#white nationalism cw

[llyfrenfys]

"Fascism and Welsh Nationalism", or "Stop Fawning over the FWA you cont"

This is inspired by things I've been noticing around Aberystwyth lately while out and about.

Some mfer is putting up Free Welsh Army (FWA) stickers and I have to keep on pulling them down. Why? You ask.

Fascism.

Because of the not so subtle links between the FWA and fascist movements (of which those links are quite frankly underdiscussed) this post is necessary.

So, starting with the stickers:

This is just one of three identical stickers I've pulled down this last week in Aberystwyth. They appear more to be car stickers than anything else and must have cost a pretty penny to print and/or purchase. They appear to have been bought directly from a website using FWA imagery and slogans - yet does not claim to be the FWA (that I can see, at least). I'm not going to link to it because they don't need any more web traffic. But we will get onto why this is significant in a bit.

Anyway, returning to the stickers - I pulled down the first one off of an electric box on North Road, opposite Vaynor St in late November. I pulled down the second (pictured) also in late November on Penglais Road off the bus stop near the hospital. And in early December I pulled down the third one off of a wall near the Spar at the end of Vaynor Street. Right off the bat we can assume the guy who wasted a lot of money on these stickers lives local to where the stickers I've found so far were. So they're lazy, for one - not venturing much further than their own front door by the looks of it.

Iconography:

I've written about the iconography of the FWA before here but it bears repeating that if fascists approve of your iconography, then that's a sign your movement is already overrun with fascists.

This is the sticker design which I've been noticing about town. Top to bottom we have "Cymru Rydd/Free Wales" which on its own is fine. No qualms with that. But between the Welsh and English text is a symbol. This one:

Now, this was the symbol of the Free Wales Army. Note that I say *was* because the FWA doesn't exist any more. Yet various actors have tried to resurrect its very unsuccessful corpse over the years. These stickers seem to belong to a new organisation which is the latest to try and capitalise on the ghost of the FWA. Now, if you're like me, you'll have already noticed this design is, for lack of a better word, a bit dogwhistley. The angled, blocky, swastika-like stylisation of what is supposedly an eagle, the black and white void of any other features and the very fact it *is* an eagle depicted all seem a bit *too* similar to the iconography of the Third Reich, don't you think?

Their design choice is no accident. It is a design which appeals to fascists while also has enough Welsh cultural reference for apologists to hide behind with a plausibly deniable reason for why their eagle Looks Like That. The white eagle is a reference to the 13th C. poem Mab Darogan, in which Myrddin prophesises that "a king shall come with heroism from among the Welsh people" and that "generous men shall be reborn of the lineage of the eagles of Snowdonia". The eagle could have literally been drawn in any way. But it rather specifically was drawn like this. That choice is not accidental.

Now this new organisation which is trying to reanimate the corpse of the FWA (we'll call them EW) has incorporated the FWA symbol into their sticker. An endorsement of the failed so-called 'paramilitary' organisation on their part, to be sure. EW also have included a different style of white eagle on their sticker as well - which is blatantly stolen from Wikipedia (the copyright is expired, but 0/10 artistic effort on their part even so). Also not to nitpick but the eagle on the sticker is grey not white so that's also a fail.

Artistic criticisms aside, the sticker is loaded with dogwhistley iconography all round. The Celtic knot border isn't necessarily problematic, however, fascists and/or neo-nazis love to slap Celtic knots onto things because they associate Celticity with whiteness. The colour scheme may also be a coincidence, but it does remind me of the fascist symbol which is the 'Flag of Kekistan" which uses the same colour scheme.

Why does this matter and who were the FWA?:

The FWA were a Welsh nationalist (supposedly 'paramilitary') outfit which formed in Lampeter in 1963 and disbanded in 1969 (just 6 years of activity). They took a lot of their cues from the IRA and were effectively fanboys of them. The group was never really considered a threat and mostly consisted of middle-aged men playing paramilitary dress-up. They did claim to be funded by the IRA and that they had dogs trained to carry explosives. Their claims remain unproven.

HOWEVER - and here's where things get sticky. A lot of the issues the FWA were publicly concerned with were and are actually valid issues (e.g. the drowning of Capel Celyn, the Aberfan Disaster etc.). The problem is that fascists or fanboys of fascists love to get their foot in the door by addressing genuine issues. But what happens is that invariably a minoritised group is blamed for the existence of said issue and naturally that leads to discrimination and violence.

The police started to get a bit antsy with the investiture of then-prince Charles as prince of Wales and the possibility of the FWA doing some terrorism. So some of the FWA's leaders were arrested just prior to this. The group officially ended in 1969.

The nationalism advocated for by the FWA was of the 'blood-and-soil' type. Not just your common or garden nationalism (which still has issues but given context is perfectly able to exist in a non-fashy way). And that's why the idolisation of the FWA in years since is sus. It appeals to romanticised nationalist notions of brave men in uniforms helping free Wales - when in reality they did little terrorism and little to actually further the Welsh nationalist cause. In fact, the leadership of the FWA fell apart after they started to disagree on whether their actions were damaging the cause rather than helping it.

Julian Cayo-Evans founded the FWA and ran it with Dennis Coslett and Gethin ap Gruffydd. Gruffydd went on to found other youth nationalist organisations after he left the FWA due to disagreements with its direction - e.g. he founded the Patriotic Front in 1964 which was later outlawed by Plaid Cymru in 1966. It goes without saying names like 'Patriotic Front' are deliberate nods to other, similarly named fascist organisations like National Front.

Legacy and The Present:

FWA's only legacy is the sycophantic fanclub which ressurects the corpse of the FWA every few years to parade it around and relive the 'glory days' of paramilitary cosplay. But aside from functionally being useless, their iconography and politics are still very much under the fash umbrella and that must be resisted at every opportunity (hence why I'm tearing down their stickers - I don't want fascists to feel welcome here). Part of why people may turn a blind eye to the FWA/sympathise is that they may not be aware of the history of the FWA or see the dogwhistles laden in their work and symbols. Some may even just assume without any other context that they're just another Welsh-language preservation group and may even support them without realising the deeper nature of the organisation beyond just preserving the Welsh language.

Which brings me back to EW. I'm going to put the rest of this under a cut, I do encourage reading the rest though and reblogging to get the word out that

It is always morally okay to tear down fascist propaganda

If you see some in your town, don't hesitate to let fash know they aren't welcome here.

EW:

So, onto the latest in a long line of paramilitary wannabes who idolise a long-dead organisation from the 60s.

The EW website seems... sketch. Lots of banners and sections asking to 'donate now' and 'take action' (with money). So right off the bat this looks like a cash-grab.

Secondly, from their own 'About' section they claim that the Welsh Independence movement has "become inundated with authoritarian Marxist entryists who regard Welsh independence as merely a vehicle for furthering their own political agendas". Which is pretty bold stuff coming from an organisation trying to do The Exact Same. There's also a LOT of emphasis on youth involvement and youth nationalism.

There's also a lot of ahistorical claims in the About section too. E.g. on the prophecy of Myrddin "From this legend derives the very name of Cymru’s greatest mountains, with ‘Eryri’ meaning the ‘Seat of the Eagles’ in Cymraeg." - this is contested as there is no one agreed upon etymology of Eryri. To claim that this is The Etymology suggests that they picked this one just because it conveniently fits the version of the mythology they're presenting. They also claim that "Owain ap Gruffydd, would adopt three such eagles as his royal coat of arms" - this is blatantly incorrect as Owain ap Gruffydd lived before the Age of Heraldry and the three eagles are actually later attributed arms.

In EW's FAQ there's a section on supporting their organisation - with one paragraph saying that you can buy stickers instead "If you aren’t eligible or willing to commit to becoming an activist". Lol at 'if you aren't willing to fully commit to our FWA fanboy club you can put up some stickers instead'. Also the button to buy stickers suggests you pay via paypal "We’ll accept quick payments using PayPal and will have them shipped to you First Class" - which *totally* sounds legit (what do you bet they ask people to pay via 'friends and family instead of through business means?).

And... that's it. There's very little else on their website. It *looks* like they're trying to be a movement, but appear to lack substance (and money, judging from how many different Donate Now buttons are plastered all over the site). A hollow organisation blatantly bending history and mythology to fit their narrative, proudly using symbols designed to appeal to fascists while asking people to trust them with the future of Wales?

Dim diolch.

For further reading on why we should guard against fascism in Welsh language revival and independence, see my other post here.

Reblogs welcome for an antifascist independent Wales.

[vague-humanoid]

Patriot Front broke off from the white nationalist group Vanguard America six years ago following the deadly "Unite the Right" rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, and while their efforts initially focused on circulating racist literature or posting stickers in public spaces, the group has started holding rallies and demonstrations that seemed aimed at stoking violence, reported The Guardian.

“I think the group is morphing from a solely propaganda-based outfit to a much more violent one, based on what we’ve seen over the past couple of years," said Stephen Piggott, a researcher at Western States Center. "They’re trending to much more violence, more in-person direct actions, versus putting up stickers under the cover of night.”

“I think it’s indicative of the movement," Piggott added. "The white nationalist movement more broadly is getting more extreme, more hardcore, more violent."

[ilthit]

Today in Finnish media, almost a year into the right-wing/far right alliance government that got elected on an anti-immigration, pro-cuts platform, the biggest newspaper Helsingin Sanomat posts what looks a lot like the white supremacist "Great Replacement" creed as a main story backed by scientific-looking columns, asserting in the title that Finns will be "The amount of people with Finnish family background is diminishing rapidly" (as you can guess, "Finnish background" means white Finns) and "Birth rates are going down so fast that in 90 years there may be fewer than a million descendants of current Finnish-background individuals" and follows it by "it means that Finland needs immigration more than previously assessed". And then it makes the whole article for subscribers only.

(link)

[mxi-88]

average junior highschool crush

[hepatosaurus]

national poetry month, day 9

Shaffer Road You are asphalt unblemished, Fairfield Inn & Suites & the gym I belong to. & you are what you used to be: the lonely edge, the temp job I had at the Intel plant feeding microchips into plastic tubes. You are the crime & the crime’s half-life. You’re the farmhouse Marie rented that year, its mice & crooked doors. Stoned, we’d talk for hours, looking out on what was then a sea of Brussels sprouts, the fields heavy with fog. In summer, so many blackberries banked your ditches, I’d lose myself, & the minutes. You’re that same farmhouse at dusk, Marie stemming my blood, smearing the cuts with goldenseal before she calls the police. You’re the well-lit room where I waited, half-naked, to get my picture taken. You are the next day, & the day after that. The switchblade’s snick. My unholy breath. Shaffer Road, I don’t need a bulldozer to dig you up. You live just beneath my breastbone, like a second heart. —Cynthia White

[aronarchy]

“Better a Living Judeo-Nazi Than a Dead Saint” Author(s): Amos Oz Source: Journal of Palestine Studies, Vol. 12, No. 3 (Spring, 1983), pp. 202-209 Published by: University of California Press on behalf of the Institute for Palestine Studies Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/2536162

FROM THE ISRAELI PRESS

[The contents of this section are selected from news reports, articles and editorials appearing in the Israeli press during the quarter. The items chosen illustrate trends on current issues or focus on a specific topic of relevance to the Arab-Israeli conflict.]

“Better a Living Judeo-Nazi than a Dead Saint.” An extreme Israeli nationalist explains his view of the world to Amos Oz. A subsequent commentary by Boaz Evron attacks the views expressed.

…

The well-known writer Amos Oz recently conducted interviews with adherents of a variety of different ideologies and political beliefs in Israel and the occupied territories. Most dramatic of these was an unnamed Israeli nationalist in a moshav, here called “C,” who expressed overt contempt for any attempt to introduce concepts of universal humanism into Zionism. Oz presented the thoughts of C mainly in the form of a monologue in the newspaper Davar on December 17, 1982. Excerpts from the interview appear below:

“As far as I’m concerned, you can call me any name you want. You can call me a monster. Call me a murderer. But please note that I don’t hate Arabs. On the contrary, personally I feel much better with them, and especially with the Bedouins, than with the Jews. The Arabs—those we haven’t yet spoiled—are proud people, irrational, cruel and generous. The zhids[1] are all twisted. In order to attempt to straighten them up you must first bend them strongly in the opposite direction. And that, in short, is my whole ideology.

“As far as I am concerned, you can give the State of Israel any name you wish. You can call it a Judeo-Nazi state, as did Leibowitz. Why not? As the saying goes—better a living Judeo-Nazi than a dead saint. I don’t care if I am a Qadhafi. I am not after admiration from the Gentiles. I don’t need their love. I don’t need love from Jews like you, either. I have to live. And I intend that my children shall live as well—with or without the blessing of the Pope and the other religious leaders from the New York Times. I shall destroy anyone who raises a hand against my children—I shall destroy him and his children, with or without the famous purity of arms, and I don’t care if he is Christian, Muslim, Jewish or pagan. History shows us that he who won’t kill is killed by others. This is an iron law.

“Even if you give me mathematical proof that the present war still going on in Lebanon is a dirty immoral war, I don’t care. Moreover, even if you give me mathematical proof that we haven’t achieved and won’t achieve any goal in Lebanon, neither a friendly regime nor the breaking of the Syrians, and not even the destruction of the PLO, even then I don’t care: it was worth it. And even if, in a year’s time, the Galilee is shelled again by Katyushas, I don’t really care; we shall initiate another similar war and kill and destroy more and more, until they have had enough. And do you know why all this is worth it? Because it seems that this war has made us hated by the world that calls itself the civilized world. That is it. No more nonsense about the unique Jewish morality, the moral lessons of the Holocaust, the Jews who were supposed to have emerged out of the gas chambers pure and good. No more of that. The destruction of Ain el-Hilweh (it’s a pity we didn’t wipe that wasps’ nest off the face of the earth), the healthy bombardments of Beirut and the tiny massacre—can you call 500 Arabs a massacre? It’s a pity that the Phalangists did it, we should have done it with our own delicate hands—all those good deeds killed once and for all this talk about being a unique people and a Light for the Gentiles. That was all bullshit! That’s it: no more uniqueness, no light and good riddance.

“You should know that I personally have no reason to want to be any better than Khomeini or Brezhnev or Qadhafi or Assad or Mrs. Thatcher or Harry Truman, who killed half a million Japanese using two good bombs. I do want to be smarter than them. Quicker than them, more efficient, but I have no desire to be better than them, or more beautiful than them. You tell me; do the evil men of the world have a bad time? If anyone tries to touch them, the evil men cut their hands and legs off. They chase and catch whatever they feel like eating, and have no indigestion and receive no punishment from Heaven. So from now on, I want to see Israel joining this club. Maybe at last the world will begin to fear me instead of admiring my nobility. Thank God. Let them tremble. Let them call us a mad state. Let them understand that we are a wild country, dangerous to our surroundings, not normal, that we can go crazy because one of our children has been murdered—only one! And go wild and burn all the oil fields in the Middle East! By the way, if it happened to be your child, God forbid, you would talk like I do. Let them consider in Washington, Moscow, Damascus and China that if one of our ambassadors is shot—or even a consul or the attache for stamp collections—we may start World War III just like that. And don’t be surprised if such an image even gives us some support: in the present atmosphere among the youth and intellectuals in the West, among those hypocrites, those saccharine females, if we behave like this it will mean that we are desperate and angry. And if we are desperate and angry it means that we have been victims of injustice. And if we have been victims, they must rush to demonstrate for us, and to identity with us. That’s how the distorted psychology of those beautiful souls operates. Read Franz Fanon! And in any case, with or without support demonstrations for the dangerous and desperate Israel, the main thing is that they will move very cautiously around us so as not to anger the wounded animal. It is high time!”

We are sitting on the balcony of the nice country house of C in one of the well-developed moshavim, looking to the west at the sunset burning in the colors of fire, purple and grey. The fruit trees cover us with a lively, sensual scent. We have been served iced coffee in high narrow glasses. C is about 50 years old and is a well-known man of action. He is a strong and heavy man, dressed in shorts without a shirt, his body tanned to a metallic bronze color, the tan of the blond man who lives under the sun. He lays his hairy legs on the table and his hands on the chair. There is a scar on his neck. His eyes wander over his plantations. He dictates his ideology clearly, in a voice burnt by cigarettes:

“And there is something else, more important than the rest. The sweetest fruit of this war in Lebanon is that now they don’t hate only Israel. Thanks to us, they now also hate all these Feinschmecker-Jews in Paris, London, New York, Frankfurt and Montreal, in all their holes. At last they hate all these nice zhids, those who say that they are something different, they are not the Israeli hooligans, but different Jews, clean and decent. Just like the assimilating Jew in Vienna and Berlin begged the anti-Semite not to mix him up with the stinking Ostjude, who had been smuggled into the cultural environment straight from the dirty ghetto in Ukraine or Poland. It won’t help them, those clean zhids, just as it didn’t do them any good in Vienna and Berlin. Let them shout that they condemn Israel, that they are okay, that they didn’t want and don’t want to hurt a fly, that they always prefer being slaughtered to fighting, that they have taken it upon themselves to teach the Gentiles how to be good Christians and always offer the second cheek. It won’t do them any good. Now they are getting it there because of us, and I am telling you—it’s a pleasure to watch. They are the zhids who persuaded the Gentiles to give in to the bastards in Vietnam, to give in to Khomeini, to Brezhnev; to pity Sheikh Zaki Yamani because of his poor childhood, and on the whole to make love not war. Or do neither: to write a thesis on love and war. From now on, we have finished with all that, now that the zhid is rejected—he not only crucified Jesus, but he also crucified Arafat in Sabra and Shatila. They are identified with us. And that is excellent! Their cemeteries are disgraced, their synagogues are burnt, all the old nicknames are brought back, they are expelled from all the decent clubs, people shoot into their ethnic restaurants, murdering some of the small children, forcing them to remove any sign that will identify them as Jews, forcing them to move, to change their profession. Soon their mansions will be smeared with the slogan: Zhid, go to Palestine! And you know what? They shall go to Palestine because they shall have no other choice!

“And all this is a bonus we got from the Lebanon war. Now you tell me, wasn’t it worth it? Soon we shall see the good times. The Jews will come. The Israelis won’t emigrate and those who emigrated shall return. Those who choose assimilation will understand that it won’t help them to try to be the conscience of the world. The conscience of the world will have to understand through its arse what it did not want to get through its head. The Gentiles have always felt sick of the zhids and their conscience. And the Jews will have only one option: to come home fast, all of them, to install thick iron doors, to build a serious fence, to have sub-machine guns stationed at all corners of the fence and to fight like devils with anyone who dares even to make a sound in the area. And if anyone raises even a hand against us, we should take away half his land, by force, and burn the other half. Including the oil. Including the use of nuclear arms. Until he no longer feels like fighting with us. And do you know what we shall have at the end of this process? Hold on, you are about to have a surprise. I will tell you what we shall gain in the end: three very good and upright things, things you yourself want to achieve but don’t know how to:

All the Jews shall live here.

There will be full and complete Return to Zion.

There will be a real and steady peace.

Yes. And then we shall have peace. And then we shall have whatever we desire.

“And after we finish this chapter, the chapter of violence, then you will be able to play your part. Give us culture and humanist values. People’s solidarity. A Light to the Gentiles. Create such a humanistic state that the whole world shall applaud us. Be the champions of morality. That is how things happen—first of all Joshua and Jephthah the Gileadite clear the ground, wipe out the memory of the Amalek, and then the time may come for the Prophet Isaiah with the wolf and the lamb and all that beautiful zoo, but on condition that by the end of things we shall be the wolf and all the Gentiles around shall be the lamb. Just to be on the safe side.…

“I only know one thing for sure: as long as you are fighting for your existence, everything is permitted. All that is forbidden is then permitted. Even to drive away all the Arabs from the West Bank. Everything.

“Yes. Judeo-Nazis. Leibowitz is right. And why not? Listen to me: a people that gave itself to be slaughtered and destroyed, a people that let soap be made of its children and lamp shades from the skin of its women is a worse criminal than its murderers. Worse than the Nazis. To live in a world of wolves without a fist, without teeth and without nails is a worse crime than to murder. The fact is that the grandchildren of Himmler, Heidrich and Eichmann live very well and are getting fat. They are even using this occasion to moralize to us. The grandchildren of the great Rabbis of East Europe and of all the humane and pacifist Jews who philosophized so well in Prague and Berlin will not moralize to anyone. They are no longer here. And they shall never be here.

“Go read the poems written by Uri Zvi Grinberg, instead of reading all this olive oil written by Gordon and Martin Buber. Read the poem called ‘My God, the Gentiles’ father.’ Maybe you should learn it by heart. Maybe some day it will save your children. If our so very nice parents, instead of writing books about the love of the human race and singing ‘Hear Oh Israel’ on the way to the gas chambers, had come here in time—and don’t fall off your chair—had killed six million Arabs, or one million, what would have happened? Sure, two or three unpleasant pages would have been written in the history books; we would have been called by all sorts of names, but we could have been a people of 25 million here today! That is respectable, isn’t it? The writers would have written nice novels, like Gunter Grass and Heinrich Boll, about our guilt feelings, our shame and regret, and would have won several Nobel prizes for literature and morality. Maybe the government would have paid some compensation from its oil revenues beyond the Euphrates to those Arabs we didn’t manage to kill. But the Jews would have been living in their land! Twenty-five million! From the Suez Canal to the oil fields. And believe me, in spite of our crimes we would have received plenty of offers and proposals from all the bastards, from Moscow and Peking and Washington. In spite of our blood-stained hands.

“Listen: even today I am willing to volunteer to do the dirty work for Israel, to kill as many Arabs as required, to deport them, to expel, to burn them, to make us hated by all, to make the ground unstable underneath the feet of the Jews in the Diaspora so that they will be forced to rush here crying. Even if it means blowing up one or two synagogues here and there. I don’t care. And I don’t care if five minutes after the whole job is completed and this project is finished, you put me in front of a Nuremberg tribunal. Then put me in prison for life. Hang me if you want, as a war criminal. And then you can wash your Jewish conscience and enter the respectable club of humane, civilized nations who are large, big and healthy. I am willing to take the dirty work upon myself, and you can call me by all the worst names you know. What all of you fail to understand is that the dirty work of Zionism is not yet finished. Far from it. True, it could have been finished in 1948, but you interfered. You stopped it. And all this because of the Jewishness in your souls. Because of the Diaspora mentality. Because of your Khirbet Khiza[2] complex. It is a pity. We could by now have been a normal nation with soft values, with humane neighborly relations with Iraq and Egypt and with a slight criminal record—like everyone else. Like the British, and the French, the Germans and the Americans, who have already forgotten what they did to the Indians, and the Australians, who almost totally eliminated the natives, and everyone else. So what is wrong with being a civilized respectable nation with a slight criminal record? This is acceptable in the best of families. And I already told you: I am willing to take the criminal record upon myself. Together with Sharon, Begin and Raful [Eitan]. And I agree that you will then follow and be the boneless pure pink future. You will write redemption books about my crimes. And you will be forgiven! You will be accepted in the best houses! The public will admire your morality! But only after the cannon or my dirty napalm remove from the Indians any desire to scalp my and your children, and after millions of zhids are here. And only after this country is large and wide enough.…”

At one point… I stopped C’s monologue for a moment and expressed a passing thought, maybe more for myself than for my host: is it possible that Hitler did not only strike the Jews but also infected them with his poison? Did that poison reach some of the hearts and is it still active? C did not protest and did not raise his voice—he did not raise his voice once during all his monologue and he is said never to have shouted under stress during the famous actions his name is tied to. He replied calmly:

“Listen, my dear, if the famous Jewish mind would spend less time saving the world, fixing humanity—Marx and Freud and Kafka and all those geniuses, Einstein as well—if instead they had hurried ten years earlier and established a tiny Jewish state, a kind of independent bridgehead from Hadera to Gedera, and if they had invented a tiny atom bomb for this tiny state in time, there would have been no Hitler. No Holocaust. And no one in the whole world would have dared touch the Jews. By now there would be 20 million of us here from the Suez to the oil fields. Maybe there would have been no need to use the atom bomb on the Germans and the Arabs. It would have been enough to have the bomb in a Jewish store in a tiny state in 1936 or 1939. And no Hitler would have dared touch a fingernail of one Jew. And all those who died would still be alive, they and their children. Was it really beyond the potential of the Jews in the world in the 1930’s to establish a tiny state with a tiny bomb? Maybe we would even have spared the Gentiles World War II. Maybe we would have spared ourselves five or six wars with the Arabs. Listen to what Deuteronomy says: ‘And you shall be left few in number, whereas you were as the stars of heaven for multitude, because you would not obey the voice of the Lord thy God.’”[3]

[1] “Jew” in Polish.

[2] Khirbet Khiza is the title of a classic by Yizhar Smilanski, written around 1950. It describes and condemns the capture of a Palestinian village by the Israeli army, with some of the attendant atrocities.

[3] Deuteronomy 28, 62.

A hostile reaction to the comments of C was expressed by anti-Zionist commentator Boaz Evron in Davar on February 4, 1983. Excerpts from his article are reprinted below:

I owe the reader an apology for taking so long to respond to the views of the man identified as C in the interview he gave to Amos Oz in Davar on December 17, 1982. But such views must be countered. In that interview we were served with the ideological and “philosophical” framework shared by a large part of the Israeli society, including people who are placed in central operational positions. I do not think I will be mistaken in saying that this group includes people such as Sharon and General Eitan, and maybe several other officers and senior officials, who base their ideology on the teachings of Tehiya Party. Hence, this is the occasion to confront the ideology seemingly so well presented by C, and to demonstrate that its logic and understanding of reality and of the world are wrong; that it is based on unfounded… interpretations of history and of world policies, and that it shows a total misconception of the nature of the Jewish people all over the world and of the origins of Zionism.

Before countering C’s arguments, I would like to cite some examples of the totally misguided arguments which he employs. For example, he says that, had we established a very small Jewish state in the 1930’s, and had we developed a small atomic bomb with the aid of Jewish geniuses, then Hitler wouldn’t have dared to hurt one Jew, and we would now have a state with 20-25 million Jews controlling the whole of the Middle East.

Let us follow the argument. Would the leadership of such a very small state have been able to forecast the destruction of European Jewry? At that time people expected hardship, expulsions, some murders and pogroms, but no one envisaged such an extreme outcome. Except for Hitler himself, and maybe some of his closest advisors, even the Nazis did not then think in such terms. And such a small state would not even have thought that it could develop military tools to threaten a superpower like Nazi Germany, with which the whole world had to fight for six terrible years. If that small state had developed serious military forces, they would have been destined (like the Haganah) only for defense against the Arabs. That state would also have had to confront the problems of taking in all the European Jewish refugees, and would not have been able to allocate great sums for nuclear re- search, which in the 1930's was not yet known to be relevant to military aims.

…

C thinks that the persecution of Jews is the result of anti-Semitic feelings, and that if we could manage to cause anti-Semitism, and the fear of it, we should get many Jews to come to Israel. Thus he comes very close to many who are different from him in many other ways. I can still remember an article written by A. Meged last year which positively cites, as the hope of an optimist, the wish for there to be anti-Semitism, so that Jews will come to Israel. He cannot understand that there is no necessary connection between anti-Semitic feelings and the political expression of them. It is not enough for Israel to behave in a repulsive manner in order to evoke the political expression of those anti-Semitic feelings that are quite endemic to the Christian world. That would require two or three further elements.

The first requirement is that all Jews should be identified with Israel, and that is not at all obvious or necessarily so.…

Hostility against the Jews is not enough by itself to cause anti-Semitic movements. Such hostility must be organized within political bodies holding militant anti-Semitic platforms. It is hard to believe that such movements would be created only because faraway Israel is doing nasty things. They are created only when the social, economic and political conditions in a certain society ask for the creation of parties of a fascist and anti- Semitic character. And they can affect the decision of the Jews to stay or emigrate only if they control the government.…

…

C does not understand the ideological and social structure of anti-Semitic movements. They are always movements of the extreme Right—i.e., those parts of the population that will not be shocked by Israeli atrocities, or may even like them, just as C himself likes the Nazis, though they murdered millions of his own people. Those parts of the population that will be shocked by Israeli actions, and are shocked today, are the same that also oppose anti-Semitism: the Left, the liberals, the intellectuals.

…

Furthermore, the lesson that C learns from European and Jewish history in our decade is that it is good to be strong and bad to be weak, that the world is a jungle and that you must be one of the strong animals in it, and to hell with morality. This great discovery is known to every baby, and it is fine and well when you yourself are one of the large animals. But when you begin thinking two steps ahead, things begin to get more complicated. Isn't Israel one of the weaker animals? It is strong compared to the Palestinians (no great achievement), the Syrians and the Egyptians, all of them poor, weak, backward countries fighting to overcome the heritage of European and Ottoman colonialism. But Israel is small and weak compared to almost any European state.… Our power and our bread depend on the economic, political and military support of a superpower.… All the strength and the moral Zionist power of C grow out of the moral support and consideration he receives as a Holocaust victim. If he managed to get rid of this image and live solely on his sword, he might soon discover that he has no sword.…

I did not want to deal with the moral aspect of C’s monologue since C himself does not want to mention morality but speaks only in the name of “tough pragmatism.” When you try to analyze this pragmatism, as I did above, it turns out to be a primitive nightmare of an ignorant man waving pieces of selective information. His position turns out to be unbased even from the point of view of moral power principles. But I shall end with one final remark on this subject. The remark also has “realistic” implications. The state, or the nation, is not a supreme value as C imagines. The Jews, and not they alone, have proved that they can live according to their independent set of values without a political framework. If the political framework forces you to give up your basic values, those values should come first. Thomas Mann and Bertold Brecht preferred to leave Germany rather than to live under the kind of regime C seems to prefer to any other. A society that loses its human image has no right to exist, in the long run, as we have seen in the case of Nazi Germany, and it cannot continue. The same regime that C wants to establish here means the end of the State of Israel.

[chosopie]

PART 2, CONQUERER - RYOMEN SUKUNA

RECAP: After Sukuna invades your nation and kills the man you were betrothed to, he decides to take you as his queen. You comply to his requests to keep your little brother Yuji safe.

SUMMARY: You had just been wedded to Sukuna, and now it was time for your mating ceremony.

cw: battle for dominance, oral sex (f receiving), doggy, hair pulling, riding, slight choking, breeding, reader is inspired by helen of troy

: ̗̀➛ part 1

The ballroom in the heart of your palace remained lively with people dancing, singing, and eating heartily. Lots of women would wear outrageously flashy or expensive dresses that would, in their hopes, catch the new King’s eyes. They did not know Sukuna, for he would not even bat an eye at those kind of women. He has come so far to defeat every neighboring nation just to get to yours. He brought death and destruction with his footsteps, and let war sit on the right side of his shoulder just so he could have you in his hands, the woman kings and noblemen from every nation sought after. Your beauty was like no other in the world—so captivating that men would wage wars against each other to have your delicate hand. Your previous fiancé did just that, and quickly failed when Sukuna came lurking behind his careless back.

Tonight, you had just hosted the largest banquet anyone has ever seen. Such a lavish event is fitting for the union of the most beautiful woman in the world and the greatest conquerer man has ever seen. Sukuna patiently waited for you in his quarters, his muscular and broad body covered in a black silk robe with gold embroidery. On the other hand, your handmaidens were bathing you in soaps and fragrances that were made with the finest and rarest materials people can only dream of getting their hands on, yet here they were, being used to bathe your soft body. The girls patted you dry with a big and fluffy towel, then helped you slip onto your sheer nude lingerie that had diamonds around your chest, making your skin glisten in the warm lights. On top of that, you draped a large white silky robe over your body, the cool fabric sending a shiver down your spine.

You passed through the thin curtains and Sukuna was sat on the bed, waiting for you. He looked up, eyes immediately locked on your figure that was barely covered by your garments. He couldn’t help but envision your fully naked body, but he quickly shook those thoughts away upon realization that in a few seconds, he would be able to feast on your bare body. It would be all his.

“Come, woman,” Sukuna gestured you to move closer to him with his pointer finger.

You scoffed. “I have a name. Did you not know?”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re going to forget your name after tonight,” he smirked.

“I’d like to see you try,” you slid off your robe, exposing your body that was barely covered by the lingerie. Sukuna’s eye’s wandered on your chest and down to your plump hips and thighs. You walked towards him, his eyes remained fix on your body as he watched each and every movement you made.

Sukuna looked up at you, his hands stroking your sides and tracing every curve. His touch was warm and it made you burn with excitement. This man was capable of making you feel so much. You could fear him, and at the same time lust over the fact that he could destroy anything within an arm’s length. The power in his hands made you tremble with arousal.

It made you wonder whether you were doing all this just to protect whatever remained of your nation and your baby brother or if you were just as power-hungry as the greedy conquerer beneath you.

You pushed his hands away and slowly took off your lingerie while holding eye contact with him. There was an intense warmth that radiated off his body. You lifted up your arms to cup his face and push it towards the heat of your pussy. To your surprise, he didn’t protest. Instead, he put his hands on your hips for support while he buried his face into your cunt, his hot tongue lapping at your wet folds. You legs shivered and the pacing of your breath quickened.

“Sukuna,” you moaned, and he suddenly stopped. He moved back, but his face remained close to your wetness.

“Call me Ryomen,” he lowly said, before resuming his work.

His mouth was skilled in its work. He repeatedly licked and would occasionally bite on your clit, sending a wave of pleasure to wash over your body. It felt like electricity, the way the heat and arousal would travel up to your body with sparks. While he sucked hardly on your clit, he covered his fingers in your slick, then pushed them inside you. You gasped, your fingers tangled in his locks of hair. You moaned and writhed, pushing his head closer to you. At this point, your thighs were suffocating Ryomen, preventing him from breathing, but he didn’t care; his mind was solely focused on making you cum.

“Ryo,” you tried saying, the word smoothly rolling off your tongue. “I’m close.”

Ryomen felt his blood rushing. Most people who dared to speak of his first name would often say it with such fear for their lives, but the way your voice spoke his name made it sound so sweet like nectar was dripping from the tip of your tongue. He groaned against your pussy, the vibration making you hiss. His fingers kept thrusting and curling inside of you in such a fast pace that caught your breath. The pads of his fingers were rubbing your sweet spot while his tongue continued to play with your throbbing clit. The pleasure started to build up and you could feel it on your lower abdomen. You let out a moan before releasing yourself, your fluids coating his fingers and chin.

Your husband stood up and took his robe off, revealing his toned chest, abdomen, the big scar that ran in a straight line from his chest to stomach, and his lengthy cock. He grabbed your hand and placed it right on the scar, letting you trace it with your fingers along with the intricate muscles on his abdomen.

“See what you did? No one has ever been able to get this close to me.” He whispered.

“I know,” you smirked.

“Don’t get too cocky now, girl.” Ryomen warned.

“Me? Cocky?” He grabbed both of your arms and pushed you onto the bed. He held your arms behind your back, firmly holding them in place.

“Fuck you,” you muttered, but Ryomen didn’t hear because your face was pressed onto the sheets of your bed, muffling your voice.

“Arch your back for me,” he said into your ear, his chest pressed against your back.

Your face grew hot. Complying with his request, you arched you back and pushed yourself onto him, the wet head of his cock tapping your ass. Ryomen groaned at the sensation and slapped your ass. It didn’t hurt much, but it stung in a way that only got you more horny. He parted your legs and rubbed his dick on your folds, lubing it with your juices.

He was way too big.

This was going to be your first time and you weren’t sure if you could even take him. With his length and girth, it might end up hurting you. You propped yourself up and turned to look at him from the corner of your eye.

“It’s my first time,” you panted.

“Good,” Ryomen smiled. “Be honored. You’re my first as well. I’ll make sure you can handle it.”

That was the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile. “That’s a surprise.”

“It is the culture of my homeland.”

Ryomen tightly held onto the soft flesh your hips, slowly pushing his dick in you. He starts thrusting with only half of his dick inside, but you already felt so full. His cock is so gritty is rubs every spot in your walls. Your pussy tightly clamps onto him, making his breath quiver. “You’re so tight,” he breathed.

It takes everything in Ryomen to not just thrust into you at full speed. He had to be careful with you, but every instinct in him is telling him otherwise. The sound of your pussy squelching on his length and the way both your fluids were dripping down your labia was driving him crazy. His mind was in a frenzy and his hands grew hot as he continued to feel up your ass.

“Too much,” you whined. “You’re too big.”

“If that was the case, why is your tight greedy pussy pulling me in,” Ryomen lightly chucked as he watched your pussy swallow his dick. The whole of him now buried deep inside you, making a small bulge on your stomach. His hand reached for your hair and tugged on it so you could face him. “Look how well your pussy is taking me.”

Your eyes were watery, not a single thought present behind them. Your mind was trapped in a haze of lust. All you could feel was the big surge of pleasure that came with each thrust. Beads of sweat dripped from your forehead and your back.

“Faster, Ryomen.” You dared to say.

“Finally. You can’t take that back anymore, alright?”

With no hesitation, Ryomen started thrusting into you hard and fast, causing your body to rock back and forth, your tits bouncing with you. He cupped your breasts, squeezing and kneading on them like dough. You could feel his dick twitching, eager to release its seed and paint the walls of your cunt white. He started panting and groaning, the pace of his thrusts getting sloppy and desperate. You could feel another orgasm following through, the tight feeling making your pussy spasm around his cock. A string of moans left your mouth as you allowed yourself to cum all over his dick, your insides tightening then letting go, milking his dick as he came with you. He looked at your shaking figure that glistened with sweat under the lights of the room. He groaned your name and laid his head on your shoulder, inhaling your intoxicating scent.

The two of you stared at each other with lust-struck eyes. He was sweating and panting, his cheeks lightly tinted red. With his right hand, he grabbed your neck and pulled you towards him for a messy and passionate kiss. Your tongues danced with each other, eagerly fighting for dominance while the mixture of your spit dribbled down your chin. He lightly squeezed your neck and you moaned into the kiss. You placed your hands on his shoulders and pulled him on to the bed. Your hands remained on his shoulders as you got into a comfortable position to straddle him. He cocked an eyebrow at you, amusement painted his face as he watched with intent.

Lowering yourself on Ryomen, you felt his cock slowly stretch you out again, easily sliding in because of how his cum had filled your walls. You repeatedly bounced on his dick, the tip hitting your sweet spot more effectively. Both your moans filled the room’s quiet atmosphere. Your grip on his shoulders tightened as the warm and hot sensation took over your body once more, your nails digging into his skin, surely leaving marks. There it was again, his cocky smile showing on his face at the sight of you using his dick to get off. It was pathetic to see you try and dominate him in this position, but you just looked like a desperate bitch in heat. He would have never expected you to be so needy for him, after you had put so much effort to convince him with your little facade that you were so angry that he had forcefully taken you as his wife. Deep down, he knew that you had been waiting for this.

Quickly enough, your legs grew tired, but you didn’t want to stop—you were getting close again and you didn’t want to lose the momentum. He notices the way your chest heaved and how your legs trembled from exhaustion. He wraps his arms around your waist, and pushed your body onto his dick, then lifted you up again. This went on, and he was doing all the work again, moving your body up and down with ease while he thrusted into you in sync.

“What a pathetic attempt,” Ryomen laughed. You opened your mouth to say a remark, but the only thing that you could muster up were more moans.

“Did I fuck the brains out of you already? Tell me who you are.”

All you could muster up was a pathetic whine. He was right and you hated it. How could someone inexperienced make you instantly forget your own name with his cock?

“See,” Ryomen triumphantly smiled, baring his teeth. “I fucking told you.”

: ̗̀➛ part 3

[avocad1s]

Trial By Combat - 4

Requested By: No One. Original Work.

CW: Post-SAGAU Imposter AU, Mentions of killing a divine being, kidnapping, drugging, manipulating people

Summary: Your health takes a turn for the better.

Note: 4.0 Archon Quest Spoilers.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Five

It was only under exceptional circumstances that the harbingers would return to the homeland. If one of them managed to obtain a gnosis and further the Tsaritsa’s plan, a celebration was in order. Yet even then, it would be miracle for all to appear .

However when one of Tartaglia’s subordinates returned holding the newest edition from the Steambird, the Tsaritsa ordered all of them to return Snezhnaya.

The deafening silence filled the hall, encasing the walls with anticipation. As the pages were passed to the last harbinger, they were suddenly slammed onto the table before fluttering gracefully onto the floor.

“Focalors proves time and time again that she is not worthy of being an Archon.” Arlecchino spits. “I will go there and rip that gnosis out of her dead body.”

“Wait just a second.” Tsaritsa calls out. “Before we act, we must find out if their Grace is still alive. This paper gave no details of their condition.”

“Her Majesty is right. If their Grace is still alive we need to prioritize bringing them here.” Pulcinella adds.

Arlecchino scoffs, “I can do both. I’ll get the gnosis, kill Focalors, and get Their Grace.”

“That’s a bit ambitious. Don’t you think?” Pantalone questions, his voice as sweet as honey.

Alrecchino digs her nails into her palm. “This isn’t the time to pick a fight when Their Grace could be dying in the so-called Nation of Justice.”

“I agree.” The Tsaritsa begins, “Alrecchino will go to Fontaine but the Gnosis and Focalors are not the priority. Getting the Creator back to Snezhnaya is the only thing that matters.”

“—and if Their Grace is dead? What shall we do then?”

Everyone turns to stare at The Doctor. Although none of them wanted to think about the worst case scenario, it was still something that needed to be addressed.

“Then Focalors will beg for a quick death.”

-

When you woke up, you were greeted by more Melusines. They stood resolute in your room, as if they were guarding you. While the Melusine in front of you held a tray with food on it, it was plated beautifully. It was fixed with great care and it’s easy to tell a lot of attention was put into making it perfect.

“Did Neuvillette send you all again?” Are the first words to leave your lips once you sit up in the bed.

Blathine, who stood the closest to you, nods. “Monsieur told us to watch over you.”

She slides the tray carefully onto your lap being careful to not let anything fall. You look down at the tray licking your lips, you didn’t even realize how hungry you were until food was right in front of you.

“Thank you.” You smile picking up a piece of the sliced bulle fruit putting it in your mouth. It was sweet and refreshing, you craved more, desperately famished.

As you eat, you can’t help but notice how the Melusines get closer and surround your bed their eyes on you. You hesitate for a moment, dropping the piece of fruit back onto the plate as you wipe your mouth.

Their eyes followed every move you made, it was clear that the species was interested in humans but this felt like something else. Like how a child would act with their parent.

“I thought Melusines were responsible for guarding Fontaine?”

These five Melusines were apart of the Marechaussee Phantom, the blue uniforms and hats made it obvious.

“Monsieur Neuvillette increased the number of Gardes and Gardemeks around Fontaine so that we can prioritize your safety.” Menthe explains.

“My safety?

“Lady Furina and Monsieur Neuvillette prioritize you over everything. Everyone does.”

You want to scoff at their words, if you really were as valued as they say you wouldn’t be in this hospital bed right now.

“Your Grace…?”

You look up noticing a woman in a white coat standing by the door. Her blonde hair was pulled into a low bun and her red lips stretched into a welcoming smile.

“I’ve been assigned as your personal nurse and I’m here to change your bandages,” she explains. “Are you finished eating?”

You look down at the tray and the half eaten food on it. You still felt a bit hungry but having all these eyes on you made it difficult to eat. You push the tray away slightly as you nod at the woman.

The woman takes a step to enter the room but the Melusines were quick to approach as they checked her and her bag for anything suspicious.

The nurse places her bag at the foot of the bed opening it. Inside were multiple different medical supplies, bandages, and gloves. She grabs a pair of the gloves sliding them onto her slender fingers.

“How have you been feeling Your Grace? Any pain in your abdomen?” She asks.

“No. No pain.” You reply shifting slightly.

She looks over at you giving you another smile, “don’t worry Your Grace I’ll be quick. We just don’t want your wounds to get infected.”

You lay down on your back as the nurse slowly lifts your shirt to reveal the golden stained bandages wrapped around your torso. Carefully, she begins to unravel them making sure not to cause you any pain or discomfort.

Once the bandages were fully removed, you notice her eyebrows furrow. She bites her lip slightly as her eyes dart all across your exposed skin.

“Is something wrong?” You ask feeling a sense of dread creep up your spine.

“I— Your Grace.” She stammers, “Your wounds, they’re already healing.”

She touches what was left of your injury with her gloved hand. The gash was already almost closed and there was no more blood leaking from it. The wound looked more like a large scratch rather than something that could’ve killed you.

“Healing!?” You reply, “Already?”

“It’s fascinating…” she breathes out, “I never seen anything like it.”

The nurse begins to notice your discomfort, she clears her throat as she bows slightly to you. “I apologize for my behavior Your Grace. That was very unbecoming of me.”

She grabs the fresh bandages from her box and quickly wraps your abdomen back up.

“I do not believe you need these bandages anymore.” She says as she secures the bandages with medical tape. “however I will wrap them just as a precaution.”

Once she back away and pulls off her gloves you pull down your shirt and sit back up in the bed.

The nurse closes her bag and picking it up to put back in her shoulder. “Although you are healing much more quickly than expected, you should still drink plenty of water and get some rest.”

“I will inform Monsieur Neuvillette of your condition. I think by daybreak tomorrow you should be able to leave this bed.”

It was relieving to hear that you would be able to leave this bed soon. Being cooped up in the same room for days at a time was mentally draining. Especially when the only ones who visited you (excluding the Melusines) all groveled at your feet for an apology.

“Enjoy the rest of your day Your Grace,” she bows again, “I hope that you will be able to enjoy everything Fontaine has to offer you soon.”

She turns and walks towards the door, her heels clicking as she walks.

As her footsteps fade, the room grows silent again. You pull the blankets off your body standing from the bed. The Melusines watched your movements before Blathine speaks up.

“Did you have somewhere to go?” She asks tilting her head slightly. “We have been instructed to follow you.”

“I want to speak to Neuvillette.” You reply stretching your sore limbs, suddenly not feeling anymore pain in your abdomen.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” She repeats, “Shall I bring Lady Furina as well? She’d love to talk to you.”

You shake your head quickly, “No. I only want Neuvillette.”

Blathine nods as she skips towards the exit of your room.

“Very well, I will return with the Iudex immediately.”

-

For the first time ever, the Northland Bank was closed and no outside personnel were allowed to enter. In fact, no one apart of the Fatui had been seen in the past twelve hours.

Except for Lyney and Lynette.

The magical duo who are loved by everyone in Fontaine, or at least they were before people found out they were from the House of Hearth. Although their name had been cleared from that case, no one would trust anyone associated with the Fatui.

That didn't stop them from entertaining the people around Fontaine with their latest tricks.

Even after Father returned from Snezhnaya the night before.

Alrecchino's visits were always sporadic, the children understood, she was a Harbinger. However this time it felt even more unexpected. The children had never seen her look so angry in their lives but she would never take her anger out on the children. There was one person in particular that she wanted to lash out on, but she has to focus on what’s important.

Lyney and Lynette were the ones pulled aside by Alrecchino, the task she had for them now was bigger than finding out the true nature of the Oritrace.

Yet the twins knew that a second chance will not be an option this time.

-

Getting into the hospital where you were being held would be impossible, that much was true. The level of security around that building alone was enough to rival any trial that had ever been held in Fontaine. No one would be getting into that building unless cleared by the ludex or the Archon themselves.

There was only one person that wasn’t a notable figure in Fontaine that was able to enter that building. The nurse who went through so many clearances and was lucky enough to provide the Creator with any medical assistance they needed.

When she had stepped out the building, the nurse was immediately surrounded by reporters from the Steambird who wanted to know anything about the Creators current condition.

“Could you tell us anything about how the Creators doing?”

“Are they healing? Have they woken up?”

“Will we be able to see them soon?”

“I apologize,” the nurse begins as she glances around at the crowd. “I cannot give any information on Their Grace at the moment.”

The reporters visibly deflate at the news, or rather the lack of news. She pushes her way through the crowd to head towards to Palais Mermonia. The streets of Fontaine were empty, most people were too focused on The Creator to be bothered with anything else.

“Excuse me, Miss?” A voice calls out.

The nurse stops walking and turns around to see who called out to her.

It was the twins, two faces anyone in Fontaine would recognize.

Her face brightens slightly, “Lyney and Lynette! I love your magic shows!”

Lyney gives her a sly smile as he takes a few more steps to be closer to the woman, his sister follows but doesn’t say anything.

“I’m glad you’re a fan!” He exclaims, “My sister and I have been working on our latest trick for our newest show. Would you mind if we showed it to you?”

The nurse hesitates, “Actually I don’t think I can—“

“It’s just one trick!” Lyney interjects, “It won’t take too much time, I promise.”

“Alright fine.” She concedes, “I can only stay five minutes though. I have somewhere important to be.”

The twins exchange glances while nodding.

“Very well! Prepared to be amazed!” Lyney exclaims.

Lyney and all of his siblings knew how awful that Fatui was. The group has done unimaginable things and ruined many people’s lives. However, the children also knew that the Harbingers has their own aspirations that had nothing to do with the group.

Arlechinno only had the best intentions for her homeland Fontaine and the Creator, that is one thing Lyney knew for sure. So if getting the Creator out of Fontaine was the best option, then he would feel no remorse for what he had to do.

The trick was simple, something Lyney wouldn’t use during one of his shows just because it’s not entertaining enough. Yet he isn’t here to entertain this woman, all they have to do is keep her distracted long enough so Father’s plan can work.

Lyney pulls off his hat and bows to the nurse who only laughed and clapped.

“That was amazing as always! I cannot wait to see it in your next show!”

His smile fades as he fixes his posture placing his hat back on his head. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll be sure to reserve you a special seat in the front.”

Her laughter soon died down as she stares at the twins. Their warm welcoming nature was devoured by something more malicious. The nurse subconsciously takes a step back, the hand that held onto her medical bag began to tremble. Lyney’s face was devoid of emotion and Lynette’s gaze seemed to be focused behind the woman.

However, she had no time to turn around. Two large hands grip firmly onto her shoulders.

“You’re coming with us.”

The nurse’s eyes widen as the two Fatui Skirmishers forcefully pull her back towards the direction of the Northland Bank. She glances back at the twins who only watch silently as she is dragged away.

“What do you want?! Please don’t hurt me!” She cries.

In almost a blink of an eye, the woman was gone. With no witnesses or trace of her presence, the twins didn’t have to worry about being put on trial again.

Lyney sighs as he looks down at the pavement.

His sister places her hand on his shoulder, “Our job still isn’t finished. We still have to deal with the traveler. They cannot intervene.”

Lyney nods at her words as he readjusts his top hat, “You’re right. Let’s go.”

-

“You wished to see me Your Grace?”

Neuvillette stood by your doorway as he bowed respectfully to you. He spoke in a soft tone and he refused to meet your gaze.

“Yes. There’s something I needed to talk to you about.” You reply.

As he enters your room, the Melusines exit the room quietly leaving the two of you alone. Neuvillette stands by the window facing you. “How can I help you your Grace?”

“I’m sure the nurse has already told you, but my wounds are healing.” You say.

His eyebrows furrow as he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, “No she hasn’t told me anything yet, but maybe she’s already waiting at Palais Mermonia.”

Neuvillette smiles, “but I’m glad to hear that you are feeling better. I will discuss your condition more with the nurse so I can make the preparations for you to leave the hospital. I want you to be as comfortable as possible in Fontaine.”

“There’s no need for that.”

His eyes widen momentarily but his expression doesn’t change, “What do you mean? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You look down at your lap as you fiddle with your fingers. Although he was trying everything in his power to make you feel comfortable, you still felt uneasy around the man. The last time you actually had an conversation with him, he considered you a criminal.

“I want to leave Fontaine.”

An awkward silence settles around the two of you as you wait for him to respond to your statement.

“I see…” Neuvillette begins, “…Is there a nation in particular you’d like to travel to?”

You ponder his question for a moment, you never really thought about where you’d go after you left the Nation of Hydro. It didn’t matter, you just wanted to get out of here.

“Sumeru.” You reply. “That is the closest nation, right?”

Neuvillette nods, “It is Your Grace, but to get to Sumeru city you’ll have to pass through the desert.”

“That’s fine I just—“ you pause, you didn’t want to say anything that he might take offense to.

“I can make the preparations for you to leave as early as possible. I will reach out to the Dendro Archon to make her aware of your arrival.”

“Is there anything I can say to make you change your mind?” Neuvillette asks quietly.

You look away from his gaze, “No. I don’t think you can.”

Neuvillette nods as he lets out a breath, “I see… was there anything else you’d like to discuss Your Grace?”

You shake your head, “No I’d rather just be alone right now. Could you send the Melusines away too?”

You could tell by the look he gave you he wanted to refuse your request but he doesn’t. He gives bows again as he begins walking back to the door.

“Oh Neuvillette!” You suddenly call out.

He turns to face you again, “Yes Your Grace?”

“Thank you for the flowers by the way.” You say sheepishly, “they’re beautiful.”

You see his pale cheek grow red slightly as he quickly turns away from you. “I’m glad you liked them. I’ll be sure to bring you more.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his embarrassed reaction.

“Your Grace,” Neuvillette says after clearing his throat, “I brought you another gift. I’d be honored if you’d accept it.”

You fix your posture, interested in what this gift could be. “What is it?”

He gestures for Blathine to enter to room, she was holding a nicely decorated vase in between her tiny hands as she holds it out to Neuvillette. He smiles down at her as he grabs it with one hand, using the other to pat her head lightly.

Neuvillette walks over to your bedside with the vase in hand, “It’s water Your Grace. Some of the best water you can find in all of Teyvat. I collected it specially for you.”

He places the vase next to the bouquet of flowers.

“Thank you Neuvillette,” you reply, “I’ll be sure to enjoy it.”

As you accept his gift you notice that his mood seemed to lift, almost like you never told him you wanted to leave Fontaine in the first place. Neuvillette gives you one last bow as he heads back to the exit.

“I will return personally to check on you in the morning Your Grace.”

Neuvillette and the Melusines leave without another word. Just like before, you were left alone with your own thoughts. You could only hope that Sumeru was better than Fontaine, but Nahida was the God of Wisdom so surely she wouldn’t accuse you of anything without evidence?

You let out a sigh as you relax back into the bed glancing out the window. The sky already had a orange hue signifying that the sun would be setting soon. You didn’t even realize how fast the day had passed, spending all your time in this room.

“…Your Grace..” A soft voice calls out.

You glance over at the door, it was a nurse, but not the one you had earlier today. Under the white coat she wore an unusual outfit, wouldn’t it even be comfortable working in an thing like that?

She seemed to notice your gaze on her appearance. “I apologize for my clothing Your Grace, but the matter was important.”

You stare at her a guarded look on your face, “where’s the other nurse? She was the one assigned to me by Neuvillette.”

She nods, “You’re right Your Grace, but there had been a complication with your injury and I was tasked to bring you medicine.”

You raise a brow, “The other nurse said I was healing? How could that change so quickly.”

The mysterious woman enters your room fully, her footsteps as silent as ever. You could hardly see her face as the light began to slowly drain from the sky.

“After checking your old bandages we are worried that an infection is already growing within your body. I brought a serum to stop it before it gets worse.”

Your eyes widen as your hand rests on your torso. An infection? Just when you thought you would be able to leave this nation, you could be stuck here even longer.

“Will this medicine heal me quickly?”

“Of course Your Grace. Your health is our up most priority.” She replies quickly.

She walks to your bedside pulling out a small bottle from her coat pocket. The liquid within it was clear as she holds it out to you.

“Here, you have to drink it all.”

You grab the bottle from her fingers taking out to cork as you smell it. The medicine had no scent. Slowly, you bring it up to your lips letting the medicine spill into your mouth as you drink it in one go.

The woman smiles as she takes the empty bottle from your hands. “Wonderful Your Grace. You’ll be feeling the effects very soon.”

Your head suddenly felt heavy as if the world was spinning around you. What the hell did you just take?You look up at the woman and she just had a small smile on her lips not saying anything else.

You felt uncoordinated as you reach over to the vase Neuvillette had gifted you to take a drink of water. Maybe some water would help wash this feeling away.

The vase slips from your weak grip crashing onto the ground, the glass shatters as the water splashes everywhere. The overwhelming feeling to close your eyes was growing stronger as you take one last glance at the woman, but this time you see someone standing behind her.

This woman had white hair with raven streaks, her eyes were black with and her pupils were X-shaped.

“Don’t worry Your Eminence,” the new woman says, her voice soft and graceful, “I will take care of you from now on..”

You couldn’t fight the feeling anymore, your eyelids close as you rest limply in the bed.

“Lady Harbinger. It’s done.”

The Knave enters the room fully stepping over the shards of glass the was scattered across the room. She kneels down in front of you bringing her hand up to cup your face.

“Tell the others to prepare the ship. We are leaving Fontaine immediately.” She whispers as if you’d wake up if she spoke too loudly.

“And what about Their Grace? Are we taking them back to the Zapolyarny Palace?”

“No.” Arlechinno replies curtly, “I have other plans for Their Grace.

-

-

© avocad1s 2023

Note: omg this took so long to get out! But I hope everyone is enjoying 4.1 update! I haven’t started it yet since I wanted to finish this first but to all Neuvillette wanters (me) you will win the 50/50 <3!!

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[llyfrenfys]

Sooner or later I've gotta make a better post regarding the appropriation of indigenous terminology by proponents of (certain kinds of) Welsh nationalism. But for now here's a very whistle-stop version of that post. I have a degree in Celtic Studies so these topics are very near and dear to my heart.

[Note: I wrote this post originally during a migraine. I'm revisiting the draft while I'm ill but hopefully can fix this up into something somewhat understandable. As always, this is only a very brief description of the history and I strongly reccomend reading about these topics in your own time to develop a deeper understanding of them. These are topics not even well known in Britain, but if you can spend a short time just to read this, you can help to combat misinformation about British (particularly Welsh) history - and that could aid in preventing the misappropriation of history in the long run. Diolch eto for reading!]

Very often, (certain) Welsh nationalists use terminology that positions the Welsh as if they are an 'indigenous' population who have been 'colonised'. They use language (which in this climate) heavily draws upon the language typically used for peoples who are the victims of British colonialism (of which Wales was an active participant). There's multiple issues with this and many of them lie in whether its appropriate to use this language (regardless of its accuracy or not) as a country which was actively involved in the colonisation of much of the world. What I mean in short is that additional language is needed which doesn't step on the toes of endangered cultures and groups directly affected by British colonialism.

Wales not only participated in British colonialism as a whole (alongside Scotland, Ireland* and England) but itself colonised parts of patagonia in Argentina.

I can't think of any similar terminology to 'indigenous' or 'colonised' which would also get the idea which is meant across. 'Native' in certain contexts is permissible, e.g. 'native speaker' in the context of a Welsh speaker. But in other contexts other than langauge, things get tricky when you argue 'nativeness' (this is a topic I will come back to - especially re. Celtic as a language descriptor vs Celtic as a so-called ethnicity). When (certain) Welsh nationalists talk about being 'indigenous' , being 'native' or 'colonised' what is meant by that?

(Map of the expansion of the Bronze Age Bell Beaker culture circa 2400 BC in Britain and Ireland) - from this map

What makes a Welsh person 'indigenous' to this island that doesn't immediately disqualify other peoples who also have a deep history here? Historically, the island of Britain has been lived on by many, many peoples.

In the Bronze Age you had the arrival of the Bell Beaker people. Then in the Iron-Age, you had tribes speaking (mostly) Brittonic. I say mostly, because we have direct evidence that in the Iron Age Gaulish speaking tribes also moved to parts of Britain but later became integrated with the rest of the population (which, I will add, were not a united peoples but a scattering of different groups who often went to war against each other). Then the Romans invaded Britain (and much of Western Europe) and over time integrated into the local population. So now Britain is Romano-British. Eventually the Western Roman Empire collapses and Britain enters into the sub-Roman Britain phase of its existence. Kingdoms begin to form, with the population speaking Brittonic and British-Latin. So you have different kingdoms in (what would become Wales) and in (what would become Northern England and Southern Scotland) you have more Brittonic-speaking kingdoms.

These kingdoms were also not a united peoples. They shared a language - but it's like claiming that Ancient Greeks were a united people simply because they all spoke Greek. Sparta, Athens, Cornith etc. were independent of each other and the same is true of the kingdoms of the Hen Ogledd (the Old North) and the kingdoms of Wales. They all had a common language but also went to war with each other sometimes. Eventually, the Brittonic language began to diverge into different languages. Namely, Old Welsh and Cumbric (the language spoken in what is today Cumbria, Lancashire, Northumberland and Southern Scotland). The two languages were still very closely related but had diverged by a certain point.

At the same time this is happening, Anglo-Saxons begin to arrive in what is now Kent. They form kingdoms and the Britons living there are either displaced or become absorbed into the Anglo-Saxon populace. Then the Norse rock up and conduct viking raids around the coast before finally settling in parts of the country and forming their own territories.

So now Britain has several groups living on the island (keeping in mind even before settlement from the Anglo-Saxons and the Norse that the British kingdoms were already composed of different groups themselves). Northern Scotland was also having a time re: Picts, Gaels and Britons - but we'll gloss over that for brevity. Also, Ireland was also raiding the Welsh coast at this time too.

Then the Normans rock up and in 1066 William the Conqueror, well, conquers. More history happens after this point but I will try and keep this as brief and as non-messy as I can.

So, to recap:

One of the earliest cultures in Britain was the Bell Beaker people in the Bronze Age. They had their lands settled by the Iron Age Britons ('Celts'). Then the Romans came and the 'Celts' became Romano-Britons. After the Western Roman Empire collapses the remaining population forms kingdoms with distinct political identities. These kingdoms eventually find themselves fighting the Anglo-Saxons and the Norse. Then the Normans turn up and so on and so forth.

So- which group is the original native group to Britain? (Trick question - this question cannot be satisfactorily answered in favour of one group without leaning into claims of historicity which the other groups can also claim).

Which brings me to modern Welsh identity and those who came before.

Something I see in Welsh nationalist groups is a claim to the legacy (or even claims of direct descendance from) the Iron Age Britons (commonly called Celts for shorthand, but as I said before I'm gonna get back to that point). And this narrative is what the "Welsh people are native to Britain" argument is based off of.

It may seem like #praxis to argue the Welsh people are the true inhabitants of Britain and the English are evil invaders. But you have to make *several* logical leaps to get to that point if you're genuinely arguing that point.

For starters, many more people than just the Britons (read: Romano Britons/early Brittonic kingdoms) have called Britain home since the Early Middle Ages. For example, there's the settlement of Scotland by the Gaels, the Irish settlement of certain parts of costal Wales. You have (much later) Roma and traveller groups, Jewish diaspora and many more diverse cultures and peoples existing in Britain at this time. The Romano-British population, which developed into the Early Middle Ages kingdoms of Wales and the Hen Ogledd, was also multicultural. Many black Romans started families with white Britons. By the sub-Roman period, Britain was ethnically and culturally diverse.

But those who argue in favour of a such thing as 'Celtic ethnicity' in order to support the idea Britons (and only Britons) were native to these islands typically imagine that history as white. White Brits, white Romans, white Gaels. When we know this isn't true. Did you know that the Northernmost Ancient Egyptian temple in the world is in Yorkshire because Roman Egyptians in the military brought their religion with them? Mary Beard did a fantastic documentary about a Roman Soldier from modern day Syria who was stationed at Hadrian's Wall who started a family with a British woman. Point is, that some people like to imagine a purely white Britain that they can pine for. And I'm afraid it simply isn't true. The version of history many white supremacists look to simply didn't exist.

I'll quickly bring up one last point before I draw this to a close. And it's about Celtic as a linguistic term vs Celtic as a so-called ethnicity. You see, any first year Celtic Student would tell you that there is no such thing as 'Celts'. Crazy, I know from people studying *Celtic* studies. But hear me out - there is good reasoning why (beyond language groups) Celtic is not a good term for describing an ethnic group. Much of it relates to what I've already mentioned, but we categorise Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Mann, Cornwall and Brittany as Celtic not because of the ethnicity of the people living there (which I've mentioned is pretty diverse) but because they are all places where Celtic languages are spoken. It wasn't until Edward Llwyd (d. 1709) that the term Celtic was coined to describe these languages. Up until that point, nobody was thinking of Irish and Welsh as related because the languages do not sound like they have a common origin. By extension, people didn't think of the Welsh and Irish as being the same peoples (or Celtic) either. Its only in the modern day there is a sense of Celtic identity. The Iron Age Britons were not going around calling themselves Celts. There was no common Celtic identity. But very often people argue Celticness based on a pseudohistory which insists on a false and misleading interpretation of history. Whether or not Celticness exists now is a different matter entirely. But it sure does not rest upon race or ethnicity as a qualifier. This is quite foundational stuff to first year and above Celtic Scholars, but is not generally well known outside of academia because the misinformation is quite strong. So if you read is far, diolch mawr and please share this with anyone you think might be interested in it. Any amount of knowledge of these things would greatly improve understanding of what it means to be Welsh and what it means to speak a Celtic language.

Lastly,

all of that begs us to ask the question:

What does it mean to claim nativeness in a Western European context?

More under the cut

What does it mean to claim nativeness in a Western European context? Especially in a Western Europe post-colonialism.

It means, to me, to claim what isn't our right to claim. To argue and make our points with language that isn't ours and isn't designed to be ours. That this language of indigeneity may sound appealing, but is it improper to use this terminology when our country was directly responsible for the atrocities in which this very language became relevant?

What do we do in response to the misinterpretation of our culture instead of relying on language of indigeneity? These are the questions I want to leave you with and invite you to share your thoughts on. How do we build a Wales which advocates for itself without relying upon inaccurate language which betrays a reliance upon the ahistorical to make its point?

What kind of Wales do we want to live in?

[untitledgf-pdf]

burning desire

synopsis: you are a princess set to take the throne, fated to marry a man and continue the royal bloodline. until one fateful night you give into your desires of a beautifully mysterious stranger and your entire facade comes burning down.

cw warnings!: eventual smut, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r! receiving), makeshift strap usage (r!receiving), enemies to lovers? (kind of), light angst, no use of y/n, reader afab

3.7k words

https://www.tumblr.com/3lli3l0v3r/741070062459453440/important?source=share

https://arab.org/click-to-help/palestine/thank-you/

Loud music, sweaty bodies, tight corset poking and prodding at your delicate skin. It was nothing new. You'd been to plenty of these parties before. You had no problem putting on a fake smile and laughing politely at the endless array of insensitive jokes. Perhaps you'd reached your limit of the night. Perhaps you'd had a glass of wine too many.

Rosy cheeks, tight chest, short breaths. You fling open the back doors, rushing out of the hot, crowded ballroom. Immediately, the cool air hits you face, the gentle breeze caressing your cheeks. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and letting the wind wash away your anxiety bubbling up inside your throat.

Pull yourself together. These people need you. The sooner you pick a man to marry, the sooner you can fulfill your duty to serve and protect the kingdom. This should be what you want. If Mom and Dad are happy, then I'll be happy. Just pick someo--

"All your many admirers too much for you to handle?"

You snaps your eyes open to meet the piercing gaze of a dark silhouette leaning against the doorframe behind you.

"The party was getting a little crowded, even for me," the woman stepped closer to her. "You okay, Princess?"

The stranger was wearing a loose white button up that leisurely hung to her slender build. It tucked lazily into her dark trousers, a pair of thin leather suspenders holding them in place. Her arms were crossed across her chest, a cocky smirk draped across her lips. The outfit was nothing remarkable, so to speak, but you couldn't help but wonder how it was possible for someone to hold themselves with such confidence with such few words. The woman's hair auburn hair was tangled into a sloppy bun, a small strand tucked behind her ear. Soft freckles grew across her nose and cheeks and those piercing green eyes bore into you.

You look down at the cobblestone and softly nod your head. "Yes, thank you. I apologize if I alarmed you."

The mysterious woman chuckled and bowed below the princess, catching her gaze.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, you are a terrible liar."

You let out a soft laugh and straightened your composure. The stranger silently smiled, lighting a cigarette held between her long fingers. You watch as the woman wrapped her lips around it, inhaling the smoke into her lungs. She tilted her head back, letting the smoke escape into the night sky, scattering into the space between them. She reached out her arm, offering the cigarette to you. 

"I promise I won't tell," the woman insisted. You shake your head.

The woman shrugged and took a long drag from the cigarette. "That's fine, you don't have to. But I still want to know what drove Her Perfectness to run away from her own party."

You let out a small laugh and turned to face the woman. "I'm not perfect."

The woman shrugged, blowing another puff of smoke into the air. "I dunno, Princess, the people never have anything bad to say about you or your family. Everyone loves you--hell, there's a whole castle filled with men that would do anything--and I mean anything--to have the chance to talk to you, let alone marry you! Yet you're out here, all alone, looking absolutely miserable."

You look up at the star freckled sky and sigh. "Maybe... this just isn't what I want."

"To rule the kingdom?" The woman pressed.

You shake your head. "No, that's not it. I love this nation, these people are my home. I would be honoured to serve over them. It's what I've been raised for. I've been working so hard to prove myself worthy. But...I just don't see why in order to do that I need to be married."

The woman blew out another puff of smoke before turning to you. "Why not?"

You chuckle and shake her head again. "Why do I need to be married in order to rule the nation? It's not like they have trained their entire lives for this. I can do it on my own, I shouldn't need someone else in order to prove I am worthy."

"Interesting," the stranger noted. "Miss Perfect Princess doesn't want to be loved."

You scoff in response. "I never said that. Of course I want to be loved. Every girl dreams of being loved. But this...I don't want this..."

You stand in shock for a moment, realizing you had just told a complete stranger your most guarded thoughts. The panic began to settle back in and you nervously fumble with her frills.

"I-I didn't mean--"

"Sure you didn't."

Your eyebrows furrow. "N-no I'm serious. There are some very fine--!"

"I'm sure there are."

You were now becoming increasingly irritated. "Excuse me, but as the future--!"

"Ah, but not current." The woman smirked, her green eyes glistening in the moonlight.

You huff. "I'll have you know, I do want to find a husband. I'll do whatever it takes to prove myself worthy."

"But not for the right reasons." The woman wobbly bowed before you yet again. "Enjoy your party, Your Majesty." She mocked.

You rolled her eyes and opened the door to return inside.

"Oh, but if you get bored again," the woman called after her, "come look for Ellie."

Slam!

You stormed inside as she heard the woman's chuckles echo in her mind.

Who the fuck does she think she is? She doesn't know me. I'm having a good time. I can find a perfectly fine suitor. Just watch me.

You were fuming with anger, but pushed it deep within, as you try to converse and get to know the many men who were interested in your hand tonight. But as you dance and laugh and chat among the crowd, your heart wasn't fully in it. And you know this. You can't submerge yourself in your last task of proving yourself because your mind was distracted. You felt like you were being watched, like your dirty little secret was not at all hidden, and everyone could see through your lies.

The night drew darker and darker, and you still could not find a man worthy of becoming your king. But that didn't stop your determination. You insisted on throwing party after party, as you was not done looking for the right one. But as each party came to an end, you felt as if she was losing more and more progress.

On the night of the sixth party, you had locked herself in your chamber, stalling your first appearance. The guests were under the impression you were still getting ready as they familiarized themselves with the beautiful decor and delicious foods. But in reality, you were pacing your room, trying to get that woman off your mind.

Her plump lips that formed into that degrading smirk. Her rebellious look and nature--at first you thought the obsession was fascination, and then jealousy. But she realized that's not what it was at all, not even in the slightest. You groaned, quickly scribbling out a note you wished you'd never have to craft.

Ellie,

You were right.

Taking a deep breath, you emerged from your room, leaving the note on one of the many refreshment tables and walked to the party, with almost a sense of relief.

Tonight, you were wearing a silky pink ballgown, with a corset that lifted your chest and hugged your curves, just as you'd hoped Ellie's greedy eyes would devour from across the ballroom.

You spent all night dancing and laughing and drinking, and you felt almost liberated. Your cheeks were tinted pink, partly from the alcohol, but partly from the fun of finally being at peace with yourself. You felt as if there was this golden aura around you, radiating warmth throughout the ballroom.

As you continued to laugh and dance, you look up on to the balcony to see the dark silhouette pressed against a pillar, arms crossed, with that familiar smirk plastered across her face.

You bite her lip and then politely excused herself from your guests, before quietly, but urgently, rushing upstairs to your room. 

As if on queue, you lock the door and hear a gentle tap against the window. You slide the pane open to be met with none other than those same piercing eyes.

"Hey, Princess."

You move aside so Ellie could climb inside.

Closing the window behind her, Ellie leaned against the dresser, crossing her arms, her eyes scanning across every inch of your body.

"You sure this is what you want?" Ellie pressed, her eyes meeting yours soft, doe eyes.

You take a step forward.

"Yes."

"Because this could seriously fuck up your future, Princess. And there sure as hell isn't a capable enough leader to rule this nation. So don't go throwing all this away for nothing."

"You came for a reason," You counter. "You're right, there isn't anyone as capable as I am, so you should know damn well I am more than capable to make this decision." You took another step toward Ellie. "I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not. I don't want to hide who I am anymore. I think I owe it to this kingdom and myself to start being open and honest about who I am. And the truth is, no, I don't want a husband because I don't want a man. I don't want a man to love me, I want you, Ellie."

Ellie stood there in shock for a split second before her cocky smirk perked itself right back on her face. She scoops you up into her arms, pinning you against the wall behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare down at her striking gaze.

"I'd love to hear you moan my name tonight." Ellie whispered right before you collided.

You wrapped her legs around Ellie’s waist as your lips crashed. You began running her fingers through Ellie’s hair, as Ellie had her hands planted firmly on your waist. She tasted sweet, like cinnamon sugar.

Your heart was pounding with adrenaline. You'd been waiting for this for so long, and couldn't contain your excitement anymore. A soft gasp pressed through your lips as Ellie began kissing down your neck.

"How about you, Princess?" Ellie questioned between kisses. "How would you like me to call you? Your Highness? Your Majesty? Queen?"

"Y-you don't know my name?" You managed to breathe out.

Ellie chuckled against your skin, causing you to tighten your legs together.

"I know your name, beautiful," Ellie gently began to suck on your soft skin, causing a quiet moan to erupt from you. "Would you like me to call you that?"

You bite your lip and nod.

Smirking again, Ellie’s kisses began to trail lower, making her way to your collarbone. Mumbling your name between kisses, she began nipping at your skin. "How beautiful and fitting for my queen..." Nimble fingers crawled their way up your corset, gently tugging at the delicate laces. "But such a mouthful..." 

Ellie mouth was left agape momentarily as your dress slipped off your chest to reveal your perky breasts on display for her. Cool air bit at your nipples, hardened and on display, practically taunting Ellie.

She smirked. "Such a mouthful..." she mumbled, licking her lips. Ellie slipped a finger past your underwear and inside you, causing a gasp to release itself from your lips again.

Ellie curled her finger inside you, slowly pumping in and out. "Don't worry, baby. I'll take good care of you," she soothed, as pleasure jolted through your veins.

Ellie reconnected their lips and slowly increased her pace as you moan into her mouth. Ellie chuckled, adding another finger, causing you to start gently tugging Ellie’s hair.

"That feel good, Princess?" Ellie mumbled against her lips.

You gasped for air, break the kiss momentarily. "More," she demanded, before reconnecting the kiss.

Ellie continued to pump her fingers inside your velvety core, curling them up to scratch those insatiable needs. You slipped her tongue past Ellie’s lips, tangling them together, trying to close the distance between you two.

Ellie could feel your growing hunger and inserted another finger into you, increasing the pace again. You shake your head and break the kiss again. "Ellie. I need more."

With one swift movement, Ellie set you on the dresser. Tugging and pulling at the fabric, Ellie was left in nothing but her undergarments. She reached over to grab a mancipium, a makeshift dick. Ellie reaches for a rope before you tightly grip her wrist. She raises a sceptical eyebrow before you slide off the dresser.

Rummaging through your drawers, you retrieve strips of long silk used to adorn your hair. Sinking to your knees, you wrap the fabric across her hips, securing the toy in place. Ellie watches from above, that fucking smirk back on her lips.

"You ready, Princess?" Ellie carefully positions herself between your legs once the toy sits snuggly above her pelvis.

You nod eagerly, wrapping your legs around Ellie’s waist.

Ellie lined up the tip with your entrance, slowly sliding it in.

"I'm going to guide you through this, okay?" Ellie looked up at you, your eyes squeezed shut.

"C-can you go slow?" You plead.

Ellie gently kissed your lips. "Of course, Princess."

She began slowly pumping herself in and out of you, watching your face quickly contort from worry to pleasure, as a symphony of quiet whimpers began to fill Ellie’s ears. Ellie began to slowly increase the pace as she monitored your reactions to the adjustments she made. Your whimpers quickly turn into moans as Ellie begins to leave soft kisses on your neck.

As much as you enjoyed being spoiled, you couldn't help but feel as if something was missing. As much as you were craving her own pleasure, you were also craving Ellie’s pleasure. You open her eyes and looked to see Ellie staring at your chest, bouncing in her face, as if teasing her.

"Touch me," you less instructed, and more permitted, Ellie. Without hesitating, Ellie dropped her head, her mouth attaching to your warm breast, moaning into the skin.

"Mmm, fuck," Ellie began slowly and softly sucking on your nipple. Her mouth greedily sucked at the supple skin while her tongue moved to explore every crevice it could possibly reach, which caused your moans to get louder.

Ellie silenced you by connecting their lips. "Listen, Princess, as heavenly as your moans are, they're going to get us into trouble,"

You giggle against her lips. "Sorry," you breathed, moaning back into Ellie’s mouth.

Ellie chuckled and continued to pump the slick in and out of you. But your hunger grew stronger and stronger, and soon, you began craving more.

You pulled away from Ellie again. "Bed," you ordered. "I want to ride you."

Ellie was in no position to argue and immediately sat herself on your bed, leaning back on her forearms.

You straddled Ellie as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to adjust to the new depth she felt within her.

Ellie immediately sat up, holding on to your waist. "You okay?" There was worry in her voice.

You nodded, holding on to Ellie’e hands. "Yeah, it's just--so deep."

Ellie chuckled and rubbed small circles on your hips. "Would you like me to help you?"

You hesitated before nodding. "Please."

Ellie slowly and gently guided you up and down on her, watching as your face began slowly relaxing and adjusting to the constant pace. You began softly moaning and slightly increased the pace you were moving on Ellie. To match your needs, Ellie began adjusting her pace accordingly.

As you began moving on her own, grinding her hips down into Ellie as if trying to scratch an itch she couldn't reach, you noticed Ellie biting her lips and staring at your bouncing chest, yet again.

You smirked and leaned down to Ellie’s ear. 

"I give you permission, Ellie."

Ellie took your breast into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the nipple, as you moaned in confirmation.

"Fuck, you even taste expensive," Ellie moaned before switching to the other breast. "How lucky am I?"

You giggled and shook her head, bouncing harder up and down on Ellie. Ellie watched insatiably as you rode her up and down, becoming more and more comfortable trying to find her own pleasure.

"That's my girl," Ellie praised. You kept moaning, allowing yourself to feel every new sensation she was discovering.

"Nothing brings me more satisfaction than seeing how much pleasure Miss. Perfect Princess is experiencing from getting fucked by some troublesome woman who is no good for her," Ellie smirked, as she leaned back and watched your eyes roll back in pleasure as you used Ellie to come closer to her climax. "But I will say, part of me is still caught in this selfish desire to taste you."

You shake your head. "But you already have been."

Ellie chuckled, whispering into your ear, "I meant all of you."

Your cheeks flush bright red as you stop moving, only for Ellie to wink and begin moving you again.

Ellie continued to hit your sweet spot, causing you to erupt into an ocean of moans as she sucked on your breasts, moving you up and down at a constant pace.

"Ellie…~" Y/n moaned, over and over again, forgetting every name except of the woman who had been on your mind for weeks.

"Fuck, baby, you're going to make me wet if you keep saying my name like that." Ellie hissed, greedy hands groping the plush skin of your ass.

You throw your head back in pleasure, Ellie's repeated pace thrusting against your sweet spot.

Ellie licked her lips, kissing all over your chest. "You have no idea how crazy you drive me," she breathed, as your moans drew louder and louder.

"I mean, come on now, look at how excited you are for me," Ellie swept your hair to the side. "I wish one day to taste every last bit of you."

You leaned her head back, biting her lip. The constant penetration of that sweet spot, Ellie’s words painting delicious pictures in your mind--Your desire began to grow stronger and stronger yet again.

"What's stopping you?" You challenged.

Ellie lifted you up and gently place you on the bed, spreading your legs for her own pleasure. The sudden cold air made you gasp as those thin fingers dug into your thighs.

"Oh, baby, you're such a mess," Ellie inched her face painfully slow towards you. "Let me clean you up."

Ellie dipped her head and let her tongue swipe up your folds. You threw her head back in excitement.

"So much fucking better than I've dreamed," Ellie muttered, before reaching her tongue deep inside you.

You arched her back, drowning in pleasure. "El--oh my god!" You moaned, gently gripping Ellie’s hair.

Ellie chuckled, sending vibrations through Y/n, who erupted into even more moans. Ellie moved up to begin swirling her tongue around your excited clit, moving it up and down over it, feeling it from every possible angle, trying to get you to make every possible sound.

The more hungrily and passionately Ellie ate you out, the fuzzier your mind became. There was only one thing you could possibly focus on.

"Ellie! Oh--Ellie... Fuckkk Ellie~" You hissed, only fuelling Ellie’s desires even further.

You became increasingly loud as your moans filled the room. But you didn't care if anyone heard them. All that mattered was how fucking good you felt letting go of your worries and putting your own needs first for once. If you were to marry someone, that would be the kind of person you'd want. Someone who can help you put your own desires first every once in a while. Who can break down your walls while still making you feel safe.

Your legs began quaking as you neared your finish.

"You're close, I can feel it," Ellie mumbled, before divulging her tongue into your warm, inviting opening yet again. "Come on, baby, let me taste every last bit of you. I want you to finish all over me, darling."

Your toes curled, feeling the pit in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.

Ellie’s tongue continued reaching every hidden part of you, exploring and devouring every nook and cranny inside that royal pussy.

With one last moan, you felt herself releasing all that pent up stress and frustration all at once. As the rope snapped, Ellie moaned softly, licking up every last drop of the sticky nectar you left over her face.

You breathed heavily, ears ringing as the room spun around you. Ellie slid your underwear back up your legs and wrapped you in a blanket.

"Hey, Princess," Ellie smiled warmly, "how ya feelin'?"

You let out a breath of disbelief. 

Ellie chuckled, kissing your forehead and sitting up.

You frowned and sat up in response. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry, Princess, but you and I both know I ought to get going."

You shook her head. "Please, stay."

Ellie frowned and shook her head. "I can't, and you know it."

"I don't want to be with anyone else." You pleaded. "Ellie, you've known it since the night we met, it's always been you. I don't care what my family says, Ellie, I want you--"

"Your Majesty," Ellie snapped, "you know we can't."

You both stared at the floor in silence. You fought against the tears pricking your eyes, the lump scratching your throat, and sinking feeling in your gut.

"Look," Ellie spoke again, "I'm glad I was able to be the one who helped you discover this part of yourself you'd buried deep inside you. Believe me, I had my fun, but this kingdom, it needs you. And you know it. We can never be together, they won't allow it. Don't throw away everyone's future for me."

You let the tears flow down your face, watching as the salty drops hit the polished floors.

"Please, say something."

You kept staring at the ground, motionless.

"Please, Princess..."

You looked up at Ellie, teary eyed. "Please just stay the night." You manage.

Ellie sighed. "You'll make a great queen. I know it." Ellie kissed your temple one last time and you watch in sorrow as Ellie turned back into a stranger from the shadows.

[satorisoup]

ᰔ GLITTER GLUE ft. hajime iwaizumi

ʚ CW : “one sided” crush. confessions. cursing.

ʚ hq valentine’s series mlist ಇ

it’s valentine’s day, or rather, the most dreadful day of existence, if you were to say so yourself.

walking through the halls of school on a normal day was one thing, but now it seems that every corner you turn, you’re rather rudely reminded of your state of loneliness on the soul national holiday of relationships. bouquets of reds and whites, floral smells corroding your nostrils with every inhale, cute plushies holding little hearts, pretty cards with love written in sparkly pink gel pen. all gestures of admiration that are so sweet to any other person, but quite frankly, it’s just making you feel stupid for coming to school today.

you feel even stupider when you’re walking into class, eyes avoiding the gross kissing couples as you make your way to sit down, and you’re faced with exactly why you mourn valentines day so much.

hajime iwaizumi, the third year who sits one desk aside to you in class 5, who just so happens to be the person your heart decided to fall head over heels for. it was an unmistakable crush with the way your cheeks felt hot when he’d stretch in his seat, or the way your heart fluttered when he would make small talk when there was a particularly boring lesson. he’d even occasionally walk with you during lunch period in the midst of conversation or sharing a snack, before his friends would come and steal him away. he was sweet aside from looking intimidating, and it all the more so made you infatuated with him.

you watch him grumble outside of the doorway at one of his friends, a roll of his eyes before he’s striding into the classroom to take his proclaimed seat. you feel disappointed in yourself that you still haven’t been able to work up the courage to ask him out, too much of a coward to ever admit your interest in him. you take a quick glance at his hands, and what you see makes your heart drop even lower.

you catch a short glimpse of a pretty red valentine in his left hand before he’s quickly moving to neatly stuff it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

it looks like someone had beaten you to the chase, and it was only the first class of the day.

throughout the entire period, you notice the off behavior of your classmate as he sits in his seat. iwaizumi seems nervous almost, his leg softly bouncing up and down, and you also take into account that he hasn’t said a single word to you, or even looked at you this entire time. that usually would seem more normal on a regular class day, but today it was a free period, much to everyone’s liking. after dismissal, iwaizumi wasted no time to get up and out of the classroom before you could even ask him if he was alright.

classes today seemed to go by as if minutes were hours, and students had gotten even more enthusiastic as time went by as they all exchanged their thoughtful valentines to their partners. you think you’ve heard enough random “i love you’s” to last you 3 lifetimes in a singular day, but what you were seriously dreading was lunchtime. where everyone would walk around hand in hand through the courtyard, gifts, cards, flowers, big huge teddy bears to little tiny ones, kissing that should probably be saved for behind closed doors, and especially confessions. not wanting to be surrounded by the exact thing you were missing out on, you opted to stay inside for lunch.

the empty classroom you sit in is completely silent, the only sounds you hear coming from outside through the windows, voices of distant squeals and happy laughter. you sigh at your own demise when you decide to finally get up and wander around the halls. paper heart chains and pretty streamers litter the lockers and walls, and even some of your teachers had little decorations as their own way of getting into the spirit. it really was unfortunate that you weren’t able to celebrate today with who you wanted to so badly, as your fate lies in your own thoughts because you were too chicken to ever say it. and now, your crush was starting to act weird, which meant he had probably already accepted a confession, or maybe even confessed himself, to a person he was interested in. you wanted to be angry, you really did, but it wasn’t your place to be mad at him. he wasn’t ever yours to begin with.

as you stroll along and unwontedly admire the atmosphere around you, you hear the uncomfortable squeak of shoes against the wooden flooring, alerting you that you weren’t alone. when you look up from your feet to meet the eyes of the person who had interrupted your thoughts, you can physically feel your stomach sink to your feet.

iwaizumi stands at the end of the hallway, his hands behind his back with that same expression he had during class, even if it was barely noticeable. he looks at you before he straightens up.

“hey.” is all he mutters.

…

“hi.”

he takes a few steps forward to meet you where you had halted before and begins to speak.

“i was looking for you.” he voices.

“oh.. well you found me.”

you aren’t helping much with his attempt to cure the awkwardness around you two, but even so, he continues to talk nonetheless.

“why weren’t you outside for lunch?” he asks you.

“eh, didn’t wanna be around all that lovey dovey stuff. but, um.. why were you looking for me?”

you feel nervous when iwaizumi is silent, his hands now coming out from where they risided, holding that same red valentine from this morning.

“because i wanted to give you this.” he replies.

you notice the tinge of pink on his usual hardened face, looking down to where he held out the card to you.

you carefully grasp the messily accessorized card, studying it as you feel your heartbeat pick up to a faster pace. the red, heart shaped card stock proposed a simple question of ‘be my valentine?’

and as cheesy as it was, your lips pull into a wide grin when you look back at him, his hands tucked into his pockets while he waited for your answer.

“is this a confession, or am i reading the glitter glue wrong?”

“shut up, it was oikawa who dumped all of that shimmer shit on it…” he rumbles, recalling the short memory of his best friend tossing glitter onto his card while scolding him, “iwa, you seriously lack so much pizazz. girls love sparkles and glitter!”

you laugh at the thought of his friend taunting him over his card, and then you’re suddenly blushing at the concept of how iwaizumi had taken his time to make a special valentine, just for you.

“well, i accept your confession, iwa…”, “even if it’s twinkling in ‘shimmer shit’.”

it was iwaizumi’s turn to chuckle when he laces his arm around your shoulders, and he smiles as he walks with you.

“idiot.”

yes, valentines day was usually a dreadful day. but the surprises it holds? those aren’t dreadful at all.

[mydearesthrry]

baby honey - h.s.

a/n: long time no talk! ive had this in my drafts for the longest but didnt know how to finish it. it has a bad ending anyway but its seriously been collecting dust. i missed u guys sorry i disappeared lol. enjoy!!!!

wc: 1.9k

cw: nothing just fluff

*part of the honeyed moments universe! parts one and two here! ❤️*

“Okay Daisy baby, say cheese!” YN grinned, holding her film camera up to her right eye to snap a picture of her precious daughter surrounded by a mountain of different sized presents.

Today was Daisy’s sixth birthday, which Harry and YN basically made a national holiday. It was the day their perfect little girl was born, bringing nothing but love and light into their lives– how could they not go all out?

Harry was out getting breakfast– per the birthday girl’s request. She’d wanted pink french toast, pancakes, and pink eggs, which had Harry dashing out to the store to get food coloring and pancake mix. They were having a small get together with a couple of friends that Daisy had made back in London, as well as YN and Harry’s closest relatives and friends. It was princess themed, to no one’s surprise, and all of her aunt’s and uncle’s were assigned a princess or prince to dress up as.

YN and Harry were assigned to dress up as Rapunzel and Flynn Rider from Daisy’s favorite movie Tangled, while Daisy chose to toddle around in a dress that had all the famous Disney princesses on it, the skirt part of the dress covered in pink sparkly ruffles that left a trail of glitter wherever she went. YN could cry right now thinking of all the mess she’d have to clean up following this party, but the wide grin on her daughter’s face made every speck of glitter worth it.

“Mommy, y’have to get Bear in the picture!” Daisy whines, catching the attention of the puppy in the corner. Now, Y/N uses the word puppy very lightly, seeing as said puppy was as tall as her hip just standing on all fours. Y/N sighs, but calls the dog over anyway.

“Bear, come here baby,” She calls to the chocolate lab. “Good boy, okay, now sit riiiiiight here.” Daisy’s smile had grown exponentially, if it was even possible. She leaned forward a bit to place a soft hand on the top of Bear’s head, petting it softly and treating her furry best friend with the utmost delicacy.

Harry had walked in during their mini photoshoot, dropping the bags silently next to him as he leaned against a pillar that separated their dining room from the living room. He watched with a fond smile at his tiny family, his daughter in her ‘perfect princess dress’, his wife on her knees with a wide smile, a film camera held tightly in her hands, and his dog laying at his daughter's feet. He watched on, not wanting to disturb the domestic moment, though his attempt was interrupted when his perfect little Daisy caught a glimpse of him in the entryway.

“Hi Daddy!” She squealed, gaining the attention of Bear who got up to greet his dad. Harry leaned down and greeted his puppy back, scratches soothing the pup as flashes of white from his nails played hide and seek with the brown fur.

“Hello, birthday princess!” He grinned, squatting down to greet his daughter who was already running toward him at full speed. Her dress flowed behind her, glitter literally getting everywhere. Harry snorted at the grimace his wife was wearing on her features, a soft groan coming from him when Daisy had connected with his chest harshly.

“Are we makin’ pancakes, Daddy?” Oh, bless her sweet little heart. A pout was on Harry’s lips when she pulled back, his hands remaining on her back in an effort to keep his growing baby close to him.

“Of course, baby. Gotta go get everythin’ set up, though. Can y’go get washed up so we can start? ‘S gonna take me a mo’ and ‘M gonna have Mama help me.” He makes a deal with his baby, nodding while talking, Daisy mimicking his nods.

“Yes Daddy, be right back!” She zips away, running toward her bedroom with Bear in tow. Harry stands from his crouched position, walking over to meet his wife who was sat in the middle of the living room, turned to where Harry and Daisy once were.

“Hi,” He greets, sitting down on his bum in front of her, kissing her sweetly. “Got everythin’ y’wanted, Mama.”

“Mm, thank you, H. Ready t’tell our little big girl that she’s gonna be a big sister?” She whispers through a big smile, voice hushed to keep the secret as safe as possible from her daughter’s ears, even though she was out of earshot.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, my sweet Honey.” He grins, standing up out of his sitting position and offering his hands to his wife, who takes them with zero hesitation.

The two work like a well oiled machine, dancing around each other and never once accidentally bumping into each other as they prepare everything to make Daisy’s dream breakfast. They’re just about done when Daisy comes back into the kitchen, making her presence known when she knocks into the back of Harry’s legs, wrapping her tiny arms around the full of his thigh. She hangs on and giggles when he turns her around to have her sit on his foot, continuing the work with his baby wrapped on his leg like a koala bear.

Y/N has a bittersweet smile on her face, knowing this was gonna be one of the last times that was blissfully theirs, the three of them (with the exception of Bear) together before the new baby came. She felt herself getting emotional by the thought, pushing away the fact that she had yet another 6 months to wait, trying to soak in the moment even though there were gonna be more to come in the next few months.

The space is filled with loud laughter, sweet kisses, and tiny barks as they meander around the kitchen, Daisy assisting like a proper angel whenever asked. She’d gotten comfortable on the kitchen counter while her parents cooked her pink breakfast, the small speaker that was next to her blasting the Tangled soundtrack.

“Okay Peanut… I think we’re all done!” Harry said finally, plating the last of the pink pancakes and turning to his daughter who had an excited gleam in her green eyes that matched her fathers.

“Yay!” She squealed, holding her hands out for Harry to grab her. He walked up and wrapped his arms around her, twirling around when she grabbed on, filling the air with laughter.

The family walked over to the dining room, plates in YN and Harry’s hands, a jug of apple juice in Daisy’s tiny arms. They all sit around the table, two chairs on the long sides of the brown spruce table, with two fancier chairs on the narrower end parts. YN and Harry place the pink plates in the center, YN moving the vase of purple and pink peonies bought specifically for the birthday princess to the small table that held their vinyls and record player. Daisy hands the half full jug to her dad, hugging his thigh tightly before skipping to her spot on the opposite side of Harry. YN grabs the seat next to her, plopping down into the chair and turning toward her daughter, brushing her dark unruly curls back out of her face.

Settling in her chair, Daisy grins widely and shimmies in her chair in a small dance, her parents cooing and settling in their chairs as well. Breakfast goes off without a hitch, the tiny family conversing about the princess’ upcoming party. Daisy holds her tiny plastic fork in her hand as she gesticulates with her hands as she talks. Her parents have always been patient with her and let her vocalize whatever was on her mind at any point of the day, not scolding her if she even came into their room at the early hours of the morning to excitedly tell them about the dream she had. After all, she was their little miracle, and they’d do whatever it took to make her happy.

Harry and YN shared a knowing look as they approached the end of breakfast. Daisy’s princess sippy cup was almost empty, and her plate was cleared. YN clears her throat, making Daisy turn her attention to her mom. “Baby, we have something to tell you.”

Daisy tilts her head in childlike wonder, a confused expression on her face, her eyebrows furrowed and turned in toward each other. “Wha’ s’it, Mama?”

YN smiles as she reaches down between her and Harry, a tiny gift bag sitting on the floor between their chairs. Grabbing it and placing it in front of Daisy, Y/N giggles at the gasp her daughter lets out.

“A present? Already?!” Daisy squeals, grabbing the paper bag and placing it onto her lap, eagerly pulling the ribbon that held the straps shut.

“Ah- hold on, Dais,” Harry says, Daisy complying instantly. “Before y’open it, Mama and I wanna say that we love you, and want you to know that you’ll always be our sweet little girl, okay?”

Daisy tilted her head to the side, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, looking like an exact replica of her father. “Oh, um— I love you too, Daddy, and you, Mama.”

“I love you too, Dais. Okay, you can open it now.” Y/N approves, phone hidden against her chest, now recording her daughter.

“A baby doll! Oh my goodness!” Daisy squealed, holding up the box about 2 inches from her face. “Thank you Mama! Thank you Daddy!”

“Wait, peanut,” Harry started, reaching into the bag and pulling out another box, which had another doll similar to the baby. “Look! It’s a big sister for the baby doll! It’s like you, tiny!”

“Huh?” She said confusedly. “But I’m not a big sister.”

“Yes you are, Daisy girl. Or… you will be, soon at least.” Y/N grinned, not being able to contain her smile at this point.

“Wait…” Daisy collected her tiny thoughts as she tried to connect the dots, before her eyes brightened when she realized what her mother was saying. “Baby?!”

“Yeah, Dais. Mumma’s havin’ a baby!” Harry exclaimed, toothy smiles and dimples out.

“Oh my goodness!” Daisy gasps, jumping haphazardly out of her chair. “Mumma!”

“Oh, careful, sweet girl!” Y/N giggles, scooting her chair out to prop her daughter on her lap comfortably.

“Y’really havin’ a baby?!” She squawked, frantic eyes drifting between her parents.

“Yeah, peanut, we are!” Harry giggled, ruffling his daughters hair.

“This is the best present ever!” She squealed, aggressively wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck. “Thank you, Mommy, and Daddy.”

Y/N placed a hand on the back of Daisy’s head, a big pout on her lips as she turned her head to look at Harry, who matched her expression with a similar frown.

“My sweet Daisy girl, you’re so welcome. Gonna be the best big sister ever, hm?” Y/N whispered, pecking small kisses onto her head.

“The best, I promise!”

[irisintheafterglow]

You Are In Love (Gojo Satoru x You)

summary: you can't stop dreaming about him, and your friends start to notice a change in your behavior. (2.4k words)

cw/tags: mild angst to comfort, friends to lovers, pining, idiots in love, profanity, elder sorcerers being assholes, pet names (doll, gorgeous, etc), uhh gojo loses his cool and blows up a building lol, kissing, one instance of foreshadowing manga spoilers but only if you squint

note: HELLOO GOJO NATION. ok so i'll be so honest with you, this stupid man was my #1 for so long and i think those feelings resurfaced so i got a little carried away with writing this (it's my longest fic so far, my bad). but yk something about gojo, hawks, and kuroo all being played by the voice actor just gets me. the prompt for this is from the AMAZING @creativepromptsforwriting and was supposed to be a drabble but turned into a full fic. anyways, hope you enjoy it!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated!

“It’s too quiet. Can I tell you guys a joke I heard on TV?”

“Mmm, please don’t.”

“But it’s funny!”

“Satoru.”

“Ooh, using my first name. Something’s up with you.”

“Something is not up with me, weirdo.” 

“No, something is definitely off with you today.” You thought Suguru and Shoko had stopped listening, but they chimed in with evidence of your odd behavior.

“You said good morning differently,” Shoko added, casually taking a sip of her soda and peering at you over the rim. Her hair sways gently in the breeze outside of the convenience store you four had stopped at before heading back to Jujutsu Tech. You glare at her and open your mouth to defend yourself when Suguru adds his two cents. 

“You tripped up during that last mission that should have been a cakewalk,” which was true, but you thought your mistake had gone unnoticed. The truth was, the spirit had caught you off guard with a simple teleport trick. It warped behind you and unlatched its grotesque jaws to end your life faster than you could blink. You should have been able to predict the movement with your eyes closed, but you’d been too focused on making sure a certain white-haired sorcerer was alive after your group had been ambushed several hundred feet underground. Suguru had given you a curious look after one of his demons saved your ass, and you’d flipped him off hoping that would be the end of it. “And you also flipped me the bird instead of saying thank you,” he shrugged.

“You also finish your food the fastest out of all of us, and today you haven’t even taken three bites,” Shoko says, finishing her drink and standing to toss it in the trash bin. “Something’s going on with you, and I, for one, am incredibly curious as to why.” Satoru watches you with a smug glint in his eye, and it takes all your willpower not to strangle him. 

“As glad as I am to know that you all pay such great attention to my habits, I promise there’s nothing wrong.” The three of them stare at you skeptically but thankfully decided to drop the subject, instead pivoting to who’s most likely to go to jail first (it’s Gojo). 

After the late lunch, you begin the walk back to Jujutsu Tech as the sky transforms into faded shades of orange and pink. The vanishing sun casts shining reflections on the surrounding skyscrapers, bouncing off the windows of speeding cars and zooming trains. Satoru and Suguru walk ahead, playfully shoving each other and almost falling over doing so. 

“Alright, are you gonna tell me what’s going on now that Dumb and Dumber aren’t here?” Shoko asks as she falls into step with you. The sides of your mouth turn down, realizing that she didn’t forget about your conversation at lunch. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell your closest friends what was going on; you just didn’t know how to explain what you had dreamed about the previous night and the night before that, and all the nights the past two weeks. 

It began with a look he had given you after a meeting with some higher-ups in the sorcerer world. They had visited Jujutsu Tech unexpectedly, stating that they would be evaluating the skill levels of random students. Out of your group of friends, only you and Satoru had been pulled to be tested. Principal Yaga had instructed both of you before entering the room to give the evaluation your best effort and to not become indignant if they judged you poorly. 

The brass declared your evaluation to be first, and you poured all of your energy into showcasing the power of your Cursed Technique. You even managed to pull off a few strikes of extension techniques that you’d been perfecting for months. Though the entire performance lasted less than ten minutes, you were breathless and light-headed when the panel told you to stop. After bowing deeply, you moved to exit the room, desperate for fresh air, but they stopped you and began listing every single reason why your demonstration was unsatisfactory. Besides “inefficient technique, predictable attacks, weak offense, insufficient defense,” and a general lack of power compared to that of other sorcerers at your level, they informed you that your Cursed Technique was obsolete and would eventually render you useless as more innately talented sorcerers take your place. You were speechless at their blunt criticism of your effort, on the verge of breaking down, but you managed to nod in acknowledgment as you stepped out of the room.

But then you saw him sitting there, waiting on his phone and looking up at you with a bright smile as he stood to greet you. A confusing blend of disappointment, anger, sadness, and loneliness panged in your heart and spread to the rest of your body, and you rapidly tried to blink away the moisture welling up in your eyes while Satoru approached. He was halfway through a snarky remark about you blowing away their expectations when his smile dropped and his eyebrows furrowed with concern. Shit, he’d noticed you crying. 

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me. What the fuck did they do to you?” Dashing blue eyes found yours through the clouds in your vision, and his thumbs gently brushed away stray tears that escaped down your cheeks. 

“Do you think I’m weak, Satoru?” Your voice cracks when the words finally spill out, swallowing hard to push down the sobs threatening to break loose from your constricted lungs. Satoru freezes, eyes searching yours. He doesn’t answer your question immediately, but instead asks again. 

“Doll, what the fuck did they do.” You can’t get a reply out in time before his focus snaps up to behind you, and a second later you hear the door roll open, one of the officials commanding Satoru to enter for his evaluation. His large hands hold your face and turn you to look up at him, and you move unconsciously to cover his hands with yours. “Stay here for me, okay?” He glanced at the official waiting in the doorway, blue eyes dark with suppressed rage. “This won’t take long.”

His evaluation lasts two minutes and four seconds. At first, the room was silent and you couldn’t hear any demonstration of Satoru’s technique, almost as if the panel was having a conversation with him before they began. Then, at two minutes on the dot, the room was blown to splinters. The door, the ceiling, the porch, and all of the furniture inside were violently thrown outward in an explosion that made the ground beneath your feet tremble. Curiously, none of the debris had hit you, but you coughed through the dust and saw that the panel hadn’t been so lucky, all of them buried under shredded beams of wood and canvas. And, standing at the center of the room’s remains with a satisfied grin plastered on his beautiful face, was Satoru. He found his way over to where you stood in disbelief and took your hand in his, interweaving your fingers and guiding you away from the ruined building. 

You two walked hand-in-hand in silence back to your dorm, where he seemed reluctant to let go of your hand. Before he walked away, he finally answered your question from earlier. 

“I tell you this not just as your friend, but as another sorcerer. You are not weak. Your technique is special and something that those shithead elders haven’t seen in decades, and they don’t like what they don’t understand. I know the thought of leaving Jujutsu Tech crossed your pretty little mind, but you shouldn’t. People need you here, Shoko, Suguru, Mei Mei...” He hesitated, taking a shallow breath and reaching back for your hand. 

“Me,” he said, his voice low, and his voice got even softer until it was almost a breath. “I need you here.” As quickly as the fondness in his voice appeared, it disappeared. “And, plus, you definitely can’t leave us here with ol’ Yaga. What the hell am I gonna do if I can’t hide in your room while he’s trying to beat my ass?” 

You laugh, and the feeling makes you feel better. He makes you feel better. You smile back at him and finally bid him farewell, and he raises your hand to his lips as he says goodbye. 

After that, he’d appeared in your dreams for two weeks straight. The dreams started as a continuation of what would have happened if you didn’t just say goodbye to him, if you’d invited him into your dorm, or if you’d let him pull you into his. They transformed after the fourth day into what it would be like to love him and receive his love in return: stolen kisses, flirty whispers, and movie dates to name a few. All these dreams added up to the previous night’s nightmare, where a mission had gone bad and he’d been imprisoned with no hope of breaking him free. You’d startled awake covered in sweat, and barely fell back asleep before your alarm forced you to start the day. 

“It’s… hard to explain,” you reply apologetically, and Shoko looks at you with so much skepticism written on her face that you have to turn away and look in the other direction. 

“So something is bothering you.” 

“Yeah, there is. I’m sorry; it’s just really, really hard to verbalize.”

“Can I take a stab at what’s bothering you?”

“If you could actually stab it that’d be great, but sure. Knock yourself out.”

“It’s Satoru, isn’t it?” You stop mid-stride and her face lights up with amusement. “Holy shit, it’s Satoru. You like Gojo Satoru.”

“Jeez, Shoko, go ahead and say his name four hundred million times, why don’t you? But really, what tipped you off?”

“Ten seconds ago when you asked me to stab your problem, I figured it out,” she chuckles, bumping her shoulder against yours playfully. “If it’s any consolation, I’m 99% sure he’s felt that way about you for a while.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know?”

“Would you let me off the hook if I said it was hard to explain?”

“Har, har, very funny. Could you at least try?” 

“Mmm, I think it’s better if he explains it himself.” 

“You’re no help, Shoko.”

“Yes, and you love me anyway. But not as much as you love Sa–” You groan, covering your burning face in both hands and increasing the speed of your steps to escape your friend’s teasing chuckles. 

When you finally arrive at school, the stars have started rising and the moon hangs in the sky. You walk in the direction of the dorms when Shoko suddenly unlinks her elbow from yours, winking at you over your shoulder. 

“Suguru, can you help me move something from the gym real quick? I forgot a few things over there.” 

“Sure, but why do you need my help?” Shoko gives him a pointed look and realization quickly washes over his features. “Oh, OH. Okay, of course, sure.” Suguru turns on his heel awkwardly, briskly walking in the direction of the gym.

“Satoru, walk them back to their dorm. Don’t want anything happening to them after their little slip today,” she adds before heading in the other direction with Suguru, who tries and fails to communicate something to Satoru with a nod of his head. 

“Alright, pretty girl, you heard Shoko. C’mere and let me walk you home before she beats my ass.”

“I think you have too many people on this planet that want to beat your ass. And, for the record, I’m one of them.”

“It’s the price of being this gorgeous, gorgeous.” A soft laugh escapes your mouth, and you swear Satoru’s smile gets a little wider. The rest of the short walk to your dorm is just as easy and comfortable, Satoru making stupid comments and you replying with a quick remark over and over until you’re back in the same situation you’d been in two weeks ago. But, this time, you realized that Satoru was a lot closer to you, leaning back against your door with your hand touching the handle but not opening it. You both spend a few moments there, just looking at each other, and his mesmerizing eyes flicker to your mouth when you unconsciously lick your lips. He opens his mouth to say something smart, but you beat him to it. 

“If you’re gonna look down at my lips and say something stupid about it, you might as well do what I’ve been wanting you to do for ages.” 

“Oh? And what’s that, pretty girl?”

You sigh in mock disappointment and look up at him through your eyelashes. “If you don’t know what it is by now, then I guess… you don’t deserve to do it.” His pupils are blown wide with desire, and you resist the impulse to laugh. 

“God, you’re intoxicating,” he says, before pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut and you melt into him, arms snaking around his neck while his hands find your waist and hold you up from your knees that have turned to jelly. The first kiss is gentle and experimental, but having the flirtiest asshole in the country chasing your lips as you briefly pull away gives you a newfound wave of confidence, pulling him closer and closer until his body is flush against yours. When you finally pull away from each other and catch your breath, he doesn’t go very far, resting his forehead against yours. 

“You know, I wanted to kill them. Those wrinkly assholes two weeks ago that had the gall to call you weak. And I would have, you know I would have, but you were outside… and you were crying… I just didn’t know what to do. I saw red, and, uh, then the building exploded.” You chuckle at his confession and he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, rubbing his nose against yours. 

“I had a dream about you. Well, a lot of dreams.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Got a little nervous today when I heard you talk with Shoko about liking a boy, but it helps knowing now that the boy is me. And, hopefully, it will only ever be me.”

“You pretentious asshole.”

“You know it.”

“You’re a dork.”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork.” 

“I know you are.”

“And I’m never going anywhere.” He kisses your forehead sweetly, and it’s just like the dreams that had plagued you for weeks before. “Ever.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[everparanoid]

For you, I'd steal the stars w/ Wriothesley

Modern Teyvat Au! Wriothesley x f! reader

cw: fluff, minor hint at soulmates.

word count: 3.5k

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠...

╭────────────────────────╮

Wriothesley couldn’t recall how he found himself standing on an unimportant cyan Tuesday afternoon in Autumn, staring at a painting in the Fontaine National Art Gallery not too far away from his office. The painting, Wriothesley reckoned, couldn’t be any larger than two sheets of parchment and yet it hung alone in the centre of a white room. A masterpiece of simplicity. Above him, a giant white ball spun in slowed motion as plain as the rest of the room, a compliment to the art. The canvas however was a deep navy blue, the same shade as the night. Covering this deep blue were speckles of white, spontaneous in their positions. Some gathered in clustered constellations unknown to man. Others, singular. In the middle a golden speck shone, overwhelming the image the longer he stared. He stared and stared until it appeared to be shooting out of the blues and whites and filling his vision. He couldn’t for the life of him understand why such a simple concept had moved him. Why an image alone in a room far away from all the other extravagant displays of artistic prowess had managed to give him such peace; for in the time that he had been staring at the image—lost to time and the world—he had experienced a thousand lifetimes. He’d been everything; from a small sapling to an ancient oak tree; from a huge wolf to a small squirrel; from a primordial narwhal to a tiny transparent fish swimming in the bottom of the darkest blue seas. He’d experienced nations crumbling and rising again and loves that transcended time and space. All beautiful. All but a millisecond in the eyes of the vast universe.

“To you in every universe,” an unknown voice said.

“Huh?” Wriothesley responded, his attention stolen. His reality returned to the same bleak normality which he had just escaped.

You nodded to the painting, “That’s its name.”

He stared at you with an uncertainty reserved for strangers. He hadn’t heard your footsteps as you entered the room nor had he seen you stop beside him, and yet here you were. A stranger. A golden fleck in his blue world.

“Are you interested in it?” You spoke using a soft tone that Wriothesley particularly liked. He hadn’t heard a voice like yours before. He hadn’t heard much past the same blue tones of business tycoons and wannabe entrepreneurs who wished to fill his and their pockets with mounds of green. Being a successful CEO of a Fortune 100 made one lose the many colours of life to shades of blue and green. At the end of a long day, he often found himself wondering what the sun might look like beyond the aeons of blue.

“In what, sorry?” he responded, confused.

“The painting.”

He noticed your name card pinned to your collar announcing you as a member of staff from the gallery.

“Oh, yes. I am,” he said almost sheepishly; his interest was still new to him. Wriothesley always prided himself on his curiosity though he’d never thought himself to be one interested in art. Yet on that random Tuesday when his assistant had got his meal wrong, he’d found himself wandering into the art gallery as if compelled by some supernatural force. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Wriothesley was sure that if he had known such a masterpiece was here, he would have come to see it.

“It’s new,” you said.

“Ah, I see.”

He felt your eyes linger on him for a second before you continued. “Most people are disappointed when they pay the five thousand mora to get past the security only to see this.”

He supposed objectively that he could understand why. If one was hoping for a room of mirrors or a light show they were bound to be disappointed. Then again five thousand mora did buy a meal deal at the local supermarket. But what was five thousand mora to him?

“How long has it been here?” he asked.

“As of right now?” you appeared to be looking up as if calculating, “Three weeks.”

“And how are the numbers?”

“At first people came for the exclusivity and the curiosity. But because the artist is anonymous, they didn’t advertise their art. It’s their thing, I guess. A sort of authorless art. I think it lets people project more. You know? Imagine themselves as the artist…”

Wriothesley did know. Even as a successful man, more than half of the projects happening in Fontaine were due to his discreet puppeteering. He did not like the limelight. He’d make appearances here and there but the people who needed to know him knew him, and those who didn’t could read the credits. It was his philosophy that one didn’t need their face everywhere to do their job.

 “But now… I guess we are lucky if we get twenty people in a week. There is other interesting stuff to look at in the gallery so…” your speech faded off.

Wriothesley hummed in acknowledgement.

“Honestly, there aren’t many people that show true interest in this piece,” you continued.

He could feel the excitement seep from your pores like solar flares, and he almost found himself stepping closer to absorb its heat.

“Do you want to know about it?” you asked suddenly.

Buzz Buzz.

“No,” he hesitated, glancing down at his phone. “Thank you.”

Your shoulders dropped but your smile remained.

“It’s okay.”

“Perhaps another time?” He found himself saying. He hadn’t known why he had proposed that. He had no intentions of coming back. He didn’t have the time to come back. To see; to stop; to experience, but he would. He knew that he would. Even if he had to make the time. He’d return in hopes of experiencing that feeling once more.

#

On a random cerulean Tuesday in Winter, he returned. It had been two months since he first witnessed the painting. Once again, he had wandered into the art gallery during a lunch break. And once again, he stood in the empty room. Alone. Lost in a dream within a dream. This time, as he stared into the painting that had once again entranced him, he became a blade of grass growing next to a beautiful flower. Watching it; admiring it; loving it. He couldn’t understand why in every instance you seemed to seep in. He didn’t know you, and yet it felt like he’d seen you in everything since that day.

‘A moment where time stops, worries fade, and everything feels right. That is the feeling we are chasing. That is the feeling we must never stop searching for. In those moments, I will recognise you in every lifetime. Across every state of being. My heart will seek out yours like eyes do at night, in search of a northern star. I will seek you in every beautiful thing. To you in every universe—’

Wriothesley leaned back, perplexed. The plaques lining the walls of the white room and under the ball held no information about the artist. What had it meant? He couldn’t fathom the thought of something so abstract.

“It’s you,” that same voice from before said from behind, tearing Wriothesley from his thoughts. He didn’t need to turn to know that the owner of the voice was you. Your silent presence had a magnetic quality, pulling him in without him realising it, and suddenly there you were, standing beside him.

“Hello,” he said, though the greeting felt insufficient when he laid eyes upon you. He couldn’t decide whether you had grown more beautiful, or his memory hadn’t held up the splendour that took his breath away when you stood with that genuine smile on your face, and your hands tucked into the pockets of the blazer you wore. You looked like a painting yourself, like something that had just stepped out of a Constable landscape and wandered into the gallery. An angelic apparition. You had a gentle sway to you like you couldn’t stand completely still. Wriothesley wondered if a gust of wind were to blow through the white room, would it blow you away too, like a leaf flees a tree in a breezy morning?

“Did you experience something different this time?” you asked.

Wriothesley’s features darkened. You couldn’t possibly see into his mind, and he wasn’t one to wear his emotions on his face. He’d learnt not to.

“Have I been standing here for a while?”

You shook your head. “No more than ten minutes.”

He blinked.

“It felt like longer, right?” you asked, cheerily.

“A lifetime,” he admitted, his voice softening.

“It does that.”

“Should I leave? Am I holding up the line?”

“No, you’re good,” you said. “No one comes here anymore anyway.”

You turned to the painting. It hadn’t changed, and yet for Wriothesley, the beauty of it seemed to spill out of the edges and illuminate you. Golden. Flickering. He found himself stealing glances at you, an intriguing stranger who had effortlessly piqued his interest. An intriguing stranger, who he only knew the name of and nothing else. Unconsciously, he leaned toward you, and you did too, as if pulled into each other’s gravitational field.

“Why is it alone?” he asked.

You stepped back and looked up at the giant white ball above, spinning in slow circles, and then to the plain white walls in the otherwise stark room.

“It’s not alone.”

“But it is,” he snapped, growing quite annoyed with his inability to understand your abstractness.

Wriothesley liked answers. Puzzles were fun, and they had their place in his world, but answers were like keys to locked doors.

“What makes you think that just because there is a singular piece in a room the whole place is not art?”

His brows furrowed.

Your smile widened as you turned to the painting. “If this room was filled with paintings, would you have noticed it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

He didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from you and your questions.

You took another step back, and Wriothesley watched you as you stopped directly under the giant white ball this time. With an open hand outstretched to him, he gathered that you wanted him to join you in the centre of the room. Eventually, he took one long step, and then another till he stood closer to you but not beside.

You lowered your hand.

“Let me put this another way for you, when you sit in your—” you looked him over, “meetings, and you attend your fancy work dinners, do you notice all the art around you? The furniture, the architecture, the choices made by your colleagues to look expensive. Do you stop to take it all in or does it become lost in singular shades of monotony?”

Wriothesley pictured the blues and greens of his life but dismissed the idea of you understanding his thoughts. “You don’t make millions by not noticing.”

You shrugged. “But you do become numb to it.”

“Correct me if I am wrong, but you’re saying that the whole room is art?”

Wriothesley couldn’t say that he was fond of modern art, but he did appreciate that it had a time and place.

“This room, stark and colourless, is as much a part of the painting as the painting itself. Without the painting, the room remains devoid of colour, but with it, the room comes to life. It’s as if the artist intended the painting to be a guide in an otherwise monochrome world. By which, you who see it realise that the painting was never confined to the canvas. But can see the beauty of the entire world, in all lifetimes, across universes. Or maybe it is something completely different, art is subjective after all.”

“To you, the world must be a beautiful place,” he mused aloud.

“And yours is not?”

He chuckled, “I can assure you it’s not as vibrant as yours.”

“What makes you think that mine is vibrant? What if mine is like this room? Bland and empty.”

He wouldn’t believe it, but then again, he wouldn’t not believe it either. It was always the people with the brightest souls who hurt the most.

“I’ll do you one better. What if it’s mine?” he asked.

“Are you seeing your golden star right now then, mister?”

“It’s Wriothesley, and maybe.”

Wriothesley noticed your eyes widen briefly before you suppressed a small smile and took a step back. “Well Wriothesley, I’ll have to agree. It is yours. It’s your mind, your world. The painting is your universe. At least that’s how I think the artist intended it.”

“There is no artist,” he said.

You tilted your head to the side slightly and clasped your hands behind your back.

“There always is,” you said and glanced back at him before returning to the painting. “If you have the time to hear about them, I will gladly tell you.”

In his pocket, his phone rang, filling the silent room. His time was up once again.

“Next time,” he said.

A sadness flashed across your eyes before you smiled.

“Sure,” you said.

#

A month passed, and the sad lingering look in your eyes haunted Wriothesley through his blue days. Green still rained from the sky, but every time he caught a glimmer of gold passing his office or on the street, he’d imagine it was you.

On a random Wednesday in Winter, one that felt more azure than usual, Wriothesley came again to the gallery. But this time, the white room was filled with modern paintings. Gone was the white ball and the night sky painting, and you. Gone was the security guard who would grumble every time Wriothesley dropped a small wad of mora in the man’s hand to let him into the paid exhibit. In its place, people heaved; phone cameras flashed and made snapping noises as they posed before the art, hoping to add it to their social media feed. Wriothesley didn’t enter the room; he couldn’t. He didn’t like crowded places, and none of the art was of interest to him. And none of them were you.

Wriothesley cleared his throat and straightened his tie as he approached the help desk by the entrance of the gallery. Behind it sat an older man, staring down at his mobile phone, humming along to a Vocaloid song that played in his earbuds. Beside him, a younger man, barely eighteen, who looked excited at the possibility of not staring into space any longer, waved Wriothesley over.

“Can I help you, sir?” the young man said. His name card, Timmie, glimmered under the artificial light.

“Yes, I think you can,” Wriothesley began. “There was an exhibit here about a month ago. One with a singular painting in it—no artist.” He wanted to ask about you but thought better than to do that.

“No artist?” Timmie asked.

“Yes, no artist.”

Timmie rubbed the back of his neck as if he couldn’t comprehend the idea of an exhibition without an artist.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“I am.”

After apologising quickly, he began typing aggressively at his keyboard. Typing and then deleting and typing again. Presumably, he was bringing up the list of art that had been exhibited over the last year. Wriothesley waited, tapping his foot, and watching people pass, nodding at the occasional person who stared.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t seem to find the exhibit you are talking about.”

Wriothesley frowned.

“Oh? But it was here last month?”

“It’s not showing up on my files without an artist’s name unless you remember the name of the piece?”

“To you in every universe,” Wriothesley said, remembering only the colour of your eyes and the gold aura that seemed to follow you. He was sure he’d remember that name until all the stars left the sky.

Timmie typed it out, and for a second, Wriothesley had hope. Until Timmie looked up and said, “Oh, that. It’s moved temporarily to the International Modern Art Gallery in Inazuma.”

“Inazuma?”

Timmie nodded.

“As has the artist,” His eyes widened. “Who would have thought? She’s one of our own.”

Wriothesley perked up at the information.

“Did you happen to have her name by any chance so I might look her up?” Wriothesley asked, trying to mask his desperation with cool indifference.

“I mean if you want,” Timmie said.

#

In the art shop attached to the gallery on an emerald Friday, more than a year later in Spring, Wriothesley found you assisting an elderly woman, wrapping a print of a painting. He paused, captivated by the sight of you. You were even more stunning despite the time passed and in comparison to the modelesque women he saw in his everyday life. Your beauty, accentuated by the soft lighting of the shop, and your radiant smile, seemed to light him up inside. He lingered amongst the shelves waiting for you to finish up with the elder woman, who was eagerly telling you about her seventh great-grandchild, to which you seemed to listen with just as much interest. He found himself mirroring your joy as he admired you until he stumbled upon a postcard of the piece he had spent months searching for. The one that had moved to Inazuma, then to Mondstadt, then to Snezhnaya, Sumeru, and Natlan, till he bought it at an auction, white room, giant spinning ball, blue painting, plaques, and all. In this picture, the last plaque was too small to be noticed, just as it had been when he’d stared at it both times in person. But he knew it was there, the final part of the collection of plaques. And the full name of the exhibition.

When the elderly woman left, he approached you, his eyes locked on you who had become his universe.

You looked up and smiled, “It’s a beautiful piece,” you said, gesturing to the postcard in his hand.

“It is,” Wriothesley replied, his gaze fixed on you rather than the inferior postcard print. Nothing could compare to the real thing. “But the exhibition has gone.”

“It has,” you confirmed. He was sure you knew that it was him who bought it. It wasn’t hard to figure out, he was obvious despite his outward coolness.

“Are you leaving too?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice. He had thought you were a dream. You’d been gone for so long that he feared he would have to wait a lifetime.

“Why?”

“You weren’t here,” he said, trying to keep his voice casual.

 “I was volunteering at a cat shelter,” you lied. “Did you miss me?”

“Mildly,” he responded, though he too was lying.

“Only mildly?”

He laughed, “Okay, maybe a bit more—”

“Just a bit?” you interrupted, your eyes sparkling.

“I missed your commentary,” he admitted.

“My commentary? Wow,” you said, feigning surprise.

“Oh? Not enough for you?”

You shook your head, your eyes dancing with mirth. He pretended to think, but in truth, he was searching for a simple way to express such complex emotions.

“I missed your sunny presence,” he finally said.

“My sunny presence?” you echoed.

“Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?” he asked, unable to suppress his smile.

“Maybe,” You leaned forward on the counter, your intelligent eyes tearing down his icy walls. “What have you been up to? Aside from missing me, of course.”

“I just abandoned a meeting to chase after a shooting star,” Wriothesley confessed, for once wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“And? Did you catch it?”

“Half of it,” he affirmed. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m just finishing. Why?” you asked, curiosity piqued.

“I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee with me?” he proposed, hoping he wasn’t too late. He’d already blocked off the rest of the night. He’d block off the rest of the year if he knew he’d get to spend it with you.

“I don’t like to drink coffee this late.”

“Tea, then? With dinner? I would love to hear about the artist of that piece. What was its full name again? For the painting and the room.”

“To you in every universe—” you began.

“For you, I’d steal the stars,” he finished. “Very sneaky of you by the way.”

Your lips parted as you took in a breath.

Wriothesley could feel every nerve in his body fighting to touch you, to be closer to you. You who brought gold into his monotonous world. You who he’d steal all the stars in the universe to be closer to.

“You know I never believed in coincidences,” Wriothesley said.

“Neither have I,” you said.

“I learned a long time ago that if you want something you have to fight for it. So, no pressure of course, but does tea and dinner sound good?”

Your grin was a small act that set his night sky ablaze with more glimmers of gold. To him, the shop couldn’t be filled with any more colours than they were then. Gone were the shades of green and blue, washed away by a spectrum of magnificence; where suddenly he was him and you were you, existing in the same universe.

“It sounds perfect,” you said.

╰────────────────────────╯

KO-FI MASTERLIST

[heizlut]

Monsterfucking with full form enjou

i’m obsessed with this and with everything you added when you messaged me! so i present to you:

Sacrificial Lamb

cw: blood, monster fucking, two tongues, degradation, size difference, belly bulge, squirting, loss of virginity, breeding, corruption, insecurity/comfort, labelling this as dark due to the blood

tags: virgin sub fem!reader, dom!enjou/abyss lector, mostly proofread (i tried my best)

m!list here

nsfw under the cut

a/n: this is a long one, so buckle up, keep both hands on the device, and enjoy the ride😉

.𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.𖤍.⋆•. ๋𖥔. .𖥔 ๋ 𖤍.

You weren’t unaccustomed to the traditions your people from the Dark Sea had when it came to worshipping those from the abyss. You grew up being told that in order for the abyss to live on and grow even stronger, women of your people were sent as a sacrifice to become an abyssal being’s bride. Whether that was a fact or not, the information intrigued you.

As you grew older, your fascination with the abyss and the creatures that come from it grew into an obsession. You prayed to whatever was listening that you, too, could be the sacrificed bride to one of their beings. Little did you know, your prayers were being answered.

Enjou was the one who heard your pleas to the abyss and he had taken quite an interest in you. He made sure to stay hidden as he watched you go about your days; enamored with the way you looked, talked, laughed, especially the way you often had your head buried in piles of books as you read anything you could find that had to do with the abyss. You were perfect for him.

It didn’t take long for you to get the news that your dreams were finally coming true. Your people dressed you in beautiful, thin white dress that grazed the ground as you walked. When they were done with their preparations, they wished you all the best with bright smiles, yet you failed to catch the hint of fear in their eyes. They knew it wasn’t likely that they’d ever see you again.

Once you reached the edge of your nation, a dark, swirling portal appeared in front of you. You were practically shaking with anticipation; the moment you've been dreaming about for years... From the portal steps a...regular looking human? Sure he stood tall at 6'1", but he seemed so..regular for something that was coming from the abyss.

He looked down at you with the most elated expression, but quickly schooled it as to not alarm you. He pushes his glasses up his nose and gives a soft smile, "Hello, dear~ Let me introduce myself, I am Enjou." You study him for a moment with furrowed eyebrows. Although confused by his appearance, you feel something in your heart pulling you to him.

Your expression shifts into one of sweet innocence as you smile and introduce yourself, "So, I'm your bride or..." You peek around his shoulder at the swirling portal. Enjou chuckles, amused by you, "Are you not satisfied with what you see? Were you expecting me to appear as a monster for our first introduction?" Your cheeks go red and you look down, too embarrassed to meet his golden eyes.

You were so innocent... Twisted thoughts flooded Enjou's mind and he reaches out, gently taking your jaw between his fingers and raising your head, "No need to be embarrassed, darling~ Come with me and I'll show you everything." The sound of his voice and the way he interacted with you made you feel as though you were melting. He releases your jaw, holding his hand out for you to take. With your hand in his, he takes you through the dark portal.

You feel a bit dizzy once you make it through, instinctively leaning your body against his toned one. Enjou laughs softly, feeling like he's falling even harder for you. You were so sweet, naive, and fragile. He wanted to ruin you, but with the best of intentions of course. Once your blurry vision adjusts and you regain your footing, you find yourself in a grand hall. It was dimly lit and seemed to pulse with the energy that feeds into the abyssal realm.

Your breath seems to get caught in your throat from the overwhelming power within and you wince. Enjou stops, standing in front of you now with a look that seemed to be a combination of pity and perverted delight, "You'll get used to this feeling." He leans down, his lips grazing your ear as he speaks in a low, suggestive tone, "You may even grow to crave it." You shiver at his words, but can't help the arousal that begins to pool between your legs.

Enjou straightens up and beckons you to follow him. He leads you to a large bedroom that was bigger than the home you used to reside in, "Welcome home, darling..." You look up at him with round eyes, your lips parted slightly, "This is for me?" That look on your face made his cock twitch and he has to restrain himself from ruining you right then and there, "For us", he corrects you.

Your gaze falls to Enjou, studying him once more, "Can I... See your other form?" Enjou's smile grows wide as he takes a step back, "Eager to see your husband in his true form?" His laugh is dark as his transformation begins. Now standing before you, much taller than his human form at almost 10' tall. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the pyro abyss lector with sharp, long fingers, a dark mask adorned with five curved horns that hid his face, and glowing orange eyes.

Enjou's laugh is much deeper now, "See something you like?" Even in his abyssal form, he was still a tease. You nod timidly and he steps towards you, "I'm sure you're aware that in order to consummate our marriage, you'll need to take me in both forms. And once we do so, the abyssal energy will make you immortal like me." "Yes, I'm aware...", your voice was soft as usual, but your cunt pulsated at the thought of taking him in his current state. "Then be a dear for me and take off that dress~"

You freeze. Obviously you knew you had to be bare before him, but you had always been particularly insecure about the little scars left all over your body from insect bites and the body hair between your legs. You feared he would find you unappealing and send you back. Sensing your hesitation, Enjou tilts his head slightly, "Is something the matter?" You sigh as you fidget with the material of your dress, "What if you don't like how I look? What if you..." You trail off and he takes your small hand in his large one, "I highly doubt that."

His tone was so sincere despite being distorted by his abyssal form. You chew at your bottom lip and finally give in. You slowly slide the straps of your dress down your shoulders, letting the thin, white material fall gracefully to your feet. Enjou is speechless at the sight as he took in every inch, every scar, and the cute patch of hair between your legs. You took his silence as disgust and you quickly reach down for your dress, but he stops you with the sound of your name.

You look up at him in shame that you had no real reason to be feeling. "I've never seen one as beautiful as you. Please... Don't cover yourself from me", his voice deep, but soft. You look up at him as if he hung the stars themselves, "Then... Where do we begin?" If Enjou could smile in this form he would, "Lay on the bed and spread your legs." Your breath catches once more as you lay on the bed, shaking slightly when you spread your legs open for him. The view alone made him want to devour you, but he couldn't discount the fact that you were a virgin. Oh how he planned to take his time teasing and corrupting your sweet little body and mind...

Enjou squats down, now eye-level your untouched cunt. Your eyes widen when two unnatural, pointed tongues slithered out from under his mask. Enjou chuckles darkly, "You'll enjoy this, darling. Trust me." Before you could protest, one tongue begins to leisurely flick against your clit while the other begins to prod at your tight hole. A drawn out moan escapes your lips, a noise you'd never heard yourself make before.

The sensations were so overwhelming, you dropped your hold on your thighs, making them squeeze against Enjou's mask. Without pulling away, he smacks your thigh and his voice growls from within him, "I told you keep those legs spread." With a whimper, you regain your grip on your thighs, trying your best to keep them spread as he demanded. "There's a good girl~", his tone dark and dripping with lust as his tongues begin to move with more fervor.

It doesn't take long for you to come undone, your juices coating the tongue that had been poking at your hole. To his surprise and great delight, the taste of your virginal blood was on his tongue. Your legs shake with overstimulation when Enjou gives a final flick of his other tongue on your swollen clit.

He leans back, satisfied with his work, and begins removing his cock from under his armor. Your lips part slightly as your eyes take in the throbbing length. Enjou's large hand encircles it, squeezing the clear pre cum from it's tip as he lets out a breathy groan, "Look at you... Fucked out already when I haven't even gotten to the best part~ Go on. Lemme hear you beg for me to ruin you." Your own arousal begins to leak onto the sheets, "Please make me yours..."

Your sweet voice carrying such a naughty request drives him wild and he wants to keep teasing to hear more filthy things comes from your lips, "Be specific, dear~ What do you want and where do you want it?" Your voice trembles, not just from nervousness, but from unbridled desire, "I... want your cock in my pussy." Enjou's laughter is twisted and dark as he positions his large body over your small one. One tongue licks its way up your neck while the other trails over your breasts, "As you wish~"

Enjou lines his reddened tip against your glistening entrance, gently pressing against it. You squirm as you feel a newfound pressure, "Wait, no! It won't fit, please!" "I'll make it fit", and with that Enjou, pushes his length into your tight, gummy walls with growl that claws at his throat. You cry out as you're stretched beyond what you could handle and you desperately claw at his shoulders. Once his cock is buried to the hilt, he speaks, "I'm going to move now."

You try your best to protest, but he begins to thrust in and out, slowly at first. Enjou looks down to where you two are connected, letting out a choked laugh that morphs into a groan when he sees your blood and sticky arousal cover his cock, "Look at the mess you're making all over my cock~ I want more."

He pulls out, leaving just the tip inside, then slams into you, beginning a ruthless pace. He was going feral at the sight of your lower abdomen bulging with the outline of his dick. If Enjou had been in his human form, you certainly would have drawn blood from the way you clawed at his back.

Your cries morph into moans of pleasure as his cock bullies into you, shaping it to fit only him. The flood of abyssal energy bleeds into your mind as something begins to shift inside of you. What was originally blinding pain came a new, dark and twisted sensation of uncontrollable lust. You wrap your legs around Enjou's toned waist, pulling him ever closer to you. Needing to feel every inch of his cock as it ruined you forever.

With a deep growl, Enjou's cock throbs wildly inside of you as his orgasm draws closer, "I'm gonna breed this slutty hole. Fuck you so full of my cum til your stomach aches with how full it is." He presses his hand to the outline in your lower abdomen, "Look how full of me you are already. Your body is so greedy~" Your eyes roll back as you let out a loud moan. Your cunt clenching around his length as you reach your climax, squirting all over his cock.

The mess before him and the way you clench so tightly around him bring him over the edge. Seemingly endless spurts of hot cum fill you up as the abyssal energy surrounding you two grows even stronger. After giving you both a moment to catch your breaths and come down from your highs, he slowly pulls out of you. A mix of both your releases and blood leak from your ruined hole. He simply can't resist using one of his tongues to lick it up, not caring that his own cum was amongst the mix.

After licking you clean, Enjou stands up and shifts into a semi-human form. Your eyes were glossy as you tried to prop yourself up on your forearms. You were fully affected by the abyssal energy that consumed the both of you and you needed more. Needed him. Enjou's golden eyes take you in. You looked even more beautiful panting and looking so desperate. He gives you a soft smile as he gets on top of you again, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "I hope you haven't forgotten that you need to take me in this form too."

Your lips curl into a tired smile, the new energy within you giving you confidence you didn't know you had. You take Enjou by surprise when you straddle his lap, grinding your pussy against his still oversized length. Enjou's surprised expression turns to a smirk as he places his hands on your hips, grinding up into you to meet your pace, "My beautiful bride... Are you really so needy for me~?" You nod you head as you keep up your movements on top of him, letting your slick coat his length.

Enjou chuckles, his voice gritty and low, "Then by all means, take what you desire." You reach behind you, taking hold of his thick cock, lining it up to your core once more. Your head rolls back and your eyes flutter as you sink down onto him. His grip on your hips tightens, letting out a hiss when he fills you up. Once you adjust to the feeling again, you being to move. Bouncing on his cock with your hands on his chest to keep you steady.

Enjou is mesmerized by the way you move. He leans up, opening his mouth to let his two tongues explore your breasts. One tongue flicks one nipple as the other wraps itself around the other nipple. You open your eyes, meeting his lustful gaze makes him smirk at you. Fuck, he was really something else. The tongues toying with your breasts and the way his cock makes your lower abdomen bulge as it drags against your walls...

It doesn't take much longer for your cunt to squeeze his length again as you let out a such a filthy sound when you cum. Enjou groans deeply when he releases inside of you for the second time that evening. You collapse on top of him, breathless and not caring that he was still inside of you. Your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Enjou runs his fingers through your hair, peppering your forehead with kisses. The action makes you nuzzle into him with an embarrassed groan, "Quit that..."

You were so cute, Enjou couldn't help the laugh that escaped as he puts his fingers under your chin to have you look up at him, "Why would I quit kissing my bride when she's the most beautiful and sexy thing that I'm lucky enough to have?" Your cheeks blossom with red, but before you can hide your face in his chest once more, he kisses you on the lips with a gentle passion that makes you feel whole. Enjou looks deep into your eyes with a look of undying love for you, "My sacrificial lamb... Forever mine."

.𖥔 ๋ .•⋆.𖤍.⋆•. ๋𖥔. .𖥔 ๋ 𖤍.

a/n: whew, i put my heart and soul into this one. i would’ve kept going but it’s long enough as it is 😅

[illmother]

ೀ ‎‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ⎯ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𝖕𝐚𝐫𝐚deisos 𝓼𝗰𝘂𝗺.

A/N: rewatched the rain burst event AGAIN and fell in love with rahu all over again, i now declare myself vice president of rahu nation. (if you will 🙏) i’ve been reading “On A leash” again and got inspired, so soldier x doctor it is

⏜ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ݁ Rahu x Paradeisos!Doctor!Reader

cw: a bit suggestive

Resilience, strength, obedience. Those words could very well describe Rahu as a whole, a headstrong, dependable soldier who wouldn’t hesitate to kill in order to pave the way to victory. Being part of the FAC elite division, she has faced many dangers alike, big and small. But regardless of this fact, it’s not uncommon for her to get injured despite also being a sinner with immense power, which brings Rahu to this predicament quite often.

The doors of the infirmary opens, and in walks the tall sinner. Immediately upon arrival, Rahu was hit with a nauseating scent, which in turn made her brows furrow. “That habit will kill you one day.” She sneered through her mask, walking up the source of that wretched smell that kept assaulting her senses, smoke and cheap cologne. Rahu’s expression remained stoic and stern, as she came up to the root of her irritation, and more notably—desires. Yet, only a small laugh could be heard, a sound so empty, so hallow, it made Rahu tense. Damn, that women, that damned doctor that claims she’s only here to treat patients, but rahu knew better than to trust paradeisos scum. Her eyes narrowed at the figure in front of her, draped in a white coat, head tilted away from her, she seemed to be paying to mind to the sinner.

“You say that yet, you come back to me all tattered up weekly.” You countered with a smile, leaning against the crisp, white wall of the infirmary, with a cigarette in hand. Finally, for the first time since Rahu’s arrival, you turned to face her, before your eyes trailed down to the state she was in. You noticed a rather large wound right on her abdomen—not deep, but enough for it to cause pain and discomfort, alongside other smaller injuries, and a visible frown formed on your delicate features. But for some strange reason, some stupid reason, seeing that change on your usually serious face was…weirdly intoxicating to Rahu. But just as fast as it came, it was gone, she was intrigued, she needed to see it again, see that look on your face, see what other expressions that stern face can morph into. “Really, who’s actually going to die first?” You asked with mild irritation and a hint of—concern? in your tone, snapping Rahu out of whatever trance she was in. You heaved a sigh of frustration before putting the cigarette out and throwing the bud in the ashtray.

“Come, let’s get you fixed up.” You gestured for her to come sit on a hospital bed with a nod of your head, and she complied, not that she had a choice if she wanted back on the frontlines as soon as humanly possible. You stared Rahu down, hands in your coat pockets, and she instinctively gripped the sheets, your stare was intense, and she needed stability. There was silence between the two of you, and you raised your eyebrow. “Undress.” You ordered sternly, to which her expression faltered, she let out a small sound of surprise. “What?” Rahu questioned, her hands gripping the sheets tighter, as her brows furrowed. You only looked at her with that same deadpan expression on your face, it only made her more irritated.

“Do you want to get treated, or no? your pick.” You gave her an ultimatum, either get treated or die in battle, her choice. Though, in all honesty, you were going to treat her either way, and you were well aware how suggestive you sounded when you told her to undress, but you couldn’t help but find every reaction of hers…quite endearing. A smug smirk was plastered on your face, as she begrudgingly started rid herself of her dark coat, leaving her in her white now blood soaked button down—if you were feeling optimistic, you’d think the blood wasn’t hers, but in this case you knew it was. Once again, there was silence, a deafening silence, one you would deem peaceful if it wasn’t for the sinner glaring holes through your skull. You sighed, before getting on your knees, kneeling down. Rahu watched your every move, from the way you gently lifted up her shirt to inspect her wounds, to the way you eyebrows furrowed when you were deep in thought. She seemed all too focused on your expression, your face, your lips—

Rahu instinctively shoved you away, when she felt you unbuttoning her shirt, her hand situated in your hair. You stare up at her, her face was covered by her oni mask, yet the tips of her ears were red, how…cute. Coming from someone like her. “What—what the hell are you doing?” Rahu stammered out, her grip firm on your hair, yet you didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. “How else am i going to treat you?” You countered, but still let go of her bloodied shirt, crossing your arms in mock irritation. “You should have just asked, i’ll do it myself.” She says simply with mild annoyance, before her large, calloused hands let go of your hair, and moved up to unbutton her shirt. “Rather skittish today, aren’t we?” You teased, before getting to work, cleaning and fixing her wounds up, before she inevitably gets injured again or exerts herself too much, so much so her wounds reopened. It happened more than once, more times than you can count, or even remember.

As you treated her wounds, occasionally hearing pained groans above you, it amused you to no end if you were, truly, being honest. Seeing her pale hands, covered in countless scars that had built up over the years grip the sheets until her knuckles turned white, it was beyond amusing to you, but even despite focusing on treating her, you could practically feel her eyes on you, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you shiver.

“Alright, you’re all fixed up.” You stated calmly, before standing up and straightening yourself out. “As always, i insist you stay here and recover. Going back to the frontlines in this condition would—” You expected her to just fix her appearance up, and walk out without another word, but to your surprise she only responded “I’ll stay.” Rahu stated firmly, before crossing her arms, you almost let out an laugh at how unexpected this behavior was, especially coming from her. “Have you gotten yourself so beat up, you’re finally listening to me?” You teased, before eyeing the bloodied shirt she had on. “It’ll do me some good if you get rid of that, it’s gonna reek up my infirmary. I’m sure the FAC will provide you with another in due time.” You hummed, gesturing to her shirt, to which she reluctantly complied and took it off. What a strange change of pace, not that you were complaining, she was much more tolerable, but somewhere, deep down, you knew why she was so hostile towards you. You were from Paradeisos, it was natural for her to be on guard, you really couldn’t hold it against her.

“You’re making that expression again.” Rahu commented, which makes your gaze shift from her discarded shirt to her face, and your eyes shine with a hint of attraction at seeing her exposed, toned stomach, your eyes trailed higher until they settled on her chest, and collarbone—you quickly snapped out of the daze you were in, and stared her in the eyes. “Do you enjoy looking at my face that much, you even notice the smallest of changes?” You teased with a grin, to which you noticed her eyebrow twitched, just the tiniest bit.

“You’re free to stare as much as you want.”