#why do i keep on wanting to draw armor

[calyssmarviss]

evandrin is kissing zerxus so tenderly on the mouth

and i took it as a challenge

[soaringwide]

PAC: How to enhance your personal allure and beauty? • Glamour Reading

This reading is meant to dive into your own personal glamour and find ways to magnify the way you appear to others, privately or publicly.

Beauty is about weaving illusions in some ways, but the best lies contain a part of truth. How to weave lies and truths to enhance your expression of beauty is what I'm going to try to uncover today, which is why we're going to look both at your natural abilities and untapped potential.

It's something I've wanted to do for a long time since it's a subject that fascinates me, and wanted to test it out in a tarot spread, so a pick a pile readings seems like a good starting point.

If you'd like a personal reading, I'm in the process of opening my website but in the meantime I'm available through DMs.

As always, this is a general reading meant for multiple people so it might not apply 100% to you. Take what resonates and leave out the rest.

If you liked the reading and want to tip me, I have a ko-fi.

PILE 1

Cards: The Hanged Man, Death, The Chariot, Knight of Cups, The Fool, 7 of Cups, Queen of Pentacles, 10 of Swords, Ace of Pentacles, Page of Pentacles

First, let's look into your natural beauty and talents, if you will. This is easy to tap into and you might already do it to some extent, and is what people perceive from you at first glance.

I see someone with a strong, magnetic presence that might be intimidating to some people, giving the vibe of someone who is confident and knows what impression they want to give off. You have a very deliberate style and strong personal allure that might lean into darker types of aesthetic, but it would definitely be ornate, romantic (in the true, dramatic sense of the word) and as far away from minimalism as possible. I see you choosing little elements that others might not notice but that are full of meaning and symbolism for you, like a piece of jewellery, or swapping the color of your shoelace or socks to fit into a vision you have in your head. Wearing hats or headpieces might also be something significant for you. You see your clothes and other visual upgrades as some type of armor you wear to feel stronger, more confident, and make a great impression on people around you. You like being noticed and want people to find you beautiful or stylish, but at the same time have very little regard for established rules and like to bring a twist of change in the way you appear to others. It's like you're already practicing glamour naturally, funnily enough, because I see you magnifying your natural talents already and you definitely are shrouded in some type of glamourized, attractive mystery.

When it comes to your ideal archetypal beauty, what you can draw inspiration from to push yourself even further, i see you as someone who embodies the characteristics of going against expectations when it comes to style and appearances. I get the idea of playing around with gender expression (might not apply to all or be applicable to varying degrees), going against what's commonly assumed to be fitting for your perceived gender to create something unique and different, but it could also simply be about going against common taste. It's about carving out your own path, inspired by yourself and your unique perspective on life, and by extension, on your style and appearance. This is not someone who follows trends and style guides mindlessly, but someone who is not afraid of calling everything into question, in order to incorporate what they choose and add their own unique flair to it. Taste is subjective and it's something you can learn to lean even more into.

Now, for the untapped qualities, or raw power you can learn to incorporate, I see strong Uranus influence, which was already highlighted in your ideal archetypal influence.

There is an elements to finding joy and pleasure in shocking others a little bit. Letting yourself be completely free with your style expression, but keeping personal enjoyment in mind. The goal is not to shock for the sake of being an obnoxious eccentric, but going to the core of what makes you feel empowered and free and fining the graceful pleasure in it. There is also the idea of weaving some type of illusion so that people can never guess what you're going to do next. I think you have an untapped natural talent for manipulating how others see you a little bit. Right now you focus on your personal magnetism, but you could push that even further and endow yourself in whatever illusion you see fit for the time or situation. I see you being able to work on your appearance like a beautiful work of art, following the vision you have in mind.

For how you can magnify everything I mentioned, here is what I see.

First of all, it seems that despite all the great things I said about you, deep down, you feel quite inadequate and vulnerable, which is perhaps why you put so much effort into your ''armor''. I've got to tell you that these doubts are only in your mind and that the powers I describe are felt very strongly by others, they might just never say it or only give you a light compliment, which you don't even take into account. You seem to keep these worry very private and assume everyone can sense that when it's not the case. So yeah I definitely see you are already doing sooo much but it's just in your mind you don't see it, which is the first thing you need to focus on. Because I think that these doubts might influence your stylistic choices to some extent, which would be self-sabotaging your natural and ideal strengths. Therefore, you first need to clear out these thoughts and hurts in order to see yourself as others see you, in your highest potential.

Secondly and once you've done that, you definitely are advised to invest further in your appearance, and by that it could be money but also time, effort and energy. I feel like there is a new direction that is available to you, perhaps to switch things up a little or express some things more intensely. In both cases, the very strong message is to be deliberate in your vision and keep your eyes on this. I think you already do it to some extent, but here we're talking about Glamour, glamour, like, it's not enough to pick a pair of earrings or the color of your top, you need to focus on what it is the impact you want to have on others is, and how to best achieve that, keeping in mind the strong Uranian influences about being your own Icon and breaking boundaries along the way. Really, the next step involves planning and deliberate steps. Don't just throw whatever in your cart but be mindful of what story it's telling and if it aligns with your vision.

If you liked the reading and want to tip me, I have a ko-fi.

PILE 2

Cards: Queen of Cups, 8 of Swords, The Star, The World, The Lovers, The High Priestess, Knight of Cups, The Hanged Man, Ace of Wands, 9 of Cups

First, let's look into your natural beauty and talents, if you will. This is easy to tap into and you might already do it to some extent, and is what people perceive from you at first glance.

What's actually really interesting is that there seem to be an opposition between constriction vs liberation, as embodied by Saturn in Aquarius qualities. It seems being in touch with your imagination and ideals is natural to you, you appear dreamy but in a melancholic way, a loner that people don't approach easily. People might get the sense that you are lost in your thoughts and that something else is taking your attention. You don't project a strong sun-like charisma, but rather, charm people when they get close to you and get a feel for your rich inner world. You are very authentic in the way you approach your appearance, as in, you don't seek to appear as someone you are not, up to a fault I'd say. Like, if you don't hold a high opinion of yourself that might stop you from dressing how you like because it doesn't feel true in some way. It's also like you feel constricted when you have to follow a dress code and would rather be able to wear whatever puts you at ease in the given situation, but then again it's a problem is you feel weak or stuck because it influences your choices. On top of that, I'm again getting strong ideals, so I would not be surprised if your social or political ideals influence the way your present yourself. Perhaps you have an inclination towards sustainable fashion or cruelty free beauty and it helps you feel more aligned with your inner world.

When it comes to your ideal archetypal beauty, what you can draw inspiration from revolves around the idea to let your idealistic and creative nature run free, like the waves on the ocean's shore. This hints at a poetic approach to your style and appearance, with the desire to evoke gentle feelings. Your archetypal beauty is one of a siren, enchanting and mysterious. You might benefit from beautifully ornate jewelry, nacre, pearls and shells come to mind, and I'm also getting renaissance inspired aesthetic like cherubs imagery and dramatic silhouettes, rosy cheeks and braided hairstyles. The ocean is wide and mysterious, fascinating and unknowable, and that's definitely an allure you can harness at your highest potential. Even in that configuration, you're still highly focused on your inner world but it appears on the outside as well.

Now, for the untapped qualities, or raw power you can learn to incorporate, I see a few messages.

The thing is that, despite the saturnine influences, you do have raw potential for a more radiant and inviting, shall we say, energy to you. With the Lovers which is connected to Gemini, you can really learn to actually express your rich inner world and come across as communicative and adaptable regardless of the social situation. Balancing out the coldness with warmth and being more inviting if you will. Someone people can't stop looking at, which implies you actually have to get out of your comfort zone and accept being seen by others.

Paired with you natural characteristics, this has the potential to increase your magnetism and make you mysteriously seductive because people will tap into both layers, sensing an inviting and charming first impression but also getting a feel of your deep inner world. There is also the potential to truly express your emotions through your clothes and appearance and thus sticking true to your desire for authenticity. Don't shy away from being creative and even artistic with your appearance. You have a natural inclination toward romantic styles and flowyness (sheer fabrics or silk-like textures) which can make you stand out in a crowd. Approach your style like a dream, something that is felt intensely and that you can get lost in. Play around with color combinations, and I would suggest having fun creating color palettes that evoke specific feelings rather than being minimal because you want to blend in. You can really project a striking vibe with your newfound confidence, with the help of your clothes and beauty care.

For how you can magnify everything I mentioned, here is what I see.

First of all there is a need to change you ways drastically. As we saw, there seem to be an opposition with how people currently see you vs what your potential is. Don't get me wrong, everything is present within you but it's like it's dormant. I sense you being somewhat stuck in your routine and stylistic habits and reluctant to change anything. You are being called to step up and take actions toward change. Dare to wear what makes you feel like your creative and dreamy self. You know yourself well but if you truly want to change the way people see you you have to take deliberate actions towards that. Not by wearing what you think people want but by going to the highest vision you have of yourself.

You would also benefit greatly from a more optimistic outlook on yourself and learn to communicate happiness, ease and expansion. Be more generous with your energy, which means that you don't have to hold everything in in fear of being judged or disliked, but rather learning to stand strong in your individuality and communicate it to others. Not everyone will like it obviously but those who do will be enchanted by your presence.

If you liked the reading and want to tip me, I have a ko-fi.

PILE 3

Cards: Ace of Cups, The Magician, 3 of Pentacles, The Hermit, 9 of Swords, 5 of Pentacles, King of Cups rx, the Fool, 7 of Cups, 3 of Swords

First, let's look into your natural beauty and talents, if you will. This is easy to tap into and you might already do it to some extent, and is what people perceive from you at first glance.

I get strong Mercury qualities when it comes to how you naturally appear to others. You manage to seduce others with your quick wit and knowledge on many different subjects. It's like, there is nothing you don't have a smart or funny opinion on and people love that about you. You are highly intellectual and I think you like mirroring that in your appearance, favoring established aesthetics and proven formulas, relaying more on your personality than your clothes so to speak. And if clothes you chooses to put the accent on, I see a more traditional and refined approach. Modest and put together. You are meticulous in your choices and don't like appearing messy. Nothing comes in excess, you pay attention to color and texture harmony and like a balanced, classic look. As a result you appear serious and put together to others.

When it comes to your ideal archetypal beauty, what you could embody when pushed to your highest degree, with the Ace of Cups, it is quite abstract than a given aesthetic. I see you having the power to initiate strong positive emotions towards others. Perhaps they admire you or have fond feelings for you, or they may fall in love or become friends with you easily. You make them feel easily connected to you by you presence and allure, you energy having that color that drives people in. It's like, a very friendly and gently type of charisma.

Now, for the untapped qualities, or raw power you can learn to incorporate, I'm not sure why but I feel a strong rag to riches vibe here. As in, it is possible that you have experienced mental and financial hardship in the past, a situation might have improved to some extent, but that probably isn't fixed completely yet. That left you scarred and you try your best to hide it, which is why it's in the raw power position. I see the potential to use that as a strength to add depth to your character. With the King of Cups reversed, you feel inadequate and undeserving. I'm getting the sense that when it comes to glamour, you can fake it till you make it so to speak. Don't forget we are talking about magnifying your allure and I think there's definitely an air of like, you know who you are and you are aware of your situation, but you don't want to appear that way to others. It's strange because for all pile I got strong impression and aesthetics here, but for you it looks more like something that's dragging you down, which means there's a potential to turn it into a strength in some way. You got the Ace of Cups as ideal archetype and the King of Cups is nothing but the Lord of this Ace, so if you manage to flip it you can embody its quality and empathetic, abundant authority and trigger positive feelings in others. There is also this idea that, even when you make that shift, you won't forget where you come from and will keep being highly empathetic and kind, and that will be part of your charm.

For how you can magnify everything I mentioned, I notice a strong idea of starting fresh and stepping away from the heartache that plagues you. There is a youthful carelessness to it as well, the idea of opening yourself to the world and see the richness you have within with your larger than life personality. You would benefit from letting that aspect of you loose a bit. You are a bit chaotic at heart and this is so so endearing to many.

Furthermore, don't get too focused on glimmers, as all that shines is not gold. I think you may have a tendency to seek material things to counter or hide your difficulties with money, but here it's all about character expression when it comes to charm people. But be mindful of how you interact with others as to not to appear aloof or unapproachable.

If you liked the reading and want to tip me, I have a ko-fi.

[howtofightwrite]

For a character that virtually can’t die and regenerates in order to keep living, how do you make action interesting? Emphasize they still feel pain, why they’re doing it?

I'm actually going to step back a bit from this question first, and complement it. This is a very honest question, and something most writers who include violence in their work, should really think about. Even if you don't think you have characters like this, you do.

Now, I'm going to dunk on Ben “Yahtzee” Croshaw for a moment. Ages ago (I think it was in one of his Resistance reviews), Yahtzee described, “threatening to blow up the world,” as the laziest form of raising the stakes. Because, “hey, I live on a world.” He's mostly correct. Threatening your protagonist's life is even lazier. In the vast majority of cases, your audience knows you won't go through with it. That you won't kill off your protagonists.

With that in mind, when you decide your protagonist is completely immortal, that changes less about how you write them than you might expect. The biggest difference is simply that they're directly aware of their plot armor, rather than them engaging in faux indecision based on their perceived mortality. Again, this is something that every writer who uses violence should think about, at least a bit. It is natural for a character to fear for their life, and have reservations about risking their life, but making the part where your character's lives are on the line isn't automatically suspenseful. In a lot of cases (consciously or not), your audience will call your bluff, when you threaten to kill off a major character.

If you think back to major character deaths where something drops them without warning, part of what makes those scenes work is the lack of (apparent) setup. The writer didn't spend pages teasing you with the idea, they just went for the throat and ended that character on the spot. This is more respectful of your audience, because you're not telling them, “well, I might kill this character, or I might not.”

To be clear, I'm not saying that there's no place for teasing your audience with a character's impending demise, just pointing out that in a lot of cases, this won't generate the kind of suspense you'd hope for.

So, to get back on topic, how do you make it interesting? Remember that while this character can't die, the same is not true for the characters around them. Depending on the tone you're going for, you could create an absolutely brutal crucible effect, where everyone around your immortal gets burned off, sooner or later. Whether that's literal, or figurative, is up to you. Even if your character can't die, watching people they care about suffer and die is going to have an effect on them.

You probably don't need to draw special attention to the physical pain they experience, but you do want to be aware of it. Especially in the context of how pain affects the victim's behavior. Beyond that, there is probably an element of pain being far more annoying to the immortal than it would be to a normal person. They know it's not telling them anything meaningful, but it is distracting.

Long-term, both of these can easily result in personality shifts. And, legitimately, this is a scenario where a character may be immortal, but they would still experience significant changes over time, and with the growing emotional pain, could have very adverse effects on your personality. This does have some very real, “live long enough to see yourself become the villain,” potential. How many friends can you lose before you stop caring? How many funerals can you attend before you start taking the phrase, “you're either part of the solution or part of the problem,” a little too far? How many times can you pick yourself up off the pavement a blood-covered alleyway, surrounded by corpses, before you start to forget what made you human in the first place?

And, that's not the only option. The simplest answer for maintaining tension when one of your characters is immortal is keeping your eye on what they're trying to accomplish. Keep track of their objectives, because I guarantee they can fail those. Even just keeping their own nature concealed from the mortal world is probably fairly important, because of the idea that men in hazmat suits will drag them away to some research lab and poke them until they figure out how to replicate their immortality, is a classic (and potentially plausible) threat. (Bonus points, if you're wanting to loop in something like the medieval inquisitions, or some other secret societies that could pose this kind of a threat.)

So, what do you do? To dig out an old cliché threat, “there are fates worse than death,” and it's probably worth exploring them. This also opens up new possibilities for threats. Finally, it's worth remembering that immortality does not guarantee success. If your character is hoping for that, it might be time to give them a very harsh lesson.

-Starke

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[leona-florianova]

To answer the question a bunch of people asked over the years,: "Why do you draw every Ankh-Morpork watch uniform different?"

..

I think there is no uniformness to the night watch uniforms, i mean..besides colors of the clothes...And that they also wear the insignia..

I feel like most of the official uniform helmets and other pieces of armor have sort of...disappeared over the years (their location was tactically changed). And whats left is mismatched mix that was amassed over decades of different fashions and technology. (alot of..uh.. lost and found...and confiscated)

-Vimes wears the same helmet he has been wearing for YEARS...Same with his breast plate...Keeping them appropriately delustered

-Fred Colons helmets keep on disappearing, so he has to get a "new" one every once in a while. His breastplate is the old sergeant one and he keeps it in pretty good shiny shape.

-Nobby has MANY HELMETS and many breastplates and chainmail shirts.. But has few favorites..and those he wears untill the leather snaps, the metals rust.. or grow weird green growths and ultimately break (which with him for some reason happens FAST)

-Carrot wears a breastplate he got from the watch armory, but helmet he wears traditionally dwarven.

-Most of other dwarves also wear their own helmets n armor ..

-Trolls just get whatever designs they can get made.

-Angua wears leather armor and usually doesnt wear a helmet (the other watchmen wanted to get her a boob armor, but after bringing it up to her, they very quickly dropped the idea)

-Reg goes through his armors even faster than Nobby, and has to buy his own.

*Edit: the uniforms not looking the same is how they were described in the books, s not from my head, just bad wording on my side.

[beskarandblasters]

Good Girls Are Quiet

aka riding the hilt of Din’s vibro-blade like there’s no tomorrow

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: I just want to preface this by saying this is filthy. That is all.

Summary: At the Outlander Club on Coruscant, you try to help Din capture a bounty. But when the bounty makes a move what on belongs to Din, that just won’t do. Din takes you a sleazy motel after and shows you just who you belong to.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, canon divergent (long live the Razor Crest), takes place when Din is an apostate, bounty gets handsy with you, possessive!Din, light canon typical violence, brat taming, reader gets “punished”, rough oral sex (M receiving), slapping, cum eating, nipple play, knife kink, riding the hilt of Din’s vibro-blade, daddy kink, helmet comes off, spitting, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, use of Mando’a words (cyar’ika = sweetheart), pet names (good girl), no use of y/n

The loud music in the Outlander Club vibrates your entire body, and the smoke hanging in the air fills your lungs. Kriff, this sucks. But it was your idea to help Din distract this bounty. You’re wearing a scantily clad dress, moving through the crowd, and scanning the room for your target; a human male named Colo. You took a good look at his bounty poster before heading inside the club but you’re still going to have to be vigilant. This place is packed and he could easily slip away without you or Din noticing. 

Din’s hanging out off towards the wall to not draw too much attention to himself. He tends to do that everywhere he goes so that’s why you offered to help. And just as your eyes land on the bar, you spot Colo, sitting alone and sipping on revnog.

Now you can set your plan into motion. It’s time to flirt. 

You walk up beside him, resting an elbow on the bar and looking around with wide eyes like you’re lost or something. He notices you out of the corner of his eye and turns towards you.

“You come here often?” he asks, mouth curling into a smirk.

“No,” you say, making your voice a higher pitch, “What about you?”

“I’m a regular, baby. How about I buy you a drink and show you what’s good?

“I think I have an idea about what’s good here,” you wink, internally cringing at yourself.

Maker, please be over soon.

“Oh, really?” he says, picking up what you’re unfortunately putting down. 

He leans forward and rests his hand on your hip, slowly inching towards your ass and squeezing it.

“How about you tell me what that is?”

You open your mouth to respond but before you can, Colo is against the bar with Din pressing his vibro-blade against his neck. It all happened in a blur. The second the hand cupped your ass Din was on the move. 

“Hands off,” he growls. 

But before the fight progresses any further the bartender shouts, “Take that outside! Now!”

You’re frozen, unsure of what to do next until Din grabs your hand and physically drags you out of there. You still can’t grasp how fast all of that happened, keeping your eyes averted to the floor to avoid the stares of the club-goers before stepping outside. 

And now here you are, silently walking the streets of the lower levels. You know Din is fuming underneath his helmet but… What does he have to be mad at you for? You were just trying to help. 

“Din?” you say softly, looking up at him. The neon lights reflect off his armor and you can’t deny he looks sexy right now, especially when he’s mad. You looove to get under his skin even more. You know he likes it when you act like a brat. He can deny it all he wants but you know it’s true.

He doesn’t answer you so you continue.

“I don’t get why you’re mad. I was just trying to help,” you say matter-of-factly, folding your arms and pushing your breasts together. They threaten to spill over the low-cut neckline of your dress. And that’s when he can’t take it anymore. He grabs your hand again and drags you down the street, but he’s going in the opposite direction of the docking yard where the Razor Crest is parked.

“Where are we going?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder at the direction you should be going. 

“To teach you a lesson,” he growls, stopping at what looks like a motel, a sleazy one at that. The neon sign is broken, only a few letters lit and one of them flickering. You can’t even read what it says. He pulls you by the hand inside, and the interior is even more abysmal than the exterior. Seedy characters lurk in the shadows of the lobby, staring at you and Din while he drags you to the front desk. You’re so stunned by his actions. Din never does stuff like this. He prefers to sleep in the comfort of the Crest where he’s in control of his surroundings. Not left at the mercy of whatever goes on at night in this sleazy motel.

You don’t question it when he gets a room for tonight, anxious to see where the night takes you. 

“Room one hundred and three. Down the hallway on your right.”

He takes the room key from the front desk worker and heads down the hallway, the lights flickering above you. He stops at a door, unlocks it, and shoves you inside. As soon as the door is closed he presses you up against it, bringing his helmet by your ear.

“Do you know why you need to be punished?” he growls, a hand sliding up your waist.

“...No.”

“Really?” he says with a low chuckle, “Maybe I need to help you remember.”

He grabs you by the waist and drags you over to the bed, setting you down on the edge. He stands in front of you, the bulge in his flight suit directly in your face. He grabs your chin, angles your face up towards his visor, and says, “Now, cyar’ika. Tell me why you’re getting punished.”

You try to look at the bulge that’s so close to your face by moving your head slightly. But he grips your chin tighter and teases you, “Nope. Eyes up here, slut.”

“For… for flirting with that guy at the club.”

“That’s right. I think you need to be reminded about who you belong to.”

You gulp and the hand not holding your chin pulls his cock free from his flight suit. 

“Be a good girl and suck my cock,” he says, pulling you towards his groin. You open your mouth wide and keep your tongue flat, taking his length in your mouth. He thrusts back into you, forcing his cock down your through as far as it’ll go. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes but you keep going, trying your best to be a good girl for him. His hands move to either side of your face as you bob your head up and down. 

You look up at him and his visor is fixed on you, watching his cock moving in and out of your mouth.

“You like sucking daddy’s cock?” he says, slapping you across the face. 

You moan in response, sending vibrations down his length. He curses under his breath and slams into you harder. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore he cums down the back of your throat, holding your head flush against his groin. 

“Take all of daddy’s cum like a good girl,” he commands, wiping away a tear on your cheek. 

He finally releases your head and you catch your breath. Wiping away the cum leaking from your lips you ask, “My turn?”

“Not quite,” he teases, reaching forward and pulling the comforter off the bed. You watch as he grabs his vibro-blade from his boot, activating it and plunging it through the mattress. You let out a gasp, in shock that he just ruined this motel’s mattress. 

“Din, what did you-”

“You can sit on that,” he says sternly.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You look at the blade vibrating inside the mattress and gulp before stripping your clothes and getting on the bed. You straddle the hilt of the vibro-blade, hovering over it. He moves behind you, reaching forward and cupping his hand under your mouth. 

“Spit,” he commands.

You do as you’re told, spitting into the palm of the glove. He rubs your saliva on the hilt, lubricating it for you to sit on. You take a deep breath and lower yourself on it, feeling the vibrations throughout your core. 

“Fuck yourself on it,” he says, hand returning to your chin. 

You rock your hips back and forth, just as Din’s other hand caresses the outline of your breast. He pinches your nipple between his fingertips eliciting a loud moan from you. The hand on your chin clamps down on your mouth. 

“Good girls are quiet,” he reminds you. 

You nod and let out a soft whimper, continue to fuck yourself on the hilt. 

“You have to cum on this first. Show me you’re worthy of daddy’s cock,” he continues, growling directly in your ear. He releases your mouth to take off his helmet and set it on the bed. He grabs your chin and angles your head up to face him. You catch a glimpse of him, his curls matted and his skin glistening with a layer of sweat. There’s a truly dark and primal look in his eye, watching as you writhe against him.

“Open,” he commands. 

You open wide and stick your tongue out, just as he spits directly into your mouth. Just for him to clamp it shut again and return his hand over it, making you stay quiet. 

With one last grind of your hips, the hilt is buried even deeper into you, and you can’t hold on any longer. You whimper against his gloved hand, trying to signal you’re gonna cum soon. You’re worried that if you don’t ask for permission somehow he’ll deny you your release. 

“Gonna cum?” he says, amusement in his voice. 

You whimper some more and nod incessantly. 

“Soak it.”

You cum around the hilt, your walls fluttering around the vibrating metal. You feel your wetness seep out of you, running down your thighs and onto the sheets. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, slowly releasing your nipple from his fingertips. He removes his hand from your mouth and pushes you forward so you’re on your hands and knees. The hilt slips out of you as you stick your ass up in the air for him, getting ready to take his cock. 

Din hooks his hands on your hips, aligning himself with your soaking wet cunt. He thrusts into you in one clean motion, cursing under his breath before pounding into you unforgivingly. 

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” you moan out.

“Who?”

“I belong to you, daddy!” you cry out. 

“Good girl, that’s right. Daddy owns this cunt, huh?”

“Yes, daddy. It’s all yours!” you cry out again, just as he slams into you with the most force he’s used so far. You cum around his cock, pulling his own orgasm from him. He cums inside you with his cock pressed right up against your cervix, letting out a guttural moan. He pulls out of you when he’s done and you fall forward, collapsing onto the bed. The vibro-blade is still impaled in the mattress. He pulls it out and deactivates it, leaning forward and hovering over you.

“Do you understand why you were punished now?”

“Yes, daddy,” you sigh. 

“You had a big night, mesh’la. Get some rest,” he says softly, lying down beside you and rubbing your back. 

Just before sleep overtakes you, you whisper, “I don’t know… Maybe I need to act up again.”

“Oh there’s no maybe,” he chuckles, “You’ll act up again. But that just means I have to keep reminding you that you’re mine.”

“Sounds good to me,” you whisper, drifting off to sleep under Din’s touch. 

-

You wake up the next morning and get ready to check out of the motel room, weirdly missing it already. But just as you turn to leave the building, one of the housekeeping employees stops Din.

“Sir?”

Oh, this is definitely about the mattress.

You both turn around to face the worker, an older woman who seems nice enough. She continues, “I don’t want to know how exactly the mattress was damaged. But we can’t let you leave until you pay a fee.”

“Okay…” Din says awkwardly.

She leads you to the front desk and lets the employee stationed there handle the transaction. The woman whispers something in the other employee’s ear. You can only catch bits and pieces of what she said but definitely something about a weird stain on the mattress by the puncture mark. You look over at Din, who's staring directly at you. You’re sure he’s shooting daggers with his eyes under the helmet. Yeah, you’re definitely not coming back here again.

The woman sets off down the hallway to finish cleaning the mess you and Din made, just as the front desk employee says, “That’ll be six hundred credits.”

Six hundred credits.

Din grabs credits from his pocket and hastily sets them on the counter before grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the motel.

As soon as you’re back out on the street he says, “See what happens when you act up?”

“You’re the one who stabbed the bed,” you say, folding your arms.

“You're going to end up costing me a fortune,” he sighs.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” you tease.

He doesn’t deny it, of course.

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[ravenelyx]

Hello! Do you take requests? If so I have oke for you :)

It’s similar to the recent one about Sebastian hugging the reader. Could it be with Omi this time?

I love your writings, btw.

I absolutely can !!! And thank you so much ♡♡

Let me in. - Ominis Gaunt

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader

Words: 1k

Warnings: fluff, kissing, angst and comfort, Ominis is touch-starved, Ominis is insecure, neck kissing, fuck the Gaunt family all my homies hate the Gaunt family, we all know Omi's past, cuddling and snuggling, House is not specified, (implied) established relationship

Summary: Ominis Gaunt has never learned how to love. But he has you, and you're willing to teach him.

A/N: I hope you like this!! I followed a different tangent than Sebastian's.

Masterlist

you can find the whole fic here on ao3 as well

Sebastian's version

He wishes love were easy.

But nothing had ever been easy in Ominis Gaunt's life.

When he opened his heart to her, he opened something deep. A Pandora box of sorrow and grief and everything he'd buried so deep he'd forgotten about it.

Unfortunately, his body never forgets. It shows when she takes his hand. It unleashes when she brushes his hair. That gnawing, scorching flame burning where her touch remains.

She asks him how he's doing, he doesn't answer, words trapped behind his teeth like in a prison of jelly and guilt. He thinks she doesn't really want to be bothered by his problems.

She takes his hand while walking, he moves it away, clutching it to his chest in an attempt to build back that armor she threatens to break every time.

"Ominis," she speaks quietly in the night, when he keeps her always at an arm's distance. "Please, come here."

He wants to cry.

"I don't know how."

The smell of her hair lingers on the pillow when she leaves, and he quietly brings it to him, burying his face in the softness of her girly perfume. Even then, he feels too much freedom; taking up a space that isn't his own. He turns his back to it.

She seems tired today.

"Ominis." Her voice is weary, sad. She's near the fireplace, brooding. He feels like he's done something wrong.

"What is it?"

He balks before approaching her, his voice coming out in a sycophantic squeak that makes his blood run cold. He is afraid: afraid she'll find him some day. That she'll offer her hand and he'll take it with no qualms, allowing her to pull him up, away from those doubts cramming his mind when she gets too close.

"Why do you never let me in?"

He's drowning.

Why? Why? The answer is immediate, pulled right from his brain by that tight awareness that has always been more of a curse than a blessing. Because Ominis Gaunt feels that he is phrogging in other people's existence until they get tired and throw him into the nearest garbage. Because he has never found a place where he could sit down, wind his legs and feel at peace. Because if one day someone finds him with his defenses down, when he hits the bottom of the bin headfirst, he will never forgive himself.

"I don't know how." His inveterate answer comes, drawing a sigh from her. She always drops the subject after, and he feels safe.

This time, she breaches the armor again, and he has got no time to glue it back.

"Come here."

His hands tremble when he follows, sitting down next to her. She opens her palm to him and he feels it on his leg.

"Take it."

Her fingers feel soft to the touch, slipping between his as if filling up a space in his heart he had missed, pushing back his doubts and making a home for itself. He holds her hand and runs his thumb on her knuckles.

"What does this mean?" He asks feebly.

"That you can do much more."

He feels the corner of his lips push down in a grimace. "I don't know h—"

"I'll show you."

Her movements are languid and elegant like a snake, and he feels like she might strangle him and cut his breath and leave him for dead. But he wants to keep holding her hand.

"What do I do?"

"Come here."

This time, he listens.

She lets him move first, wrap his arms around her, as if testing her shape. He runs his hands over her delicate ribs, then down to the soft curve of her waist, then around her; feels the weight in his arms, like she could crush him at any moment. But she doesn't.

She lets him pull her on him, giving him her body. His hands are shaking and he feels inadequate to hold her; to keep her safe and not let her fall.

"Just do what feels right," she whispers.

None of this feels right. But it feels comfortable, and it feels different, and it feels like his heart is slowing down and his weight is meeting the ground and pushing against it like he will never need to get up anymore.

And there are her lips. He feels them with his fingertips; the curve at the top, the soft flesh, the sticky texture of her lipstick. He brings his trembling mouth to hers for the first time and pulls away just as quickly.

"I'm sorry…" he almost cries again.

"Do it again."

He swallows and pushes his lips against hers. He doesn't have the courage to move and breathes against her mouth.

She giggles and his heart breaks, because of course he was doing it wrong. "I'm sorr—"

Her mouth moves against his, takes his bottom lip in a quick suckle and then frees it again. He holds his breath until he can't stay still anymore.

"How does that feel?" she asks.

"More…"

Something inside him cracks open at her taste, pushes and pulls and crushes him, and he holds on to her. It's all too much and it's all not enough. He licks his lips and tastes her lipstick and he wishes he could see her.

When she cups his cheek, he flinches.

"This feels…"

Horrible. Good. Terrifying. Perfect. Different.

"We can go slow," she says, and it's more than he could ask for. "But I'm here, and I'm yours."

He nods and attempts to find her, and he presses his forehead against her collarbone. She's warm there.

"Thank you," He's crying against her skin, and she skims her hand against his back.

He feels naked, a brush of cold hair against his chest where his defenses have cracked. She's pulling his armor down with a gentle touch, and he lets her until he hears it hit the ground loudly.

"You can relax now." He thinks he hears her say. Perhaps it was a dream. And when he hesitantly brushes his lips against her skin, he allows her in.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Tonality [4]

Pairing: Prince!Geralt x Princess!Reader

previous chapter

Summary: “The white wolf wants you. He’ll have no other.” As you grieve the loss of your father, your mother marries the king. Whilst you struggle to acclimate to your new life, you begin to suspect the interest your new brother has in you is less than familial.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Dark Fantasy, Darkfic, Step-cest, Medieval/GoT inspired AU, (Future)Smut, Dubcon/Noncon, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, MINORS DNI!!

A/N: a little more story, a little more tension, a little mor everything! what do you guys always, please mind the warnings, and enjoy!😊🥰 divider by @firefly-graphics​

 The Nilfgaardian banner snaps in the sharp, salt-laden breeze, the dark fabric bearing the crest of its namesake. The bright yellow sun mirrors the one in the cloudless sky above the keep. From your room, you can see their approach long before they reach the gates, a thin vein of black weaving through the countryside like a snake. The garrison pauses only briefly in the city, winding through the crowded streets in their pitch colored armor like a long satin ribbon. You grimace at the sight of them, swallowing against the sourness you feel growing at the back of your throat. 

 You do not know why the sight of them fills you with a dark foreboding, a shadow that looms in the space behind your thoughts. Perhaps it is the knowledge that you are expected to greet the Nilfgaardian envoy alongside your mother, the king, and the prince that makes your stomach curdle.  

“My Lady, should we not join their Majesties?” Kassandra’s voice draws you from your churning thoughts. “Her Highness would not be pleased if we were late.” You swallow the dry retort that your mother would not be pleased no matter what you did, and automatically feel guilt over the bitter thought. You grimace before nodding at Kassandra over your shoulder. 

 Nothing good will come of this. The feeling—no, the knowledge—is as familiar to you as your own name, appearing among your thoughts as if it had always been there. Only sorrow will come of this day. 

 “Are you alright, Your Grace?” 

 Your throat tight, you smile. “Y-yes.” I am grim without cause. You shake yourself, smoothing your hands down the stiff, unfamiliar dress. It’s new, gifted to you only this morning as your mother had informed you of her expectations. 

 “You’ll look lovely in this,” she had bade the servants to lay out the massive thing, a veritable ocean of fabric, with so many skirts and stays you find yourself amazed you can even move at all. You detest the restriction and corsetry of it all, fidgeting with a frustrated grimace as Kassandra opens the door. Your thoughts must be plain on your face, for she is quick to reassure you as you pass.

 “You are a vision, Your Grace,” she says, hurrying to your side as she closes the heavy door behind you. Despite your displeasure, her words do comfort you, and you offer Kassandra a watery smile in thanks. “I daresay you shall be the envy of every Lady in attendance.” 

 You laugh dryly. “Even you?” Kassandra’s response is unexpected—she shakes her head, pressing her lips together into a thin, apologetic smile.

 “No, my Lady.” She says softly. There is true pity in her eyes, which stings all the more. “Though there are many in His Majesty’s keep who would treat with the Gods themselves to take your place—and, exalted though it may be, I am not among them.” The words pass unspoken between you, true honesty masked only slightly by propriety. “I would not wish that for all the world.”

 The throne room is as packed with bodies as it was at your mother’s coronation only a few scant weeks prior, servants weaving deftly in and out of the crowd. It parts easily for you, people scrambling out of your path as you make your way toward the throne. Geralt stands to the king’s left, and you feel the weight of his gaze upon you so heavily it is as though he has touched you with his hand. 

 “My King. I trust you are well this morning?” He heaves a heavy sigh at your question, massaging the graying hair at his temple. 

 “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” King Vesemir graces you with a tired smile. “But I am glad these worries are mine. Would that they fall on mine own shoulders and save yours.” Of these troubles, you know only what little you have managed to glean from casual conversation and your own observations—the Lord of Nilfgaard has sent his envoy, along with a garrison of troops, to treat with the king. 

 Your mother scoffs. “You are a King, my love,” she says, tilting her regal head at him. “You can do nothing without rousing at least a little of the rabble.” 

 You take your place next to her, skirting around the prince with a wide berth. Your mother reaches for your hand, patting it as she nods approvingly at you.

 “You look as lovely as I thought you would.” Somehow, her complement makes you like your clothing even less. The dress is heavy and cumbersome, the corset laced so tight a deep breath makes the seams groan. 

 “It is the color.” Geralt’s interjection makes your mother’s smile thin and tighten, until the edges seem brittle like paper. “It suits you, sister.” Is there no line he will not cross? From behind his wide shield of plausible deniability he mocks you, his mouth quirking innocently as if he is unaware of the boundary he dances upon. Gracious acceptance is the only play you have, and he knows it as well. 

 “You are too kind, my Prince.” You clasp your hands together and face forward. It is surreal, almost, to see the calm with which he regards you now, when only a week ago he had raged at your door like a madman. Had you not seen it yourself, you would not think it possible. Though you would blame him for it, the nervous twisting of your stomach is not Geralt’s fault alone. The ill feeling that had taken root in your belly at the sight of the Nilfgaardian envoy still left you with a sour taste on your tongue, one that did not seem to wash away. 

 And the dreams…

 You shudder to think of them, the dark, creeping things that keep you awake long after the halls of the king’s keep have fallen silent. You have not wandered from your rooms again to your knowledge, but you’ve slept so little in the past week that you suspect it is less a matter of your self control and more the lack of opportunity. The nails on your fingers, hidden by the cumbersomely long sleeves of your dress, are bitten down to the quick. It is a new habit you’ve developed sitting in the crushing dark as you wait for the dreams to come. 

 Your father’s rotting face swims before you again. 

 Sugar sweet—  

 You twist the heavy fabric of your sleeves in your nervous hands as you stare hard at the stone floor between your feet. 

 “What troubles you, Little Doe?” Geralt’s voice is as much of a surprise as his proximity, his side lightly pressing against your own as he leans down. You drop your hands to your sides like deadweight, suddenly aware of his eye. 

 “And why would you think me troubled?” You ask curtly. The prince’s wolfish grin sends a strange, hot pulse straight to your core, one you vehemently try to ignore. You are under no pretense, you know what the prince is, who he is. He has gone out of his way to show you, and yet—

 “I am apt to know trouble when I see it.” 

 The throne room doors slam open, leaving you no time to respond as every eye is drawn to the entrance. The instant hush that falls over the room is so deep that the herald’s voice is like a crack of thunder. At the same time, your stomach tightens. The dark warning in your heart rings again like a bell, clear and true. Though you still do not quite grasp its meaning, the message is clear—whatever you’d been meant to avoid had now come to pass, leaving no room for escape or denial. 

 “Presenting His Lordship, Duke Emhyr of Nilfgaard!” The duke sweeps into the throne room, his ink-black cloak billowing behind him. There are two of his own guards flanking him in their telltale black armor, like pools of animated shadow. Their faces are hidden by their helms, the sides carved like griffin wings. 

 The duke stops before the throne, dropping down to one knee. 

 “My King.” His accented common turns the words up at the edges, almost like a question. “Hail.” His face is handsome but severe, high cheekbones, fierce, beady eyes, and a thin mouth that curls up at the corners, just like his words. There is a scar on his face, long and thin and jagged, stretching from his left temple to the right side of his chin. His already wan smile thins further as he turns to your mother. 

 “My Queen.” 

 “Lord Emhyr.” The duke’s smile is wan as he dips his head again. “I bid thee welcome. I trust you found the journey pleasant enough.” The words are empty pleasantries, merely frivolous formalities exchanged before the truth is allowed to be addressed. 

 “Aye, Majesty, as enjoyable as one can find a carriage journey.” He straightens back up. “I would extend my many congratulations on your union. The Gods themselves could not have delivered a more beautiful Queen.” 

 To your surprise, it is Geralt who speaks next. 

 “We did miss you at the celebration, my Lord.” The remark is meant to sound like a casual observation—you know it is not. “Quite a pity.”

 Emhyr’s jaw tics. “Indeed.” He looks over his left shoulder, and motions the guards forward. “My deepest regrets. As I previously expressed to His Majesty, my presence was required elsewhere. As I am sure you recall, we do share a border with the Elves.” He spits the word like a curse. “Occasionally those savages do need a good reminding of where their lands end, and ours begin, Your Grace.” 

 You shudder. There are few elves left south of the heavily policed Nilfgaardian border, but you have met some. Savages. The word makes your lip curl. They are rather fond of that word, aren’t they?

 “I did bring a—belated—wedding present.” Between the two of them, the guards haul forward a small black chest, the polished wood glinting in the light. He pulls back the lid, and a murmur travels through the gathered courtiers at the sight of the jewels. A small fortune in dark blue sapphires sits within. King Vesemir stands, bidding two of the ivory cloaked kings-guard forward to take the chest.

 “A most precious gift.”

 “The mines remain prosperous. Perhaps Her Highness might have them made into something befitting her loveliness.” A smile creases your mother’s ruby lips, but it is sharp enough to cut. Neither does it reach her narrowed eyes. 

 “We cannot thank you enough for your gracious gift, my Lord.” Her voice is delicate, like breaking glass. “But I do not believe you rode for six days to bear witness to my beauty.” You are left to wonder in the brief moments before Duke Emhyr answers. If he will allow the truth to be broached, or if he will flee from it like a rat from a burning ship. 

 “Indeed my Queen, I have not.” He casts a look around, as if the words he is about to speak are for everyone there, not just the king. “Your Grace, I come before you today with only the deepest respect for your will, authority, and wisdom.” Duke Emhyr chooses his words carefully. He chooses them as carefully as a mason did his stones, stacking each one meticulously on top of the other. “But I do admit my heart longs for clarity on this matter. 

 Not a season past, when His Majesty announced an end to his long mourning period, and indeed his intent to marry once more, I did put forth my own daughter as prospect.” His accusation takes shape, and you watch your mother’s face tighten, her fingers curling around the polished bone arm of her throne. “And before this very court, His Majesty agreed. I had imagined a shared future of prosperity and happiness between both our great houses. I mean no offense, and so I beg pardon—”

 “And yet you have given it.” Your mother’s expression remains placid—her voice less so. You can almost hear the icy words forming on her tongue as her lips part to speak again, but the king silences her, holding up one steady hand. 

 “I appreciate your candor, my Lord,” he leans forward. “But it is Vesemir who rules here, not Emhyr.” All chatter ceases, and the chamber is as quiet as the crypt beneath it. “The decision as to who it is I marry is mine—and mine alone.” King Vesemir stands, descending the short set of steps until he is level with the duke. “It is I who bears the burden of ensuring the prosperity and stability of this realm. And while I am ever thankful for the service you have provided it… you would do well to remember that fact, my Lord.” 

 “Of course, my King. I—I mean only for the betterment of the empire.” It is then that his eye falls to you. “I see no reason a match might not still be made—”

 “Then we shall speak no more about it.” You watch the duke’s jaw tighten, his lips thinning as he fights not to show his displeasure. 

 “As you will, Your Grace.” You have not heard the last of this matter, of that you are certain. A sinking feeling rises in your stomach, like you’ve tumbled freely over the edge of a cliff. There is no going back, the feeling seems to whisper, goosebumps erupting across your flesh. A path has been chosen now and you will walk it—

 “I thank you again for your generous gift, Lord Emhyr,” the dismissal is obvious in the king’s tone. 

 “The pleasure is mine, my liege.” The words sound broken in his mouth, like he’s chewed them up. A cold finger traces down your spine as his eyes meet yours again. “I thank you for your counsel.” 

 —

 The sky is dark, angry black clouds roiling above the keep. You’ve not seen much rainfall in Rivia since your arrival, but today the clouds above you seem full to bursting, the smell of the imminent downpour filling your nostrils. Still, you take your time as you stroll through the gardens, stopping every so often to enjoy the sight of flowers in bloom. 

 “You are enjoying the gardens today, my Lady,” Kassandra’s observance is gently made, though she looks worriedly up at the sky. 

 “I feel I must,” you reply, leaning down to inspect a half-closed bud. “Summer here is drawing to a close, and I must admit I fear the cold.” You offer her a small smile over your shoulder. 

 “Have you no winter in Redania?” She asks, wonder coloring her words. “The land of eternal summer indeed.” 

 “No snow,” you agree, shaking your head. “Tis more like… autumn.” There is a wistfulness to your words you cannot suppress, a longing that brings moisture to your eyes. In truth, you doubt it will matter how many years you spend here at court—Rivia will never feel like home. Kassandra smiles thoughtfully. 

 “I should like to see it, my Lady,” she says. “Twould not be a chore to accompany you—if you wished it so. The winter here is harsh, even within the city walls.” 

 “Aye, winter on the continent is no easy task to weather.” The two of you turn at the sound of a new voice to face the speaker. Duke Emhyr bows respectfully, removing his cap as he does so. “I did not mean to intrude—I find the gardens less familiar than I imagined,” he adds, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Might I trouble you for an escort?” 

 You had not seen the duke since his spectacle at court the day prior, the matter of which had the courtiers aflutter with gossip. You suppose you, like Duke Emhyr, had been equally blindsided in the matter of your mother’s courtship and her subsequent marriage. Nervously, you wonder if his feelings of dissatisfaction—and possible animosity—extend to you by proxy. Kassandra curtsies, and you nod, forcing a small, charitable smile onto your lips. 

 “O-of course, my Lord.” You reply. “I myself find the task of navigating the keep daunting, despite calling this place home.” Kassandra falls into step just behind you, and you must physically stop yourself from commanding her to walk beside you. Though you’ve little personal regard for the importance of blood and titles, you know here in Rivia those things matter above all else. The duke is more than happy to ignore her, his hawkish eyes weighing heavily on you. 

 “How long has it been since your arrival at the White Keep, if you will indulge my curiosity?” 

 “Nearly three months.” Though you have kept count of every passing day since your arrival, to say it aloud makes homesickness rear up in your chest. The duke clucks his tongue pityingly. 

 “Tis a shame. Redania is quite beautiful this time of year. I have had the pleasure of many a visit.” He clasps his hands behind his back and casts a look at the dreary sky. “Nilfgaard is my home, but I would be a liar if I said I did not envy the beauty of the southern jewel.” The wistfulness in his voice inspires thoughts of warm autumn nights scented with pine and faded sunlight. But a warning echoes in your heart at the false note in it, the one that reminds you of the coy, prying questions of your mother’s ladies in waiting, only cloaked in a cleverer disguise.

 “Indeed.” You round the corner of a hedge. “I have never seen snow, now that I think of it. I should much like to, now that I am older.” 

 “Never seen snow?” The duke echoes your words, replacing your simple desire with shock. “Though I would not speak ill of your late father—Redania has never seen a finer Regent—I do believe he kept you far too sheltered.” It takes effort to keep your smile from going thin at the mention of your father. As  if in response, a dull ache throbs in your chest. 

 “How lucky for us, then, that his death should bring me here.” You flick the words from your tongue like the lashing of a whip. There is a brief moment of dark satisfaction as the duke’s eyes widen, and his confident words falter. 

 “My sincerest apologies, Princess, I did not mean—”

 “No, of course not.” You reply, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat. “Forgive me, Duke Emhyr. My father I are—were, quite close.” You offer him an apologetic smile. “Might we speak of something else?” 

 “Of course, of course. My deepest sympathies.” He casts a furtive glance in your direction. “I hope you have been enjoying your time here, despite the… unfortunate circumstances.” You nod primly—for what words do you have to  describe the aching emptiness that fills you at the thought that home is a distant             thing now, the memory of a place you no longer belong. 

 “I have found ways to occupy myself.” You feel as thin as your smile. “The White Keep is large, there are many ways to spend ones time.”

 “And Her Majesty has certainly taken to her role,” he continues. “She has taken to court as though she were born here.” There is a note of bitterness in his voice. “Has she spent much time in Rivia? Surely during His Majesty’s rather short courtship—”

 “I know little of my mother’s courtship,” you say flatly, your eyes narrowed. “If you wish to know about it, perhaps you should ask her.” This time, it is difficult to leash your ire. You grow tired of the duke’s probing, his thinly veiled attempts to pick information from conversation behind the shield of feigned ignorance.

 “Highness—”

 “I trust you will can your way from here.” There is an unfamiliar coldness that underscores your words, one that uncomfortably reminds you of your mother. It is like hearing her own voice from your mouth, leaving a sour taste on your tongue. “Lady Kassandra, l believe we should take our leave.” 

 “At once, My Lady.”

 You leave him at the entrance to the gardens in the courtyard, sweeping past as his eyes bore into your back. 

 —

 “How does it end?” You are sat before the fire, a book held tenuously in your hands. Your loose, traditional dress is folded beneath you primly as the flames dance in the hearth. “How does it end?” Your father repeats warmly, chuckling as he leans forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. “You stopped reading.” 

 You can’t quite recall where you were now, the words seeming to shift on the page as you squint at them. 

 “I… I don’t remember now,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at your father. Though the flames are bright, his face is shadowed, but you get the feeling that he is smiling. 

 “The princess has just met the wolf,” he replies. “She doesn’t know it yet, but he plans to devour her whole—body, and spirit.” You look down at the page. “She is careful, the princess, and clever, but the wolf is sly, and he is not the only thing she has to fear.” You do not know why, but his words fill you with an incomparable sorrow. 

 “What else does she have to fear? Is the wolf not enemy enough?” You are crying. You don’t know why, but you are, tears pouring down your face and dripping messily off of your chin to stain the pages with salt. 

 “Weep not, daughter. She may yet avoid his jaws—and if not that, then perhaps she might at least turn him to her will. But the peacock—she is her true enemy.” 

 “A bird?”

 “Yes, dear girl,” your father’s voice goes strangely quiet as the fire burns low in the hearth, and the sitting room is shrouded in gloom. “For while her pretty feathers distract you, her beak plucks out your eyes.” 

 You wake blearily, blinking in the darkness as you struggle back to wakefulness. Instead of your bed, you are knelt on the cold, stone floor in front of the half-dead hearth. The embers that still smolder within are not enough to give off true heat, and pins shoot through your legs when you struggle to your feet. It is frigid in here, and you shiver, clutching your thin nightgown tightly around yourself. 

 You’ve no memory of leaving your bed, nor of kneeling in front of the hearth, and you sniffle as you make your way back beneath the canopy above your bed. There is a familiar ache in your tight throat that feels like you’ve been crying, and when you lift a shaking hand to your cheek. 

 Your face is wet with tears.

 —

 Your mother strokes your head as you sob, your tears soaking into her gown. 

 “I—I fear sleep, I fear waking,” you rasp, wiping at your sore eyes with the back of one trembling hand. “T-there is no respite from them. I close my eyes in one place and open them in another—” A hiccoughing sob cuts the words in half. “Mother I fear I… I fear I shall go mad if I see father again. His face—!” You bury your head in her lap as another round of shuddering sobs wracks your limp body. 

 It has been years since you have sought your mother’s comfort like this, and in truth you cannot remember the last time it was even offered. She had been surprised to see you at her chamber door at this hour, disheveled and still clad in your nightgown, but she had let you in after you’d tearfully recounted the contents of your dreams. 

 She strokes your head. “Nightmares, my love. Nothing but terrors spun up by your mind—brought on from stress, no doubt.” Her hand is cool and comforting against your forehead. “I shall have the healer assemble something for you.” 

 “T-thank you, mother.” You offer her a watery smile.

 “Anything for you, my love.” She strokes your cheek affectionately, the bandage wrapped around her index finger rough against your skin. “I do so hate to hear of your suffering, I will do what I can to appease it.” You smile wider, even as you swallow back the inappropriately bitter feeling that says you have been suffering all this time regardless. This was the response you had desired from her all those weeks ago when you’d begged her to send you home—and now, for some reason, it feels… hollow. 

 “What happened to your finger?” You ask, and she sighs, waving her hand dismissively. 

 “A hairpin, nothing to worry yourself over.” You dry your eyes, dabbing at them with a handkerchief. Your mother barely acknowledges the timid knock at the door before the chambermaid pokes her head inside. 

 “Highness? H-His Majesty is here.” 

 Your mother does not look surprised to hear this. If anything, the corners of her mouth curl up into a sly smile for half an instant before she nods. 

 “I see. I shall see to him in a moment—” The maid squeals as the King himself pushes past her, his eyes wild. 

 “Thayet!” He calls your mother’s name with a hoarse, desperate voice. “I have waited over an hour for you—oh.” He seems to note your presence with all of the recognition one would give a fly. His bright, golden eyes are cloudy with confusion—as though he hasn’t the faintest idea who you are, or why you are there. Recognition finally lights in his eyes, and he nods at you. 

“Princess. It is… quite late,” he says slowly, as if he is only now realizing that fact himself. “Should you not be abed?” Your face heats with embarrassment. 

 “Ah, y-yes, my King. I was… troubled.” Your eyes dart between him and your mother. “But mother has allayed my fears.” You gather your shawl about your shoulders, bowing your head respectfully. Of course he would visit her as a husband—that is a fact you suppose you have known since you came to this place, but to catch the King in your mother’s bedchamber was another thing entirely. 

 The eagerness in his eyes as he looks at her, the way he licks his lips—it reminds you uncomfortably of Geralt, and of the need you see mirrored in his amber eyes. You retreat from the sitting room, though the sound of your mother’s voice makes you glance over your shoulder one last time as the door begins to close. 

 “I shall send Callista with a sleeping draught,” your mother calls at your retreating back. “For the dreams.” 

 Your stomach turns uncomfortably as you watch the king latches onto your mother, pulling her close as he trails desperate kisses down her arm. You are too far away to hear the words he growls through his gritted teeth before ripping at the bandage on her thumb and sucking the injured digit into his mouth. 

 The door closes with a loud bang, leaving you alone in the dark, empty hall. 

 The peacock, your father whispers in your memory as you shuffle back toward your room in the early hours.

 She’ll pluck out your eyes. 

to be continued…

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[pien-art]

-FAQ-

Hello! I've gained a whole bunch of followers lately and I've been getting a lot of questions about commissions, what my setup is, what brushes I use, etc, so I thought I'd make a post about it to answer everyone's questions at once !

Putting them under the cut <3

Commissions:

Commission prices are listed in my pinned post. You can send me a private message about your commission idea and we can get to talking :) It is helpful to have enough references handy (character, outfit, descriptions etc)

I am generally a fast drawer but I also have a job and a physical disability so there might be moments I can't work on your commission. But that is never longer than a few days at most.

Payment is upfront, the full amount and via paypal only. I know this might seem a bit scary but unfortunately there are a lot of people who end up not paying for commissions and I want to avoid that.

During the process I will send you frequent updates and will ask for input, to see if it is going in the direction you want. You can ask for changes during the sketching progress but once I've started on line-art and coloring, no big changes will happen. (You can for example ask for a different color for a shirt etc, but not for a different prop or pose or expression)

When it is completed, I will send the drawing to you via email. The drawing will remain mine and it is not to be sold or profited of by the person who commissioned me. If the commission is for something commercial/for selling, that needs to be discussed. I prefer to do drawings only for personal use!

For more questions, my dms/asks are open :)

How long have I been doing digital art:

I've been drawing digitally for about 5 years now i think? But before that I've been drawing and painting traditionally literally since the moment I could pick up a pencil.

Set-up:

It's just me and my ipad and apple pencil laying on my bed. I wouldn't even know where to begin for those whole multi-monitor/screen setups ;-; I draw only with Procreate

Brushes:

I tend to play with different brushes from time to time to get different textures, but generally i use the same few for most of my drawings/styles. My favorite one is the Peppermint Brush, for sketching. I use it in every drawing i make! I always sketch with it, and often do the line-art with it as well! And it makes for a nice textured brush for rendering as well! (i used it for a lot of rendering of the armor in this drawing)

The (procreate) brushes i use a lot are

for medieval style: inking - Ink Bleed (for line-art) artistic - Quoll (for coloring)

for general style: calligraphy - Chalk (coloring/rendering) sketching - Peppermint (line-art/sketching)

for realism: calligraphy - Shale Brush (full rendering) Also using the shale brush for smudging and erasing when drawing realistic

for lineart: smooth pencil from this pack by Heygiudi

How/why do you choose a base color:

I tend to look at a few different things when deciding on a base color/color palette.

the overall color of the reference pic

the color i associate with who or what i am drawing

the feeling/vibe i want to give off with that drawing

color has a BIG impact on the vibe of a drawing, so it is something i keep in mind when im drawing.

Using a color as a base to start, helps a lot with my drawing process. It helps me pick out other colors so they match better. It helps me get light/dark values right. And the chalk brush i use, has gaps between the strokes, so the base color will always come through a little. Having the same color come through in the entire drawing, helps pull all the colors together if that makes sense? I always start with a solid base color when i am painting traditionally as well!

Advice:

PRACTICE!!! just keep drawing and practice. I know this is such generic advice but truly practice is The Way. Learn from other artists but don't compare yourself to them. Everyone's artistic journey is different and there's no "good" or "bad". And most importantly make sure that you have fun when you're making stuff :3

I also learn a lot by studying art I admire and love. Figuring out what it is I like about it. (for example, the line thickness or the shapes or texture etc), and try to incorporate that in my own style in a way that is not directly copying or stealing.

[ghouljams]

Would u possibly be able to write more knight!ghost , I want him back protecting his princess

I love him so much, but knight!Ghost is a long way from protecting his princess again.

The clash of swords draws your attention immediately as you walk through the gardens. You're not used to walking this way, you didn't know it was so close to the training grounds. You wander off the stone path, your knight following you a few steps behind. A loyal, and very different, shadow. You like him as much as you can like any knight. He's not Ghost.

Ghost. You press your hand against the tall garden wall with a frown. If the knights are training he might be there overseeing everything. That's reason enough to hate this wall. You'd bet if you were a little taller you could see over it. You wave your knight closer.

"Help me up," you tell him. He glances up at the top of the wall, the back at you, his eyes sparking with mischief. That's one of the reasons why you like this one.

Your knight crouches, lacing his fingers together to offer you a boost. You step you foot into his waiting hands and let him help you up to stand on his shoulders. You press your hands to the top of the wall to survey the training grounds. Your eyes land on a familiar form. Though he doesn't wear your colors you'd recognize him blind.

"Ghost!" You call, leaning further over the wall. The brick digs into your stomach, your palms scraping the harsh stone as you try to pull yourself further over it. Your- Ghost looks around the training field and you wave your hand to try and grab his attention. When he finally spots you, you see his body stiffen and he waves off the other knights to continue practicing as he makes his way towards you.

"Princess," he calls up to you, dropping his sword on the ground next to him. He presses his hands to the wall, head tipped back to keep you in his sight. "Is your knight with you?"

You glance down at Keegan, he looks bored holding you on his shoulders. You look back at Ghost. "He's holding me up," You tell him. Ghost's eyes narrow.

"Russ," he yells, you feel Keegan stiffen under you, "thought your job was keeping my lady out of harm not puttin' her in it." His lady. It makes your face hot. You're still his lady, even so far away. Butterflies flutter in your stomach. Seeing Ghost makes everything better, you can live a lifetime on these stolen moments.

"She insisted." Keegan yells back, lifting you a little higher. You smile at the lie, doing your best to portray innocence for Ghost.

"Your supposed to tell her 'no'." Ghost loudly reminds him, as if he isn't the only man who's ever told you that.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm in charge of my knight, not the other way around," you tell Ghost with a smile. He feels so far away, the dirt of the training grounds so much lower than the garden's lush grass. You can see the crease of Ghost's eyes, the smile hidden by his mask. You miss that smile more than anything. You lean a little further to try and be closer to him, feel Keegan's hands push your feet up, holding you to reach over the wall for your knight.

"I never forget," Ghost tells you. You wish he'd reach for you, that it wasn't only you hoping to touch. Even just to brush his fingertips would be enough. "Pull her back down Russ," Ghost commands. You scramble to keep yourself up.

"Disobey that order Keegan, you're under my command." The stability of his grip returns, and you do your best not to look too nervous about the shift in his grip.

"Princess," Ghost grits, "this is not ladylike, and if you fall-"

Your breath catches as your hand slips off the wall. You hardly have the thought to scream before you tumble off the wall. Ghost swears, and reaches out for you. You fall heavily into hard metal and dense muscle, his arms wrapping around you as quickly as you fall into them. Your breath catches up to you all at once and suddenly you can't get air in fast enough.

Ghost holds you tight to his chest, as your hands scramble against his armor. You dig your fingers under his pauldrons and hold tight, trying to get your breath under control. "You're alright love, I have you," he breathes, none of your panic seems to have bled into him, but he also hasn't set you down, "God you're going to be the death of me."

He presses his forehead against yours, making a space for the two of you. It's brief, but it calms you. Hardly a second later he's pulled back to look up at the wall. You glance up as well to see Keegan's climbed to the top to look down at the both of you. You don't have to look, you can feel the rage radiating off of Ghost.

"Are you planning on killing my lady or is this just an off day?" He asks, stepping back to let Keegan drop down.

"Honestly?" Keegan raises a brow, scratching at the edge of his mask. Ghost's grip on you tightens.

"Never should have let 'im-" Ghost seethes, cutting himself short. He turns away from your knight. You realize belatedly that he hasn't let you down. The determined movement of his body as he walks is terribly distracting, you'd almost forget that you're being carried past younger knights. God you must look pathetic, you're supposed to inspire respect in these men this is just...

"Ghost, put me down." You whisper, swallowing your heart in favor of your pride. Ghost freezes. There's a short moment where you almost think you can feel his heart beating against the metal chest plate, before he quickly sets you on your feet.

It hurts you to see the chill behind his eyes as he steps away from you, putting up a barrier between you. You don't fidget, princesses do not fidget. You lift your chin a little higher, set your shoulders a little straighter. If you want respect you have to take it for yourself.

You cast a quick glance at the other knights on the field and pick one at random, "You, escort me back," the knight nods, and is quick to grab his things as you turn your attention back to Ghost, "I'll leave discipline to you Sir Riley."

Keegan looks at you like you've signed his execution order. That does make you feel a little bad. It wasn't his fault you fell, but really Ghost would've told you 'no.'

[thatfreshi]

I was wondering if you could write Astarion having to tend to a very cuddly drunk female Tav. Possibly having to defend her from other people trying to take advantage of her.

This took me on a very sad adventure

TW - blood and gore, attempted sexual assault, drinking

Recommended Song: Drew Barrymore - SZA

The nice thing about no longer being on wild adventures full of tadpoles and cultists is that you and Astarion can go out drinking like normal people. While your vampiric lover thoroughly enjoys a good glass of wine, he usually stops himself at one. Perhaps he's a little paranoid about you, your safety, but he insists not to have more than one when the two of you are out together. At the house? Sure, he'll finish two bottles with you, the two of you drunkenly laughing by the fireplace, but not when danger could be afoot. You try to tell him he's just anxious, tense, that you'll be alright.

"I'd rather just make sure my love. You indulge all you want darling, I'll be fine."

In one of the more rowdy taverns, you and Astarion sit at a table off to the side, watching people get drunk and dance, bumping into strangers, sometimes fights ensue. As per usual, he nurses his singular glass. You look at him, a gleam of sadness in your eyes.

"Are you sure you don't mind? I can just skip out tonight, maybe we can just drink later, when we get back."

"Nonsense, have your fun my sweet. I insist."

You squeeze his hand.

"Alright then, I'm off to get my second... you can tell me to stop anytime!"

You tease as you slowly walk away, almost backing up into a nearby half-orc. He simply smiles at you, one of those smiles that says everything he's thinking, how he thinks you're precious, how he'd gladly never get drunk again if it meant keeping you. Years ago, he would've never given up a vice for some person. But you, you make this feeling well up in his chest, like he has to hold you close at all times, worried someone will snatch you when he's not looking. You may make fun of him for simply being a paranoid person, but you made it a million times worse.

"I'm back!"

Your voice draws out, and you return with two mugs of beer instead of just the one.

"Already going for three darling? You do remember you're a lightweight, right?"

"I'll be fine. Besides, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor is here to take me home if I throw up on someone."

You lie against his arm, starting on your second drink.

"You did eat before we left the house, right my sweet?"

You look up at him silently. He just sighs, running his hand through your hair.

"Then why did you need to go to the kitchen before we left?"

You giggle a little.

"To... pre-game!"

The laughter rings out of your throat as Astarion sighs, again, more annoyed this time.

"So you're telling me-"

"Already gettin' drunk Aster, it's a great time."

The more and more you talk, the more he realizes your words are becoming more slurred. Perhaps he should've asked before you left, made sure you at least grabbed a bite.

"Alright, you stay right here, I'm going to get you some water and a little snack."

He gets up, swiftly grabbing the two mugs off the table while you protest.

"Hey, I wasn't done with those!"

As Astarion makes his way to the bar, asking for the classic drunkard's care package, he's suddenly nervous. Had you ever been this drunk in public before? Maybe the two of you should just go home, before you somehow get your hands on any more alcohol. After thanking the barkeep for the water and some bread, he comes back through the crowd, and sure enough you have left the table.

"Gods damn it Tav."

After setting down what was supposed to be your little pick-me-up, Astarion quickly moves through the groups of people, knowing you probably just got up to dance. The bard playing tonight was quite excellent after all. However, after looking through most of the common space, you're nowhere to be found. That feeling of panic starts to well up inside of him, where he's only driven by fear. He knows you can't be far, but he also knows most of the tavern-goers here are slimy, horrific people looking for their next bag of gold. Walking through the crowd again, Astarion comes near the back entrance, and hears a conversation down one of the abandoned hallways.

"A gal like you, surprised you're here alone."

He rounds the corner, seeing you and a bulky half-elf, your arms pinned above your head. You seem nervous, but not conscious enough to realize anything is truly wrong. Astarion stalks up behind the wretched man, wrapping his dagger around the half-elf's throat.

"No so alone anymore, are we?"

Your captor surprisingly doesn't stand down.

"You won't do shit. People know me around here, important people, they'd surely have your head if something happened to me."

"Not if I hide your body well enough. And trust me, I have experience."

The two of them are un-moving for a moment as your wrists start to go numb from the pressure. You groan in pain, only causing the half-elf to grab you tighter. As Astarion goes to press his blade into the man's neck, he whips around, pushing Astarion back. Gods, he's tall. You fall back against the wall, trying to nurse the pain in your hands. As Astarion and the stranger fight, you hear the sounds of blades colliding, but your head is spinning. Perhaps he was right about the whole 'eat before you drink' thing.

You're interrupted from your thoughts when you hear a loud thump on the floor. The half-elf almost knocked Astarion out. leaving him on the ground. The stranger then turns back to you, lifting you back up from the floor, going to open the back door.

"What a find. Can't wait to enjoy you."

In that moment, while trying to get his bearings, Astarion realizes this wasn't just someone threatening you, and that disgusting feeling fills his stomach. He remembers how many times he shared his body against his will, and the adrenaline of that anger is enough to get him back on his feet. As you and the half-elf make it out the door, Astarion rushes him, tripping one foot out from under him. And then he drives his blade into the stranger's back, again, and again, and again, and again, and again. He's covered in the sinner's blood, shaking with both rage and misery. The violent display helped sober you up just a little, enough to make you realize that Astarion has killed someone behind the bar, and that it was clearly deserved. He looks up, locking eyes with you, still holding his blade down, as if the dead man needs yet another plunging strike in his back.

"Astarion?"

You ask, your voice full of uncertainty, the past few minutes still a blur. He begins to cry, putting his dagger in the ground, slowly crawling over to where you've ended up on the ground. He holds you tight, almost to the point of pain. He doesn't say anything, and you simply watch the blood pour out of the man's corpse as he grips you tight. Flooding memories cover every space of his mind, seduction, imprisonment, and most of all, Cazador's death.

"Astarion... you're hurting my arm."

You say softly, not fully aware of just how distraught he is, still far too inebriated. You're sad though, because he's sad, and you can't quite put together why. He lets go, wrapping his arms under his legs, crying into his knees. You try to comfort him, despite your state.

"It's okay, it's over now."

You don't even know what's over, but if someone is dead and Astarion is still alive, he must've ended it.

"I know."

He chokes out those two pathetic words, looking back up at you.

"We need to leave."

The survival instinct kicks in, knowing he can't explain why this man has at least five stab wounds in his back. The second one of the bartenders finds this, it'll be over.

"Come, this way, we're going to take the back alley."

Snatching up your arm, Astarion leads you through the darkness, mumbling things to himself that you can't quite hear. The two of you move quickly through the night as you stumble around behind him. When the two of you get home, he gets you some water, leading you upstairs so you can lie down.

"Are you okay?"

Such an innocent question. He knows you'll remember tomorrow, that it's not like you're blacked out or anything, just confused.

"I'll be fine my dove. Get some rest now, it's alright."

It's as if he's trying to convince himself, but it's enough for you in your drunken stupor. You curl up into the heavy blanket cast across the bed, and he leaves a kiss on your head. Not long after, you're drifting off to sleep, exhausted.

As Astarion makes his way to the bathroom, he thinks of the horrific things that could've happened, of how cruel humanity is. He thinks about how you have to be the only truly good person in all of Faerûn. He'll never get all the blood off his face, not while you're asleep. His mirror, his sun, his everything, and you were almost tainted the very same way he was.

When you wake up the next morning, Astarion isn't in bed. You try to reach out groggily, looking for that embrace, only to be left with cold sheets. Thinking back on the night before, the memories start to filter in. The drinks, the half-elf, the stabbing, and Astarion sobbing. The full picture isn't entirely there, but there's enough pieces for you to realize. That man, he found you drunk in the tavern, and tried to take advantage of you.

You stumble out of bed, walking down the stairs, rubbing your eyes.

Astarion is in the kitchen, drinking some tea, his eyes bloodshot. You don't say anything, slowly walking up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He puts his tea down and rests his head on yours.

"Are you alright my love?"

"I'm fine. Are you alright?"

You make some space again, looking up at him, holding his hands in yours. They start to shake again, rage and misery. You move a piece of hair out of his face.

"He didn't do anything to me love, I'm okay."

"Just- the thought of- I-"

He tries to hold back the tears again.

"It's okay, you can cry. It's going to be okay."

With that allowance, the permission to let go, he cries again.

"I don't ever want you to feel like that Tav, the way I felt. It's so, disgusting."

"I know, but it's over Aster. It's over now. You're okay, we're okay."

You wrap around him again, and he continues to weep.

"I love you, so much, and they didn't ruin you, I promise."

That worry, that he'll never be the same, that he's forever fractured now, that a piece of him is gone. Innocence, what a loaded word. Those who are guilty make the innocent feel guilty, and those who are guilty feel powerful, and the cycle continues, always continuing. You stand in the kitchen for a long time, letting him get all of the pain out, your shirt sleeve wet with his tears.

"I just wish I didn't have to be scared anymore."

You frown, thinking on his statement, knowing that no one is ever truly safe. You'll both live in fear forever, of those that think cruelty is accomplishment.

"I know."

It's all you can say, because you can't lie and tell him there's a day he won't have to be scared, that one day all the monsters of the world will be gone. There's nothing to learn, no moral, no mistake to fix, just pain. Pain caused by those who greed after anguish.

"Do you think I've changed? Or am I just as I was, a scared, beaten slave?"

"Gods Astarion, of course you've changed. It's the world that hasn't. We're better than them though, even if that's all we have."

Neither of you reach any resolution, nothing that makes you feel better. Instead, you sit on the sofa by the fire, watching the wood go up in flames, softly speaking about the suffering. You lie in each other's arms, sad. Misery loves company, and the two of you sit in that aura of grieving for a long time, grieving his past, grieving what could have been a kinder world. But here, in this sacred space, where feelings are free to run wild, where you can cry as much as you need, that's the only place you're truly safe. And that's alright, as long as it's together.

[argisthebulwark]

We Can Get Lost, You & Me

summary: Scenarios that make them say please. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Vilkas, Miraak, Farkas, Brynjolf warnings: canon typical mention of blood/injury and death, sexually suggestive content. minors should not read or interact.

Vilkas says it through gritted teeth. Every inch of his body is screaming for him to close the distance between you - it’s a couple measly steps, after all. Only a few steps keep him from kissing you but he refrains. He refuses to lose this little game you’ve been playing for weeks; dancing around each other, flirty comments and touches meant to get under the others skin, the constant heat simmering heat between you. It’s as exciting as it is infuriating.  “Please.” He finally breaks, fists clenched on the arms of his chair. Your little laugh makes his blood boil when you climb into his lap, hands combing through his hair to tilt his head back. He relishes your fingers trailing over his jaw and the victorious smile on your lips.  “Does this mean I won?” You tease, though he’s too distracted to be annoyed. It’s so easy to slide his hands over your hips and draw you in, to finally indulge in what he’s wanted for too long. 

Miraak is not one to plead - he only says it when he is broken, when he is on the verge of death and has nothing left but you. When his eyes are wide and terrified, ink stained fingers grasping your armor as the world tilts around you. Your blade rests at his throat just as the prophecy described. Whoever foretold your future did not expect you to hesitate, to look into those deep green eyes and feel your heart wrench.  “Please, Dragonborn.” Miraak pants, blood staining the front of his robes. “Allow me one more chance.” “Why should I trust you?” In your heart you know that it is fruitless, your blade never sought to kill him. The only wounds you’ve left are superficial, a warning that you are as strong as him.  “You shouldn’t.” Miraak admits, each breath bringing your blade dangerously close to his skin. “Look into your heart, Dragonborn. Please, allow me a chance to earn your trust.”

Farkas looks at you with stars in his eyes, cheeks flushed and an easy smile on his face. He’s so gentle when he holds your face, kissing you until you feel dizzy. He’s so warm and close, all your senses dominated by him. Sunlight peeks through the hastily shut curtains alerting you that you’re late but here you sit, sluggishly untangling your limbs from his.  “Please don’t go.” He murmurs into your skin between kisses, eager hands exploring every curve of you. “You don’t have to leave, not yet.”  “I do have to leave.” You insist, though it’s far too easy to fall back into bed with him. Strong arms are around you before you can blink, lips trailing up your shoulder to your throat as he smothers you in kisses.  “Stay with me, please.” Farkas insists. Against your better judgment, you do. 

Brynjolf, who learned so long ago to shove his needs aside for the sake of others. The man who doesn't dare ask for a thing if it doesn't benefit the Guild, begs for one more day. Hell, he'd take another minute. His tears have dried, muscles sore from sobbing and pleading with whatever god bothers to listen to him. None answered, so his pleas are solely for you. "Please, love. Don't do this to me." He mumbles, stumbling through the snow. Mercer hadn't even bothered to bring your body back, leaving Brynjolf with a long trek. "Don't leave me." A senseless little spark of home remains in his heart - you cannot be dead. Surely he would have felt it. "Please, just come back. We'll figure it all out. I'm almost there, I'll get you home safe. Just hold on a little longer for me."

[omaano]

im so late on this but for the wip folder ask: HADES CODY????? SUNSHINE BOY BUT HADES??? im so hyped about it

YES! Sunshine boy is steadily making his way into the Hades AU!! He’s got his jetpack and a torn up poncho for dramatic effect (but no Wi-Fi antenna because I didn’t want to put it in his face 😅)

Why did I feel it necessary to add all these sketches to this one page? Because 1) I wanted to showcase how much I struggled on this one. It is just part of the drawing process. Like, Old Man Rex was a headache and a half but Cody still had him beat on the sketch somehow. And 2) because the solution to being stuck here turned out to be to switch my dark brown/desaturated purple to a red colour, scribble out the very very base of the pose (imagine blobs and swoopy lines and boxes) and then just keep chipping away at building the body and armor and whatever on top of it. (I think the sketch is still very red in the original file…)That had granted me a breakthrough with Rex as well, and now with Cody too… so I might as well remember this solution and spare myself the trouble with the next character ^^;

(Do I know what size a lightsaber actually is when it is held in only one hand? No. Am I willing to look it up properly? … not for the time being, no)

(and special thanks to Lou and Niko for bringing up Overwatch this week, because digging up my old reference folder from that fandom really helped me figure out parts of this sketch🫣🥰)

[bloodyodyssey]

COMM POST IS BACK UP YAYYYY 🎉🎉🎉 This time with up to 8 slots at a time, 3 for busts, 3 for half body, and 2 for full body! Each listing also allows for up to one extra character to be added on at half price!

***If you don't want to commission me that's also fine i'd apreciate just a regular kofi dono or just sharing this around bc my finances are maybe extremely worrying right now. i will also be considering opening a google doc or some other order form to allow payments via cashapp. Anyways heres a general breakdown of the pricing system and my will's/wont's under the cut:

So how do I (you, the buyer) choose what I want?

SO when you open up the request form it should look something like this!

We're using the bust order as our example here. At its base price, $15, it is set for the black and white option. If this is what you would like, then you don't have to worry about the add ons at all and you go straight to submitting your request! Now, if you're choosing add ons, it'll look something like these:

The first would be an example of an order of a flat color bust + an extra character bust with flat coloring as well. The color option adds the extra $10 (to match the listed price on the poster for $25), and the extra character with flat coloring adds half of that $25 to the order (well a little less bc i knocked off the .50 cents) which is why it comes out to $37.

The second would be an example of a black and white bust order with an added black and white bust character. This just adds an extra $7 to the price totaling $22.

What will you (the artist, me Brutus) draw?

If you want me to draw your oc or fanart of your favorite character I GOT U!!!

I'm also comfortable drawing blood and gore though I'll have to keep it on the lighter side (I enjoy blood if it isnt obvious by my url though so depending on what you want we might be able to go a little further with that).

I can do characters with armor as well, however I will require a reference of some sort from you, the client, as I'm frankly not going to attempt armor off the dome. I won't design armor myself either.

Pinups (not full nsfw due to how much of a struggle it is to navigate different site policies) and other suggestive works are also a-ok! a tity does not bother me if that wasn't made clear by my commission card 👍🏽

What will you (the artist, me Brutus) NOT draw?

Im not comfortable trying to draw real people as of right now sorry! I'd hate to mess that up and have somebody clown me for messing up their beloved's features so that is off the table right now but it's subject to change.

I also won't do furry/anthro just because that isn't my forte as I haven't practiced drawing animalistic characters. There r plenty of talented furry artists for you to choose from and I could talk to someone to guide you to a few

(I can do more humanoid fantasy characters however. like mermaids, satyrs, etc)

More extreme gore and body horror is also off the table.

I may love mecha but as it is like armor and a bit more extreme, I'm not drawing it sorry. And also as stated above I'm not drawing armor regardless without a good reference.

Certain fandoms are a no-go for me due to my own comfort. A quick list would be: mogeko games, omori, south park, hetalia, attack on titan, mcyt, hazbin hotel/helluva boss. if you're not sure just ask!

I reserve the right to decline any comission request for any reason. Getting paid is nice but my comfort is nicer yknow.

And that should cover everything! If you still need to ask me anything, my main is @odysseys-blood (since you cant recieve messages on a side blog). Thank you so much for reading and a little extra thank you if you decide to commission me ❤️

[popatochisssp]

The Court AU has me DEAD!!! If you’d be willing, what sort of outfits would they wear? I’d love to draw them!

Anon, I had so many tabs open looking up medieval-type fashion and armor, we're talking like 30+, felt super awesome finishing this and closing them all 😌

Anyway--

Sans (Undertale): What’s black and blue and white all over? Why, him of course! His jester’s motley features a black-and-white diamond pattern, offset by bright, rich, royal blue—a mark of his service to the king. He doesn’t wear one of those silly hats, though…because he wears a silly hood instead! Less chance of falling off, you see. When not in costume he tends toward simple tunics, of decent material and often still in blue.

Papyrus (Undertale): Almost never out of full plate armor, even in downtime, he has to dress for the job he wants and that means being a shining metal bastion of knightly glory at all times! …Though he does often remove his helmet and hold it by his sword at his hip, or fasten it to his steed’s side. He’s a very handsome skeleton, it would be cruel to deny the people the chance to see their hero’s face!

Sky (Underswap Sans): Soft blues and yellows, as a squire only lightly armored—greaves and pauldrons, a mail shirt beneath his tunic if he’s expected to go into battle—but he considers even that much armoring to be overkill for what he’s doing. Still, his Captain insists, and it makes his brother feel better, so he takes care protecting himself. He has some nicer finery to wear about court, as a nobleman, but tends simpler for anything that might be dirtied or torn in training.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): Rich green and earthy browns, his clothing tends to be without ostentation—no embroidery, no gold buckles or buttons, or anything especially elaborate. He may be noble but he’s a scholar and a recluse and prefers not to stand out much. Still, the fabrics of which his clothing is made are always fine, as coarse or stiff materials quite put him off. Mostly cottes—long belted tunics—with the occasional robe over, if it's cold.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): Blacks and browns, sturdy plain clothes which can stand up to considerable wear and tear. Often wears a short diamond-quilted gambeson and some leather armor (vambraces and greaves), but always has a sword belted to his hip and a cloak made of dire-wolf’s fur draped over his shoulders. If ever he should need to acknowledge his denounced family name, he does have some finer clothing stored away somewhere—in red—and a shiny gold signet ring with his family crest on it.

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate armor, dark metal heavily scratched and scorched, dents meticulously hammered back out. He also wears a tattered red cape about his shoulders that billows quite majestically behind him when he rides or runs into battle. He will occasionally dress down in laced tunics and breeches, still in red and black, fine but not too fine as to raise suspicion about his heritage. Should all that ever come out, he does have a suit of pristine night-black armor he’s been dying to inherit and a silken cape to pin about it with a golden clasp of the family’s crest.

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Mostly black but flaunts his privilege and royal ties with purple accents wherever possible. Brigandine armor with a fine gold-plated gorget and pauldrons and a few other ornamental trappings—he is the Empress’ personal guard and must in some capacity be as elegant. Very fine doublets and tunics for his (rare) downtime, often with gold threading, but not fond of most jewelries.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): Dark colors and crisp whites, noble yet eccentric, he has a lot of fine doublets and other such court-wear but tends not to actually…wear them. He can mostly be found in loose-fitting cottes, baggy sleeves often penned up by leather armlets to keep them out of his paints. He has a fur-hooded cloak for travel or cold weather, but he rarely leaves his rooms, much less the castle, so he doesn’t don it often.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): Dark browns and off-white cream, simple rough-hewn clothing showing signs of wear and occasionally odd stains. He works in the stables, with animals, and being around animals so much makes it difficult to keep clean. He has a somewhat decent dark blue cloak that he’ll wear into town for errands, or in polite company—it has a hood to conceal the great jagged hole in his head that tends to make the squeamish or timid flinch away from him.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): Still hasn’t quite shaken the habit to be armored, even when it isn’t necessary, but he’s cut down from full plate to chain mail only, much lighter and easier to move around in—which is vital when hurrying to the training field for an accident, or running to meet a wounded knight at the gates. He wears a simple tabard over his mail, blue with red edging (the Queen’s colors), and keeps a pouch of bandages and other aid supplies belted to his waist instead of a sword.

Ash (Undergloom Sans): The livery of the king’s court, gray and gold, but dyed into fabrics suitable for common folk. He still wears gray when not performing at court, tunics so thickly woven they could pass as a gambeson and often paired with hooded cloaks, but he keeps his golds set aside until needed to keep them in good condition. He takes equal care of his shiny brass sackbut (it’s a horn, with a very funny name but an instrument nonetheless) so it always plays well.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Off-white and tan linens, loose and breathable for hot work in the kitchens, sleeves rolled up and pinned at the elbows to keep them from getting in the way. Always an apron about his waist, occasionally with food stains after a long day’s work but these he quickly tends to as soon as he’s able. He has nothing in the way of real finery but tries very hard to make sure what he has is clean and presentable.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): Fine brocaded doublets of rich red and shining gold thread, as a duke and brother to a king, he does have to dress the part a bit. He wears more jewelry, especially rings, but nearly always still has his dire-wolf fur cloak over his shoulders. When called for executions, he dresses down quite a bit, in simple black cloth with only a leather pauldron over one shoulder to help brace the weight of his axe before he swings.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): Half plate armor essentially at all times, even formal or polite occasions—he’s the owner of a stolen throne and all too aware that it could be stolen from him the same way he got it. His breastplate is scaled and his pauldrons are elaborately spiked, but it’s all black. The only pop of color on him is his crown, the same worn by Asgore and Undyne, gold and sharp, with rubies inlaid.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): Chain mail over a finely-made kaftan and beneath a traveling cloak, the latter two with signs of wear from a long journey. His head is notably absent of a crown—left behind in the kingdom he fled—but a new one awaits him soon, of flashing silver and blue stone, depicting the phases of the moon. When fully established in his new kingdom, he may begin dressing as a proper king again, draping himself in the blue and silver finery of the land that sheltered him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Browns, greens, and blacks, he wears light leather armor—really just a breastplate and vambraces—and a thick woolen cloak about his shoulders. He has no need of greaves for his shins, legs lost to an accident in the wilderness, but supplanted by magical prosthetics, living blackened wood provided by his land when he called upon it for aid. …Not that he’s fully accepted that it’s his land, keeping his crown of twisting copper and emerald tucked away in a saddlebag instead of on his brow. Maybe someday…

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Rich purple and verdant green, amidst a sea of black—he favors very fine fabrics with open lacing at the chest. Still not especially fond of jewelry, but wears considerably more decorative leather braces on forearms, shins, and even the occasional full-chest corset. (He has some chronic pain and the extra pressure and support in certain spots helps.) He wears considerably more plain clothes for knight-training purposes and when traveling wears a black cloak with a cowl that comes down over the hole in his face at a point, as the beak of a raven.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): Usually in half plate splint mail armor for his patrols along the wall, but favors rusty oranges, brown and black for the tunics and boots and breeches he wears out of it. Often carries a lantern, and always has tinder in a pouch on his hip. Beside his pouch is a war-horn in case an alert would need to be called, loud enough to make everyone come running if it’s ever sounded.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A cavalierly styled courtier, at first having made do with graciously lent clothing and now being able to buy his own in a whole variety of rich colors—yellow, blue, magenta, and on. His aim is to look at home in court, which means he must dress as other courtiers do, so he has doublets and fine tunics and many, many fashionable capelets with embroidery and stylish pins, as well as a few equally chic plumed hats. The other courtiers look to him now for the latest fashion trends and he couldn’t be happier.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): A bit more subdued in style than his brother…though only a bit. He favors black frocks, almost as a cleric would wear, but beneath them, elegant doublets in greens and yellows as vibrant as anything his twin wears, with fine silver filigree work in his buckles and pins and clasps. He’s the pinnacle of restrained class and taste and it’s no wonder at all that the king should respect him so highly if his care in thought is as his care in appearance.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): Deep, dark black from head to toe, most prominently a long hooded cloak with two eye-lights glowing in the darkness. He always wears gloves and never lets his hood down, as he’s not especially fond of his metal bones and doesn’t really wish to be seen. It’s difficult to see in the daytime, but at night he’s trailed by faint wisps of ghostly light in all colors of the rainbow, such a strange sight that many a drunkard who’s seen him has poured out their bottle presuming they’d had quite a bit too much.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): Full plate armor, of course, but as he’s now some sort of spectral entity, it (and he!) glows and is slightly see-through. Being ghostly has washed out his colors quite thoroughly which is unfortunate—mostly all white with hints of silvery blue—but on the up-side he seems able to change his appearance some by will alone, donning or discarding his helmet at will, manifesting a majestic cape for himself out of the ether, and so on. It seems a fair enough trade to him!

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): A man at court now, he’s donned an eye-patch and abandoned the trappings of prospective knighthood, fully embraced courtier fashion…if a bit ‘eccentrically.’ He favors bright yellows and spring greens, flowing garments of fine cloth layered beneath and over leather vambraces, gorget, and tasset. All these are elaborately, intricately designed and certainly make the similarly intricate gold jewelry (with multicolored gems) that he wears at wrist and neck stand out, but it’s hardly in fashion… Still, the mystic’s thinking is often inscrutable.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): Unlike his brother, very fashionable and eye-catching, in rich amaranths and brilliant turquoises, with even the occasional lavender. He has many fine embroidered doublets, threaded liberally with gold, and wears many pieces of gold jewelry as well—necklaces, bracelets, pins, and brooches. When showing the birds of the crown at court or bidding them on a royal hunt, he wears the livery of the crown-proper—royal purple and gold—and always has a thick leather falconer’s glove on his left hand.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): What’s black and white and red all over? Well, newspapers haven’t been invented yet, so it’s him, of course! He’s no jester so he hasn’t a motley to wear to work, but he is a performer and does dress in the livery of the king, which is red and black. The material is a bit finer than he’s used to, but being that he’s no longer wearing rags and rotting in a hole, he’s quite pleased with it and doesn’t mind the bright colors that help him attract the eyes of many comely nobles at court. Off-duty, he sticks to loose, somewhat open tunics—red still very much preferred.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): Laced linen shirts, not especially loosely fitting due to his largeness in the chest and shoulders but he hasn’t burst any seams in awhile so the measurements must be somewhat correct. He’s fond of white and a true connoisseur of red, all shades from dark to very light. He keeps an array of small carpentry tools—hammers, chisels, things for measuring—in a roll on his hip, a dedicated apprentice to the core.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): All black, pourpoint armor beneath fine silk doublets but almost disappointingly plain otherwise—no embroidery, no ornament, or stitched pattern, or brocade. Over this he wears a cloak, equally fine and with at least some ostentation, a bit of silver stitched decoration that matches the intimidatingly clawed silver gauntlet he wears upon his left hand—a symbol of his wealth, if not his status. These flashy items are for matters of court only, as he has a much more nondescript hooded cloak and less identifiable sharp implement which he uses for matters of stealth and misdeeds when it is important that he not be recognized.

Hunter (Swapfell Frution Papyrus): A prince in princely attire…mostly. He happily flaunts the color purple but proudly wears it with the black of his old family name, and drapes himself in silk tunics, fine (mostly decorative) pauldrons, capes and capelets. He tends to show off a bit more of his chest than seems appropriate for a man of his station, and seems to wear his elegant silver jewelry in ways such that the eye is drawn there, and…other places, but few question the whims of royalty. His pewter crown is heavy and inelegant and he’s talked much with his brother about how angry people would be if he had it melted and recast into something more stylish.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): Plain, rough tunics, in black and dark brown. He wears a heavy fur-lined gabardine as it gets quite cold in the dungeons, though it’s uncertain where he managed to get such a nice garment. He keeps a knife on his belt, large and jagged-toothed, and though he hasn’t had need to use it yet, the threat of it tends to keep most prisoners from attempting to bring him harm.

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): He’s traded in his full plate armor for a comfortably fit leather jerkin, accompanied by matching gauntlets to protect his hands and torso (inasmuch as they need protection, without flesh) from the thorns he trims back every day. He mostly wears black and white and brown, all things closely fit to his body, less they snag overmuch and need to be replaced too often. His clothing is simple but well-suited to his work, and he wears it nicely.

[cyrygher]

The Shadows Desires // Azriel

RATING: 15 / 957 WORDS

Author’s note: I just needed to take this idea out of my mind. I really thought about ending with smut but I think I will eventually write a part 2 for this. Oh btw, english is not my first language, neither it is my second or third language, so I’m sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy! :)

My feet move away from the window, giving him space to enter. Azriel passes through the doorway retracting his wings, landing with elegance in each gesture.

"Did you take a shower?”

"I did. You must need one, since you left early in the morning and only came back now.”

“Are you suggesting I stink?” He raises an eyebrow, forcing an offended expression.

“I’m suggesting that I really want to see you in a bathtub.”

Azriel's eyes widen for a brief moment, but what follows is not astonishment but something darker and more perverse. The chocolate irises become dark, cloudy, the pupils dilated.

“I suppose you will not join me.”

"Not today. I don’t think you deserve it after disappearing all day.”

"Fair."

“Uh-huh.” I walk predatorily towards him, a smile forming at the corner of my lips, as my hands roam Azriel's chest, searching for the buttons to remove the armour.

“How do you take it off?” I whisper.

Azriel doesn't respond. But faster than he can fill his lungs with air, the top part of the armor disappears, as do the blue siphons that decorated it.

Azriel's torso is left bare, rid of any fabric.

My mouth waters at the sight and I don't care to hide it.

My fingers touch the warm, rigid skin, drawing a sigh from the male. Slowly, I look up at him, and he's already staring at me in a way that ignites every pure thought in my mind.

“What about the bottom part?” I ask, biting my lip to keep from laughing.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re not discreet at all?”

"Some. Why? Would you rather I had made up an excuse for wanting to see you without those pants?”

"Oh no. Feel free to see me naked at any time… you came so far just for it, isn't that right pet?”

My blood roared through my veins, begging him to do it at once.

Like the top, Azriel's armored pants disappear in the blink of an eye, leaving only the black fabric of the boxers he wears.

I look at him irritated.

“This is starting to get boring, Azriel. Are you going to take it off piece by piece?”

“I believe you can help me remove this one.”

“I can definitely do so. Come here."

Azriel takes my hand and I drag him into the bathroom, turning the bathtub tap back on.

“Cold, please,” he asks.

"Are you feeling hot?" I look at him amusedly, quickly scanning the way the fabric of his boxers is stretched by the erection.

"A little."

I do as he asks, leaving the water cold, looking at him with my lips stuck in between my teeth. My feet move without needing a command and soon I'm sharing the same breath as him, feeling the heat emanating from his masculine body.

My fingers run along Azriel's chest, making a path downward, never losing eye contact. There, in those almond-shaped orbs, you see everything he is feeling and everything he wants to do. It's ecstatic to see desire dancing and intoxicating all of the male's features.

When my fingers finally find the fabric of the boxers, they dig into the sides, pulling the fabric down. It needs to be stretched to free Azriel's member, that is so hard and bounces as soon as the boxers free it completely.

My knees drop to the floor to completely remove the uncomfortable fabric, and my eyes fixate on the monstrous erection in front of me.

Swallowing hard, I blink a few times, trying to calculate how I would make this work, because there was no way this would fit inside me.

"Is there a problem?" Azriel asks amused.

"It depends."

“Depends on?”

“It depends if you mind carrying me around….”

“Not that I’m complaining, but why would I have to carry you, darling?”

“Because there’s no way I’m going to walk after this” I point to the dick in front of me, which seems to be staring back at me.

Azriel tries to hold back his laughter, but it's a futile struggle. He kicks the fabric of his boxers that were stuck to his feet, and pulls me up, placing his lips next to my ear.

“I promise you, the last thing I will do is hurt you. When I'm inside you, the only thing you'll feel is pleasure. And not just in the traditional way. I want to taste you with my tongue before anything else.”

My spine arches at the lustful, husky voice that reverberates through every nerve ending in my body, gripping the male's biceps as if it could keep me upright.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

"Why?"

“Because I’m so tempted not to let you take that shower.”

“Can I confess something to you?” he whispers, as he runs his fingers down my side, increasing the flame that crackles inside my blood.

"You can."

“I love your nightgown. But I will have to destroy it.”

Before I can ask why, Azriel takes me in his arms, stepping into the tub with me, completely drenching the blue silk.

“Azriel!” I shout, slapping his shoulders.

He just laughs, placing me over his lap, his hard member poking me, sending my sanity to hell.

“I warned you I would destroy it”

“Actually, I just need to dry it.”

"No. That won’t do it."

The male's hands go to the neckline of the nightgown and, as if it was made of paper, rips it from top to bottom, revealing the lingerie set of the same colour, his siphons’ colour. My face turns red, but the shame passes away when I notice in Azriel's eyes, a transcendental lust and desire.

[kissitbttr]

how about mean!cheerleader having her first fight with eddie? i need a little something angsty soooo bad:(

ask and you shall receive baby! this is quite short. hope you don’t mind that<3

-

eddie and mean!cheerleader have their first fight

the anger that burns inside of her still hasn’t died down and she doesn’t want to do anything she’d regret later, but it’s so difficult when eddie is being a downright prick to her. it’s like he has no idea how to control his choice of words. yet, she’s trying so hard to keep her cool because she doesn’t want him to get hurt.

“oh so now you’re not talking to me? you were having fun chewing my goddamn ear off just earlier!” he sarcastically says, looking at her who refuses to do the same.

“yeah, cause you were being a dick” she mutters, furiously flip through her magazine, trying to shake his rude tone off her mind. “you didn’t get what i mean. so why don’t we just call it.”

he laughs humorlessly, running his hands through his hair frustratedly. “what did i not fucking get, y/n? you were overreacting, there was nothing going on between me and rebecca! her nose was this close to bleeding, thanks to you!”

she slams the magazine down, raising up to her feet so she can now look at him dead in the eye,

“that bitch had her hands all over you, twirling your hair and shit, ignoring me as if i wasn’t there. as if i wasn’t even your girlfriend!” she angrily responds, only to hear him scoff

it’s s good thing that there aren’t a lot of people at the bleachers, or else she would be giving them a show for the third time,

“you didn’t even do anything about it! just laughed and enjoyed the attention she gave you. i tried telling you but you brushed me off! and fuck, do you know how hard it was for me to not knock that bitch out?”

“oh? well why didn’t you, huh princess? it’s what you’re good at right?”

the way he says it… god he makes it sound like she’s a terrible person.

he implies that violence is the only thing she knows how to do in terms of solving things. it hurts her. because she knows damn well that’s not true. she doesn’t like hurting people. that’s not who she is entirely

“no, smartass! not at all! because i have actually been trying to fix that. it’s hard but I’m trying! i just- when it comes to the people that i love, i have to do whatever it takes to not lose them. and i love you, so i got scared okay! I’ve told you million times about this already.”

he’s quick to shake his head, scoffing at her. finding it hard to believe that his girlfriend is trying to find a way to justify her actions. “no-just—you do not get to play that card with me. you almost broke her nose, y/n. if it wasn’t for me, she’d be at the nurse’s office by now.”

“oh, what, you’re her knight in shining armor, now?” she tilts her head curiously, arms crossed. “her fucking prince, is that it? maybe i should’ve broken her nose. or her arm. how about that?”

“god you’re unbelievable” he breathes out a tired sigh, putting his hands on his hips. “i had know fucking idea you’d be like this.”

“be like what?” she pushes, challenging him as she steps closer. his eyes are filled with rage, she can tell. and she dares him to say it. “you can’t even say it, can you?”

“no because it’s not worth it anymore.”

“uhm yes it is! she’s the reason why we have this fight in the first place! because you picked her side over mine!”

“i didn’t pick her side, stop putting words on my mouth!”

“you did!” she argues, “if you didn’t, i wouldn’t call out on your shit! she likes you eddie, why can’t you see that? she wants you, she wants my boyfriend! how the fuck are you so damn clueless?!”

“jesus h christ, y/n! you need to drop this insecure shit you have going on! it’s not cute! just because I’m dating you doesn’t mean that other girls can’t talk to me!” he yells, eyes wide in anger because he can no longer hear anymore of her complains, it’s tiring. “no wonder your exes are fed up”

her body soon freezes momentarily. as he draws a few steps away from her, she feels the beat of her heart begins to slow down, as if there’s no air left for her to breathe.

so many things he had said was just plain wrong and she has no idea where to start.

oh, eddie… why did you have to say that?

“w-what?” she feels small as she chokes out, eyes turning glossy, “insecure?”

when eddie looks back at his girl, he immediately realizes what words were spewed from his mouth. to see her trembling and looking like a kicked puppy just makes him want to punch himself in the stomach.

what has he done?

“wait.. n-no baby i didn’t mean that, i was just-“

“you’re the only person who never calls me that” she then breaks into a full sob before walking away from him. she can’t be in the same room with him now. anywhere but here. she needs to clear her mind,

“y/n, no, princess please I’m-i’m sorry.” he begs, running after her. “i didn’t-“

“don’t!” she immediately stops him. “i don’t want to talk nor see you right now. don’t even bother, eddie.” with that she continues to walk off, wiping her tears away with her palms,

his heart chips away piece by piece when her cold tone appears, especially after hearing her call him by the first name. he’s always been eds, puddin or neddy. it was never a first name. and that’s when he knows he’s fucked. he has hurt her. it pains him to watch her cry like that in front of him. it just kills him. especially since he promised that he’s not going to do it, because he doesn’t want to be like all of her former boyfriends. he promised to treat her better.

but he just feels like he has become one of them. hurting her. his girl.

“f-fuck” he has his hands in the back of his head, hanging low with his eyes shut. “munson you stupid. fucking. freak. what the fuck have you done.”

-

pt.2