, for people of different status and desires approached them with good or ill intentions.

Neuvillette was not surprised by this developments after all, he’s seen many of these human emotions in court.

Relief, gratitude, sincerity, and love.

But also greed, envy, hatred, and distrust.

He may not understand them well, but he can identify them.

Neuvillette was worried at first, and watched you from afar in case of any crime to occur. However, little did he know that you were just as talented as leaving the scene without a trace, and you appeared right behind him.

“Hello, to what pleasure does the honorable Ludex Neuvillette have with me?”

“Who are you?” Neuvillette asks, looking down at the Miracle Magician with vigilance and curiosity.

“I am a Miracle Invoker. One who makes wishes come true.” Then with a mischievous smile, you extended a hand.

“What is your wish, Ludex Neuvillette?”

“I do not have a wish.” The magician was stunned briefly, before they withdrew their hand.

“That is fine too.” For some reason, the magician looked peacefully content with his answer. Sensing an unspoken initiation for conversation, the magician smiled politely at him.

“Would you like to go on a walk? I can foresee a lot of questions from you, Monsieur Neuvillette.” He nods.

“Follow me, perhaps our talk will be easier in a more private space.”

Both of you went to a nearby restaurant, where the owner immediately recognized Neuvillette, and gave the two a private room.

Little did Neuvillette know that this conversation was one of the most pleasant he’d had in decades. The magician began to share tales of distant lands, weaving narratives that spoke to the deepest corners of Neuvillette's ancient heart.

They were naturally an entertainer, one who dramatize stories and share them as if they were in a play. Neuvillette listened for the most part, enjoying their little act.

They shared stories that sounded familiar, and ones that were foreign, regardless, he found you as good company while he drank his water.

“Forgive me for being rude, but I haven’t gotten your name.” At the end of the two hour conversation, Neuvillette asked for this mysterious Miracle Invoker's name.

With a polite curtsy, and a tip of their flamboyant hat, they responded with a professional smile.

“I have no name, but if you must address me, you may deem me as a ‘Miracle’.”

What a strange name.

One who refers to themselves as their profession.

Neuvillette has many questions, but chooses not to ask.

As they spent more time together, the Miracle Magician became a confidant for Neuvillette. The dragon, who witnessed the passage of ages, revealed the weight of his solitary existence.

The magician listened, offering a sympathetic ear and a comforting presence. Neuvillette, for the first time in centuries, felt understood despite his lack of expression in his feelings.

“I am not a god as you may have assumed, Monsieur Neuvillettte. I am simply an existence that is created to make wishes come true.”

“Nonsense. Are there not requirements for a wish?”

“The only requirement is that the person who wishes is happy.”

“…you are lying.” A laugh, Neuvillette watches the magician break out of their polite demeanor.

“Oh Monsieur Neuvillette, what is your wish?”

“I do not have a wish.”

“I see. Perhaps one day you will tell me your wish.”

One day, after a long exhausting trial, Neuvillette stepped out for a stroll. He walked and observed as humans walked past him with their own stories to tell, and their own role to play.

A routine of his as rain fell from the sky.

“Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry!”

But why in this black and white world, were you here?

“Monsieur Neuvillette, why are you standing in the rain alone?” You who held a colourful and flamboyant umbrella quickly shielded him from the rain.

Startled by this unique predicament, he simply stared.

“Why…are you here?”

“I enjoy the rain.”

The magician smiled before extending a hand.

“Would you like to make a wish, dear Neuvillette?”

This time, Neuvillette didn’t respond to accept or reject your offer, but instead accepted your hand and chose to walk ahead.

Neuvillette held your hand like a gentleman, ensuring there was nothing scandalous that could occur from this action.

But he felt his heart beating harder than before, as if he had come alive again.

“The world is beautiful, isn’t it?”

The magician suddenly says, as they take down the umbrella. Colour came back to his world as if the curtains of the stage unveiled itself.

Sun rays appear from behind the dark clouds and people rush out to see a beautiful rainbow stretching across the skies.

“The Hydro Dragon must be happy!” A little boy exclaimed as he ran around happily.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, storms will come to pass, just as sunny days will turn to night. But what’s important is that you live now, where peace exists and people can be happy.”

The magician pulls out a blue rose from behind their back and suddenly slots it behind his ear.

With a cheeky smile, you kiss his gloved knuckles.

“I wish for your happiness, oh Hydro Dragon.”

Neuvillette didn’t know what this feeling was, a quite foreign one for himself, but he doesn’t find it annoying or worthless.

“Look! It’s a double rainbow!”

As days turned to nights and nights to days, Neuvillette found himself drawn not just to the enchanting magic of the Miracle Magician but to the soul beneath the illusion. The Miracle Invoker, with genuine kindness, had become a beacon of trust and solace for Neuvillette.

So why?

Why are you standing by the suspect’s side?

“Stand down, dear 11th.” In an instant, the Tartaglia released his transformation.

“Brighella?” Neuvillette heard the suspect whisper out your name, and he felt himself turning his hands into fists.

“The Miracle Magician?! Why, why are you here?!”

"Shh, shh," You hushed the crowd, a calming spell woven into your words.

You stepped forward, gracefully interposing between Neuvillette and Childe.

“What is going on?!” Lady Furina exclaimed, looking between Neuvillette and you with a bewildered expression.

“Now, since the true guilty party has been brought forward, and even Ludex Neuvillette himself deemed my friend innocent, is there a reason for this show to proceed? Does Foutaine’s justice perhaps leave the final verdict to a machine? If so, why would we need a trial in the first place?” You put a hand to Childe’s shoulder, and the man immediately relaxed, and looked at you with a happy expression.

You smiled, still in your new role that you’ve created for this very moment, and bowed.

Neuvillette, sensing the unspoken authority, hesitated.

“I wish for this trial to end peacefully, and ‘I’ to be forgotten by Fontaine.”

Neuvillette widened his eyes and rushed towards you, but with a sly look, you stopped him with your flamboyant hat, a forcefield pushing him back. A huge tsunami burst forth in the court with water rushed around you.

“You lied to me.”

You laughed slyly, your image as the Miracle Magician he’d always known slowly faded away.

“Who are you?” Neuvillette felt a sense of loss and grief, and even for a moment doubted himself and his ability to properly “judge” humans emotions.

“Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry.” A hand reached out to wipe under his eye, your voice was the same, though you had a mocking expression on your face.

“Oh Hydro Dragon, what is your wish?”

A portal appeared behind you, with Tartaglia pulling on your coat tail to signal you to leave.

“I wish-” You put a finger to his lips.

“To think I’d see such an expression on Chief Justice, the Hydro Dragon Sovereign himself…” A smirk rose to your face, paining him even more.

“That is what it means to be human.”

In an instant, the two vanished, leaving behind a bewildered courtroom. Neuvillette felt a headache, but when he turned around, Lady Furina was already leading the court with her dramatics.

And just as you wished, the “Miracle Magician” was no more, just as how Tartaglia was never part of the trial in the first place.

The Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale still revealed the verdict as guilty, just not to Tartaglia, but to the true guilty party.

Neuvillette picked up your hat, and held it tightly in his hands.

The next few days, it was raining harder than usual with Neuvillette’s figure disappeared completely from the public.

He watched every moment he spent with you in the rain, and the joy you brought to the people. He regretted not making a wish.

Now, no one in Fontaine knew you, and only he and Lady Furina recalled such a name.

"Brighella."

Neuvillette hoped to find you again, even if you were a lie.

Just like your name, you appeared like a “Miracle”, and disappeared like one too.

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oh-three · 2 months

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TBB S3E7:

There's the Teth trailer shot.

Ahhh, Mr. Assassin's looking a bit worse for wear.

Ayyy, escape route!

Lmaooo, Rex relying on Echo for backup, as if our guy's not booked on getting Gregor. Really does have a full schedule, doesn't he?

Glad to see that Wolffe's still in there. And being his usual self.

Ooh, the assassin's got no comms.

LMAO, the assassin just fucking jumped down there, like, "hey, I'm not letting you finish what I was told to do."

Rex, your flashlight 😭

SMART MOVE, CROSS.

They're gonna get shot down, aren't they.

"Don't worry, she only bites half of the time." 🤣

Yepppppp, and there's that. Saw that one coming. No way it was that easy.

Me trying to decide if it's Rex or the Batch that has a habit of crashing, or whether it's just them being together:

Wolffe really does hate the assassin right about now. Which, fair, he's literally doing things the exact opposite of them. That would be annoying for anybody.

"You're as bad as Hunter." / "Oh, I'm much worse." LMAO. Cross is in full dad mode and fully aware of it, and now he's turned it into a whole thing. I love him. These boys can't not compete about anything.

Howzer reluctantly admitting that this Crosshair is different from the Crosshair that he blames for getting his squad killed. 👏

"The operative's gone rogue." Saw that coming, too. I want to say it's further confirmation toward it being Tech, but that voice was definitely a modulated reg's.

Wolffe, your team sucks.

Nemeccccc 😭

"I'll draw his fire. Get to the rendezvous." Brainwashed sniper vs malfunctioning sniper 😬

WHOA, WHAT THE HELL.

LOOK, I KNEW THIS SEEMED LIKE A BIT OF A SACRIFICE PLAY, BUT I WAS NOT EXPECTING HIM TO THROW THEM INTO THE FUCKING WATERFALL.

Oh, thank god, he survived that. We're still short a couple of Cross trailer shots.

Howzer saving Cross from going over the second waterfall and actually drowning (holy fuck, a drowning attempt in Star Wars) despite his reservations toward him. 😭

"Wolffe?" / "Rex?" Ayyy, mutual shock.

Wolffe just putting his blasters away and going, "I thought you were dead." 😭

WOLFFE, FAIR TRIALS DON'T EXIST FOR CLONES IN THE EMPIRE.

"As your brother, I'm asking you to do the right thing." 😭

TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, ECHO.

Ayyy, Wolffe telling the men to stand down because he can see the truth in Rex's words, and he can't keep going forward without at least looking into it.

"But, sir, they're traitors." / "Perhaps. But they're clones. We owe them that." The way they all just accept to respect their fellow clones despite the sides of the newfound war they're in 😭

THE ASSASSIN LIVED. HE'S GOT PLOT ARMOR. TECH, IS THAT YOU.

"Rex, you can't win this fight. The Empire is too strong." 😭

Dark-toned Omega theme.

Fuckkk, I want to watch another episode. Is it next week yet.

#bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #bad batch #the bad batch #tbb #star wars

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kckt88 · 3 months

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The Picture of Aemond Targaryen I

Summary:

The story of a young man who sells his soul for eternal youth and beauty.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 3750

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

The fog-shrouded streets of Victorian London welcomed Aemond Targaryen as he arrived in the bustling city, a hopeful yet innocent youth with dreams of a brighter future. With the passing of his grandfather, Otto Hightower, Aemond found himself thrust into a world of opulence and intrigue beyond his wildest imagination.

As he stepped out of the carriage onto the cobbled streets, Aemond's eyes widened with wonder at the sights and sounds of the city. Towering buildings loomed overhead, their grand facades casting long shadows upon the bustling thoroughfares below. Pedestrians bustled past, their attire a dizzying array of colours and styles, each one seemingly more extravagant than the last.

Guided by his grandfather's solicitor, Aemond made his way through the labyrinthine streets until they arrived at the opulent townhouse that would now be his home. The imposing structure stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Hightower family, its grandeur unmatched by any other in the neighbourhood.

As he stepped through the ornate doorway, Aemond was greeted by the rich scent of polished wood and fine fabrics. The interior was a marvel of Victorian elegance, with intricately carved furnishings and sumptuous tapestries adorning every surface. It was a world far removed from the humble surroundings of his upbringing, and Aemond could scarcely believe that it was now his to inherit.

But amidst the grandeur, there lingered a sense of melancholy – a reminder of the grandfather he had lost, and the weight of responsibility now thrust upon his young shoulders. Otto Hightower had been a pillar of the community, revered by all who knew him, and Aemond was determined to honour his legacy in any way he could.

With a solemn resolve, Aemond set about making the townhouse his own, determined to carve out a place for himself in this new and unfamiliar world. Little did he know the trials and tribulations that awaited him amidst the gaslit streets of Victorian London, where danger and intrigue lurked around every corner. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the glow of his newfound fortune, hopeful for the adventures that lay ahead.

After performing a mesmerizing piano solo in front of the upper classes of Victorian society, Aemond Targaryen found himself amidst a flurry of praise and admiration. As he basked in the warm glow of applause, a figure approached him, his presence commanding attention amidst the throng of well-dressed attendees.

"Bravo, Mr. Targaryen," the man said with a charming smile, his eyes alight with admiration. "Your performance was truly captivating."

Aemond returned the smile, feeling a flush of pride at the praise. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of modesty. "I am glad you enjoyed it."

The man introduced himself as Criston Cole, a renowned painter whose works adorned the walls of the most esteemed galleries in London. He spoke of beauty and art with a passion that ignited a spark of curiosity within Aemond's soul.

"It would be an honour to capture your likeness on canvas, Mr. Targaryen," Criston said, his tone sincere. "Your beauty is a rare gift, one that should be preserved and admired for all to see."

Aemond hesitated, taken aback by the offer. He had always been told of his striking appearance, but to have it immortalized in paint was a prospect he had never considered.

"I... I am flattered, Mr. Cole," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with colour. "But I fear I am not worthy of such an honour."

Criston shook his head, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Nonsense, my dear boy," he said firmly. "You possess a beauty that transcends mere mortal standards. It would be a crime not to capture it for future generations to behold."

And so, with Criston's persuasive words ringing in his ears, Aemond found himself agreeing to sit for the portrait. Little did he know that this decision would mark the beginning of a journey that would forever change the course of his life, leading him down a path fraught with danger and sin.

In the lavish halls of a grand Victorian mansion, Aemond Targaryen found himself drawn into a conversation with Lord Tyland Lannister, a man whose reputation preceded him as an aristocrat with a hedonistic worldview. Lord Tyland exuded an air of confidence and charm, his every movement a testament to his belief that beauty and sensual fulfilment were the only things worth pursuing in life.

"Aemond Targaryen, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lord Tyland greeted with a smooth smile, his gaze appraising as he took in Aemond's striking features.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Lannister," Aemond replied, returning the greeting with a polite nod. Despite his upbringing and the values instilled in him by his grandfather, Aemond couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at the man before him, whose aura of decadence seemed to pull at him like a siren's call.

Lord Tyland's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me, Aemond, do you believe in the pursuit of pleasure above all else? In the beauty of indulgence and the ecstasy of desire?"

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to respond to such a provocative question. His upbringing had taught him the virtues of duty and honour, but there was something intoxicating about Lord Tyland's words, a tantalizing allure that beckoned him to explore the depths of his own desires.

"I... I suppose I have never given it much thought," Aemond admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But there is certainly a certain appeal to the idea of... indulging in life's pleasures."

Lord Tyland's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Ah, a man after my own heart," he exclaimed, clapping Aemond on the shoulder with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy. "Come, let us toast to the pursuit of beauty and pleasure, and may we revel in its delights together."

And so, with a sense of trepidation and excitement swirling within him, Aemond found himself drawn into Lord Tyland's world of hedonistic excess, where the boundaries between right and wrong blurred in the intoxicating haze of pleasure and desire. Little did he know the dangers that lurked beneath the surface, waiting to ensnare him in a web of temptation from which there may be no escape.

Seated in the dimly lit studio of Criston Cole, Aemond Targaryen found himself bathed in a soft, ethereal light as the artist worked diligently at his easel. Lord Tyland Lannister stood nearby, his keen eyes observing the scene with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

"My dear Aemond, you truly are a vision of perfection," Lord Tyland remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of awe. "Your beauty is timeless, a masterpiece in its own right."

Aemond offered a modest smile in response, though his thoughts were elsewhere. As he watched Criston deftly apply paint to canvas, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this fleeting moment of youth and beauty was but a fragile illusion, destined to fade with the passage of time.

"Will you not sit for your own portrait, Lord Lannister?" Criston inquired, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Lord Tyland chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Alas, my dear Criston, my beauty is but a fleeting thing," he replied with a smirk. "Unlike our dear Aemond here, whose likeness will remain untouched by the ravages of time."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at Lord Tyland's words, a sudden realization dawning upon him. His beauty, though captivating now, was not meant to last. And yet, the thought of growing old and withered filled him with a sense of dread unlike anything he had ever known.

"I... I cannot bear the thought of losing this," Aemond confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "To watch as my beauty fades, as I wither and decay... it is a fate too cruel to imagine."

Lord Tyland's gaze softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Then do not imagine it, my dear boy," he said gently. "For there are other paths one can take, other bargains one can strike to ensure that such a fate never befalls them."

Aemond's eyes widened with realization as Lord Tyland's words sank in. Could it be possible? Could he truly sell his soul in exchange for eternal youth and beauty, allowing the portrait to age and fade in his stead?

Without a second thought, Aemond made his decision. "I will do it," he declared, his voice firm with resolve. "I will sell my soul to ensure that the picture, rather than I, will age and fade."

And as the words left his lips, a shiver ran down Aemond's spine, for he knew that he had made a bargain from which there could be no turning back. But in that moment, as he watched Criston continue to work on his portrait, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, knowing that his beauty would endure for all eternity, even as he himself faded into obscurity.

As the days passed and the portrait of Aemond Targaryen neared completion, a subtle unease began to gnaw at his soul. Each time he entered Criston Cole's studio, his eyes were drawn inexorably to the painting, where he couldn't help but notice a subtle change, a shift in the delicate lines and hues that adorned the canvas.

At first, it was nothing more than a trick of the light, a shadow cast in just the right way to give the illusion of movement. But as Aemond studied the portrait more closely, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The features that had once mirrored his own with uncanny accuracy now seemed to possess a life of their own, a vitality that pulsed beneath the surface like a living thing.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?" Criston remarked, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the studio. "The way a portrait can capture the essence of its subject, preserving it for all eternity."

Aemond forced a smile, though his heart was heavy with doubt. "Indeed," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Though I must confess, I find it... unsettling, to see myself so immortalized."

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "Is there something wrong, my dear boy?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to voice the fears that had been gnawing at his soul. "It's just... the portrait," he began, his voice trailing off. "It seems to have changed since its creation. Almost as though... it's alive."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Fear not, my dear Aemond," he said reassuringly. "It is only natural for a portrait to evolve over time, as the artist imbues it with the essence of its subject. It is a testament to your own vitality, your own spirit, that the painting should reflect such subtle nuances."

But Aemond could not shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him like a shroud. For in that moment, he realized that the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his soul.

In the glittering world of Victorian London's theatre scene, Aemond Targaryen found himself captivated by the enchanting performance of a stage actress named Alysanne Rivera. Her beauty was radiant, her talent undeniable, and with each graceful movement across the stage, she seemed to cast a spell upon all who beheld her.

After the performance, Aemond found himself lingering near the stage door, unable to tear his eyes away from the ethereal figure that emerged from within. As Alysanne's gaze met his own, a smile played across her lips, and Aemond felt his heart skip a beat in response.

"Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasant surprise," Alysanne greeted with a warmth that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Aemond nodded eagerly, his voice tinged with admiration. "It was magnificent, Miss Rivera," he replied earnestly. "You are truly a vision of beauty and grace."

Alysanne's cheeks flushed with a becoming blush as she thanked him for his kind words. And as they spoke, Aemond found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of her presence, his fascination growing with each passing moment.

But amidst the newfound connection between Aemond and Alysanne, there lingered a sense of unease – a tension that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. And as Aemond glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of Criston Cole watching them from across the room, his expression oddly inscrutable.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Cole?" Aemond inquired, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to his friend's demeanour than met the eye.

Criston's smile was strained as he approached, though his voice remained composed. "Nothing of consequence, my dear Aemond," he replied, though there was a hint of unease in his tone. "I was merely admiring Miss Rivera's performance, much like yourself."

But Aemond could sense that there was more to Criston's reaction than he was letting on. And as he glanced back at Alysanne, a sense of foreboding settled over him like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the burgeoning connection between them.

Little did Aemond know, the threads of fate were already weaving a tangled web around him, entangling him in a web of desire and jealousy from which there may be no escape. And as he found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of Alysanne Rivera, he could only wonder what dark secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of their newfound romance.

As the nights in Victorian London grew longer and the shadows deeper, Aemond found himself drawn into a world of forbidden pleasures, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred in the intoxicating haze of opium smoke.

Guided by Criston Cole and Lord Tyland Lannister, Aemond ventured into the dark underbelly of the city, where opium dens beckoned with promises of oblivion and ecstasy. The air was thick with the scent of incense and whispered secrets as they descended into the depths of their own desires.

Within the dimly lit confines of the opium den, Aemond felt a sense of liberation wash over him like a tidal wave, casting aside the constraints of society and duty in favour of the euphoria that pulsed through his veins. With each inhale of the drug, he felt himself drifting further and further from reality, lost in a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations.

And as he reclined upon the plush cushions, surrounded by the flickering glow of lanterns and the distant murmur of voices, Aemond surrendered himself to the intoxicating embrace of opium, losing himself in a world of pleasure and sensation beyond his wildest dreams.

But amidst the hedonistic revelry, there lingered a sense of emptiness – a gnawing void that could not be filled by the fleeting euphoria of the drug. And as Aemond gazed into the depths of his own reflection, he could not shake the feeling that he was chasing after something that could never truly be attained, a mirage shimmering on the horizon of his own desires.

Yet still, he returned to the opium dens night after night, unable to resist the pull of their siren song. For in the depths of his soul, Aemond knew that he was searching for something more – something that could only be found in the darkest recesses of his own desires. And until he found it, he would continue to chase after the elusive promise of oblivion, heedless of the consequences that awaited him in the shadows.

In the dimly lit corners of Victorian London's seedy underbelly, Aemond couldn’t stop himself from seeking solace in the arms of prostitutes, their whispered promises of pleasure offering a fleeting escape from the turmoil that churned within his soul.

Despite his growing connection with Alysanne, Aemond found himself drawn to the forbidden allure of the brothels, where desire and temptation lurked around every corner. With each encounter, he lost himself in a whirlwind of carnal ecstasy, the weight of his guilt momentarily forgotten in the throes of passion.

But even as he revealed in the embrace of the women who offered themselves up to him, Aemond could not shake the nagging sense of remorse that gnawed at his conscience. For with each act of indulgence, he felt himself drifting further and further from the purity of his love for Alysanne, his heart torn between duty and desire.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around him, Aemond knew that he was playing a dangerous game – one that could cost him everything he held dear. Yet still, he could not resist the allure of the brothels, the promise of fleeting pleasure outweighing the consequences that loomed on the horizon.

In the dark recesses of his mind, Aemond wrestled with his demons, his soul torn asunder by the conflicting desires that waged war within him. And amidst the chaos of his own making, he wondered if he would ever find redemption for the sins he had committed, or if he was doomed to drown in the depths of his own depravity.

As Aemond stood before the portrait that Criston Cole had painstakingly crafted, he felt a chill run down his spine. The likeness that once captured his youthful beauty now seemed to twist and contort before his very eyes, mirroring the darkness that lurked within his soul.

Gone were the serene features that had adorned the canvas just days before, replaced by a grotesque visage that seemed to mock him with every brushstroke. The lines etched into his skin were deeper now, resembling the scars of his own sins, while his eyes bore a haunted look that sent shivers down Aemond's spine.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the twisted reflection of his own sins, a sense of horror washing over him like a tidal wave. How had the portrait come to reflect the darkness that lurked within him? And what did it mean for his own soul, tainted as it was by the weight of his guilt?

But amidst the fear and confusion, a voice whispered in the depths of Aemond's mind – a voice that spoke of a bargain struck in desperation, a bargain that had unleashed forces beyond his control. And as he gazed into the eyes of his own likeness, he knew that he could no longer deny the truth that lay before him.

For the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his own soul – a soul that had been tainted by the sins he had committed. And as he watched in horror, the painting seemed to shift and change before his very eyes, its twisted visage a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within him.

With a sense of urgency gnawing at his conscience, Aemond carefully wrapped the cursed portrait in a thick cloth, shielding its twisted visage from the prying eyes of the world. Every brushstroke seemed to mock him with the weight of his own sins, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his soul.

With trembling hands, Aemond made his way to the attic of his opulent townhouse, the portrait cradled against his chest like a forbidden secret. The air was thick with dust and the musty scent of neglect, but it was here, amidst the shadows and cobwebs, that he would hide the painting away from the world.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Aemond set the portrait down gently upon a dusty table, his heart heavy with the burden of his secret. With a deep breath, he lifted the cloth, revealing the twisted visage that lay beneath.

Pausing momentarily before he covered the portrait once more, shielding it from the light of day. And as he stepped back into the darkness of the attic, he knew that he had sealed away not only the painting, but the secrets that lay buried within his own soul.

But even as he turned to leave, a voice whispered in the depths of his mind – a voice that spoke of the darkness that lurked within him, waiting to be unleashed upon the world once more.

Criston Cole's voice echoed through the halls of Aemond townhouse, his excitement palpable as he spoke of displaying the portrait to the world. "Aemond, my dear friend," he exclaimed, his words tinged with anticipation, "the time has come to unveil your portrait to the public. The world deserves to see your beauty immortalized in paint."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the thought, his mind racing with panic as he searched for an excuse to delay the inevitable. "I... I'm afraid that won't be possible, Criston," he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. "You see, I've put the portrait into storage for safekeeping. I fear that it may not be ready to be displayed just yet."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "But why, my dear friend?" he inquired, his tone laced with concern. "Surely the world is ready to behold your beauty in all its glory. Why hide it away when it deserves to be celebrated?"

Aemond's mind raced as he searched for a plausible explanation, his heart pounding in his chest with the weight of his own deception. "It's... it's complicated, Criston," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are forces at work that you cannot begin to understand. Trust me when I say that it's for the best."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Very well, my dear friend," he said gently. "If you believe it to be for the best, then I will respect your wishes. But know that your beauty deserves to be celebrated, no matter the circumstances."

As Criston turned to leave, Aemond felt a sense of relief wash over him like a tidal wave, though it was tinged with the knowledge that his deception could not last forever. For the portrait that lay hidden away in the darkness of the attic was a reflection not only of his own beauty, but of the darkness that lurked within his soul – a darkness that was consuming him with each day that passed.

TBC

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond fic #hotd fic #aemond #aemond smut #aemond one eye #hotd smut

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flowercrownsanddaggers · 11 months

Text

FALLING IN LOVE

This is Isekai SAGAU, but not Cult AU, if that makes sense.

Featuring: Diluc, Kaeya, and Jean

(I'm open to any asks, requesting for other characters or scenerios. I will write angst — I simply prefer fluff.)

—— —— ——

DILUC

You could definitely say that he caught your eye. Seeing how he handled that Abyss Mage, being able to play him as a trial character for the first time... Yes, you sir (gender neutral) were in love with this man and his battle prowess.

And yeah, maybe you found better characters for more serious challenges offered in the game, but nothing was quite like your love for your main: Diluc Ragnvindr.

It only makes since, then, that this favoritism and newfound strength of his should carry on into your isekai into Teyvat. Getting Diluc was the easy part, but befriending him in person? Face to face, no wiki page or video tutorial? Yeah, you just about expected it wouldn't happen.

Truth be told, if you were just a liiittle more discreet about the fact you were essentially God, you may have flown under his radar. Would've never suspected that you'd be capable of pushing his vision to new heights, nor able to 'ascend' him closer to Celestia.

You really do scare him in that aspect. Your power doesn't come at any cost for him nor you, and you just... don't care? This is normal and healthy and fun for you? You know, most people drink for fun.

And so, if you are going to be reckless and use your lack of repercussion as an excuse to travel alone, then Diluc was simply going to have to accompany you. with a leash.

Then love did the darnedst thing. It struck him from behind, where he never saw it coming — where he felt you press your arms around him for a hug. Suddenly, you were everything. You were the sun and he, the moon. You were the stars that adorned his long and arduous nights, barely illuminating the city streets for him.

The thought of your smile gave him all he needed to protect Mondstadt and come back home to you — you were home, and you stayed at the Dawn Winery.

You still waited, even though he granted you permission to retire for the night. You stayed in the candlelight, where you'd listen for his arrival; nowadays, even that candlelight held not a single flicker close to the warm fire that engulfed his very heart. He was the dawn; you were the day and night.

He placed his hand over his heart and his gloves could even still feel the cycles of light and dark, of love and winter. They followed each other, dancing until you won — you were the sun and he, the moon.

Together, when he held your hand again, he could sense the dawn that had settled. When you fell asleep on your adventure with him through Teyvat, it was as though the sun didn't just fall asleep; it crashed into him as he guarded your body. Its flames burned his skin, searing desire into him once more. It was love and it burned him not to kiss you goodnight.

You could imagine his pain, then, when he had to sleep alone. The sun watched over the both of you until morning, where it just barely touched him.

At times, it felt like he would burn alive if he couldn't give in. He'd blow up if he couldn't truly determine where you stood — he'd just die.

Right there, Diluc was falling hard, and he'd give just about anything to figure out if you felt the same.

KAEYA

One of the first characters you met, and honestly, you were determined to main him. Now, if you were a F2P player, it would be hard, but you could buy his constellations. In the mean time then, you were going to at least level up all of his talents first. You were going to grind for him, and try to get him at full power, because you were going to build him to his highest power — you KNEW it was fate.

And maybe you should damn yourself, and damn fate, for throwing you into this world before you could perfect him. Damn you, Celestia, for the cruelty of having to personally grind for a character!

And especially damn Kaeya, for being so charming and calm about it. Oh no, he KNEW he was growing stronger, but who'd have thought it was because of you?

At first, he tried to be a little sneaky. Oh, you were talking to yourself about your new Godhood? Boom. He knows and he'll be cheeky, all proud of himself as he hides this knowledge — studies you further to see if maybe your claimed involvement holds water.

Well, he'll be damned. You can make vision-wielders stronger, somehow. He presents this information to you, all sly and in a 'yeah I kinda know everything' manner. Look at his face when you show him you really didn't care — it'll give you a good laugh.

You were really okay with the fact he knew something so personal and dangerous and, ugh, he— did you know?!? He doesn't say it so incredulously, but to the well-trained eye you had, you could see past the façade and into his annoyed eye. You mean he could've just... asked you about it? Why are you even this honest??

Maybe it was the revelation of your honesty that caught his eye or maybe it was your nature of mystery that shrouded your presence. Still, whatever it was, it definitely got him. He looked at his vision and saw his brother, but he saw you in his sword.

You... really tried to make him strong, didn't you? You made it sound like a grand investment; something that took a lot from you so that he could be the strongest among the Knights, if not the strongest in Mondstadt. That really meant something to him, whether you've figured that out or not.

It was all too likely then, that he'd fall for you. Everyone else had found their special someone and now this is his. You were finally his 'someone who wanted him around and accepted him'.

When you reveal that you know his darkest secret and you still care, you gave him a house. You kept his secret and you gave him food; your words of encouragement was the water he needed, as bitter as it was.

You were here for him — his truest friend. You were worth fighting for and you were someone who he could see himself with. He could look after you. He could protect you when he found the time.

So, with a lighter heart and stronger arms, he raised his sword and fought with you. He was truly and madly in love with you now, secrets or not. It didn't matter that you were one of few to know; you were all he needed.

He just needs to figure out how to tell you and when to do it...

JEAN

Now, unlike Kaeya and Diluc, you didn't actually main Jean prior to your isekai. In any case, you still cared for and valued her. When you were brought into the world of Teyvat, one of the first things you did was check in on Jean after Barbara mumbled about her worries for her. Jean gets it, her sister made you worry...

... but it was like, all of a sudden, it became a personal matter to you. Like you knew the damage she did to herself in trying to be more than the Dandelion Knight for Mondstadt. It wasn't very long until you were starting to get involved in her work-life balance and routine. Yes, she's very thankful for your kind words, but did you HAVE to cut off her coffee intake? Yes, you did She could take care of herself! No, she really couldn't

And okay, maybe the reason she puts up with now is no longer because of her sister's sake. This was supposed to be about Barbara sleeping peacefully about her sister, but somehow, Barbara's relief became more of an additional benefit. Jean had another reason to relax. Somewhere along the way, Jean started to feel a draw towards this person — this entity who cared for her in the intimate setting of her office after work. This individual with unforeseen power and abilities, and yet they held her so sweetly.

They asked for her opinion on romance novels. They asked Lisa for books that Jean might like, which Lisa had laughed about to Jean. This traveller completed commissions around Mondstadt; especially ones that had bothered Jean for a while on her desk. Sure, they cut off her coffee if they felt she had too much, but they made her some in the morning, too. They threw a blanket over her if she fell asleep at her desk, and surprise! Missing cats were found and menacing monster met their end.

Sometimes, she'd even find a flower on her desk, with a little story written on how it was found and how they thought it was cute. There was no shortage of reminders to hydrate and check her posture. She'd even heard from other knight on how you can be when someone is trying to report to Jean while she's resting!

Apparently, you give one hell of a glare if they even think of waking her up. She already knows that you'll end up writing it down for her if it wasn't already reported on paper. You were sweet like that. Therefore, how could she not fall in love you?

Kind, helpful, thoughtful you who tried your hardest to make her life easier, like some sort of assistant.

What a capable 'assistant' you were, with the ability to use 'artifacts' and wield elements without a vision. She now found herself thinking of you during her work. She kept all your flowers, treasured your notes... she had a whole filing cabinet dedicated to your silly stories. She loves all of them, and she's even started to come to terms with that fact that maybe, just maybe...

... ah, it's time for work again. You're proabbly waiting for her in her office, again.

#genshin impact #kaeya alberich #genshin impact kaeya #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact diluc #jean gunnhildr #genshin impact jean #jean x reader #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #romantic headcanons #genshin fluff #sagau genshin #sagau fluff

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sseen11 · 2 years

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AkiXreader!! word count: 2k.392 warning: (NSFW)smut 18+

a/n; I- he is so fine I just had to

Aki's fingers gently left the black Jacket, then slaying it after his shoulder and leaving it abandoned on the table near by the door of his room.

"Aki sir!" His shoulders stiffend, blades at guard before recognizing your voice and calming down internally.

Aki smiles. "You don't have to call me that anymore."

You hop in front of him, hands clasped behind your back and skin covered with a light sleep gown. Head leaning upwards, you grin up at his form.

"I like the way it sounds." You say, honestly. It did, it matched him, all office and heavy work on load shoulders.

He left it at that, eyes dropping a bit in exhaustion as he worked with the belt below his waist, few noises of fidgeting with metal heard in the dark quiet room. Your eyes shifted there, darkening.

"You look tired." You state, almost bitting your lip.

He nods "It was busy." His hands rise up to hang his belt on one of the hangers against the wall. He also shucks out his cig packet, letting them rest on the table.

You notice the tension in his body, muscles shifting now and then, seen from the thin white shirt over his chest. You creep towards him, standing right in front. His eyes narrow. Your arms raises, placed softly on his chest and running up to take the head of his tie. You loosen it, wriggling it left and right to smoothly slide it wide enough, circling it out of his head.

Aki's breath shakes, stilling for a moment before inhaling again. You bite your lip. His eyes watch you and this time, he slumps down with a sharp breath, head coming to rest on your shoulder. You freeze a second then hold his arms.

Aki's eyes drop fully, letting you unbutton the top button on his shirt, going lower and then with heavy trouble hauling it off him. His heart skips. You trial the tip of your fingers around his neck, brushing along his hair. Chuckling, you let out his hair, flinging the hairband somewhere near and immediately tangling your hands in his hair. A little too silky and soft.

"Hey. . .Um" you hesitate. "Can we?"

Your whisper makes him swallow, though he hums, the sound vibrating over your neck to run a chill down your spine. With your palm around his head, you lean it back up to met his lips with your own.

As most, it's smoke and ashes that you taste at first, fading away to leave your tongue with his saliva. Not the best, but you have gotten used to it and it wasn't surprising. Very unhealthy but he just wouldn't stop.

Your mouth moves furiously while aki's lips lazily try to move with yours. The connection slips, lips clumsy and mouth panting on the others face. It grew louder with each skate of your fingers on his chest, running up and down.

It was finally for sake that he placed his hands on your shoulders, forcing you to walk backwards towards the bed. You moan. His lips center around yours. Head falling on the mattress, you first fiddle with your own gown, aki hovering over you as you do so. Warmth creeps up your neck.

"Here." He says, reaching behind your supported form to unzip the zipper and making it easier to let it out.

You flash him a smile, pecking his lips and going in again for a Kiss, letting your tongue explore his insides and clash with his own. His tongue pushes down own yours, not even trying but somehow able to take control and flip the situation. He moans. You touch him some more, matching the speed of every drag of his tongue.

Aki's own hands wander down your waist, rubbing the bare skin there and eventually going lower to dig his fingers on your hips. You are already hot within, stomach burning with a flamming fire.

He keeps kissing you, on the mouth, face, neck, down your collabone and as much as that makes you arc, you are desperate for his heat inside you.

"Can we-" you are breathing heavily. "Can you please just,-" you stop yourself with a Moan.

"Yeayea." Aki's breathing trembles whilst he leaned forward to kiss you again before kneeling on either side of your thighs. You were already bare. That was easy. All he had to do was unzip his own pants and go inside you. It was troublesome though, muscles tired but cock desperate. With great bothersome, he is leaning over you again, mouth open and layed on the side of your throat. He licks, bites, gently at first to get you worked up. You already are, helping him line up with you but it ends with a fierce grind of his cock on your bare clit.

It makes you gasp out a whimper, fingers eagerly going around his shoulders. "Aki sir, please." You beg him. You are not sure to what. You want him to shove himself in you but it's impossible with each roll of your hips impulsively rubbing on his length.

Aki's head spins, fog taking over that your voice is a million distance apart for a hot moment and he is back in your arms throughout each lift of your hips.

Then suddenly, when he is supporting himself to get ready, your entrance meets the tip of his cock in a aimless rub.

"Y/n." He groans out your name, right by your near and making a knot tighten in your gut. And you are moving inside him as he twitches, wanting to feel every drag of his cock around your walls.

Aki's bottom lip Is between his teeth, head buried on the crook of your neck. You were letting out random babbles, shifting underneath him to fast for him to catch on. His muscles for surely broke the tight held strain, letting you do the lead.

Your attention diverts to his mouth on you, legs failing underneath his thighs. Peering at his flushed face once, though it's covered half way due to his medium length hair. The slight light from outside brings the blue highlights in the color, almost majestic along with his eyes when his head raises and eyes opening to kiss you on the forehead. You can't help but smile, feeling warm inside for two clear reasons.

It's only when he hisses as you start to clench around him when his shaft struggles inside you. It makes you whine low in your throat, chest heaving up and down quite rapidly.

Aki leaned back to get a hold of your knees, spreading them apart more and having more access to you. The movement makes you grunt, head pressing hard on the sheets underneath you. He pulls out. You whimper. His palm rubs your stomach, soothing the overloaded tightening. You can't help but wrinkle the bed sheets under you more, sometimes gripping and other time scratching, Aki apparently too lean back for you to hold him tight.

This time, he thrusts into you a little rougher, the gentleness a long last fairytale. It makes you lay on the edge of your burning coil though it makes him moan loudly with heavy breaths following behind. You are no different, your hips lift to meet him in a deeper state, back arching with each time you tighten in pain and pleasure.

With the way you are reacting, Aki is concerned, not surprised but still worried. You are aware of him holding back, not giving you all of him and every time you are trying to wrap him around your cunt, he hitches back the slightest at your desperate attempts.

You cry out breathlessly, eyes barely open but enough to give him a pleading look.

"Please." You try, one hand reaching down your stomach to rub at your own clit. It's not enough, doesn't feel as good as when he does.

"More more, please- just-," you whine out, trying to gather heat inside you but you are annoyed and frustrated, can't help but just beg for a hard shove of his dick inside you. The more you touch yourself, it makes you sexually exhausted, sweat rolling down your forehead and on the sheets under your back.

Aki's cock twitches at your craving but his brows frown but he helps you by reaching a hand under where yours is, replacing your thumb and rubbing it back and forth on your clit. Finally. You moan, a trembling cry jerking out of you.

"Yes, yes-," you cut yourself with a groan. "Faster. Faster." You urge him on, hands and hips not sure what to do, they are in there control, reacting to every touch on you from him.

As much as it makes Aki moan quietly, He frowns though accepting your request and applying pressure, going faster and touching just the right way on your clit and folds.

"I don't want to hurt you." He says, watching you struggle against the over sensation. It makes his hand almost reach to rub on his cock.

You are barely understanding his words, mind blanked and your heartbeat heard clearly in your ear, replacing the loud breaths from before. But his still too gentle hands is not helping you and your thighs rub together around his hands impulsively. He grips them again, tighter than before and something about him handling you makes you moan, eyes rolling back.

You respond with a loud whimper. "Can you cum inside me?" You ask instead, letting your mouth run on its own. And just in case, "please, I want you to cum inside me like before. Please please."

It breaks him, your wants not helping his situation and This time, Aki can't help but rub a palm down his cock, teasing the tip and pumping himself once before leaning down and stop your open mouth. His lips closes over you, moving in a circling motion, your body replying with a pleased moan at each sync.

You are rubbing on him again, apparently you are very sensitive because it makes you break apart from him and struggle to catch your breath.

Fucking finally, Aki thrusts in you once more, a start but enough to make you almost scream in over pleasure. You are letting out praises on how you feel, making him blush. He does it again, and once more. You choke on a sob. His hands are spreading your legs as far, the chill air spraying between your legs not helping your delicately desperate state.

Aki moans, light sweet sound, his head coming down to muffle his sounds in your mouth. That was a mess. Both your teeth clash, tongue barely holding up to brush it against the other. You are panting in his mouth and he is panting in yours. Your movement makes his cock slip now and then, the drag on your wall and drag on more of his prominent veins making you bubble out a half scream and half cry. He cries out your name, barely able to hold down your hips.

You are getting the best of him and when you wind your arm around his neck to hold something, it breaks his composure, hips snapping in a flash on you, so suddenly you jolt underneath him, the back of your foot dragging on the sheets. Your cunt wraps tightly around his length, taking all of him with pleasured whines. It feels so great, to have him stuff you full and it's so blissful that you are cumming around him, covering his cock in your slick.

Aki groans at the heat, now more warm and slipper inside you, your hips shift. He grunts, whispering your name in your ear over and over. It doesn't make things easier to calm down your desire.

"Good good. You are so good-" he gasps softly. Your clench at the praise, feeling so good everywhere. You are left sweating with pleading moans.

You almost scream when he pulls out, leaning back to get a break. Your fingers are clawing on the sheets, eventually slowing down in tiresome. Your legs fail beside him. Though your hands reach down to pleasure your left desire, it meets with with his cock. Doesn't matter, your grip it tight, control slipping out. Your eyes are closed shut as you squeeze his cock.

Aki's eyes widen, hand coming on his mouth to clasp the loud sounds escaping his mouth. It comes in a deep groan, eyes rolling back. You pump in his achingly hard dick. His shoulders drop in sensation, fingers twitching.

Your fingers hardly press on his tip. Your palm trace on the odd texture. Before long, Aki is coming in your hand wrapped around him. The substance is blocked from going everywhere because of your hand. You and him moan at once. The hot cool liquid covers yours entire palm, hand deciding to rub his bare cock with it. It feels so good having it in your hands, holding it securely in you.

Aki's mind is blowing, not sure where to focus but your touch feels so wonderful on his cock that his hair are sticking to his face, feeling so hot all over. When your hands slips from his shaft in tiresome, you leave it at that. The both of you are breathing heavily to catch their breath. Aki recovers first, leaning down to lay on your side, still breathing just a bit unevenly.

His hot breath fans on your skin. You are left whining at the frustration and sweatiness you feel, face scrunched up in pure annoyance.

After what definitely seemed a while, Aki leans on his elbow, getting hold of your slicked hand on your stomach. He smiles softly. "Let's get you cleaned up." You look at him, a little lower and the slicked hand comes down to brush against his also slicked cock. "We." You correct him, lazily passing him a grin.

He inhaled a sharp breath, blue crystals playing at amusement and mouth playing at a sigh.

You laugh at him, hugging his front in a affectionate touch. Your heart flutters.

Aki is frozen for the shortest second before relaxing in your arms and humming a pleased sound. He can't help but let his heart melt after skipping a beat. It warms him inside, making him happier than the events that took place.

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deepouterspacecandy · 4 days

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I intended to write a short drabble about Abby being immune to Cordyceps, but alas, it morphed into approximately 5k words right before my very eyes. How does this happen? Anyway. I appreciate your presence, taking the time to read these fragments of my mind. Thank you for being here. I hope you enjoy. This is a darker, more angsty, gore-filled journey and, as always, it’s intended for 18+ audiences only. Violence and sexual themes.

A man on a mission, Dr. Jerry Anderson devoted himself to eradicating the plague that wreaked havoc on the world.

Developing a vaccine against Cordyceps consumed his life.

In their quest for answers, people would come from all corners of the globe, hoping to be included in his trial. Despite undergoing countless procedures and surgeries in a desperate pursuit of a cure, most patients tragically succumbed to the treatments themselves or to their initial infections. As the years passed and resources became scarce, his experiments progressively lost their footing.

Mere weeks before his untimely demise, Dr. Anderson conducted his last trial on a patient. The experiment unfolded in a way he never anticipated.

After receiving the injection, the patient, without previous exposure to the virus, experienced a perplexing mutation, developing far more than immunity to the perils of infection.

She possessed the ability to communicate with it and maneuver through it, like a ghost.

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“You wanted to see me.”

Isaac extends his arm, signaling for you to have a seat at his desk. He swirls a decanter filled with a rich, dark liquid before pouring it between two sturdy glasses.

With a jarring crack against the maple surface, Isaac sets one glass before you.

“I don’t drink,” you say.

As you bring the potion to your nose, the pungent smell of the liquor assaults your senses, and you search for a compliment to give out of courtesy. Hoping to dissuade him from making further gestures of rapport, you decide against it.

“Is this an issue I need to be aware of?” he asks. “I have no patience for drunks.”

Leaning back in his chair, he peers at you intently over his glass.

“No, sir.”

Given the stories you’ve heard about his inebriated escapades, it’s quite ironic to hear such a statement from him.

You feel the uncomfortable burn of his glare, a demand for you to elaborate. Clearing your throat, you offer him a hesitant explanation.

“I prefer to keep my head straight. It’s important in my line of work,” you say.

Unimpressed by your reasoning, he leans forward and flicks your glass, producing a sharp sound that resonates through your chest.

“Do you smell smoke?” he asks.

“No,” you say. “But I’d really rather not—”

Silencing you with a raised hand, he swiftly cuts you off.

“Good. I don’t recall setting a fire. Have a drink,” he orders. “We have matters of discretion to discuss.”

As usual, his matters of discretion connect you to his hidden mercenary, a soldier you have treated multiple times throughout the years unbeknownst to your comrades. She’s Isaac’s most lethal weapon, a secret you wish you didn’t have to protect. What he is doing with her feels cruel, using her impenetrable body for brutal warfare and then leaving her isolated with her injuries, all while she waits for the next assignment.

It takes weeks for the roiling feeling in your gut to subside after meeting with her.

“When do you plan on ending this?” you ask.

Maybe the booze is taking effect, emboldening you beyond your usual self. It’s impossible to bite your tongue, the torment of watching this unfold gnawing at you.

“Excuse me?” he drawls.

“Sir, she’s alone out there. It’s not right,” you say, reluctantly downing the last remnants of the glass before pushing it across the desk. “There are factors you need to consider. Mental decline, her physical limitations. If you’d consider bringing her in, she’d make a promising squad leader.”

Trying to reason with him about her basic human needs will be futile, so as with every other matter, it’s more effective to approach the situation from a tactical standpoint. His perception of human beings as living entities is questionable as is.

“Do not underestimate her faculties,” Isaac says. “She’s built differently. This is the purpose she serves to keep her people safe, and she does it willingly.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but sir, if you’d just give me a minute.”

“Do I need to find someone else to handle this case?” he asks.

It’s a loaded question, a double barrel to your temple. The act of assigning someone else to handle her case doesn’t entitle you to be included in the mission rotation again.

Only you hold the key to the secret of her existence, and it will die with you.

“When do I ship out?” you ask.

“Tonight,” he mutters.

He turns his back to you, and you can hear the faint sound of liquid pouring into his glass. When he dismisses you by consuming it alone, you see yourself out.

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The journey to the prison is a tumultuous one.

The absence of infected is a relief, but the spray-painted rattle snakes garnishing the buildings and the maze of explosives on the roadways dangle ominously in your face. With Bear, your devoted canine companion, you make it as far as the gas station before a spike strip shreds the front tires of your Humvee. The sunken road, slicked by rain and oil, causes the vehicle to lose traction completely, sliding sideways into the long-abandoned propane tank sitting at the edge of the freeway.

Warmth spills through your eyebrows, prompting you to reach up and touch your forehead to locate the source. Your fingers, stained bright red, begin to tremble as you observe Bear—his ears flattened with every dark hair along his spine raised in alarm.

It’s a matter of seconds before a pair of violent hands tear you from the vehicle and toss you into the dirt, jarring rock granules forcing your eyes shut. You blink them away until all you see is a mangled police visor staring down at you, its surface speckled with dried blood, a menacing baton swinging an inch from your nose. Though the mask muffles the voice behind it, there’s a barbed, frigid edge to his tone.

Bear lunges out of the cab, seizing the enemy by his throat and forcing him to the ground. It grants you enough time to scramble to your feet, only to be met with the disturbing view of an infected hoard stumbling toward you from the hillside, chains dragging behind some of them.

Your vision becomes increasingly blurry as nausea ferments in your stomach, twisting you inside out. You pilfer the rifle off your attacker, as a group of his mates emerge from the shadows. You lean against the Humvee, examining the firearm before chambering the only bullet attached to the limp body at your boots.

“Fuck ‘em up,” you command.

Bear is a missile, darting through the rubble, his target set everywhere at once. Next to Isaac’s best kept secret, your dog is a diabolical killing machine.

“Shoot that fucking dog!”

Your eyes narrow in on the enemy poised to strike Bear, and you steady your aim. The roar of your scream lingers in your ears as you fire the only round you’ve got. An aggressive swarm of infected are moving toward the chaos in a cluster of rot and tangled limbs and you’re frozen. A horrific slaughter, surpassing any level of violence you’ve encountered, breaks out in a flash.

The infected shred your attackers apart, ribbons of flesh and shattered bone coating the pavement. The moment you call out for Bear, the sudden noise turns a dozen vacant, pustule eyes on you.

With no weapons at your disposal, you frantically scramble onto the roof of the Humvee, scanning the surroundings for an escape route. A sea of infected pool together like a rancid colony of ants.

Some say that the pain from a Clicker attack is unlike anything else. Perhaps it’s their blind, frenzied hunger that makes them so vicious.

You’re on the brink of discovering it firsthand when the decaying corpse, with its outstretched arms and gnarled fingers, halts mid-motion.

The infected stop in their tracks one by one, haunted marionettes with abruptly yanked strings. Save for the sound of your own blood pumping in your ears, the silence becomes deafening. Their bodies writhe in an eerie synchronicity as you try not to breathe.

In rare form, you squeeze your eyes shut to escape the fear. The sudden weight of a hand on your shoulder causes you to swing violently in its direction, your fist caught by a solid, calloused palm. Your piercing scream permeates the silence before you instinctively clamp your hands over your mouth.

Despite your shock, the lifeless figures remain unaffected, and you squint to make sense of it.

“I don’t understand,” you say.

Through tangled locks of greasy hair, celestial blue eyes stare expectantly. Her intense gaze rakes over you, a familiar pearl-white streak marring only one iris. It’s been a while, but her angular face is a sight you remember well.

“They can’t hurt me?” you ask.

“They can,” she explains, reaching up to examine the gash on your forehead. “But they won’t.”

“Bear,” you blurt.

Using her thumb and forefinger, she turns your chin until you spot your dog at the edge of the hoard. You can feel his confusion as his tail wags anxiously, ready for your next command. The simple act of turning your head sends a tsunami of vertigo crashing over you.

Out of nowhere, your mind becomes a jumbled mess, making it a challenge to string coherent thoughts together. She senses your trepidation, and her hands immediately find your hips, offering stability as you falter.

“I’m dizzy. I need to get down,” you stammer.

Her grip tightens and you try to focus on the sharp sting of her fingertips digging into your skin. The world tilts, the infected shuffling and groaning as they slowly snap out of their trance.

“Breathe,” she says. “Stay with me.”

Darkness cloaks your vision before you can summon the energy to respond.

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

As you blink awake, the biting cold hits you first. The source of the unwelcome breeze draws your attention, as the chilly gusts sneak into the room through a slit in the concrete. It’s meant to be a window, but it falls miserably short of the mark.

You’ve spent countless nights inside this prison, mending the wounds of Isaac’s soldier in the dim, flickering light. It’s the first time you’ve landed yourself in her bed.

The blanket, enveloping you like a cocoon, is unpleasantly musty, and you peel it away. Rising from the rigid steel slab, the room spins, deterring you from getting on your feet. Your body feels heavy and sore, a relentless ache pulsating behind your eyes. You give it another shot and stumble to your feet, using the walls as a crutch until you regain your balance.

Bear sleeps peacefully at the foot of the bed, his gentle snores filling the room. It’s intriguing how he finds more peace in the prison than in his own home, but he certainly deserves some rest.

The clank of iron plates echoes down the corridor, and you follow the sound. Your bare feet recoil against the chilly ground, and you’re left pondering when exactly you misplaced your boots. The hiss of heavy breathing and the occasional strenuous grunt accompanies your journey from one cell to the next, guiding you down the hallway toward the sound.

You peek around the corner and wild blonde hair appears in your line of sight.

Chances are, she already senses your presence, but you give a gentle warning that you’re approaching just in case.

“How long have I been out?” you ask.

Performing dips on a rusted bench, she maintains her focus, her back turned to you. Muscles flex and bulge with each repetition and you notice she’s adopted fresh scars across her ravaged back since your previous visit. Without a word, she powers through her reps and smoothly transitions into her next set.

It took several visits before she would give you anything more than a frosty response. Despite the feeling of regression, it’s possible she just needs time to adjust.

“I noticed you grabbed my bag,” you say, idly fidgeting with your hands as you linger in the doorway. “Thank you for that—for all of it, really. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”

Her body stiffens into a plank, losing momentum in her push-ups. Beads of sweat roll down her face and drip to the ground, her solid body trembling. She takes a deep breath before releasing it in a huff, continuing her routine without pause.

“Have you eaten? I packed some spices I think you’ll like.”

With a frustrated growl, she shakes her head, trying to dispel the irritation. Your instincts tell you to leave her alone to finish her workout, but for some odd reason, you find yourself unable to hold back the torrent of words.

“I thought it’d be cool to start a garden here. Herbs are nice to cook with, you know? Some for healing, too. There’s a decent spot in the yard for it.”

“What’s next—rose bushes?” she mutters.

“Roses can be great for tinctures,” you explain. “It’s a learning curve, but you get great sunlight for them.”

She props herself up on her elbows mid-push-up and lets out a choppy breath. When she raises her eyes to meet yours, anger fills them to the brim, and the hostility is scalding.

“I want Isaac to stop sending you.”

The pain of the unexpected dagger is far more intense than you could have ever imagined. You often wish that Isaac hadn’t implicated you in his secret, but you’ve grown to care for this wounded soul.

“You might as well take me out back, then,” you chuckle humourlessly. “Because that’s a death sentence.”

“Give me five minutes,” she sneers. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Look, I didn’t ask for this,” you say, a kernel of truth wrapped up in a rather emotional reaction to her painful barb. “I’m his soldier, too.”

Springing up from the ground, she snatches her shirt off a nearby chair and pushes past you. Before she slips the tattered garment over her head, you catch a glimpse of a deep, jagged laceration at the base of her neck.

While you make a mental note of it, you ultimately decide against bringing it up.

Rather than hounding her when she clearly wants to be alone, you decide to hunt for that old claw bathtub, desperate for a soak and maybe a good cry.

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This tomb scatters beauty, but you easily find its seeds.

The copper tub catches the flickering candlelight, and the gleam is otherworldly against the lonely shadows. The moment you step into the hot water, you can feel your skin buzzing with gentle licks of heat and your tired muscles begin to surrender to the relaxation it brings.

You can recall the day she dragged this old bathtub into the prison, the legs of it squeaking across the concrete floor as if the claws belonged to a corporeal animal. Showers alone proved ineffective in hastening her healing process and cleansing her wounds and, surprisingly, despite her initial uncertainty, she took your advice.

The candles differ from the ones you previously left behind, so you assume she still makes use of the hollow luxury when the mood strikes.

Submerging your head, you study the muffled sounds brought about by the density of the water. Everything is disparate beneath the surface, the low-pitched hoots of an owl muted and distant.

“I made food.”

“Jesus Christ!” you choke, body thrashing and creating a chaotic spray of water in every direction.

Your actions soak the woman standing beside the tub and, when she averts her gaze, droplets of water slip from her dirt-slicked lashes.

“Knocking helps!” you say, bracing your arms on the copper ridges.

“Count the doors in here—I’ll wait!”

Her sarcastic wit catches you off guard, and you feel your cheeks sting as confused gaiety tugs at them.

“What’s that face for?” she snaps.

It’s difficult to discern whether she’s asking a genuine question or if she’s in a defensive stance, so you wager it’s a blend of both.

“You’re funny,” you say. “When you’re not being a jerk.”

This time, when her eyes meet yours, the fury dissipates. There’s something soft and temperate where you’ve only ever witnessed the bane of unforgiving steel.

The pads of her fingers are a deep pink hue, and it dawns on you that the porcelain bowl must be extremely hot. You gesture to the side table disguised as a wooden stump and she sets the dish down.

“Can I have a look at that?” you ask, reaching for her hands.

The tub and clever positioning shroud your naked body, but the rest is all about her and her sudden ardent manners. With her face turned away, she offers you her palms first.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she says.

While inspecting the burn and its surrounding wounds, you notice her shoulders dropping.

“You can sit, if you want,” you say.

Upon surveying the area, you’re aware that the number of chairs matches the number of doors, prompting an apologetic chuckle. A tiny smile teases her mouth as she crouches at your side instead.

“You need to run this under cold water, okay? And I should dress these cuts, so they don’t get infected.”

“What about you?” she asks. “I tried to clean it out, but it’s ugly.”

She moves to touch the gash on your forehead, and her quick movements startle you. When you flinch, her hand lingers in the air until she decides to rework her pace, taking a more languid approach.

“It’s been forever since someone called me ugly,” you jest.

“Missed opportunity,” she mumbles, biting her bottom lip to keep her grin at bay.

“You haven’t polished off that honey I brought yet, right?”

Her expression resembles a guilt-ridden thief caught in the act, and you struggle to suppress a burst of laughter.

“I should’ve known better. Maybe you need a hive instead of a garden,” you say.

She snorts at your suggestion before grabbing the cloth hanging on the tub and dunking it into the water. Instinctively, her weathered hands shape the fabric to dab gently at your injury. The surface is bruise-tender and the pain throbs outward in torturous sparks. She cups your jaw with her other hand to keep you from squirming.

“What if I’m allergic to bee stings? Because that’s a death sentence,” she mimics.

“I’ll try not to throw you in then,” you say. “No promises.”

A wide, earnest grin spreads across her tough features, and you forget how to breathe for a spell. She’s filthy and in desperate need of a hairbrush, but she’s still prettier than anyone you’ve met.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

Isaac never refers to her as anything other than his mercenary, and every time you had considered asking her in the past, your better judgement advised against it. Her preference for anonymity is clear, but you have so many unanswered questions.

In a smooth motion, she glides the cool cloth across the bridge of your nose.

“Do you really want to know?” she asks.

Seeking a moment of connection, you grasp her wrist, pausing her ministrations. Her gaze meets yours with a sense of urgency and she doesn’t break eye contact.

Water trickles from your hands, twirling along her wrist and cascading down her forearm. She fights to keep her eyes open, a raspy hum building at the back of her throat until goosebumps skate across your skin.

“I really want to know,” you say.

Her nod is slow and deliberate, contemplating the price she will have to pay for her decision.

“Once you see me,” she warns, and it’s uncertain whether she’s cautioning you or herself. “There’s no going back.”

“I can live with that,” you whisper.

Just when it looks like she’s ready to share, her body tenses up and you can almost touch the impenetrable barrier rising between you.

“Your stew is getting cold,” she says. “I’ll grab you a towel.”

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

Away from the stadium lights, midnight is a mesmerizing weave of glistening diamonds spilled across an indigo sky. The sight of the Milky Way reminds you of her. That blemish etched along her iris—a celestial river carving through blue canvas.

You curl up on a bedroll in the tall grass and listen to the melodious ensemble of crickets and frogs, yearning for extra time in the countryside. There’s a sense of security here, with no sign of danger for miles. The tall and formidable walls back home do little to drown out the blood-curdling cries of the infected. Their presence is always looming, close enough to unsettle you, but never close enough to harm. It’s enough to disrupt your sleep, their ruined faces bleeding into your nightmares.

The once spirited and untamed landscape of home now only grows the carefully cultivated visions that Isaac orchestrates, depriving both his plants and his people of freedom.

Prior to Isaac recruiting you for his mission, you contemplated abandoning your ties to the WLF. You didn’t want to spend another moment on this planet living in a perpetual state of war, never knowing when you’d catch a stray arrow.

The peaceful ambiance of birdsong in the early morning tempers the harsh world for you. It’s a reminder that amidst famine and devastation, there must be more.

“You’re not sleeping inside tonight?”

Bear’s collar jingles, bringing you a sense of comfort as the dog keenly explores the prison yard before heading back indoors to nap. Your pup instantly feels at ease with the mysterious woman from the middle of nowhere, and you have no trouble comprehending why.

“I am,” you say. “I just wanted to see the stars first.”

“You don’t see much of that where you’re from?” she asks.

When you pat the ground, she sits cross-legged next to you like an old friend.

“Not really. It’s too bright in the city,” you explain. “I’m going to need to stitch that up—don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

While shooting you a disapproving look, she absentmindedly traces the cut near her collarbone before leaning back on her rugged arms. She tilts her head to study the cloudless sky, and it draws your attention to the neat braid resting at the nape of her neck.

A fresh and woody scent emanates from her, with a subtle hint of pine carried to you by the wind.

“I’ve always wondered why there are no infected here,” you say. “You keep them away when I’m around, don’t you?”

You know it’s her, the one responsible for it all, but you’re still in the dark about her methods. The extent of its impact on her remains elusive to you, but you’ve witnessed her increasing exhaustion. Her strength and abilities set her apart, but they also have the power to decimate her reserves.

“They’re closer than you think,” she says.

“If I get up right now and walk out those gates, am I in danger?” you ask.

“Yes,” she says, a look of agony flashing across her features. “But not for the reasons you think. I can’t—it’s people I can’t control.”

“I wasn’t imagining things, then?”

Her teeth grind in apprehension, as she plucks blades of grass from the ground to build a small mound above the laces of her leather boots. You let the gears turn, patiently waiting for her to come to her own conclusions. The struggle lies in wanting her to confide in you, wanting to divide the burdens that shackle her.

“I’m here,” you say. “Whenever you’re ready to talk.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I’ll still listen,” you say.

When she turns her head to face you, fragile threads of trust blur her stern demeanour, a courageous step taken in silence. She lumbers from the ground until she finds her feet.

“Where are you going?” you chuckle lightly. “You need rest.”

Brushing the dirt off her pants, she makes her way to the perimeter fence, beckoning you to follow.

Left untended, the field beyond it is a forgotten acreage of towering weeds, sun-stretched wildflowers wilting beneath the somber moon. The ringing chorus of quick, guttural frog croaks fades as a Runner emerges clumsily from the treeline.

Your heart skips as her rough fingers intertwine with your own, a bolt of sweet lightning cleaving through your chest. You can feel the strength in her grip as she guides your joined hands to the chain-link. She squeezes, pressing the tips of your fingers around the galvanized wire.

You’re left bewildered, staring at her, before she gestures towards the field with a subtle tilt of her chin. The writhing, infected body creeps nearer and your heart pounds. With every graceless step the creature makes, nervous vibrations fuse between your ribs. It stumbles, festering limbs lunging forward, and it takes every ounce of self control to keep from screaming.

The warm body at your side inches closer to ease your erratic breathing. Her composure is remarkable, as if she has performed this action countless times, a mastery of the dead—a striking juxtaposition to your tight, hard swallow resonating through the lonesome field.

Behind the disease-ridden shell, the faint traces of a woman’s features start to emerge as the battered body reaches the other side of the fence. The infected woman is so close to you that you can see the intricate network of veins in her eyes, and the red, inflamed rims of her eyelids where her eyelashes once were. Every muscle in your body freezes, not daring to twitch or even let out a breath.

The septic woman pushes her forehead to the fence, head tilting at an unnatural angle, seeming to study every detail of your face. The putrid odour hits your nostrils with such force that it’s impossible not to recoil. As terror grips you, it spreads like wildfire.

“How?” you rasp, your voice so faint, it’s barely a whisper. “Why isn’t she attacking me—doesn’t she want to?”

“It’s all she wants.”

Your attention falls to the soldier whom Isaac has bound you to restore, and you notice she is rapidly losing strength, her skin growing paler as the life force ebbs away.

“Okay, that’s enough. Make it stop,” you order, panic rising as her nose trickles a thin stream of red. “You know what? Fuck it!”

Without hesitation, you reach for the knife holstered on her thigh, sliding the sharp blade through the fence, until the spindly body collapses to meld with the soil.

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

Your hands move with care as you suture the wound above her collarbone, the heat of her breath fanning your face. Positioned behind her is a mural she painted, featuring a serene beach and a shipwrecked boat nestled against the coastline. Decorated with kelp and dappled with rust, the sailboat’s intricate detailing is striking.

“I’ve never been to the beach,” you say.

Her blue eyes, wide with curiosity, lock onto yours, and a huff of quiet laughter escapes her parted lips.

“What’s so funny?” you ask.

“I’ve never been, either,” she admits.

You take a step back to observe her, noticing the lines etched on her face that tell stories of resilience. There is a captivating depth that makes you long to delve further.

“Well, you had me fooled,” you say, reaching for the scissors on the surgical tray. “You’re a talented painter—I’m sorry I hadn’t noticed sooner.”

With a dismissive shrug, she makes it seem like transforming a gloomy prison into a magnificent cathedral of art is a piece of cake. Her artwork is so impressive that you would never guess she has spent little time at the beach.

“Nah, it wasn’t here last time,” she says, adjusting her stance and widening the space between her thighs to provide you with more room to work. “I thought I’d try something new. We’ll see if it sticks.”

You lean in closer, gently tending to the cuts and scrapes that have gathered along her shoulders and neck. Her skin, adorned with freckles, is a beautiful mosaic of its own. Some strands of her braid have unraveled, perhaps because of a lack of practice, but the untidiness complements her.

“I’ve always wanted to learn to braid hair,” you say, pondering for a moment if, for her, it’s a self-taught skill or something guided by someone more experienced. Her mother maybe. “It suits you.”

Her nose wrinkles skeptically as she lifts her hand from her lap, her fingers carefully tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” she asks.

Given the antics outside, it’s a valid question. You can’t think of a scenario that sent chills down your spine quite like that one. But with her by your side, you felt an unspoken sense of protection. She nudges you with her knee, her eyes narrowing in anticipation of a response.

“I think I am,” you confess, pulling the steel cart to the other side of her brawny frame to better access the supplies you need.

“And yet, you stay,” she asserts. “I guess you don’t have much of a choice.”

“I always have a choice.”

While you meticulously inspect her newest scars, cleansing the wounds that besiege them, she takes hold of your hand, motioning for you to stop.

“Abigail,” she says, worrying her bottom lip. “My name—if you still want it.”

In an instant, your inquisitiveness peaks, keen to uncover both her origin and the path that led her to this place. All in good time, you suppose.

“Abigail,” you say, appreciating how smoothly it rolls off your tongue. “That’s a really pretty name.”

You watch in awe as a blush creeps up her cheeks, giving her a rosy glow.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “It doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.”

“Maybe we can change that,” you whisper.

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby x you #tlou abby

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jaelaxies · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

fluff; wc: 1 k.

Yeonjun x fem reader!; strangers to lovers!; fantasy au!; royal au!; tw: none but i guess Sable is a little agressive in his words only lol.

Song recommendation: Blue Blood — IVE ( I’VE MINE)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･

“I’ll burn the spot he’s standing on”

The giant obsidian dragon behind me, snarked off while looking at the medal hanging off Yeonjun’s neck with his ruby eyes, truly scanning which spot would be the spot to aim at. I could feel his gaze right at the nape of my neck, so I reached a hand and touched his face with care. “It’s okay, you don’t need to do that, Sable”

As crown princess, it was a task that was provided to me. To watch this whole competition and to acknowledge in the name of our kingdom, all the new recruits. Of course, in every single trial that I had planned meticulously, there was one black haired, tall and strong man who strategically beat them out. A new recruit even and if Ame was mad because he sensed disrespect; I was intrigued, enthralled even. Something about him was always catching my eye. He was special.

Sable huffed even more loud and annoyed when he saw the new recruit approach us, smiling as brightly as the gold medal dangling off his armor. Choi Yeonjun was a promising knight; he was remarkable in every single aspect. No one, even me, had a bad thing to say about him. I could comment on his over confident nature but sometimes, it played to his favor. As making this dare with the crown princess wasn’t something that any knight would have dared to do, even Sable showed a little bit of respect to the man kneeling in front of me.

— Please, get up Sir Choi. — I said while offering a hand to him; but instead, he slowly took it with one callused hand and directed it to his lips. They were soft and plump, the contact felt like something burning in my exposed skin. Something that immediately made me retract my hand, heart beating loudly in my ears. An unidentified alarm almost ringing in my soul— I think you proved your point, Sir.

— If so, your majesty, did I prove my commitment? — He stood up slowly, smirking at the height difference. “I really am going to burn that pretty face of his” Sable said sneaking closer to me, but as protective as he was, he wouldn’t dare to hurt anyone without a good reason. He was just…

“I am not Jealous! he’s just disrespectful to the princess!”

“Sure thing, Sable”

I took the round golden medal in my hand, looked at it for a little bit and showed it to Sable who was clearly uninterested in it or what it represented; the words “Royal Guard Knight” engraved gracefully on the surface. He was making his way through a very difficult path even with the knowledge of the consequences. That made my chest warm for a second, but — You may have won the competition, Yeonjun…

He smiled again, this time with his lips sealed. He really thought he would outsmart me on this one. Even if those pretty lips and those sharp eyes were captivating and I’m sure any lady would be pleased to be escorted by him; I had to make sure this game didn’t get out of control. So, I returned the same smile, the simple but calm tone that I always spoke contained within my words. — Yet you dare to compare winning the heart of a woman with a mere competition?

He blushed furiously, shaken by my words. Yet, he didn’t back up. He stood in place, hand in his heart and tone firm but respectful. There it is again; this tone, this posture, this unspoken oath— I would never, your majesty.

There was no sign of mockery, he sounded serious. Like he would walk on the path of fire that Ame would shoot at him if he had to. Like he would cut all the thorns that surrounded me and my image. He was serious.

—You can call me by my name. — I said as I started to walk past him with Sable taking off to be on top. — You are my Knight now… and maybe if you keep up, you really could achieve what you want.

Sable roared in the sky, while I felt Yeonjun’s steps matching mine now. His presence was oddly comforting, and his company was the same. I had a duty but my heart seemed to have other plans; the loud beating that only me and Ame could hear, was bothering me. Why did I suddenly have to had this overwhelming feeling? I was always good at keeping my calm but…

I stopped in my tracks when I felt his hot breath on my ear, the tingling sensation in my stomach traveling to my face. — I will work hard to make your heart mine, your majesty. As mine, is already yours.

He took a little strand of hair and tucked it behind my ear, his fingers ghosting my skin. I almost wished his heart was as rebellious as mine. Making a mess in his ribcage and messing with his thoughts like mine was. — Even if it takes me an eternity.

—Then be prepared for a challenge. — I made the mistake to look back, our faces dangerously close to each other. — I’m not going to go easy on you, Yeonjun.

Looking at my lips and then at my eyes, I could see his dilated pupils and that devilish grin adorning his features again. — I never expected you to do so, my princess.

My princess.

I could get used to that, so much so that for once I let my whole armor down. I was the archer and the prey at the same time, so I shall try my best shot too. Shaking my head and directing my attention to the front, a smile tugged into my lips. — Then let’s work hard from now on. I also have a point to prove, don’t I?

The echo of my own words matching the sound of our matching footsteps.

“That if you make my heart yours, I’ll escape this duty of mine, this crown and this kingdom.. to be fully yours”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･

This had been in my head for a while! So I might turn it into a full series if I have the time so consider this a little snippet of what is yet to come;I really like this pair tho 🤍😭 I’m so excited for you to learn more about their dynamic. And finally we have a big 1k!

Thank you to everyone who has been loving and supporting my stories, i appreciate you all so much!

As always, feedback is really appreciated and I’ll love if you could reblog or comment if your really liked this one!

With love,

*°࿐Stella🤍

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kirythestitchwitch · 6 months

Text

Klaroline WIP Wed - freaky friday time travel fic

my prompt was the future Caroline Mikaelson and Caroline Forbes swap places and I was like, okay, I am going to shoehorn an entire plot in here after prom but before graduation. author is loading canon and firing it into the sun

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

The package was sitting innocently enough on the porch swing when Caroline got home from school. After a weird day of fielding concerned questions from her peers about Elena’s whereabouts–Stefan and Damon locking her in the Boarding House all weekend after prom was a last-ditch effort that looked like it wasn’t working–Caroline wasn’t really in the mood for a surprise.

When a cautious sniff towards the box brought her the acrid smell of oil paint and turpentine, though, she had to bite down on her smile. The smell liked to cling to Klaus after he’d been painting all morning, as she’d discovered two days ago, the morning after prom. She’d been crossing the Square, coming from the Sheriff’s department toward the Mystic Grill to meet Matt for lunch and flashcards, when her name being called pulled her head back to the here and now.

“Caroline!” Klaus’ smile was delighted to see her as he crossed the street to meet her on the grass, dimples brighter on his face than the sunshine, and god wasn’t that cheesy and ironic, just like her agreement to be friends with the nightmare creature that had plagued their lives for months. Even stranger, that she actually wanted to. Okay, maybe he hadn't been plaguing their lives very hard recently. What with the others unleashing Evil Dead and Elena taking home all the queen bitch prizes previously scooped up by Katherine, Klaus had almost seemed like your friendly neighborhood serial killer in comparison.

She waited until he caught up, swinging a large brown paper bag by string handles. “A word of advice?” she offered. He raised his eyebrows in intrigued curiosity. “Don’t go loudly chatting up the Sheriff's teenage daughter in the middle of town when you look like… that,” She gestured at all of him, including his loose-necked henley and comfortable jeans liberally smeared with paint, “Unless you want to get called a dirty old man behind your back.”

The laugh was practically startled out of him. He looked like an artist grad student at most, the kind that would debauch you on the furniture props, but judging by the slightly judgy looks from a few faces she could see around the square, that was too old for just barely eighteen Caroline. Oh yeah, Liz would be hearing about this before the day was out, and wasn't that just what Caroline needed?

Klaus leaned forward slightly, for all the world looked like he was sharing confidences with her. "Do you find me old, sweetheart?" he asked, dimples on display.

"Ancient, decrepit," she deadpanned.

His voice dropped a little softer, and unconsciously this time she leaned in a little to hear him. “You know our kind don’t measure time in years, sweetheart, it’s more about experiences.”

With a scoff and an eye roll, she leaned back. “Oh my god, you did not just ‘Age is just a number’ me. It’s jail for you, sir.”

“Mmm, they haven’t built a prison that can hold me yet, but if you prefer that sort of role-play, I'm sure I could think of something,” he said cheekily.

“Wow, okay!” She laughed, trying not to think of ‘Klaus’ and ‘role-play’ in the same context, “You are feeling much better than the last time I saw you.”

He seemed to sober, tension pinching his soft mouth. “Silas hasn’t shown himself that I’m aware of. Elijah is refusing to hand over the cure to either Rebekah or myself. Her on the grounds that she failed her trial, and me…” Klaus glanced away.

Caroline tried to dredge up some sympathy, really she did. “Well, we are all very much hoping there will not be an apocalypse hell-on-earth. I never met your parents and I would like to keep that track record going, thanks.” Klaus ducked his head, laugh soft, and Caroline nearly preened. “So, what’s in the bag? Thumb screws? Arsenic? Stolen lollipops?”

“Your imagination is a never-ending delight, love. There’s an art supply shop down the street that orders my paints for me. Which is fortunate, I was getting low on Cadmium Orange.” His fingers fiddled with the bag string.

“That is a very specific color,” she teased gently.

He tilted his head to the side in a self-deprecating sort of way. “Well, I need it for a very specific bit of shading, you see. The fall,” he gestured vaguely with one hand at some unseen painting, “Isn’t quite right. I’ve been working on it all night.”

Wrinkling her nose at him, she adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “Is that why you have that ‘freshly bathed in linseed oil’ smell?” Knowing she was about to set the tongues wagging but unable to resist the look it would put on his face, she reached out and snagged his hand, flipped it over backside up. Bright yellow paint was smeared on his skin. “You missed a spot.” she pointed out helpfully.

He rumbled softly in his throat. “So I did.” When Caroline looked up, his hungry blue eyes were on her, quiet, watchful of what she’d do next.

“So,” she said, drawing out the vowel, “I’m supposed to meet Matt for lunch.”

“The human?” Klaus managed to fit a world of disgruntled judgment into two words.

“Ugh.” Caroline dropped his hand with a bit of force. “Matt is failing some of his classes and needs a study buddy. I happen to be queen of the flashcards, thank you very much. Finals are next week, and I just want…” She paused, emotion clawing up her throat and she swallowed. Blinked. The sun that seemed so bright before–but not warm, never warm, never again–seemed a pale imitation of itself. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Klaus’s hand hovering next to her arm as if wondering if his touch was unwelcome.

This wasn’t helpful, this wasn’t what she needed, in the middle of the day, in the middle of the Square, for god’s sake. Her chin raised, she looked Klaus in the eye. He looked solemnly back. “I just want us to make it through graduation. All of us. So.” She pasted a smile on her face. “I do what I can, which means flashcards.”

Something bitter tilted his mouth. “The talents of a general and they have you tutoring the quarterback.”

Caroline scowled at him. “It’s not a waste of my time to care about my friends. You certainly benefited from that.” With a huff, she turned to go, and he stepped sideways into her path.

“Admitting you care, love?” There was something predatory about the glint in his eyes.

Raising her eyebrows loftily, she pushed past him, trying to ignore the heat from his body that seemed to cling to hers. “In your dreams, Klaus,” she shot over her shoulder as she headed toward the Mystic Grill.

While her vampire hearing might have been bogged down by the noise in the Square, she was annoyingly attuned to Klaus’ presence. His parting words reached her easily: “Someday, you will.”

#klaroline wip wed #klaroline #klaroline for ts #tvd for ts #one of Klaus' Top 3 Fave Carolines is Grumpy Caroline #She's scowling and sassing him? he is having a GREAT time #hey how'd that foreshadowing get in there? someone call security!!

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pinkinku · 5 months

Text

Barbenheimer

pairing: barbie x oppenheimer

description: Oppenheimer wakes up in Barbie's bed.

word count: 2,3k words

no warnings apply

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

There was a blinding burst of light and painful, agonizing fire, searing through his entire being. Then—darkness. Immeasureble lengths of it.

Oppenheimer woke up with a start in a bed. The blinding light was still here, forcing him to blink furiously. Although no pain, no fire—quite the opposite. And the bed he was in—it was surprisingly soft, too soft even, he felt like he was drowning in the mattress that dipped into itself from his weight. He looked around, feeling his sweat-soaked back go cold. The place he was in—he couldn‘t imagine it, there wasn‘t space for that much color in his imagination. No, color wasn‘t the right term as the room was all pink. He had never seen anything like it before.

Oppenheimer sat up in the bed, trying desperately to remember what happened. He was making a bomb, a bomb of such capacity that could destroy the entire world, leaving nothing but ashes behind. It wasn‘t finished, not yet, many improvements had to be made, but he had lots of hopes. That bomb – a mash of wondrous chemistry and accurate physics, had to end the war and make America the greatest nation in the history of nations. It also had to be Oppenheimer‘s opus magnum. He frowned. Something didn‘t work out. Apparently. Something was not right. One of the trials failed. He remembered the explosion, him in a safehouse, hidden by thick walls of lead that had to protect him. But it didn‘t. He saw the burst coming his way—

And then. Now. He was here.

In this ridiculously huge pink room lying in this ridiculously soft bed, wearing this ridiculous—what was he wearing? A soft pinkish shirt that clung miserably to his muscled chest.

He frowned again, and tried to gather some sense in his body.

“Oh, you’re finally awake!” he heard a high-pitched over-the-top voice say.

And there she was—a woman. This was a woman’s room, naturally. But she wasn’t just any woman—the most beautiful one he had ever seen. All blonde hair, blue eyes, impeccable skin and wide smiles. She was truly genuinely happy that he was awake and wasn’t trying to hide it. Oppenheimer wondered when the last time was someone smiled at him like that – a long, long time ago.

He groaned in pain when the attempt to move out of this position in bed failed and a bolt of pain tore through his temples. She was wearing pink, for god’s sake. It was all too much for him—too much pink.

The blonde blue-eyed woman in pink moved closer to him, putting the flowers she was carrying with him on his bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Oppenheimer’s frown deepened. “Who are you,” he demanded.

“I’m Barbie. I’m an actress, but you might already know, I have gained quite a lot of international success even in Europe.” Her teeth were white as pearls, and he was getting more annoyed with every second that passed, with every word she spoke, with every aching sensation in his uncooperative body.

“Where am I,” he asked.

“In—my home?”

“And where is that.”

“Malibu, California,” she said, fully not understanding what horrible situation he was in.

He was so far from home.

“How did I get here.” He chopped his questions as facts, though there was nothing factual about them – he felt as if he was doing Sisyphus’ work for him.

Barbie now leaned away from him like she was taken aback by his brass behavior. Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Look, sir, you literally were drowning in my pool, I found you there naked. I dressed you in my ex-boyfriend’s Ken’s shirt, it seems to fit you fine, and don’t worry, I did not gawk at you, I’m not like that. Look, I don’t know what you were doing or how you got there, all I know is that if I hadn’t saved you, you would’ve been dead by now. Besides, during the last three days you’ve been waking up, then losing your consciousness again, and we’ve been having this conversation thrice, but you always claim you have no memory that we’ve talked of this.”

Oppenheimer blinked. He did not remember waking up before, but he was not going to tell her that.

“Wait, did you say I was here for three days?” he rushed to ask. He jumped up in bed, feeling his bones rattle and his blood sing in his ear, but this time he ignored it. “What time is it?”

Barbie reached out her hand and put it on his shoulder, trying to contain him; it wasn’t hard – he had no strength left in him to do anything.

“Whoa, maybe you should slow down a bit,” she advised him. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but you look really… rough. Just… don’t worry, okay? You can relax and stay here as long as you need to until you fully recover. This house is mostly empty anyways, besides me. And for the time,” she looked down at a small pink gadget with a screen in her hand. She pushed a button and the screen lit up, showing the numbers. Oppenheimer’s eyes widened, “it’s eleven past eleven! Angel numbers!” she exclaimed, looking back at him. “You must be lucky, mister… What’s your name?”

“Julius. Oppenheimer,” he answered her reluctantly.

Barbie’s eyebrows drew together.

“Wait a minute… Oppenheimer… Oppenheimer… This name sounds familiar…” she kept mumbling. He groaned. Realization hit her eyes. “I know! That’s a film title! A film that’s going to be released the same day as the film I star in! my film is called Barbie, and it’s a biopic about my life, well, lives…” she chuckled. “Wait, are you Oppenheimer, as in, you play him?”

“No, I don’t play him. I am him,” he sneered.

Barbie seemed to be thinking. “I’m pretty sure Oppenheimer is the man who created the atomic bomb. No idea why you’d want to be him, but that’s not possible – he died some fifty years ago.”

Oppenheimer’s insides turned cold. He looked around frantically once more, then his gaze settled on Barbie.

He swallowed. “What—year is it?” he asked, for the first time asked quietly.

Barbie’s eyes filled with worry. “It’s 2023,” she told him.

That didn’t make sense, so he simply ignored the date. This woman must be clinically insane, so he’ll just pretend to agree with her. It was 1944, and nothing will convince him otherwise.

(Some conversation with this mad lady later, he was convinced.)

He closed his eyes, clutching the last moments of his last memory before passing out as if it could give him all the answers—but it only forced him to ask more.

The bomb exploded, that one thing was certain. And the rest—

He didn’t want to ask, but he had to. “Did—the Apocalypse happened? Did the world end?” Did I destroy everyone and everything?

Barbie seemed deep in thought once again, and that made him worry more. However, she was still so upbeat about all of this.

“Well, you might say that the world ended if you consider all that happened in the last few years – the Covid pandemic, the war between Russia and Ukraine, the disastrous economic crisis that followed afterwards, Iran’s predatory legislations regarding women – then yes, the Apocalypse did happen, and now we’re living in the remains of what was left behind,” she finished, her face turning somewhat grim. Which annoyed Oppenheimer even more. She was of no help for him at all. “Our films – yours and mine – might bring some joy for people – well, not yours, perhaps. Maybe a distraction from these awful times.”

He was beginning to lose patience. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already told you, I’m not an actor, I’m not in any film, I’m not playing Oppenheimer—”

“Then what were you doing in my pool?” she asked coolly.

“I… I don’t know.”

Barbie smiled conspiratorially. “I know why. You wanted to celebrate the success of Barbenheimer and came here to finally meet me!” Seeing the horrified look she clarified, “Barbenheimer – that’s what fans call it. It’s a whole meme crashing through the internet these past few weeks.”

Oppenheimer had no idea what Covid or meme or internet was, but he felt the need to make this woman see the truth.

“Listen, Barbie,” he addressed her, catching her attention. “My name is Julius Robert Oppenheimer. I am the real him. I live in Germany. I have no idea how I got here.”

She watched him for a moment. “Fine, I’ll just Google you, and then you’ll see.” She looked down at the little gadget in her hand and started tapping the screen furiously with her fingers, so fast his concussed brain couldn’t follow. She finally stopped and turned the screen to him. “See? It’s not you. You’re a lot more handsome, I must say. Oppenheimer is… well, he just is.”

There was his full name, a black-and-white photo – that definitely wasn’t him – and two dates. April 22, 1904 – February 18, 1967. The text below claimed that he was a physicist that tried to create an atomic bomb – and failed.

He had no words left in his mouth – or his brain. He only stared at Barbie who continued her surfing. “Now, let’s check the actor playing Oppenheimer.” A few seconds later she frowned in confusion. The man on her screen was not the same as the man in her bed. She looked up at him without smiling.

“Sir, you must be very confused,” she said finally. He was, he was very confused, he had no idea what was going on, and this strange, beautiful creature was not helping. “I should probably take you to a hospital, the doctors could definitely help you more than I can—”

His hand shot up in the air and landed on her thigh, stopping whatever thought train she was developing. “No!” he shouted. “Don’t. No hospitals. No doctors. Please.”

Her eyes softened, although she still seemed very worried. “Alright, alright. I won’t do anything against your will. Just… lie here, okay? You need to get your strength back. I’ll bring you something filling.”

With that, Barbie stood up and left the room, her floral perfume still lingering in the air. With that, Oppenheimer leaned back to rest against the many pillows on the bed more comfortably. With that, he was slowly giving into whatever was happening to him – he didn’t understand it, he couldn’t grasp his situation, he might not be sane, but he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Barbie came back with a pink drink in her hand – so much pink! – that looked like milkshake. She reached it out for him, and he sipped it, savoring the sweet taste.

“What is it?” he asked.

“It’s a smoothie. A fruit cocktail of sorts. I made it from strawberries and added some protein powder. Delicious, isn’t it?”

He hummed his agreement, sipping some more. A comfy bed, a spacious room and a beautiful woman. Ignoring all the pink, he could get used to this.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks – but it also wrapped around him like a cozy blanket.

“I’m in Heaven,” he said quietly. “I died and I got into Heaven. I didn’t even believe in the Afterlife, and here I am.”

Barbie smiled at him fondly. “Oh, I’m glad you think my Dreamhouse is Heaven – I do work pretty hard to make it feel like this.”

Oppenheimer looked at her, seeing her truly for the first time. Maybe this wasn’t Afterlife – perhaps it was a Life After Life. He was given a second chance.

“You said you’re an actress,” he said.

Barbie nodded. “I mostly play romance, fantasy or fairytale leads in films that mostly focus on women’s empowerment as well as embracing femininity. I love my job, but I’ve been playing sixteen-year-olds for seventeen years—seventeen!” She laughed, but it sounded strained. “I’m thirty-three and I believe I should play adult roles now – that’s why I thought playing the main character in a film about myself might be great fun. However, my life isn’t very interesting, apparently, so most of that is made up – the usual Hollywood pop-film with a clear beginning, middle, climax and ending. That’s not how it is in real life, though… Here it’s just… So much nothing… You know?” She looked at him, searching his eyes.

Oppenheimer knew it better than anyone. He nodded. He felt this way too, even before he got here. And now, knowing that his whole life’s work turned into a big loud nothing – well, it was devastating to say the least.

This whole strange time-traveling pink-soaked transportation between life and death was merely an afterthought now.

“I was here in the Dreamhouse for the past week. It’s a beautiful home, but it’s so big and empty,” Barbie continued. “I was so bored all by myself, and then—then I found you in my pool. And caring for you, nursing you back to health seemed to give me… purpose. I felt like I was actually doing something meaningful, helping another human being. I’ve missed this feeling a lot.”

Oppenheimer watched her for a moment when she went silent, and he didn’t say anything for a while. It was hard for him to force out what came from his lips next.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do next,” Oppenheimer admitted. “I doubt my home is still where I left it – God knows I’m not all there. I have nowhere to go. And I might be… no one.”

Barbie blue eyes lit up like the sky in the summer as if no one of a man was exactly who she needed.

“Would you, maybe, like to, I don’t know, stay here?” she asked somewhat shyly.

He could get used to her blushing.

The End

#fanfiction #barbie #oppenheimer #barbenheimer #barbie movie #barbie 2023 #greta gerwig #margot robbie #christopher nolan #cillian murphy #oppenheimer 2023 #oppenbarbie #barbie x oppenheimer #fanfic #ao3

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glittergear · 8 months

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Un-horny BG2 mods

Ok, so I often hear that BG2 mods are very horny--not denying that, but here are some horny-free BG2 mods that I enjoy. I'm only including Quest and NPC mods here. I'm also only including mods that I have entirely played through myself.

The White Queen, by Lava: a quest mod that allows player to visit brand new place - Silent Swamps - where something happened some time ago. Curious? Let yourself discover what lies under the layers of the mud, meet the White Queen and her servants. Also, the music is bangin'

I Shall Never Forget, by Lava: This Baldur's Gate 2 mod allows you to work with Orion - a mage who has lost the sense of his life. Either help him regain what he lost or let him die without the faintest ray of hope.

Southern Edge, by Lava: Southern Edge is a new district for Athkatla available from the very start, once you talk to Gaelan and hear his offer. You can get a Book of Intelligence as a reward for one of the quests, and there's a scribe who will buy your unneeded quest documents (like The Tome of Amaunator, the Noontime Ritual, the Book of Kaza, etc. It's a nice lore-friendly way to get rid of some items)

Ooze's Lounge, by Lava: The mod introduces a brand new part of Athkatlan sewers. You may now use the originally inactive grate in Slums to enter a locked part of the sewers and discover its dark corners. The mod offers three new areas as well as a couple of mini-quests, new items and graphics.

Yoshimo Romance, by Lava: Mod includes 16 timered talks with Yoshimo (pre-Brynnlaw) plus those fired by circumstances - including talk in Brynnlaw and at entrance of Spellhold. Those who love reading may also install additional portion of text - dialogues for both male and female players fired by in-game events. There's no horniness here; the most you can do is kiss his cheek once, IIRC

Everything else, by Lava: seriously, all of his mods are great, and none of the ones on his site are horny

Trials of the Luremaster, by Argent77: This mod makes the Icewind Dale expansion "Trials of the Luremaster" available to BG2:EE (v2.0 or later), Siege of Dragonspear and EET (Enhanced Edition Trilogy).

✨Adrian✨, by Rhealla: Adrian has lived an interesting life, for lack of a better term, though he's hoping to finally put his past behind him. Aside from his magic, he has a background in espionage and a decadent -- some might say romantic -- streak that has gotten him into trouble in the past. He once pursued (and ultimately wrecked) a political career with one of the most notorious organizations in the Realms, and may very much enjoy the opportunities for intrigue the Shadow Thieves have to offer... if you can drag him away from fighting with the Harper and the Red Wizard long enough to notice, that is. Don't let his alignment scare you off. He's the least evil Evil character in the game, and his alignment can seamlessly shift to LN. He does fine in my good-aligned playthroughs. His romance isn't particularly horny--he offers once, but you can turn him down just fine (and there are multiple ways to tell him no). He's by far my favorite romance and favorite NPC in the game; I am not normal about him at all; and I could probably write an entire essay about his character arc. Please do try him out

Sir Ajantis by jastey: With this modification Ajantis can be acquired as a member of the PC's group after the fight in the Windspear Hills (which was not changed by the mod principally). The player must first solve a quest to free Ajantis from Firkraag's ransom. You have the option to continue his romance from BG1 or start a new romance with him--I've done the new romance route, and I didn't notice any horniness.

#baldurs gate #baldur's gate #bg2 #gg plays #recs

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scotianostra · 16 days

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April 14th 1736 saw the Porteous Riots in Edinburgh take place.

The riots that erupted were over the execution of a smuggler called Andrew Wilson. Andrew was one of three who were charged with smuggling and attempting to rob Collector of Excise, James Stark at the Pittenween Inn, Fife

One of the men, William Hall, turned Kings evidence and was exiled from Scotland, which left Wilson and his friend George Robertson, facing the hangman’s noose.

The pair had been locked up in the Tolbooth on the High Street and an attempt at escape had been thwarted after the rather portly Wilson got stuck in a window after managed to saw through some bars.

A few days before sentence was to be carried out, the men were taken to the Kirk to make their peace with the lord and repent for their sins, it was here Wilson caused a distraction and Robertson made off, according to tradition he made it to Holland and ran a Tavern the rest of his days.

There was a feeling of sympathy for Wilson, not just because he was the only one left to face the music, but the populace of Edinburgh, and Scotland as a whole were still smarting at the higher taxes imposed through excise after the act of union, on the day of his hanging a large crowd had gathered and they were a bit unruly to say the least but the execution took place without incident, but the peace didn’t last long. Just as Wilson’s body was being cut down from the gallows, a section of the crowd began pelting the executioner with stones. Rumours had been rife that Wilson had been tortured while incarcerated and what had been a relatively calm sea of spectators quickly transformed into an angry mob.

The city guard fired into the crowd, killing a few and wounding a considerable number of persons. John Porteous, captain of the city guard, who was accused of both shooting and giving the order to fire, was brought to trial in July and sentenced to death.

Events in Scotland alarmed the government in London, and Sir Robert Walpole attempted to influence events by asking his representative in Edinburgh to become involved ordering The Captain be pardoned. He had miscalculated, underestimated the depth of feeling in Scotland.

On the eve of Porteous’ proposed execution, a 4,000 strong mob took to the streets of Edinburgh. A total lockdown was ordered by the City Guard and all gates, including the Netherbow Port were closed – shutting out many troops stationed outside of the town. The enraged mob made their way to the Tolbooth Prison where Porteous was being held and set the jail door alight. Porteous attempted to flee but was eventually grabbed by force and dragged up the Lawnmarket, then down along the West Bow towards the Grassmarket where Andrew Wilson had met his end. Porteous was strung up on a dyer’s pole and brutally lynched until he ceased to move. The government would later declare a reward of £200 for any information of those responsible for Captain Porteous’ murder, but none of those guilty would ever be found. Sir Walter Scott’s famous novel The Heart of Midlothian written in 1818 would later recall the events in great detail.

On the Grassmarket just past Armstrong’s Vintage shop you will see the plaque commemorating Porteous, and to your right heading east you can enter Greyfriars Kirkyard and visit his grave, as seen in pics two and three.

#scotland #scottish #edinburgh #history #grassmarket #riot

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quillyfied · 2 days

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Alright, reacting messy and all over the place to this trailer, LET’S GO:

Okay, strong opening: hooded figures (one of whom is checking his watch, which is hilarious, but the skin of the hand also looks red, so probably demons?), red background (good argument for Pride), Blitzo getting IMP out of dodge and then IMMEDIATELY crashing the van, good for you bud I’m so proud (but not as proud as I am of Moxxie chewing Blitzo out without a single “sir” thrown in there). Couldn’t begin to guess when this takes place, but since the van is crunched up later during a bit that is, I am 99% sure, Ghostfuckers, then this is probably Apology Tour. Hooded figures might not have anything to do at all with the gang running for it.

FIZZ THERE IS SUCH A THING AS A SEX TOY THAT IS TOO BIG. I’m not sure if you’ve found it but it’s close :P Lots of fun little clips, though Moxxie dodging a blue fire explosion in Lust doesn’t look good.

DHORKS AND CHERUB WORKING TOGETHER I KNEW IT I HECKING KNEW IT I’M SO MAD I NEVER MADE A POST ABOUT IT BECAUSE I’VE BEEN SO CERTAIN OF IT FOR MONTHS NOW. AAAARGH. AND I CAN’T PROVE IT!! But look at Collin, he looks so unsure compared to the other two. Poor guy. Okay, Blitzo is leaving a card of some sort in front of Agent One, and he’s using the crystal, so this is very much giving me Mastermind vibes (or even Sinsmas, if it's after the conflict and this is just Blitzo messing with them now). Humans being able to open a portal to Hell…that ain’t good!

Something coming at the gang from…looks like their office? And it’s round and spiky…could be whatever it is that’s making them go on the run, whenever that is (Apology Tour is my current guess).

CLETUS IS IRON MAN NOW.

(Listen I’ve been having visions about Blitzo being on trial for stirring up so much crap in the human world that it’s started to have repercussions in Hell so the fact that there seems to be a meeting or trial of some sort later having to do with Stolas is making me think maybe I’m a prophet. I’ll maybe explain more later in a different post but dropping it here bc it’s part of my thought process right now.)

Blitzo why did you give your fake ID such a rack and then neglect it as part of your human disguise XD I’m disappointed in you, babe. I’m also wondering what in the unholy hell a demon wants with a haunted house on Earth (and if that’s Leviathan like many people have been speculating, what is A DEADLY SIN doing in a HAUNTED HOUSE on EARTH???). (Also that is the single most awkward angle of Blitzo of all time, why on earth is he wearing white leggings because if he was naked we would be seeing some pixelation here…unless imps can retract their junk, which I’m open to.)

Ooh, quick shot of Loona operating a machine gun in Lust! Nice! (Hey quick Q where’s Blitzo in all of this??)

Helloooooo, Vassago! Excited to meet you! Really looks like there’s some sort of trial or meeting in Pride and Stolas might be either the topic of discussion or literally on trial, and it wouldn’t surprise me at all to have Andrealphus trying to get Stolas demoted or something similar without Stolas even being there. So Vassago actually wanting him present looks good on him for now. But this is a trailer, things can be misleading, but anyone who looks that fed up when dealing with Andrealphus can’t be all that bad :P Thinking this is also during Mastermind, or possibly Sinsmas.

Okay, first really significant shot I’m noticing of short-sleeve Blitzo makes me think it might be Full Moon, because he’s sort of off to the side while the focus is on Stolas talking about how this transactional thing between them isn’t right anymore. Though. Hmm. Stolas is in full regalia for this. And there’s a shot later of short-sleeve Blitzo trying to go for Stolas’ hand and winding up outside (portal? Didn’t seem like it) and Stolas is in his robe when that happens. Musical number with metaphorical sequences?

Sun/moon seems to be during Apology Tour, if that’s when Stolas and Verosika are on a stage together.

And short-sleeve Blitzo with a Dankee Candle, good on you man XD (that’s been one of the more compelling arguments for short-sleeve Blitzo being during Sinsmas, not Full Moon, because gift-giving, but the bits of deep conversation that keep happening with Blitzo in short sleeves sound very much like a conversation that needs to happen during Full Moon and I can’t imagine they’ll wait an entire season for it).

Now the heart-rending bit that’s definitely during a musical number with kiddo Stolitz and then grownup Stolitz, currently voiced over that heart-stabbing “you think you can toy with our feelings because we’re smaller and less important” monologe from Blitzo, it’s FINE I’M FINE (Though…looking really closely…I am not sure if that’s when that monologue occurs? The mouth movements ever so slightly don’t match up. But animation technically has some leeway when it comes to that kind of thing.)

OKAY CALLING IT NOW, TEEN BLITZO AND TILLA SCENE IS DURING GHOSTFUCKERS. I don’t even think it’s a flashback, I just think Blitzo’s brain is being fucked with and he’s seeing his mom and visually reverting back to a teenager. The carpet behind Blitzo and the lighting are mostly what I’m basing this on. Also how fucked up would it be if Blitzo sees a ghost of his mom only for it to reflect his internal monologue about how terrible he is back at him, amirite :P

Okay sassy short-robe Stolas is Apology Tour, calling it now; he and Blitzo have “we’re about to hatefuck” energy off the charts and Stolas in particular is being so bitchy and petty-looking. And angry. And kinda sad. Am I ready for their breakup era to be full of bickering? Yes. Yes I am. I’m also skeptical that the smile that’s on Blitzo’s face during Stolas’ sarcastic little bow is going to be the expression on his face when the episode comes out, but I’m ready to be surprised.

HELLOOOOOO NURSE! YES TODAY SATAN! (Deeply curious about who’s the disgrace, have a current bet going on whether it’s Ozzie or possibly even Stolas, but I could be pleasantly surprised and it’s Mammon :P) Pretty sure the trial/meeting is happening during Sinsmas, actually, it would be too funny to call an episode that when introducing a new Sin. Also short moment to appreciate that Mammon brings fidgets to meetings, of course he does. My guy. My dude. Also his reaction is what makes me think Satan is talking to Ozzie, because Mammon would have no reason to look that gleeful at anyone but Ozzie.

WHERE DID BLITZO GET THAT SWORD THO. (AND ALSO HOW BADLY IS IT ACTUALLY GONNA FUCK UP ANDREALPHUS’ WHOLE DAY BECAUSE THAT’S DEFINITELY ANDREALPHUS ABOUT TO COME DOWN ON THEM LIKE A SACK OF FROZEN HAMMERS) Blitzo trying to protect Stolas, kill me ;A; Stolas looks like he’s in regalia, though sans cloak or hat…why is he at Andrealphus’ place, and why is it looking like he can’t fight back? Stripped of his powers, maybe? Anyway this is Sinsmas, no doubt about it, it’s got season finale energy.

If the haunted house guy is actually Leviathan, I have SO MANY QUESTIONS.

Why is IMP in Lust getting attacked by CHERUB/DHORKS? I have more questions.

“Everyone’s shitty, we live in Hell!” Valid, but also, cop-out.

I’m very curious about what is making Blitzo make that face, because it’s not the cake; it looks like Verosika is cutting it but then she’s also sitting next to him on the railing where he’s sitting, so…? Anyway, it’s Apology Tour, and can I just say how EXCITED I am to get to know more about what happened with Blitzo and Verosika and maybe see some closure for them both on that front? Because YIKES their dynamic means there is a good, juicy story behind it. But also, Blitzo why are you wearing a bloodstained sheet?? (Presumably to sneak around but why did he choose THAT OBJECT, is really my question.)

Millie fighting possibly possessed Blitzo and what appears to be a flashback to Millie and Blitzo’s first fight (could be a time skip but it makes more sense for it to be a flashback given Millie’s hair and Blitzo’s fashion) (side note but dammit why are they both so hot) let me know something new about myself, and it’s how very, very much I want to see Millie and Blitzo kicking the crap out of each other XD Blitzo and Moxxie got to spill their guts in a drug-induced hallucination; I want Blitzo and Millie to fight each other bloody. They’re bonding and sharing deep intimate feelings, guys :P

And the Millie voiceover where she’s telling Blitzo how much he takes from others? Probably during whatever weird hallucination (PLEASE be a hallucination) involves Millie with tied wrists, a branch in her hair, and a ton of glass sticking out of her eye. Ghostfuckers, perhaps? Would make the most sense but how much stuff could that episode POSSIBLY have, oh my word.

(Short-sleeved Blitzo dropping a ton of paperwork on Moxxie also makes me think that’s his date outfit for Full Moon; can’t do this mountain of paperwork, sorry Mox, he has a daaaaate)

Panning to Verosika at the part when she gets to “and leave them worse than when you found them” holy HELL

“Do you feel any remorse for the things you do” yeah somehow I think that’s aimed at Blitzo, y’all. Just from what we’ve seen of Stolas in that particular robe and his general expressions and actions that whole time, and the fact that he seems to be talking to Blitzo (if not an imagining of Blitzo) the whole time. But it panning to Andrealphus about to go super Saiyan does make me laugh super hard actually (bc NO THAT BITCH DOES NOT).

ENTIRE MOMENT OF BREATHLESS SILENCE FOR OCTAVIA CALLING STOLAS OUT. It’s been so complexly beautiful to watch this show not shy away from how much self-hatred and low self-worth hurts loved ones too, and especially to watch that play out with how Octavia and Stolas’ relationship is changing and hurting from Stolas himself changing and hurting, but to have it called out so bluntly really makes me wonder what in the high holy heck is about to happen and when this conversation takes place. I have a horror that it’s during Mastermind or whenever the trial/meeting is, because perhaps Andrealphus and Stella manage to turn Via on Stolas and tell her that whatever is about to happen to Stolas is deserved or for the best, but. Uh. Hmm. Hmmmm. (Because all of Stolas’ power and possessions passing to Via doesn’t mean that Via is old enough or prepared for them and giving them to her would put all that power somewhere that is potentially much easier to manipulate/control, but I have a lot of thoughts about how Stella feels about Via and how that colors how Andrealphus treads around the subject of Via when talking to Stella about her and it’s not for this trailer reaction.)

(Apology Tour involving not just apologizing to Verosika, but to Stolas, too? I can only hope, though it’ll be far from simple; I don’t think Stolitz is going to sort out their issues and get together fully this season, but I’m hoping for some steps.)

(Also PLEASE can we get some Stella development that maybe sheds some dimension on her spoiled brat personality)

VIA SONG VIA SONG VIA SONG VIA SONG (maybe about her own magic and her life and how it all kinda fell apart so fast even as she’s growing up so fast poor girl)

Pretty sure the mirrors shattering thing is happening during the Stolas Apology Tour song, but we’ll see. Gosh there’s gonna be a lot of songs this half of the season.

Millie getting a short is such a good thing for her as a character, but I also love that she’s getting an episode with Blitzo, because out of everyone at IMP, I’ve been waiting for her to be the one that Blitzo has a major breakdown in front of; seems like Ghostfuckers is going to give me my wish! I don’t think she’s gonna coddle him or be overly sweet about it, but I do think she has a way of getting through to him and handling him in a way he wouldn’t let Moxxie do and couldn’t handle Loona doing either. Tough love but sweet? Idk man. Unless this is the moment he starts getting possessed. Who knows.

I am SO CURIOUS about who is going through the movie of Blitzo’s past traumas where he ruins the lives of everyone he loves; I’ve heard speculation that it’s haunted house dude, which would match up with Blitzo having a nervous breakdown in Ghostfuckers, but I dunno.

Oh that soft Blitzo look from under the bloodstained sheet. Oh that happy smiling Stolas that I’m now more convinced is taking place in the same general episode, if not sequentially after each other like that. Blitzo goes from looking so miserable to maybe looking more hopeful. Or perhaps yearning. I’m not sure how to interpret the expression, it’s just really heart-wrenching okay. And Stolas is wearing the same outfit as he is when he’s onstage with Verosika so what even IS this episode.

The very businesslike way Stolas says “Thank you, Blitzo” before he softens up makes me think THAT is what’s gonna finish up the Full Moon argument, but it does make me wonder what on earth Blitzo says that gets Stolas acting the way he does in potentially the very next episode.

Overall it’s a well-produced trailer that I’m sure we’re all going to be dissecting frame by frame for a long time! Whee!

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers

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