#why must charcoal?

[plutoswritingplanet]

Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up. 

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors.  He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again. 

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board. 

 There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently. 

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one. 

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail. 

You have to be alive and in good condition. 

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected. 

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol. 

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in. 

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after. 

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage. 

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting. 

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really. 

It started with Old Lady Sal. 

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen. 

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf. 

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland. 

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over. 

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can. 

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion. 

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly. 

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck. 

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero. 

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame. 

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid. 

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake. 

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door. 

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother. 

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise. 

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words. 

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain. 

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer. 

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul. 

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together. 

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you. 

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers. 

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth. 

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later. 

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead. 

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface.  The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands. 

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions. 

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

 He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight. 

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table. 

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys. 

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently. 

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips. 

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones. 

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression. 

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants. 

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers. 

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again. 

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones. 

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders. 

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff. 

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too. 

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package. 

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck. 

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days. 

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen. 

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin. 

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner. 

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave. 

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs. 

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you. 

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly. 

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance. 

- You serious? 

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up. 

- Wait. 

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue. 

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe. 

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily. 

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin. 

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes.  If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender. 

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins. 

[kazvha]

WHAT THE GENSHIN BOYS SMELL LIKE

Including: Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Freminet, Gaming, Gorou, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Lyney, Neuvillette, Tartaglia, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wanderer, Wriothesley, Xiao, Zhongli

Notes: These are just personal headcanons, don't take these too seriously🥴 Enjoy!!💛

ALBEDO

• I think he smells like nothing most of the time

• You only feel cold air when you stand next to him because he's in Dragonspine a lot

• Subtle notes of charcoal which he uses as an art tool or of strong chemicals cling onto him on some days

ALHAITHAM

• I also don't think he smells like anything on most days, maybe only like the fresh clothes he's wearing

• Though he has a faint scent of coconut to him. It could be the shampoo or the skin care products he's using, but it's mostly because of his body lotion

AYATO

• His hair always smells like the shampoo he uses. So sugary and sweet, like vanilla cake or bubblegum

• But for his body and clothes he uses expensive clean and powdery fragrances

• Quite the combo, I must say💀 Strange, just like his taste in food

BAIZHU

• Smells like expensive bar soap. A mix of aloe vera and ginger

• Also smells kinda sour because of the herbs he works with

CYNO

• Smells like pure white musk which smells great

• But it can be quite intense on some days when he decides to go overboard with his sprays

• He's sweating at the end of the day but the smell is subtle

DAINSLEIF

• He smells like the environment he was in. Often it's nature. Every now and then he smells like the rain too

• Also smells kinda dusty, like that basement smell you know? People either love it or hate it.

DILUC

• He smells warm and homely. Notes of cedar, sandalwood, or cinnamon

• But you'd have to stand really close to him to smell anything, his coat kinda dulls the scent

• Of course, he always smells like the vineyard and grapes during the harvest

FREMINET

• Smells fresh like bar soap. It's almost unnoticeable. It has a light scent of baby powder

• His clothes smell like chamomile because of the fabric softener he uses

GAMING

• This fella smells like cocoa butter because he uses it as body lotion

• I can also imagine that he carries an aroma of caramel/burnt sugar

• Bro eats so much dim sum, he often smells like the food he ate

GOROU

• I don't think he has a particular scent

• But his home/room smells like cinnamon, cloves, and oranges. The scent kinda rubs off on him

HEIZOU

• He wears body mists with floral notes. His favorites are maybe roses, lavender, or honeysuckle

• He likes to keep a little lavender sachet in his closet, so his clothes also smell like flowers

ITTO

• Idk, he probably smells like someone who's outside a lot. He has that outside smell, you know what I mean?

• He probably wears a musky fragrance, but it usually mixes with his sweat

KAEYA

• My bro is using all sorts of Arabian oils and fragrances. He has some with the notes of oud, musk, amber, and much more. Kaeya has a whole collection

• He smells divine and he knows it because people compliment him every day

• But like Venti, he drinks a lot, so his scent mixes with the wine odor

KAVEH

• Kaveh likes to wear fruity, tropical fragrances because he's always craving chilled fruits, especially on days that are hotter than usual.

• They also remind him of the days on which he sat in front of his house with his parents and ate watermelons

• Also has an alcohol odor sometimes like his fellas in Mondstadt

KAZUHA

• He uses a fabric softener because he likes his clothes to be extra comfortable. That's why he often smells like fresh laundry

• Because he spends a lot of his free time in nature, he probably also smells like grass or firewood

LYNEY

• Berries. He always smells like berries.

• He won't tell you what his secret is

• You guess every product he uses has the scent of berries. His bodywash, his shampoo, his body lotion, his deodorant, his fabric softener, the candle in his room, his lip balm, etc. Even his toothpaste...

NEUVILLETTE

• This sir smells like the ocean. Like the sea breeze. Like water itself.

• Yeah, he likes expensive-smelling aquatic colognes. Though occasionally he also uses citrusy perfumes

TARTAGLIA

• Something tells me that he either smells like expensive aquatic fragrances

• Or he smells like an old lady mixed with the aroma of nature, grass, firewood, animals, etc.

THOMA

• He probably likes to wear sweet scents like tonka bean and honey

• Or even perfumes with fruity notes like peach or pear

TIGHNARI

• You can't tell me this guy doesn't smell like herbs, plants, flowers and stuff

• Idk, when I think of him I think of eucalyptus

VENTI

• He would smell quite fresh and idk, breezy?

• Like a fresh breath of air in spring if you know what I mean

• But since he's drunk most of the time the overbearing odor of wine sticks to him

WANDERER

• Nahida gifted him a citrus perfume and he has been using it ever since

• He likes bitter smells too, so he bought himself bitter perfumes with bergamot, bitter orange, and grapefruit notes

WRIOTHESLEY

• I think he wears a perfume which has woody, earthy notes. Sometimes he has a fresh minty smell to him too

• When he fights the scents obviously mix with his sweat

• I also think a light scent of motor oil sticks to him

XIAO

• Most of the days he smells literally like nothing, or sweat. It's not overbearing though

• But there are some days on which he smells super sweet, like vanilla, cotton candy, a baked treat or something

• It's either because he ate those things or because he has body sprays with these scents. He won't tell you

ZHONGLI

• If you're standing close to him, you'll smell his pleasant cologne scent

• It could be musky or woody, but he usually wears floral scents like osmanthus

• His scent mixes with the aroma of tea leaves or herbs which he gets from wandering in the market and drinking tea the whole day

[romanteacism]

Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Particular Risk

Synopsis: They say taking a risk could drown you-- but you knew it must be taken, and if you were to jump in the deep end, your knight would always follow you closely behind. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess Realizations, Jealousy, Fluff, Princess Taking Risks PREVIOUS PART A/N: MWAH 💋

“No! I’ve already worn this last year— and this the year before that!” You explained as you tried to find a headpiece for your father’s name day celebration. It was a tradition that each name day of the king was celebrated with a masquerade ball— a tradition you had looked forward to each year, always amused and excited to attend such an event. Through the years, it had become vexing as you took it upon yourself to wear a headpiece unique and unlike the other you had worn or anything similar to other members of the court. “How about this, princess? It—“ You cut off the masque maker, “My cousin had already worn a mask similar to that one three years before,” You sighed, struggling to find the final piece of your ensemble for the ball that was fast approaching. 

“If I may, princess— perhaps you have a design in mind? If none of these are to your liking, we are more than happy to create a piece completly unique to you.” The masque maker suggested, not wanting to leave their princess unhappy. You paused for a moment and thought about the proposition before nodding; Ser Aemond was quick to your aid and handed you your leather-bound sketchbook and charcoal. You smiled upon him in gratitude, trying to urge yourself to grow accustomed to the quickening in your heart each time your eyes met and your skin brushed. Aemond marveled at how quick you were to sketch what you desired, quickly creating what you wished. You tore the page and handed it to the masque maker. It was a mask in the intricate design of a butterfly wing. “And I want it to be made with sapphires and… and perhaps gold, if it’s not too heavy,” You say, pointing at the places you wished to put the precious gemstones. “Of course, princess, we shall make it right away,” The masque maker bowed and proceeded to leave with haste to complete your masque for the ball that was merely three days away. 

As he left you, bit your lip and frowned, “Did you think I was too demanding?” You suddenly asked Ser Aemond as you rested your back on your settee. Second-guessing your particularity and having to ask the masque maker to make you a specific mask when, in truth, the masks he presented were completely adequate. “No, princess,” Aemond replied, questioning why you asked such a question. “Why would you think so?” You sighed and shrugged, “Well, it’s just… I feel guilty— maybe the masque maker thinks I do not think his designs are good to the point that I had to make my own; I do not wish to offend him…” You pouted, taking hold of the masques he had left, twirling the feather decoration between your fingers. “You are too kind, princess,” Aemond said, his heart warming and concerned at how such a little encounter made you feel guilty. “You know what it is you want— that is an admirable quality,” Aemond hummed.

“Is it? My mother always said my particularity is a sin because it makes me demanding,” You muttered. Aemond straightened his stance, “There is a difference between knowing what you want and demanding what you want, princess,” He said, “Being demanding is you take for granted all that you are given— asking and asking for more without even a speck of gratitude. That is not you, princess… that is never you,” You smiled at your knight as his words only made you fall deeper for him. “That is very kind of you to say,” You smiled, trying to reign in the flush that crept up your cheeks. Aemond bit the insides of his cheeks as he realized the smile on your lips was because of him. 

When the day of the ball arrived, the keep was busied to prepare for the night's festivities. Ser Aemond stood outside your door as you were prepared for the party in your father’s name, observing and listening to your pacing footsteps as you frantically got ready. “Tighter, please.” You say as you steadied yourself by the poster of your bed. “Are you certain, princess? Can you even breathe?” Your handmaid questions, apprehension heavy in her voice. You nodded and took in a deep breath as your corset was tightened to your liking. You let out a sigh as your body was hugged further by the bodice of your dress. You moved towards your vanity as your handmaid began to style your hair. Theodore lept upon the table, and you cooed at your cat, who was almost fully grown, placing a special collar and a special headpiece on his head so he would not feel left out for the day’s gala. 

A knock sounded out as your handmaiden finished styling your hair. You thanked her and dismissed her, and in exchange, Ser Aemond entered your chambers holding two silk boxes. “Your masque has arrived, princess,” Ser Aemond stated and placed down the boxes on your vanity table. A wide grin spread upon your lips as you inspected the mask made to your specifications and wants. He turned towards the other box, not certain of what it could contain, for he knew you had only sent out one design, but he did not question it. 

You gently placed down the masque and stood, taking hold of the unopened box, and walked to Ser Aemond, urging him to take it. “Pardon, princess?” he asked as he was uncertain what you meant. “It’s yours— I sent them another design and asked them to make a mask for you,” You smiled. Aemond blinked. “I… I am not in need of a mask, princess— I am not a guest.” He said, but you only shook your head. 

“All who will be in the hall later are in need to wear a masque! You are to be my side later on, are you not?” You question, and Ser Aemond nodded. “Of course, I will be by your side—but I do not need a mask— if anything, it would hinder me from my duty. I already only have one eye; it would be cumbersome if I wore a mask and obstructed the view of the other,” He explained, and you pursed your lips. “Which is why I designed one specifically for you,” You say and urge him once again to open the box. Ser Aemond did so hesitantly. Aemond pursed his lips as he was presented with a mask that matched yours. One that covered his damaged eye with a gleaming sapphire. Aemond swallowed thickly, at a loss for words. Had you known his secret? How did you know all that he hid? 

“Do you not like it?” You asked, slight dread in your stomach as your knight only gaped upon the mask you designed. “No— I…I do,” He suddenly spoke, fearing he offended you. You bit your lip as you could not read his eye, “If you truly do not wish to wear a mask, I understand,” You said and tried to take it from his hold, but he hindered you. “No, I shall wear it. Thank you, princess,” your knight assured, and you nodded, hoping you did not force upon your knight the mask. 

“Princess, the guests are arriving,” You hear a squire call out, and you move to wear your mask and carry Theodore in your arms. As you turned your gaze to your knight, Ser Aemond had already forgone his eyepatch and wore the mask that matched yours— a picture of unity that you could humor yourself with. You smiled as he led out his arm for you to take as the two of you went down to the reception hall. “Happy name day, Father!” You greeted as you saw your father standing by the great doors, already wearing his mask. “Thank you, my darling, and don’t you look lovely,” The king smiled, kissed his daughter on the cheek, and petted her beloved cat. The king moved to glance at the knight who stood behind his daughter, Ser Aemond giving a bow at the king, who gave a nod and noticed how Ser Aemond’s maks matched his daughter’s; the king said naught a word. 

You took your place by the left of your brother, and your knight stood behind you. “Did you truly bejeweled your cat’s collar?” Your brother asked, looking upon Theodore, who was perfectly behaved in your arms. “Of course! No child of mine would be underdressed!” You say, placing a kiss on your cat’s back, and your brother lets out an amused breath as you claim the feline to be your child. You greeted the guests who attended the celebration, but you could not help but be distracted and glance towards your knight— sneaking a look upon him as he surveilled all who came and, if any, presented danger. Gods, the sapphire truly suited him. You could not help but think. You let out a breath and returned to face forward to return at the matter at hand, fearing Ser Aemond would notice your glances and learn of your affection for him. 

When the party had moved to the great hall, you found your way back to your knight, ushering you along the crowded room. The two of you were supposed to make your way toward the long table at the end of the grand hall, but the call of your name, unchained by any title, made you both pause. Ser Aemond was quick to frown at who had the gall to call upon you so openly. He turned to you, and before he could utter a word, you left his side and readily ran towards the call. Aemond felt a twisting in his gut as you ran towards the man and threw your arms around him— the stranger twirling around and even went as far as to kiss your cheek. Aemond swallowed thickly, not knowing what to do. He knew he must be by your side, but he could not bear to be there when another took his place. 

“I did not know you would attend! Why did you not write to me?” He heard your question, watching as you took hold of the man’s hand and pulled towards the end table, walking past him without another glance. Aemond’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened as he followed you and the stranger whom your brother and your father readily and warmly welcomed. Absent was any recognition from your mother— which was not at all surprising. “You did not tell us you will attend!” Your brother greeted in surprise, hugging the man and giving him a clap on the back. “Of course, I would never miss the king’s name day,” He charmingly smiled, and Aemond watched you roll your eyes as if it were something amusing that completely flew over Aemond’s head— he could not even bear to look upon the man’s face as he was certain if he did, he would have to battle with the urge to maim him. Who was he?! 

Throughout the whole night, you were enveloped with merriment and were entertained by the man that Aemond had slipped away form your side, and he was certain that you had not even noticed. He watched from a distance as you spun on the dance floor, laughing carelessly whilst in the arm of another. Aemond looked away, unable to bear such a scene. Jealousy was consuming him, but at the same time, he knew he had no right to feel such emotions, for he was only your knight. And yet, envy gnawed at him— coursing through his veins and making the scar of his eye throb and burn. 

At the height of the party, you excused yourself to have a breath of fresh air; you looked around the hall in search of your knight. You had been trying to capture his gaze the whole night, trying to spot his unique silver hair, but he had been seamlessly in the crowd, denying you to gaze upon his lilac eye. You went towards the farthest balcony alone, wagering to yourself that your knight would somehow find you— that an unknown presence would pull him towards you. It did. 

“I haven’t seen you the whole night,” You stated, staring at the moon at the distant sound of the party filled the quiet night. You had felt him creep up by his rightful place that he had abandoned the past few hours. “How could you? You were distracted,” Aemond answered, tone holding bitterness that he tried not to seep through, but jealousy was an erratic and unbridled emotion that not many could control. You finally turned to look upon your knight, your smile faltering as you saw his overly stoic demeanor, and he had removed the mask you had made especially for him. “You’re not wearing your mask anymore,” you said quietly, a tad disappointed. “I did not feel the need to, princess,” He answered coldly.

You blinked upon the furrow in his brows. “Are you well?” You questioned, the air between you tenser than it was just a few hours before. “Yes,” Ser Aemond answered curtly. “But you’re frowning,” Ser Aemond shook his head, “I am not, princess.” You playfully rolled your eyes and step closer to your knight. “You are, there’s a line between your brows,” You say, reaching up and trying to smoothen the crease on the middle of his face. But as you did, your knight jerked his head away— as if your touch had scorned him— he moved away as if he were disgusted. “I—“ You say and quickly retrieve your hand, your stomach twisting as you find offense in his actions. “I’m sorry,” You finished your sentence, not expecting him to react in such a way. 

Aemond saw the hurt in your eyes, guilt creeping into his bloodstream, but it was overpowered by the jealousy he felt as he had to observe you with the stranger. “Go back to the party, princess,” He said, voice having the same tone of indifference it had during his first days as your sworn protector. “I… I do not understand you,” you said, resting your hand on your abdomen as the twist in your stomach never left. “One moment, you are warm and… and kind and obliging— then the next, you turn cold and detached… why do you do it?” You asked, as much as you hold affection for Ser Aemond, it was hard to overlook his differing treatment. It confuses you further, and you do not know if his sentiments were genuine or an act. Aemond shook his head once more, not wanting to answer your question. 

“Just return to the party, princess— I’m certain he is waiting for you,” He gritted, not able to meet you in the eye. You frowned, noting the bitterness in his voice, a bitterness you had grown to know as you had felt it more often as of late. You turned your gaze upon his gritted jaw, then to his clenched fists. “Are you jealous?” You suddenly asked, his stature not of anger but rather of jealousy. His reactions are quite the same as yours as you felt such emotions. Aemond scoffed, “What kind of question is that?” He asked in ridicule, once again toeing the line of impertinence as he addressed you in such a tone. 

“A simple one. Are you jealous?” You asked once more, curious as well if that was the emotion he felt and as to why he felt it and what it meant if he were actually jealous. “I do not know what you speak of, princess.” Aemond gritted, not wanting to admit that you knew the precise emotion he felt. You tried to meet his eye, trying to see if he uttered the truth, but he avoided your gaze. You bit your lip in defeat and embarrassment. “Very well then,” you nodded and walked past him and did as he said and returned to the party but your merriment had gone the moment your knight had left your side. 

“Come, let me escort you to your chambers,” Aemond heard the man say as he linked his arms with yours. He could not believe what he heard and saw— you nodded and let him assist you, bidding your family good night, and they only let you go off with the stranger without question. Even your brother, who was overly protective of you when it came to your suitors, only nodded and bid you goodnight, not even batting an eye as he let the man escort you to your chambers. Aemond wanted to scream— to let out his frustrations at what was happening, at how you, the one who had insisted that she wanted nothing to do with a suitor or the opposite sex, let this man escort you to your room. He tried to listen in to your conversation as he trailed behind you in the halls, but your voices were hushed and could not be understood; it was as if you two spoke a secret language— familiarity between the two of you evident and only twisted the heart of Aemond. 

You paused when you reached your door, smiling at the man. Ser Aemond held his breath as he watched you stand at the tip of your toes and give the man a kiss on the cheek. By gods, this was torture. What had he done to bear witness to such a scene? Aemond was ready to succumb to another dimension of hurt and envy, but before he could fall into a further pit of despair, he heard you speak. “Good night… brother,” You smiled fondly. Ser Aemond caught your eye as you quickly glanced at him before disappearing into your chambers, leaving him dumbfounded. Brother?

The next morning came, and everyone in the keep had a later start on the day except for Aemond, who still tried to piece together what you had said the night before. Borther? You had another brother? How did he not know? None had mentioned him before— he was absent from any other event— he was not even present in any of the portraits in the keep. How, then, could he be your brother!?

“Goo—Good morning, princess,” Aemond stuttered as you exited your chambers. His jealousy had simmered and instead turned into nerves as he did not know where the two of you stood after your conversation last night. “Good morning.” You replied curtly, walking past Ser Aemond, growing accustomed to the usual retaliation and routine of ignorance and silence whenever you and your knight would grow cross with one another. He followed you to the gardens, your usual lonesome place now housed your two brothers who waited for you. “There you are!” Your brother, whose name he was still yet to know, greeted. “I still cannot believe you did not tell us that you were coming! We could have prepared your room!” You greeted your brother as he assisted you to your chair. “Well, in truth, my coming was unplanned— I was only near the capitol as I had to buy supplies, and I thought I should come to the king’s celebration,” Your brother explained as he fought with you with the piece of pastry you were eyeing, smiling at his tease to acquire what you wanted but in the end, he only placed it onto your plate. 

“I actually have to leave— I had just waited for you to wake so I could bid you goodbye.” The smile on your lips quickly disappeared. “But you’ve only just arrived! And we have not seen you in so long— must you truly go already?” You asked, disappointed upon the revelation. “I’m afraid so; they are waiting for me in the Citadel… but I assure you, I shall come once again during winter— that is if your mother allows me to step foot on capitol grounds.” Aemond frowned upon your other brother’s wording— the prince letting out an amused chuckle as he popped a berry into his mouth. “Fine. But if you are not here by the holidays, I’ll have Father send out men to come fetch you, I swear.” You say as you narrow your eyes, and your brother only smiles. “I know, you’ve done it before.” 

Aemond followed as you and the prince bid goodbye to your brother by the gates. Aemond still wondered about what had happened— at how the man he thought was your suitor was your brother and how your brother was not acknowledged by the court. “Ser Aemond,” the prince nodded as he walked past your knight to attend his duties for the day. Aemond swallowed as he heard you sigh, the two of you now left alone and the tenseness in the air had never departed. You and Aemond were once again succumbed to the silence of indifference— one he hoped would be quick to be gone. It was nearing nightfall, the sky alight with the afterglow of the sun, and Aemond could no longer stomach the two of you not speaking. 

Your knight pursed his lips and let out a grieved breath, daring to take hold of your arm and pull you into an alcove of an empty hall. “What is it?” You asked coldly. “I…. I—“ Your knight could not articulate his words— confusion and remorse taking hold of his senses. You stood there for a moment as Ser Aemond could not make out his words, but the confusion in his eye told you all that you needed to know. “Do you recall when I told you when my mother and father did not marry for love?” You questioned, and Ser Aemond only nodded. “Father loved another… and from that love came our half-brother.” You explained the deepest secret your family had to your knight. “He was born a moon before my mother and father married— but his mother had died during his birth. Instead of disregarding his existence, Father placed him in the care of a distant cousin— and the court has been fed the lie that he is our cousin when, in truth, he was our brother.” 

“He is a bastard,” Aemond stated as he recalled all you had said. His words quickly made a frown slip to your face. “He, is my brother. No matter the state of legitimacy.” You said, and Aemond recoiled as he realized not all held the distaste for bastards as he did because not all had the same treatment he had from the bastards in his family. “I’m sorry, princess,” Aemond said in remorse, not even able to meet your gaze. You pursed your lips and rested your back upon the curved wall of the alcove as you assessed Ser Aemond. It should concern you that even though he had offended you, your heart still yearned for him. “I still do not understand you,” you say. “Whenever I think we are venturing towards a sense of normalcy— that we’re getting somewhat closer… you grow cold and distance yourself.” You hated this— you hated to sound as such before Ser Aemond because you knew, at its core, your relationship did not warrant any speck of closeness or anything that resembled intimacy. He was your knight, and you were simply his duty. 

Aemond licked his lips as he had no words to explain why he did such action— well, he did have the words, but he knew he could not utter it. “That is just how I am, princess,” he reasoned, but you sighed and crossed your arms across your chest, looking to your left and momentarily distracting yourself with the view of the afterglow. “I do not believe you.” You say quietly. “You do not have to,” Aemond answered. “So last night… your reaction was not brought forth by jealousy— what was it then?” You questioned, daring to utter the question even though you took the risk of hurting your pride once more. Aemond bit his tongue, having no way out of the conversation. He swallowed thickly, and before he could listen to reason and before his sensibilities could hinder him, he spoke the truth. “It was.” You frowned and wondered if you heard correctly. “Why?” You questioned in disbelief. 

Aemond turned to his right and stared out into the afterglow as well, knowing in himself there was no escape— he knew he must take the risk even if his station and pride would be on the line. “Because… because he took my place.” He said, not having the guts to offer half-truths or a made-up reason to defend his actions. “You had not even noticed my departure, for you were too consumed by his presence,” he mumbled, not able to hinder himself once more. “So you were jealous because you thought he was my suitor, and my attention was on him instead of you…” You trailed, your knight unmoving and providing no validation for your question. “Why would you be jealous?” In truth, you thought he had no care— that he was immune to such emotions, for your affections were certainly unrequited… wasn’t it?

You locked eyes with his unique lilac ones. The silence was palpitating but never uncomfortable. None uttered a word, but each moment you held your sworn protector’s gaze, you found your answer. You let out a shaky breath as you realized Ser Aemond’s gaze mirrored yours— that your emotions were one with his. And with such realizations, words were taken from you, and all you could do was close the damned gap between and take the risk. You stood on the tip of your toes and let your lips be met with your knight’s because you knew what you wanted, and what you wanted was him. Just him. 

[beware-thecrow]

I fucking hate BNHA The last panel about "granma is here" in fact further proves my point on another post of how empty and nonsensical BNHA became in the last arc because AfO wanting Tomura from the very beginning made impossible for him to be saved anyway, which means all his beef with the heroes became unjustified and his speech about violence and heroes and villains held no importance in the end. Why?

Because you cannot have a character built over the premise that society was so corrupt and selfish that put a little boy in the bad bad villain's reach for 5 arcs, to then say "oh, wait. He was fucked anyway because the bad bad guy was behind everything all along"

A bad bad guy not even all might in his prime could defeat, so it doesn't matter if people would or wouldn't help others. "It's all bad bad guy's fault anyway and he's practically immortal." Perfect, now we know granma didn't stand a chance against AfO, he planned this.

The whole idea of a society that relies on heroes too much instead of everyone doing their part from kindness falls like a house of cards if you have an evil so corrupt that none of said kindness will mean a thing. The moment Horikoshi went from "Tomura was found by AfO" to "Tomura was planned by AfO" the core theme of his series crumbled down. The league as a device lost its meaning, the characters that composed it became unjustified because whatever motivation they had was in fact a manipulation from the greater evil. And this applies to everyone.

What's the point in Toga and Twice calling out the lack of help for people with mental illness and problematic quirks if the message still is "If you do bad things out of despair no one will help you and you'll get killed." And yes, Toga died loved, Toga wanted to be loved, but she didn't wanted to die?? She was literally an abandoned child who found a family and ended up dying giving blood to the same girl she stabbed. And yeah, it's kinda poetic she died giving blood instead of taking it, but what was the point if she doesn't get to know she's loved? Further more, are we really to believe Ochako loved Toga? A girl she literally didn't know. Sorry, but once I got lost in a mall and a police officer helped me find my mom, that doesn't mean the officer loved me. And yeah, Ochako tried her best to be a good hero, but it's not about what the characters do, it's what the story tells you it happens with what they do. The story just told you the ill and abandoned die in the end before anyone helps them. And they die hunted by the police. What's the point of Touya as a whole? oh, wait. I know, it must be very awful for Endeavor to be such a bad person, his child ended up incapacitated. Very hard on Endeavor. Fuck Dabi being turned into a piece of charcoal, IT'S HARD ON HIS DAD.

What's the point in Spinner pointing out discrimination and people following him if in the end we got that he should have stayed in his lane, in his room, friendless because he only went out to be seen by someone who accepted him, just to have that person tortured in front of him before he was killed. And for what? For a teen to tell him "Yo, bro. I punched your bestie to death, make a comic about it. Btw you'll be staying in jail forever. So so sorry for you guys." Proving once again, murder is okay if you are on the right side of the story. No matter how much compassion, Tomura showed Spinner, or how much he suffered through life. Heroes had the right to kill him, and there was nothing Spinner (who legit loved his friend) could do about it because AfO had taken over. Again, another good character turned pointless, with a pointless point of view, with a pointless conclusion because he can tell the story of Tomura Shigaraki all he wants FROM JAIL, but under the public eye Tomura will go down as an insane mass murderer either way since looking at him in any other light would inevitably make a target of Izuku for killing him and that won't happen. You cannot have "the best hero ever" and "he killed this dude that was kinda right" in the same sentence. It doesn't make sense. Not to mention his case against discrimination went nowhere since everyone who followed him became a villain and the only person who actually makes a point about discrimination ends up being Deku on another, totally different chapter that had nothing to do with Spinner. And...he's a hero so he can say whatever he wants, we go back to "questioning bad, unless a hero says it" and "people are really that horrible in BNHA universe".

Tomura's case it's even more fucked because even when he said he didn't want a future, every single wish he had fell flat. His hatred for not being saved as a child proved to be out of anyone's control, his desire to destroy society didn't land because nothing really changed. There are still schools for child soldiers, and people are still not questioning the violence heroes use to keep the status quo, and certainly no one is wondering how is that a couple of heroes were able to kill a couple of villains (because so far Hawks still has a job). His friends ended up dead or locked away, and the child in him that begged to be saved ended up...being not. In the end, we got a suffering festival for Tomura, from his granma being pushed to drop her kid, his dad being tricked, his parents getting killed in front of him, Mon-chan and Hana's memory squeezed dry and young Tenko asking for help while Tomura was assaulted by his creepy guardian for 200 chapters straight just to tell us that Deku at sixteen was a great hero for putting a twenty one-year-old dissociated guy out of his misery like a euthanized dog. And for what? To finish a guy who was infatuated with his dead brother AND THAT COULD HAVE BEEN EXECUTED IN JAIL LIKE...300 CHAPTERS AGO, since the manga already made the point that villains can be executed with little repercussion, and it can be justified if said villain it's a threat. Then...why was AfO alive to begin with? Oh, I guess this is something we can trust to a 16 year old instead of... the government or whatever. And yeah, these are tragic figures, they certainly are, but you can hardly claim that they achieved anything in the end because the first premise of the league, why it was formed and why they joined was

To live as we want/are. And now they are dead, or locked away, or bedridden crispy for something that was planted by someone else from the very beginning. And what they believed didn't change anything in the end because it's not like the public saw them do something meaningful but, again, they are being told what to believe, by whom? BY THE HEROES. Are we really arguing that Iguchi's comic will change society? ARE WE FOR REAL????? Have you ever read the story of Jesus Christ? he died for our sins by Marvel. And on top of that as the last nail in the coffin to prove that NOTHING changed, Hawks really said rebranding + target audience =📈🤙🏼 StOnKS✨ I wish I was joking.

[nkogneatho]

one sentence. it takes one sentence to change someone's entire life. that what toji did when he said "you can move in" the day he took you in when you had nowhere to go. and when he said "you're beautiful," you felt for the first time what it's like to have butterflies in your belly. when the first "i love you" left his lips, your entire world was shaken. life felt beautiful again. the haunting past slowly melted in the ground and flowers of joy and love started to bloom. one sentence truly changes everything.

"we should break up." it is not this sentence that hurt you. it is what followed that sentence. "i think i fell for someone else." you didn't blink for seven seconds. when you did, pooled tears streamed down your cheeks, your lips quivered. the saddest expression took over your face. toji's eyes widened. he had never seen you like this. what should he do? comfort you? but she must hate me is what is said to himself.

hate him? quite the opposite. you loved him to the point where your heart ached at why you weren't hating him for this. you shouldn't feel betrayed, right? he did not cheat on you. he told you he had fell for someone else. what is the right emotion at this point? you wanted him to hold you. or run to hold him, but your body felt paralyzed.

hate him. hate him. hate him. but i love him.

you couldn't even curse the person that was the reason you're hurting. that's how much you adored him. but the man who had planted those pretty flowers in your heart, was the one to set them on fire.

the garden burnt, charcoal seeping the ground, slowly poisoning you. if there's anything left in that barren land, it's your love for him still.

[amber-tortoiseshell]

Cat color genes masterpost

I copied all my descriptions from the cat color gene tournament here, with pictures and all. I often type out the genotypes, so this is a guide to what each letter means. Under the cut because it's very long.

Disclaimer: Sometimes I don't use the most common designations of a gene or an allele, and I'd like to apologize to everyone who's bothered by this. I have a very good reason for it: I like it better my way.

Genetics guide

Agouti (agouti signaling protein gene, ASIP): this gene determines whether the individual hairs will be banded or not.

dominant allele: A - banded hairs, tabby cat (wild type)

recessive allele: a - no bands, solid cat (variant)

A_ means if there's already an A allele, the other one can be either A or a.

A homozygous recessive cat with wild type alleles on every other gene will be solid black. Combined with other allele variants the a allele can produce other solid colors, different types of smokes and several more.

Actually there are more "secret" alleles for this gene: the agouti alleles of the asian leopard cat and other wild feline species. In certain hybrid breeds, most notably bengals, there's even a special coloration called charcoal born from the combination of the domestic cat's solid and the asian leopard cat's agouti allele.

Ticked (dickkopf wnt signaling pathway inhibitor 4, DKK4): this gene determines if there is any full-colored hairs, or only banded.

dominant allele(s - researchers found at least two): Ti - only banded hairs, ticked tabby cat (variant)

recessive allele: ti - some hairs don't have bands, "patterned" tabby cat (wild type)

If this is the only gene with variant allele, we'll have a black ticked tabby [black tabbies are also called brown, and other, mostly breed-specific names]. Ticked tabbies are possible in every color.

Nonagouti covers up the tickedness (this is called recessive epistasis): we won't see what a solid cat's genotype is on this gene. (Except when other genes make it possible. But that's biology for you.)

Spotted (?): this hypothetic gene can break up the tabby pattern's stripes into spots.

dominant allele: Sp - spotted tabby cat (variant)

recessive allele: sp - striped tabby cat (wild type)

Alone the Sp allele makes a black (brown ect) spotted tabby cat; of course, in combinations with other variant alleles, it can produce a wide variety of different colored spotted tabbies.

Both a and Ti covers up the spotted gene: its effect normally only visible on a cat with the A_ titi genotype.

Mackerel [i use the name mackerel since every other gene here is named after the dominant allele] (transmembrane aminopeptidase Q, Taqpep): this gene determines the type of the tabby pattern.

Blotched and classic are synonym terms.

dominant allele: TMc - narrow vertical lines, mackerel tabby cat (wild type)

recessive allele: tbl - wide, swirling lines, blotched or classic tabby cat (variant)

If every other gene is wild type except this, we'll have a black blotched tabby cat, but of course the tbl allele can produce lots of different colored classic tabbies.

All of the previously mentioned genes are able to nullify the effect of this one, so a mackerel or a blotched tabby must have A_ titi spsp genotype.

Additional annoyed remark: Despite the name, the so-called classic pattern is actually both the newer and the less common worldwide. My only guess for why it's named like that: it's the more common one in England. Well, thanks. (That's why I actually prefer the name blotched over classic.)

Brown (tyrosinase-related protein-1, TYRP1): this gene determines the quantity of the functional eumelanin.

dominant allele: B - full pigment production, black cat (wild type)

"middle" allele: b - less pigment, chocolate cat (variant)

recessive allele: bl- even less pigment, cinnamon cat (variant)

Order of dominance: B > b > bl

If every other allele is wild type except this, we'll have a chocolate or cinnamon mackerel tabby cat. (On the picture the cinnamon cat is spotted rather than striped, because i couldn't find a decent mackerel. So sad.) Chocolate and cinnamon cats are possible in every pattern.

Dilute (melanophilin, MLPH): this gene determines the distribution of the pigments.

dominant allele: D - even pigment distribution, dark cat (wild type)

recessive allele: d - clumped, uneven pigment distribution, diluted cat (variant)

black -> blue

chocolate -> lilac

cinnamon -> fawn

In these pictures the difference isn't that striking between the black and the blue mackerel tabby, but if you look up at the header, in solid cats it's much more pronounced.

For further comparison of undiluted and diluted color pairs on one picture (to eliminate differences in lightening):

black vs blue and red vs cream

Every possible color and pattern can be diluted (with the only exception of white).

Orange (?): this yet unidentified gene determines the type of the most prominent pigment: eumelanin on pheomelanin.

allele: O - mainly pheomelanin, red-based cat (variant)

allele: o - mainly eumelanin, black-based cat (wild type)

This gene is special in two related ways: first, it's located on the X chromosome, which means tomcats only have one allele; second, the alleles are codominant - if a cat carries both of them, it'll show both phenotypes: this is how we get tortoiseshell cats. This explains why almost all tortoiseshell cats are females - every tortie needs two different X chromosomes.

Combined with other variant alleles every possible color and pattern can occure as tortoiseshell, but the O allele is epistatic over a lot of genes: for example agouti (the phenotype of every orange cat is tabby, even the genetically solid ones) and brown (since eumelanin is mostly absent thus can't change - the genotypes OO B_, OO b_and OO blbl all mean red cat).

The dilute version of red is called cream.

The dilution level is always the same in the colors of a tortoiseshell: the undiluted black, chocolate and cinnamon is paired with red, the diluted blue, lilac and fawn are paired with cream.

White (receptor tyrosine kinase, KIT): this gene determines the size of the area the pigment producing cells (the melanocytes) reach.

dominant allele: W - basically no melanocytes, white cat (variant)

allele(s): ws - limited area is covered, white-spotted cat (variant)

allele: w - all of the body is covered by the melanocytes, full-colored cat (wild type)

recessive allele: wg - only the paws remain white, gloved cat (variant)

Order of dominance: W > ws = w > wg

Since the gloving allele is kind of specific to the breed, I used a birman cat to illustrate it.

Lots of alleles here! Actually I'm not sure what's the most accepted opinion about them, but since these variant are all mapped to KIT, I considered them alleles.

If every other gene shows the wild type except for this, we'll have a white, or a white-spotted black mackerel tabby cat, but thanks to the ws allele(s) every color and pattern can be combined with white patches. However, the W allele is epistatic over every other gene: if a cat has one or two copies of W, it will be white regardless everything else.

ws is interesting: it has an additive effect, a cat with the wsws genotype will have more white than a cat with only one copy of it.

wg is fully recessive: the gloved phenotype only present if the cat's genotype is wgwg.

Color restriction (tyrosinase, TYR): mutations on this gene will result in temperature-sensitivity in the pigment production, the cats will be lighter on the warm and darker on the cooler areas of their bodies.

dominant allele: C - regular pigment production, full colored cat (wild type)

allele: cb - moderately reduced pigment production: burmese color restriction, sepia cat (variant)

allele: cm - reduced pigment production, bangkok color restriction, mocha cat (variant)

allele: cs - highly reduced pigment production: siamese color restriction, pointed cat (variant)

recessive allele: c - no pigment production, albino cat (variant)

Dominance order: C > cb = cm = cs > c

Now this group is a lot. Not only five different alleles (mocha was found relatively recently in Thailand), but the middle three are all intermediate with each other meaning that actually we have eight different phenotypes (illustration from messybeast; full color and albino are absent):

I used solid cats for illustration, because in the thai breed (the cats i used belong to this) they are often preferred over tabbies, so it's easier to find pictures; also, it's much more simple to compare them.

(Photos from The Thai Cat Center and Bangkok Mocha Cat, and Pangur from @pangur-and-grim as an albino cat)

Please note that all of these varieties are very changeable; the pictures (especially those of the heterozygotes) are far from representing all cats carrying the respective genotypes.

Alone these variants makes some type of a black (seal) mackerel tabby point cat, but every type of color restriction can occure together with all possible colors and patterns.

***The color restriction gene won the Cat Color Gene Tournament!***

Inhibitor (?): this unidentified gene reduces the pheomelanin production, thus removes the warm tones of the fur (the hairs have white-black banding instead of yellow-black).

dominant allele: I - reduced pheomelanin, cooler toned cat (variant)

recessive allele: i - normal pheomelanin, warmer toned cat (wild type)

If every other allele is wild type except for this, we'll have a black silver mackerel tabby cat. Combined with other alleles it can produce lots of different silver (tabby) and smoke (solid) varieties.

Wide band (?): This hypothetic gene makes the yellow bands on the agouti hairs wider, resulting in a lighter, yellowish pelt. Based on the width of the pale bands we can differentiate between golden (middle band width) and shaded (maximal band width, color is pushed up into the tip).

dominant allele: Wb - reduced area of eumelanin, warmer toned cat (variant)

recessive allele: wb - normal area of eumelanin, cooler toned cat (wild type)

Golden is quite a mess; right now there is one identified gene (found first in siberians), but persians and many more breeds must have different gene(s), based on the interaction with the inhibitor gene (siberian golden + silver = bimetallic, persian golden + silver = silver shaded or chinchilla), and the inheritance patterns (the siberian alleles are recessive, while persian golden appears to be dominant). Since lots of breeds allow golden, and sometimes it can be found even in stray cats, I say who knows what genes and alleles are out there! This is all a hardly understood, very exciting and currently researched area.

If every other gene stays wild type except for this, we'll have a black golden mackerel tabby or a black golden shaded cat. Combined with other alleles it can produce lots of different golden and silver varieties.

Low-grade white (?): Again, hypothetic gene(s). Even with the extreme variability of the white spotting allele(s), the existence of some independently inherited genes is strongly suspected. Their effects most commonly manifest as a white locket: a small white patch on the chest or the belly, and/or a white tail tip. I'm not sure if there is any consensus whether these are more likely to be recessive or dominant alleles.

Dilute modifier (?): This unidentified gene changes the color of a diluted cat, the coloration becomes more brownish.

dominant allele: Dm - (variant)

recessive allele: dm - (wild type)

blue, lilac, fawn -> caramel

cream -> apricot

I put here a cat in all three diluted colors to compare them with the caramel tabby. It's hard to spot the differences, isn't it?

Since this is a dilute modifier, the D allele covers it, and we can only see its effect on cats with dd genotype.

It can be found only in a few breeds: orientals (including related breeds), burmese, different rexes. To our current knowledge, of course.

Extension (melanocortin 1 receptor, MC1R): This gene replaces eumelanin with pheomelanin resulting in a yellowish or reddish furred cat. The change often happens gradually during the first years of the cat's life.

dominant allele: E - eumelanin remains, black adjacent cat (wild type)

recessive alleles: e, er, ec - pheomelanin takes over, yellow/red adjacent cat: amber, russet or serdolik (variant)

All three recessive variants are new mutations found recently in different breeds: the color amber in the 1990s in norwegian forest cats, the color russet in 2007 in burmese, and the color carnelian or serdolik in 2018 in kurilian bobtails (at least that's the first mention). We don't know anything about their interactions, or their effects on cats outside of their respective breeds.

The gene only effects eumelanin, so the O allele is epistatic over the it. However, because of the properties of the overpowering pheomelanin, every e allele is epistatic over agouti, so the tabby patterns will show up on aa cats as well.

Wide band (serine peptidase, CORIN): This hypothetic gene makes the yellow bands on the agouti hairs wider, resulting in a lighter, yellowish pelt.

dominant allele: Wb - eumelanin on normal sized area, darker cat (wild type)

recessive alleles: wbSIB, wbeSIB, wbBRI - eumelanin on reduced area, lighter cat (variant)

Ohhh, citizens of tumblr, we're really in it now. So. In the moment, we have, I believe, three mutations found on this gene: the sunshine (wbSIB) and extreme sunshine (wbeSIB) in the siberian breed, and the copper (wbBRI) in british cats. (I only show the sunshine and the copper here.) The novelty of these mutations means that the breeders still often call them simply golden instead of the new names, so it's difficult to find reliable data. Further complicating the situation, most likely both breeds have more wide band gene(s) beyond CORIN, and especially the copper cat above is the result of the combination of several wb genes.

Karpati (?): This unidentified gene makes the extremeties (face, ears, legs, tail) white kinda like a reverse colorpoint cat, and causes a roaning effect: scatters white hairs everywhere on the body.

dominant allele: K - whited extremities, karpati cat (variant)

recessive alleles: k - normal pigmant production, full colored cat (wild type)

Karpati seems to show intermediate inheritance with significantly more white on a homozygous then a heterozygote cat. This gene is studied for a very short time, and mostly on heterozygotes since they are much more common. The cats appearence changes during their life and also with the seasons: they born very similar to a fever coated kitten but with white ears, then to the end of their first year they almost completely lose the white (at least the heterozygous cats - the homozygotes become darker but still keep strange white patterns), then slowly gain it back as they age.

The karpati mutation is present in the stray cat population in middle-east Europe (including Hungary where I live, wahoo! and indeed, I can regularly see one or two karpaties in facebook adoptions groups and such). It's also introduced to some established breeds (LaPerm, Sphynx ect) and the creation of its own breed also began under the Transylvanian name.

[frost-queen]

Creatures on paper(Reader & Bridgerton siblings)

Requested by: anon, Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne,@vviolynn

Loud elephant stomps on the stairs rushed down. You opened the door from your room, brushing your hand against your cheek. A tingle that needed to be silenced. Upstairs you fell behind your sister Francesca. – “Stop running!” – she called out to Hyacinth and Gregory who had ran down the stairs in a thunderous way. They both giggled jumping down the few last steps.

Francesca shook her head with a sigh, going down elegantly. You went after her, not sure she had noticed you coming after her. Downstairs you followed Francesca towards the breakfast table. Entering the room you were greeted with the hustle of your family.

Eloise having stolen bread, picking at it and stuffing it in her mouth while she went round the table. Anthony was chattering with Benedict as he pulled his chair back. Hyacinth and Gregory ran around the table laughing.

They nearly knocked over Colin who wanted to sit down. – “Children.” – Violet sighed out in an attempt to slow them down. You seized your chance, jumping to the front before Hyacinth could knock you over. Pulling your chair back at the same time as Colin did across from you. He looked at you, sniffling a laugh. – “What?” – you spoke setting the chair down on the carpet.

“Been drawing all night?” – he asked. – “How do you know?” – you questioned almost sitting down. Colin brushed his finger against his cheek to indicate something on yours. You wiped your cheek confused. Looking down at your fingers you saw the charcoal on your tips.

Continue to wipe your cheeks, you seemed to be spreading it more than removing it. – “Hyacinth! Gregory sit down!” – Violet called out frustrated. Your siblings stopped, gulped and rushed to their seats.

You looked at Colin with the indication if it was off. He shook his head, chuckling. Turning your head you made Francesca look back at you. She took her napkin, wiping your face clean. – “Is it finished?” – Colin asked. You shook your head as Francesca had to pause briefly from your motion. – “You must tell me when it is done.” – he went on.

“Why?” – you mumbled scrunching your nose as your sister cleaned your face. – “Cause I want to see what you are working on.” – he answered. Francesca nodded as she lowered her napkin. Her napkin now stained with black charcoal stains. You grabbed for your knife as Francesca took your wrist before you could pick it up.

“What?” – you asked confused. – “Honestly Y/n.” – she replied turning your hand so you could see the charcoal marks on your fingers. You smiled sheepishly. – “Why not use pencils?” – Benedict contributed having looked your way briefly.

“I like drawing in charcoal. Makes it raw.” – you answered him as Francesca cleaned your hand. When she was done, you showed her both your hands. She smiled when you funnily held your hands beside your head, sticking your tongue out. She brushed her napkin down on you, making you flutter your eyes surprised.

You then showed yourself to Colin. – “Much better.” – he complimented with a mouth half stuffed. You dived into breakfast, feeling famished. – “What are you working on sister?” – Benedict asked sitting sideways from you on the other side. – “Something new.” – you answered vaguely.

Benedict sighed soft at your mysteriousness. – “Is it a landscape?” – he asked. – “No.” – you answered reaching over the table for some bread. – “A portrait?”  - Anthony pitched in, joining the talk. You simply shrugged your shoulders. – “Come on dear sister, you must tell us something.” – he contradicted.

“Why?” – you spoke back. – “Because we are interested in your work.” – Francesca said nudging you. – “It’s not that special.” – you answered them before munching on some bread. The subject died out as another subject was brought up. You kept silent, enjoying your meal.

After breakfast you followed your siblings into the Parlor. Colin seated himself behind the piano. Filling the room with soft tunes. Eloise sat in the sofa with a book. Anthony and Gregory were playing chess. Hyacinth sat in the small armchair.

Benedict sitting beside Eloise, falling half asleep. Francesca sipping some tea as mama knitted. You had pulled out a notebook and pencil. Your pencil scratching hard against the paper. Your rapid movement made Hyacinth lift her head up to you.

She observed you for a moment, arm resting on the arm of the armchair. – “What are you drawing?” – she asked with a giddy smile from seeing the happiness on your face. You didn’t hear at first, making her repeat her question. – “Hmm? Oh nothing.” – you answered her, not removing your eyes from your sketch. – “You are clearly drawing. Can I see?” – she asked curious.

“No, sister.” – you told her. Hyacinth sighed loud. – “You never let me see.” – she spoke turning away from you. Eloise lowered her book, interested in the conversation as well. – “True Y/n. You never do.” – she pitched in. – “Let’s just say it’s not your style.” – you told her making your brothers look your way.

Francesca had putted her cup down, taking advantage of your occupation to sneak up on you from behind. – “We just love to see your drawings.” – Colin spoke from the piano. – “Benedict always shows us his.” – Hyacinth called out.

Francesca came standing behind you, her eyes widening. – “Dear God Y/n!” – she cried out, covering up her mouth. Her voice startled you, making you turn around sharply, your sketchbook slipping down your dress to the ground. – “Fran!” – you called out annoyed. Your sketchbook was open as Hyacinth dived for it. She picked it up from the ground, staring in horror at it.

“What the hell is this Y/n?” – she asked making the others curious. – “What is it?” – Benedict asked. – “Hyacinth give it back!” – you ordered trying to take it from her. – “She draws monsters.” – Hyacinth called out showing your brothers the pages. Colin missed a tune, letting a sharp tone play. Gregory and Anthony stared at your sketches with an open mouth.

Benedict gulped at your drawings. Full of monsters and scary stuff it was. Francesca slapped your arm. – “Why do you draw such horrid things?” – she asked loud. – “Au.” – you had said in response, rubbing your arm. Gregory narrowed his eyes at your sketches. – “I like it.” – he outed making Anthony stare in disbelieve at him. – “What, it’s great.” – he added.

You laughed at your brother’s silly remark. Benedict neared as he took the sketchbook from Hyacinth. – “It is a good technique.” – he spoke. Eloise plucked the book from him. – “Can I rip out a few for my personal collection?” – she asked looking through your sketches with a gleam in her eyes. – “Sure.” – you told her.

Eloise grinned, carefully ripping a page out. – “I’m taking this.” – she presented, shutting the book and holding it to you. – “Can I have one too?” – Gregory asked. – “Why not.” – you showed him the book as he searched for one to take out. – “You are such a weird one.” – Francesca whispered to you, making you laugh loud.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!  

[knavesflames]

“Promise”

Just a little thing about Clervie and Arlecchino that lowkey apart my heart thinking about it. Again, very sorry if this is not good!! Am new to writing things down other than in my notes sooo bear with me as I get better pls 😩

Contents: angst, the tiniest mention of self harm. It isn’t graphic, it is mentioned in passing only once, and very vaguely, but thought I’d put a TW anyway🥰

Word count: 2453

Writing under the cut!!:D

At age 9,

Peruere sits in the garden, holding the small box. The lid is open as she places a small lumidouce bell next to the spider. The lumidouce bell will die and wilt underground, but at least the spider won’t be lonely, she thinks.

“Peruere!”

The loud childish voices rings out in the garden once again. A sigh leaves Peruere’s lips. She isn’t in the mood to talk to the person she secretly calls sunshine. Looking down at the splayed out body of her pet spider, her lip quivers. Once, twice, before a tear falls onto the wood of the makeshift coffin. The dread rising in her as she sees her hands changing doesn’t go unnoticed, but she pushes it down. ‘What is that? Why am I changing?’

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sunshine once again, the voice now muffled with chewing.

“I brought cake. Want some?”

Peruere’s now charcoal hands take the cake, pausing as the sunshine (or Clervie, but Peruere prefers sunshine) takes it from her hands and places it on a leaf in front of the small grave.

“You must know spiders don’t eat cake.”

“Yeah, I know! They can’t eat cake here, but in spider world they can.”

Her voice is almost irritating to Peruere, who is only trying to be angsty and sad. But how can she be sad when the sunshine is right there?

“Clervie, I want to sit in silence.”

Clervie can’t help her eyebrows furrowing before she sits down with a small thud.

“I’ll sit with you, then.”

Peruere sighs as her eyes, eyes that are unlike any others in the house of the hearth, glance towards the sunshine. She doesn’t persist. Secretly, she’s glad for the company. Clervie smiles back as she plays with the small patch of lumidouce bells.

“I don’t care that you’re different. I think you’re cool.”

Her eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing before she responds.

“Why? I’m completely different from you.”

“I like that. Even our teddies are different. I think everyone being the same is boring. They won’t be the king because they are all the same. You will be king one day, Peruere. Can I sit with you when you are?”

Peruere feels just a small amount of dread at those words. The words that remind her that one day, she indeed, will have to do what Mother says and fight to be king. Something is off about Mother, she thinks. She is too kind, too caring. She doesn’t like it. Not just because she doesn’t deserve it (that’s what she tells herself in the mirror before she sleeps), but because Clervie, the sunshine, is falling for it. In that moment, she makes a silent vow to protect the sunshine always, even if it is cloudy.

“We can be king together.”

“Do you promise? I don’t want to be left behind.”

“I promise.”

At age 11,

Peruere and Clervie, the sunshine and the moon, sit in a deserted part of the house of the hearth. Their favourite part is the room with the wide window, where they sit and stare at the sky, talking about their dreams. Or rather, Clervie talks, Peruere listens. Though this time, the roles seem to be reversed. Next to them, a tray of medical instruments. Scissors, bandages, gauze, disinfectant. Peruere sits, her blackened, gentle but clumsy hands tying a bow on one of the bandages. The look on Clervie, I mean, the sunshine’s, face was much brighter than ten minutes ago. This is the first of many times, unbeknownst to them. Peruere speaks softly.

“What happened? Your wrists looked like they got hurt.”

“Nothing, Peruere.”

Alarm bells ring in Peruere’s head. Clervie was never this closed off, not with her.

“Did you do this to yourself? Like Céline? She got upset at herself so she hurt herself. I don’t like that, tell me you didn’t do that. It’s dangerous, Clervie.”

Her eyes, shining black, filled with worry. Her hand grabs the sunshine’s, giving it a little squeeze, encouraging her to talk.

“No, that isn’t it. I argued. With Mother. I don’t want to fight everyone to be king. I want to be friends with everyone, I want to eat bulle fruit with everyone. Why do we have to fight?”

“I do not like it either. I want to run away sometimes. Do Mothers always argue with their daughters?”

“I don’t know.”

Clervie’s hands, still trembling from the adrenaline, push open the window. They stare at the stars for a while, before her voice rings out once more, soft, quiet, always optimistic.

“I heard that in Snezhnaya, coloured lights dance in the sky at night. When we grow up, shall we go see it together?”

Peruere wonders if they’ll ever go and see it, or if it’s just another empty promise. Just like how Mother promised her spider wouldn’t die, how the fish she caught wouldn’t be eaten.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

At age 13,

The sun shines. Both the actual sun, and Clervie, Peruere thinks. Her fingers are splayed out on the picnic blanket, the wet paint on her nails shining in the light when her fingers twitch. Painted black, like her skin on her arms, and red, the colour of the lipstick they stole from Mother a few weeks ago, the colour of Clervie’s hair. She makes a noise of satisfaction, secretly looking at Clervie through her fingers. It looks like she’s looking through prison bars, she thinks. But Clervie is the sun. If anyone should be in prison, it’s her, not Clervie. She doesn’t like the way she thinks about Mother, but Mother harms the sunshine. Her sunshine. Her eyes widen, just slightly as she realises that maybe feeling so warm and fuzzy inside whenever she sees Clervie isn’t exactly a usual way to think of people. She doesn’t feel that for anyone else. She stares a bit longer. How the red of Clervie’s hair reminds her of the burning sun. Of the fire in the lounge of the house of the hearth. Fire is good, she thinks. She could protect her sunshine with fire. In a split decision, she takes the red nail polish in one hand, a strand of her white hair in the other. Snow and blood. Blood on snow. Those colours seem to be awfully present in her life as of late, and her heart begins to twist as she thinks of what it means for her future. Before she can think any harder, Clervie’s giggle cuts through her thoughts.

“What are you doing, silly?”

Red paints on the snow coloured hair.

“I’m like you now. I have red hair. That way, we will stay friends forever.”

“I like you too much to leave you, silly. It looks good with your hair. The red. You should paint it every day, and that way, you can—“

Words are cut off by clumsy lips meeting clumsy lips. Only for a second, a second that feels forever. Peruere’s cheeks flush the colour of the painted strand as she mumbles apologetic words.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I-“

“It’s okay. I liked it. I want to do it more. You should still keep the red strand. Promise you will?”

“Yes, I promise.”

At age 16,

Mother has been increasingly cruel, to both her and Clervie. Especially to Clervie. How could someone be so evil to someone so kind is something Peruere cannot fathom. She despises seeing Clervie cry, to hear her quiet sobs at night. Her eyes are always bright, always happy. If not for her own sake, for Peruere’s. But the sun has been hiding lately, hiding behind clouds and avoiding words. The red strand of Peruere’s hair, once painted every day with nail polish to match Clervie’s, now permanently dyed, retouched every eight weeks, hidden under most of her hair to avoid Mother’s wrath. And now? They stand in the field, Clervie, facing Peruere with resigned eyes.

“You know it’s the only way. Mother will kill us both if you are not king. Have you not noticed the children disappearing?”

“I have. It does not mean your life has to end. You cannot take your life—“

“No. That will not satisfy Mother, and you know that. You must do it.”

Hate, fear, dread and sadness twist Peruere’s gut so hard she feels as if she will throw up. She fight the urge to retch at the very suggestion that she dulls the sunshine she has grown to adore so.

“I cannot. I will not. You cannot ask me to do something like that.”

“You must.”

She hates that Clervie is right. She hates that Mother is so twisted and sick that this is the only choice. She begs anyway, something she told herself she would never do.

“Please. We were supposed to go to Snezhnaya together. To see the coloured lights in the sky. There is no ‘we’ without you.”

A chuckle is heard, the familiar chuckle that lights up Peruere’s heart, the chuckle that feels like it’ll reverse her curse entirely. She can’t deny the sadness she hears in it though, especially not when she sees a tear slip down Clervie’s face. The sight brings tears to her own eyes and she looks away, unable to stare at her any longer. The longer she stares, the harder it will be. She knows this, but her eyes move back to her anyway.

“You will look at the coloured lights, and you can trust I will be there in them.”

“No! This is not fair.”

“You know I’m right, Peruere.”

“And I hate that you are. You’re always damn right. Stop that.”

Another chuckle is heard behind tears.

“I plan to.”

“Don’t joke.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you have to do this.”

Peruere feels like her breath is being sucked out of her, like she can’t inhale enough and yet, exhaling is impossible. Her brain is telling her she has to. She has to give the sunshine a merciful end, lest Mother give her a far worse fate. But her heart is screaming. Tears drip down her face, her body wracked with silent cries. Her hand goes to the hilt of the dagger she always carries.

“But I love you. You are my sunshine.”

“I love you, too. And so I will always be here when the sun is shining. I am not afraid.”

“I am.”

Peruere is not one to be scared. She never has. But now, her hands are clammy, she feels a sweat gathering. She feels her heart thumping in a completely different way than when they share small kisses and giggles. She feels like she’s killing herself instead of her love. The dagger is unsheathed now, the blade glinting with every tremble of her hand. Oh, God, there it is again. That smile, the one that melts Peruere every time. Images flash in her mind of every time she bandages Clervie after an argument with Mother. Images of what could happen should Mother take Clervie’s life into her own hands, and before she can think twice, the dagger has pierced her skin. Clervie’s clothes are staining with blood as red as her hair.

“No. No, no— please. Clervie, you can’t. Why did you tell me to do this?”

Red ‘X’ irises stare into blue ones. A beautiful bluey green, one that Peruere has always admired. Has always adored looking into. Not now. Not while she watches the life drain from her eyes. Watching the sun burn.

“You will make a great king.”

“Stop that.”

Anger boils inside Peruere, anger like she has never felt before. She swears she will kill anyone who threatens to hurt the ones she cares about. She won’t let this happen again.

“I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Clervie’s soft words fill her ears for the final time before her body drops to the floor with a thunk. Peruere stares down at her, anger filling her so greatly, she becomes blank. She decides she will never feel again. She will never love again. The sun was a star, but the sun has burned and died.

“Do you promise you will be with me in Snezhnaya? Promise?”

“..Clervie?”

She is met with only silence, and the sound of the lumidouce bells waving in the wind.

At age 28,

Arlecchino walks through the halls of the House of the Hearth, watching stoically as the children play, as they watch the two children perform their magic show. She calls out, her voice strict, unfeeling.

“Meet in the dining hall when you are finished. Dinner is served shortly.”

Met with a chorus of “Yes Father”, she nods, satisfied, before turning away. Her heels click against the tiled floor as she walks through the halls, her hair flowing in her ponytail behind her. She takes the long route, avoiding the west wing of bedrooms, something she has avoided for many years. Her footfalls come to a stop as the sun hits her as it shines through the window. She feels a tug at her heart, and she clenches her fists tightly before sighing, turning quickly on her heel. She walks with purpose, walking past the many bedrooms until she slows, coming to a stop in front of the bedroom door she has kept locked. The ring of keys in her pocket makes a sound as she pulls them out, and she listens to the way they jingle as she unlocks the door and slips inside. She blinks back heartache as she stares around at the room. It has been well preserved, it looks like it’s still very much lived in by a sixteen year old girl. She goes about, dusting the surfaces in silence, cleaning up any signs that it hasn’t been touched in such a long time. She opens the window, watering the lumidouce bells that sit on the windowsill outside. She stops by the bed, where two teddies sit— one pink with a white ribbon, one black and white with red ‘X’s for eyes. Her hand, now black with darker patterns all over from how far the curse has advanced, softly pets the pink one, swallowing down a shaky breath. Her nails, painted red and black, like they always have been, gives a gentle scratch under the chin.

“Good morning, Clervie. The children are doing well today.”

Her hand slides into her pocket, pulling out a small, gift wrapped box, placing it by the teddy.

“Happy birthday. I told you I would not forget. The sun is shining brightly, and the colours in the sky at night have been vivid lately. You would have found them beautiful, I am sure. I would have loved to look at you as you stared at them in wonder.”

The birthday gift joins another 11 on the bed, each one in different phases of aging. She stands again, smoothing down the bedsheets before placing a small kiss on the pink teddy.

“See you next year, Clervie. I promise.”

[catsfor2]

hit me, part 2.5 (bonus baby)

wc: 1.1k, unedited warnings: swearing/language a/n: im sooooo tired so im sorry if this stinks. but anyway. I hope you guys like it regardless. ALSO wanted to also remind everyone that my requests are wide open ;)!! tags: @elliewilliamsmunch@intrnetdoll@me-and-your-husband@3zae-zae3@milahnoz@elliescumm@dragonasflowercrown@starpix@nopealoupe@annamommyy@muthafuckingstargirl

-j

part 1

part 1.5

part 2

Another meek chime rings out from your bed, calling to you, forcing you to slam your textbook shut out of frustration.

You’d been studying for maybe four hours at this point. It was far past dark, the sky now an opaque charcoal. Your eyes are aching. Your back is sore. It was time to take a break.

You hop on your bed, body weight causing it to gently bounce you up and down a few times.

You click your phone on.

New message from (+14556768854)

New message from (+14556768854)

Image from (+14556768854)

New message from (+14556768854)

New message from (+14556768854)

You hesitantly open it up, eyes squinting and head shunned like it might be something unsavory.

(+14556768854)

hey

can u tell me if this looks serious

IMG_5354 [Click to Download]

pls respond

y/n

Your heart lurches.

These texts were from Ellie.

Instantly on edge, and you frantically poke the image link to see it, tapping it repeatedly as if that would speed it up. It buffers, agonizingly, and you prepare yourself to see a grotesque and mangled amalgamation of colors in the next few seconds.

It finally loads.

You scan it quickly, studying and prodding the image with your eyes.

Your mouth flattens.

It’s…just a picture of her flexing.

Your thumbs type at an alarming speed.

that was not fuckijng funny

You throw your phone back at your mattress, deciding to ignore whatever nonsense Ellie will respond with.

It chimes immediately.

You regretfully pick it back up, still angry, and open to read what she says.

lol

“…Fucking stupid…” you mutter, already typing at your response.

im serious

thats not why i gave u my number

ok

why then

You roll your eyes, memory already recalling a couple of days ago, where you very clearly and very obviously told her why.

for emergencies

or if u need me for something important idk

i dont wanna see your thirst traps

You knew that last part was a lie before you even typed it out. That picture she sent was not what you were expecting, but it still turned your insides to mush. It still had you a bit uneasy, nauseous even. Ellie had power over your body like that.

hmmm

i have an emergency

really bad one

You wait on her answer, skeptically, watching those three dots dance around in circles.

im hungry

You let out a sigh.

Then you click your phone off, throwing it elsewhere, and dejectedly gazing at the textbook sitting on your desk. Your professor would want you to, right?

Your phone interrupts you again, noisily snatching your attention with its sounds and jostling your focus from the book.

The sounds don’t stop.

Fuck, you think. Your phone is ringing.

You jerk to pick it up, fingers fumbling it, until finally you’re able to click ‘answer’ and bring it to your ear.

You’re quiet, hoping Ellie will speak first.

“Hi.” a voice says, and you quickly connect that it’s just Ellie’s, sleep riddled and raspy.

“…Hi.”

“So…what’d you think?”

Your eyebrows crease.

“Of what?”

“'Of what?' Of my fuckin’ progress, that’s what! Anthony has me eating, like, six whole chickens a week.” she boasts.

“Oh. I didn’t really…see?…I guess? I don’t know…”

“I mean—I’ve gained almost 30 this year.”

You remain confused. Is that a lot…?

Ellie must understand your silence for what it is and continues.

“Pounds, princess. Muscle. I’m getting fuckin’ huge.”

Oh.

“Okay—I got it now. Um…congrats, then.”

“What, that’s it? That’s all you got for me?”

“I—I don’t know!” you defend, voice coming out a bit louder and higher. “Your muscles look—like, big, all the time! I can’t tell the difference!”

She laughs loudly into the receiver, and you can’t help the smile you wear, hearing it so amplified in your ear.

“You need more pictures? I got more pictures.” she assures.

Simultaneous with her voice, you feel the sharp vibration and hear the dingy chime of your phone.

“Just took that one. You should look at it.” she adds, tone low but casual.

You deeply blush, feeling exposed despite being so alone in your bedroom.

“…Okay.” you agree, sliding the phone off your face to open it up.

A mirror reflection of Ellie’s back fills your screen, stretched and taut into a flexed pose. Her arms are out beside her head, clenched impossibly tight, in effort to completely portray her physique. Your eyes flick down, noticing in the image that she’s wearing only boxers.

She just took that picture?

The air in your room feels warmer, hotter than ever, so you strip down to a tank top and underwear. It feels wrong, almost. Talking to Ellie with this much skin showing. Her not knowing.

“Hello? You there?” Ellie loudly repeats over the speaker, audio fuzzy and weak.

You grasp your phone back up, stuttering out a response.

“Yeah—yes, here. I’m here.”

“'Kay. Your turn.”

You almost drop the device completely.

“My turn?”

“Fair’s only fair, right?”

“…Ellie…” you protest, skin burning with even the idea of her seeing you.

“C’mon, please? I took mine already, you can’t go back.”

You say nothing, whole body sweating, hoping and praying she’ll just forget about it.

“…I wanna see you.” she admits, voice warm and fuzzy through the speaker.

Your cheeks erupt red, a sense of burning flowing throughout your whole body at her words. You curl up, thighs squeezing at themselves, and try to answer.

“But—I’m…I’m in…pajamas.” you whisper, looking down at your bare legs and sheer top.

“You are? Even better.”

“I—I don’t know—”

“You really don’t have to. I’ll live, princess. I promise.”

Your body relaxes entirely, a breath of pure relief leaving your lips, as well as a forceful yawn. Ellie must’ve heard it through the phone.

“Aww—you tired? Should I hang up?”

“No! Don’t hang up! I want to keep talking! I was studying before so I’m a little—a little out of it but—”

“Nope. I’m hangin’ up. Princess needs her beauty sleep.”

“What—no, Ellie.” you argue, albeit lazily, as the energy you have left is truly running low.

“I’ll be here in the morning, won’t I? Good-niiiight—” she lulls, drawing out the last word.

“No! Don’t hang up! Ellie!”

On the other end of the phone, there’s only quiet.

An abyss of silence.

“…Ellie?” you try, voice small.

Nothing.

Your mouth purses, frustrated, as you listen to the absent noise through the speaker.

Still nothing.

You flip over, hostilely pulling the comforter over yourself and crashing your head into the pillow. You feel cold, but you know an extra blanket or some layers wouldn’t make you any warmer. Only she could.

Before you can shut your eyes, the chime sporadically rings out again, and you find yourself rapidly grasping the phone from your mattress.

Immediately you unlock it.

(+14556768854)

sweet dreams

dont let the bed bugs bute

fuck

bite *

call you tomorrow

Your eyelids finally shut, the weight of the day keeping them closed indefinitely. Your limbs go lax, succumbing to exhaustion.

You permit yourself to fall asleep, now knowing fully, that you will have the sweetest of dreams.

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 3

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2.3k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: CanNOT believe I'm updating a third time in as many days. This whole chapter is just dialog. All 2,300 words of it. I am deceased. I love writing dialog, but there is a limit. Also, tumblr is held together with old gum and scotch tape, so currently I can't reply to comments on posts. Until they fix it just know I do see them all, even though I can't respond at the moment. For now, if you want a direct response you'll need to send an ask!

Benedict was quite certain he must be dreaming.

He stood outside his home, in the low light of evening, with the girl he had been searching for.

She had come to him all on her own; and now he knew her name.

Beatrice.

"A lovely name indeed," he praised, "But it would perhaps be more proper for me to address you by your surname." Even Benedict, with his distaste for the rigid etiquette of the aristocracy, would feel a certain level of unease referring to a young lady of rank by her given name.

Beatrice looked back at him nervously, "No no, I think Beatrice will do just fine."

"You do have a surname?" Benedict joked.

"Naturally," she lied. While her full name was rather long, it did not include a surname. As was the case with all members of the royal family.

Benedict raised a brow curiously, "It would seem you do not wish to tell me."

"Well...no, I would rather not."

"How intriguing; why ever not? Is your family embroiled in some sort of scandal?" he asked.

"It is nothing like that," she replied, her eyes moving to avoid his gaze, "It is only...well, truthfully I fear once you learn of my lineage, obligation will keep you from speaking honestly with me."

Beatrice knew she was dancing close to the edge. While she had not directly told Benedict her true identity, the more he knew, the more likely he was to put the pieces together. All but telling him her family was of a high rank was a risk, but she wanted to be as honest as she could be with him. She did not enjoy the thought of deceiving him any more than was absolutely necessary.

There was a small smile on his face as he examined her worried expression. He could see this was quite important to her, so decided to leave it be.

"My, your family must be quite important," he commented, "But I shall ask no more. I believe we are all entitled to a secret or two--and of course, I would also enjoy continuing to speak freely with one another." He smiled reassuringly at her as she stared back in surprise, "Beatrice it is."

She felt her face flush at the sound of her name. While it had been at her insistence, it still felt strange to be addressed so casually by anyone outside of her family.

"Thank you," Beatrice replied with a grateful smile.

"However, there is a condition," Benedict continued, "If I am to address you by your given name, I must insist you address me by mine."

"Oh." Beatrice hadn't considered it, but then again it did seem only fair, "I suppose that would be alright...Benedict."

She knew her cheeks were red, but she took some comfort in the fact that he seemed similarly effected.

He looked away, attempting to regain his composure, "Good. Yes, alright then," he cleared his throat, "Now that we've gotten all of that settled, perhaps you would do me the pleasure of an evening promenade?"

He seemed apprehensive, perhaps worried she would decline; Beatrice found it rather endearing.

"That sounds lovely," she answered. He looked back at her, clearly relieved by her answer, "Oh, but before we go," she pointed to his cheek, "you have a bit of charcoal on you face, just there." Benedict's hand instantly flew to to his face.

"How humiliating! And you said nothing as I stood here looking like a chimney sweep?" he joked through his embarrassment.

Beatrice laughed, "Well, there never seemed to be a good time to tell you--and if your were secretly in the business of cleaning chimneys, I would certainly have hated to embarrass you by pointing it out."

"Well then perhaps I should be thanking you for your discretion," he smirked, his hand moving to wipe his face in an attempt to remove the dust.

"No no, don't do that! You'll only smudge it more," she said, batting at the air near his arm in protest. He stopped, lowering his hand as instructed. "Here, allow me."

She lifted her arm, her free hand grabbing the reticle around her wrist. She adjusted it until she was able to reach inside, pulling out a handkerchief. It was lovely: Pure white, with intricate floral embroidery and a lace trim. She raised the handkerchief towards his face, and he instinctively leaned back.

"No ah, well, that is..." he sputtered, "You'll ruin your handkerchief," he finally managed to say.

In truth he was simply startled by her sudden action. She had been so casual in reaching out to touch him, as if it hadn't occurred to her how it might look. Benedict found himself once again surprised by her. So often she seemed to try to conform to the expectations of society, even when it clearly caused her discomfort. Then she would do something like this, and she hardly seemed to care what others might think of it.

"It is only a handkerchief, it can be cleaned you know," she replied, her hand moving once more. Benedict didn't shy away this time, and soon felt the soft fabric rest against his skin. His heart began to race at the simple gesture.

He suddenly found himself unable to look her in the eye.

Beatrice was gentle as she began wiping the charcoal away, seeming completely unaffected by the action or his reaction to it. It lasted only a few moments, but to Benedict it seemed far longer.

"There, much better," she said, removing her hand and smiling at her work. Benedict blushed.

"Yes, thank you," he replied nervously.

"It was no trouble," she assured him, moving to place the handkerchief, now stained with black, back inside her reticle, "Though, I believe I can offer little help for your gloves."

Benedict looked down, his white gloves covered with splotchy, black fingerprints. His hands must have been covered in charcoal when he left his room, and he simply hadn't noticed.

Had he truly been so distracted?

"Forgive me, I am truly a mess this evening."

"Not at all," she replied, before grinning, "It seems you were dealing with quite the begrimed chimney."

He smiled gratefully, "Surely they must keep their fire going year round, to build up such an impressive level of soot."

With that, he offered her his arm.

"Now that you will feel marginally less mortified to be seen with me, perhaps we can be off?" She smiled shyly, pulling at the edge of her hood.

"Yes, I would like that," she answered, her hand moving to entwine her arm with his. They set off down the street, strolling to nowhere in particular at a leisurely pace.

"So," Beatrice was the first to speak, "You are an artist then?"

"And what makes you say so? There could be any number of reasons for a man to have charcoal on his hands...and his face," Benedict quipped.

Beatrice smiled, "No, I believe I am right. You certainly behave like one passionate about the arts."

"Oh? And how is it I behave exactly?"

"Well, my grandmother would say you are rather...bohemian," Beatrice replied.

"Bohemian? And I suppose your grandmother would not mean that to be complimentary?" Benedict asked.

"Indeed she would not," Beatrice laughed, "Though as a rule she is simply not one for compliments. She is, above all things, proper, and can be rather terse at times."

Benedict nodded in understanding, "Ah yes. I have only a few childhood memories of my own grandmother, but she seemed much the same."

"Please don't misunderstand--I am actually quite fond of her," Beatrice corrected, "She is simply not an overly affectionate person."

"I see. So do you spend much time with your grandmother then?" he asked.

"As much as I am able, though my father is quite strict and doesn't like me away from home for too long. I am quite lucky he allowed me to stay with her for the season," she replied.

"Ah, an overbearing father. That makes sense," he commented, smirking at her as she pouted at him.

"Oh? And what about you? I can't imagine your parents restricted you much, given your proclivity for breaking with societal expectations."

Benedict laughed, "This from the girl who has clearly left home without permission to meet a man unchaperoned." She blushed in surprise, turning her face away.

"Well, that is..." She struggled to find a believable justification for her actions.

"Not that I judge you. If anything I'm glad you decided to break a few rules," he smiled as she continued avoiding his gaze, "And for what it's worth, you are correct; I am guilty of being raised by kind, loving parents who supported my interest in the arts and allowed me plenty of freedom."

"I knew it." Beatrice turned back, smirking at him triumphantly, "About you upbringing and being an artist, it would seem."

Benedict laughed, "Oh please, do congratulation yourself more."

"Perhaps I will," she joked.

Soon, her face fell into a thoughtful smile, "You're parents, did they love each other?"

That seemed an interesting turn in conversation.

Benedict nodded, "Yes, from what I remember they were quite mad for one another. My mother talks about it often, particularly mow that so many of her children have come of age. She is constantly encouraging us to find love matches for ourselves."

"You're all lucky to have such a caring mother. Not many would prioritize their children's happiness over their obligation to secure a good match," Beatrice replied.

"You're right, we have been very fortunate," Benedict smiled affectionately, "And so far my mother has gotten her wish: Both my brother and my sister have found love matches for themselves, though it is less certain that the rest of my siblings will follow suite."

"And you?" Beatrice asked without thinking.

"Me?" Benedict repeated, "Well, I'm not sure I shall ever marry."

In spite of herself, Beatrice could not help but look somewhat disappointed, "Oh, I see."

"Though," he continued, "I suppose love may be the one thing to entice me into such an arrangement, should I ever find it."

He couldn't help noticing how the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly as he spoke.

"And what of you? Are you hoping to marry for love?" It was little business of his, but he had to admit he was more curious about her answer than he aught to have been.

"I," she hesitated, her head falling as her gaze fell to the ground, "I would certainly like to, but I'm afraid it's rather unlikely. At best, I can hope my future husband is someone I don't utterly dislike."

"Ah, right--you mentioned your father was strict. Will he be choosing for you?" Benedict asked sympathetically.

"Yes," she confirmed, trying to hold fast to her smile, "My mother and father's marriage was arranged, and now the two despise each other. I suppose so long as my marriage is at all better than theirs I can count myself lucky."

"That must have been a difficult way to grow up," he commented, not know what else he could say.

"I suppose, though it could have been worse. My mother hasn't lived with us since before I was born. When they are forced to around one another, it is an unpleasant affair for all involved; so perhaps it's for the best."

"That's...quite an unusual situation," Benedict noted.

"Perhaps it is, but it is mine," she replied, glancing up at him, "But now it is I who has made you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should move to a lighter subject?"

"Of course," Benedict agreed.l

He wanted to comfort her in some way, but he wasn't sure how he could. He certainly had no idea what it was like to grow up the way she had, or what it was to know that inevitably your future would be chosen for you. There had been a certain level of expectation placed on him as the second son, but he still enjoyed immense freedom. He felt any attempt at comfort may come off as disingenuous, or perhaps even patronizing. He wanted her to know he was sincere.

"Are you attending the next ball?" she asked him after a long moment of walking in silence.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. This is my sister Francesca's first year out, and the second year for my sister Eloise. My brothers and I typically accompany our mother to help keep an eye on them."

"What thoughtful brothers you are," she replied, her tone somewhat teasing.

"Well yes, I suppose we are rather good brothers--the best, even. Our sisters are quite lucky to have such devoted elder brothers looking out for them," Benedict joked back. Beatrice smiled at that, turning her head so he wouldn't see.

Benedict cleared his throat, "Will you also be attending?" he asked as casually as he was able.

It was unlike him, but even the chance he may be able to dance with her was enough to entice him into attending every event for the rest of the season.

"I believe so," she answered.

"So we will see each other again soon?" He asked, hope clear in his voice.

"Yes, though..." she looked up at him nervously, "before that, perhaps I might visit you again?"

"You mean sneak out and see me at Bridgerton House?" She nodded in response, "Hmm...you're not going to throw more rocks at me, are you?"

Beatrice laughed, "I won't so long as you're paying attention."

"Well then, how could I say no?" He smirked.m, and she smiled back at him shyly.

At that moment, they stopped. Benedict looked around, surprised to see it had gotten quite dark. He realized they had walked farther than he had intended to go.

"As much as I loathe to suggest it, perhaps we should be heading back?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Beatrice agreed, "Though, I believe I am closer to home here than back the other way."

"Well then, allow me to walk you home," he offered.

"No!" she answered quickly, "Thank you, but I am quite alright getting back on my own."

He nodded, "Ah yes of course--your secret. Well, so long as you're certain you'll be alright alone?"

"I will," she looked away, looking pleased, "Thank you for understanding."

She unwound her arm from his, "Well, I suppose I should be off, it was truly a pleasure to see you again, Benedict."

He smiled, reaching forward, grabbing her hand and holding it in his.

"The pleasure was all mine, Beatrice," he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand gently. She felt her cheeks burn. He released her from his grip, and Beatrice held her freed hand tightly against her chest.

"Yes, well...I'll be going then," she replied, quickly turning and making her way down the lamplit street. She glanced back only once, and he lifted his hand to give her a small wave.

Benedict continued watching her until her silhouette finally disappeared into the night.

----------

Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y

[ssaeri]

we fall to ashes

☆ tags: alex x gn!reader, he finds something that he never expected to see on your farm, this was going to be angst with an angst ending, but then my sister begged me to not write a sad ending, so have this relieving happy ending instead, LOTS of alex spoilers! ☆

Alex stretches his arms over his head and breathes in deep. In the distance, he hears chickens screaming—a sure sign that he's getting closer to your farm. The walk from his house isn't short, but while his grandparents would complain about the distance, he finds it ideal for cooling down after his harder work-outs. And he gets to see you at the end? He'd say that's a winner winner chicken dinner situation...out of earshot from your coop, at least.

"Hey there! Evelyn's boy!" Pam calls from his right.

He slows to a stop and waves. She sits in the driver seat of her newly repaired bus, window fully open, and takes another swig from her Joja Cola. Immediately, her face scrunches.

"Mornin', Pam!" he yells back. "How's that alcohol detox going for you?"

"Awful." She smacks her lips and holds the can up to her eyes, searching the ingredients for what makes it so fucking nasty. You often joke that it's the bitter taste of capitalism. "I could go for something stronger in this heat. You think the farmer has an extra glass of pale ale?"

Alex's smile tightens. Ever since Pam and Penny's trailer turned into an actual house, Pam's been doing her best to break old habits and he's glad for it—he can finally walk by her without the reflexive gag and hurried steps. You telling me I stink? she used to ask, angry in her drunken stupor, until she remembered why he showed up on his grandparents' steps nearly two decades ago.

She must read it in his expression now because she waves him off with a roll of her eyes. "I'm kidding, kid. Tell 'em I said hi. They're the only one who takes this damn bus anyway. I might as well take a nap." She slides sunglasses onto her face and reclines her chair until he can't see her anymore. "If I'm still here by the time you go home, wake me up."

Classic Pam, he thinks as he continues to your farm. Your dog is already running from the front door to greet him, panting and barking and disturbing your horse's peace.

"Come on, buddy," he laughs, shooing your dog until he can push open the gate. "I was supposed to surprise them."

Alex scratches your horse's ear as he passes its stable. Grape vines twist and sag on the trellises you've set up for the season, the structures nearly bursting with fruit, and he makes a mental note to stop by tomorrow to help with the harvesting. Maybe it could substitute for a work-out. He's helped you ship boxes of produce before and wondered how ripped he'd be after a month of your lifestyle. Between the trellises, the melons are just starting to come in. He doesn't know how long it takes for them to ripen, only that they taste really good when you drop off a basket for his grandma.

He calls out your name. Not in the fields, not in the pasture. Your new greenhouse, maybe? You were muttering something about ancient fruit last night. Or the mushroom cave, something he still can't believe is a feature on your farm. If Demetrius could add that, maybe Alex could talk you into installing an outdoor lifting station.

He walks past your workbench and active machines...

...and walks backwards again, hoping that his eyes are deceiving him. Crystalariums reproducing diamonds to sell, charcoal kilns working double time for enough coal, bone mills churning out fertilizer, geode crushers crunching rocks into pebbles, furnaces roaring as they smelt ores into bars—and right on top of the furthest furnace sits a wrapped bundle he's only seen in his (second to) worst nightmares.

He hears your content humming now, somewhere in the main farmhouse. Under normal circumstances, he would've called it cute, but the sound rings mockingly in his ears as he approaches the darkened flowers. A wilted bouquet. Fuck.

.

.

"Oh, hey there!" Alex called out as you got closer. He tossed his ever-present gridball into the air. "You here to catch fish again? I think you can find salmon in the river this time of year. At least that's what I heard."

Once you came to a stop in front of him, you shook your head, hands still behind your back. "I'm not fishing today," you said. "I actually wanted to give you something."

"Yeah?" His lips quirked into a grin. Another toss into the air. "Wouldn't happen to be a Salmon Dinner with extra lemon, would it? Those are one of my favorites, but I can never catch any salmon myself. Another egg would be cool, too. I've been adding your weekly deliveries to my workout meals."

You only shifted from one foot to the other, unable to take your eyes off his shoes, and a part of him faltered. You weren't intimidated by him, were you? Ever since you found him crying on the beach, he had been a little more flirtatious than usual, layering on the teasing and showing off. Maybe he came on too strong. Haley always told him that subtlety wasn't his strong suit. The grip on his gridball changed as he tossed it higher.

"You okay there? Did I do something...wait, this is—ow!"

The ball bounced off his head and landed in the grass, but he couldn't care less. He pointed to the bouquet in your hands. Not a regular bouquet, but the Bouquet made to order by Pierre. In a place as small as Pelican Town, there was no need for Pierre to have it in constant stock, so when the signature blooms made the rare appearance, they attracted everyone's eyes.

"...you want to get more serious?" he asked, incredulous.

Something in your expression changed, and you drew the flowers back to your chest. "Oh, sorry, did you not?" You gave him a wide smile, already stepping away. "I must've read the signs wrong. My mistake."

"No! That's not—I mean, you read the signs correctly. I, uh, I feel the same way." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face flush. "So I guess we're together now? Should I be asking you out on a date or something? Or wait, are you asking me out on a date? How does this work?"

You laughed, a genuine sound this time. "We can continue the way we were before."

And so you did, but some things changed for sure. He could hold your hand now as you ran errands around the town, carrying half of the gifts you handed out to the townspeople. He could kiss you goodbye at his door in the evenings, though George cleared his throat loudly every time. Alex remembered making some snide comment about his grandpa, who yelled out a gruff I heard that! before being shushed by Evelyn. When It Howls in the Rain was being shown at the town theater, you bribed him to a screening with the promise of Stardrop Sorbet, but as much as he loved the treat, he would've gone anyway—it was one of his favorite movies with one of his favorite people. Good thing he'd seen it before because he spent most of the time staring at your side profile, wondering when he could finally go pro and have you stare at him on a screen.

.

.

Your dog nips at his fingers. He pets it absently. He thought everything was going fine between the two of you. Just yesterday, you came over and had dinner with him and his grandparents. You told them about your mining adventures in the Skull Caverns and, to his horror, showed off your old stitches from Harvey. (George chided your reckless behavior and gave old-timey advice that you nodded along to.) You talked about the new farm you're setting up at Ginger Island—Ancient Fruit wine all year! you told them excitedly. It's a farmer's heaven!—and the Beach Resort you're trying to restore. (Evelyn hummed at your energy, asking rapid-fire questions about the flora there.) You even promised to bring over a season's worth of eggs and leeks as soon as you got your hands on them. (Alex's mind flashed to the old mariner and the mermaid's pendant he could see hanging around your neck in the future.)

So why is a wilted bouquet sitting here, right on top of your furnaces?

No point in guessing when he can just find out the answer right from the source. He takes the flowers and goes to your door, knocking twice. It opens before he has time to second guess his choice.

"Alex! I didn't know you were coming over," you say, beaming at him. He wants to immortalize this version of you: face full of dirt smudges and t-shirt collar soaked through with sweat, yet glowing in your element. Until your eyes drop to his hands. "Oh, that's..."

He sets his jaw. "Can I come in and talk?"

Your expression falters further at his cold tone, but you step back and lead him to the living room. Your dog trots in and settles by the TV, head on its paws, watching with blank eyes. Alex sits in his usual spot and you yours, and suddenly he hates how familiar he is with your space.

It's still silent.

You clear your throat. "So," you start, wiping your palms on your jeans. A nervous tick he knows well. "What did you want to talk about?"

He puts the bouquet on the coffee table between you.

"Right." You pause, likely waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. "Alex, can you at least be less mean about this? I feel like you owe me that much after all this time together." He says nothing. "Like, tell me what's wrong instead of sitting here stone-faced. Things were okay. Why are you breaking up with me—"

"Why am I breaking up with you?" He barks a laugh. "Baby, I found this outside on your furnace! I'm not going to beg for you to stay, but what the hell is this?"

Your forehead furrows. "What? I wouldn't."

"If it's not yours and it's not mine, then whose is it?"

"I don't know! Alex, I wouldn't—I never even thought about breaking up," you insist. "Why would I lie about that?"

After scrutinizing your stricken expression, his relief comes in waves. He sinks into your couch, hands rubbing at his face.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just—" He laughs again, the sound mostly air. "Yoba, that scared me. If someone left this here as a prank, I'm hunting them down tonight." He lifts his head to look at you and opens his arms. "Can you come over here?"

You wrinkle your nose. "I'm gross."

"You could be playing in mud with your pigs, and I'd still jump in."

With a roll of your eyes, you hop over to curl into his side and he buries his face in the crook of your neck. You stink, but so does he after a good workout. Now that he thinks about it, he's still in his gym clothes.

"You scared me, too," you tell him, gaze trained on the table. "Not the best thing to see on a Friday afternoon. But now I want to know whose this is. Did you check it for clues?"

"Didn't bother. Thought it was yours." His arm around your waist tightens as you lean forward. "Does it matter?"

But that doesn't stop you. You have the bouquet in your lap now, prying at the blackened ribbon and wrapping. "Look at this," you say, holding it between two fingers. "The ribbon isn't blue, and Pierre always uses blue. The wrap is pretty much disintegrated, but this corner—he always puts his store brand." You suck in a breath. "Oh, duh! Where did you say you found this?"

"The furnaces right outside by the workbench."

"Okay, so mystery solved. This is mine, but not in the way you think."

He raises an eyebrow. "Explain. Don't say you're breaking up with a secret partner because I don't think I can handle a second shock right now."

"I made a wildflower bouquet to put on Grandpa's grave a few days ago, but I totally forgot where I put it, so I made a second one. This one must've been the one I misplaced."

He blinks. "How the hell did you not notice it since?"

"I came back from Ginger Island yesterday and went to sleep right after dinner! The flowers must've wilted from the furnace heat."

"You," he says slowly, pinching your cheek and ignoring your squeak, "are the absolute worst. I can't believe you nearly broke my heart and it turned out to be a whoopsie."

[oracle-of-dream]

Under Pressure

Summary: Jake is at a party with the rest of Enhypen. The boys are all looking for their partner for the night, but Jake feels hesitant to find someone. So the boys take it upon themselves to set someone up with Jake, to help him get there….

Notes: Enhpyen Vampires, Male Reader, Reference to Drunk Dazed timeline, idk what else

Wordcount: 3.6k

The night was cold and dark beside the street lamps that kept the street lit. You recheck your phone. It glowed the time, 9 PM, the time you were supposed to meet at this bus stop to ride out to the party.

You received an invitation hidden in your mail last week. A charcoal black envelope that read,

An Invitation To Our Bloody Birthday Party

And inside was the card with a neatly typed message.

You're invited to our bloody birthday party.

Sometimes, walking down the deadly path

Without fleeing from death itself

Can give rise to the most wondrous creation

We hope you will be able to come

The back of the card left instructions on where to find the transit bus to take you to the party. According to Google, it was some old mansion you hadn't seen before.

You didn’t want to go, but your friends got the same invitation. After being invited to the same party, the group decided you'd all go together. Even though the party felt strange and shady, your friends managed to coax you out of the house that night.

You texted your group chat, "Are you guys there already?"

You stared at your phone, waiting for a reply. Then you heard a soft honk in front of you. A bus was waiting with the door open.

"Are you getting on?" The driver asked.

You nodded and scrambled awkwardly into the bus. Other than the driver and you, it was empty. You took a seat toward the back, near a window, and put in your headphones. You played the first song in your playlist as you tried to distract yourself from the feeling of dread that hung on your shoulders. The bus ride was about twenty minutes, and you checked your phone every few minutes to check your messages.

Nothing, still.

They must be having such a good time that they're not looking at their phones.

The bus stopped down the street of a large house with music and red lights pouring out. You stepped off the bus, and it pulled away– the darkness of the lightless street taking over you. The only lights came from the single overhead lamp from the bus stop and the eerie red house.

You stepped into the darkness, along the sidewalk, toward the house. It was suffocating. Even the flashlight on your phone didn't make you feel any safer. And the sounds of wolves howling through the night in the distance make you almost break into a sprint.

Once you reached the house, you could see inside from the front door left ajar. It was full of people: dancing, drinking, laughing, and screaming people.

"The party is more fun on the inside, you know?" A voice tickled inside of your ear.

You turned around to see a handsome man in front of you with black hair and a sharp look in his eye. Judging from his taste in jewelry, he came from some serious money: Prada, YXL, and Louis Vuitton from head to toe.

He nodded to you, "You alright? Need something to drink?"

You shook your head. "I'm just trying to find my friends! They got here before me."

"Oh, I get you. I can help you look for your friends if you'd like. It's a big house. You can get lost pretty easily there," He smiled, his white teeth shining in the red light. "I'm Jay, by the way."

"Hi Jay, I'm y/n..."

He didn't hesitate to continue talking to you, "So, you have your invite? We can't just let anyone walk in."

"You're the bouncer?"

He laughed, "Not exactly. It's just my turn to watch the door. My brothers are inside enjoying the party, and it'll be my turn to enjoy it soon."

"You're brothers?"

"Yeah. It's my birthday tonight."

You let your jaw drop, "I-I didn't realize it was your birthday! Happy Birthday!" You awkwardly slapped his shoulder, trying to play it cool.

"Thanks. Why don't you go in and find your friends? If you see my brothers, tell them that Jake's gift is hidden somewhere in the house."

You nodded. You wanted to ask what Jay’s brothers looked like, but you couldn't help but feel that talking to him wasn't the best move. His eyes got sharp as if he wasn't looking at you but looking through you– listening very closely to something.

"Go on now. I've gotta greet some more guests soon," He said through gritted teeth.

You moved inside, worming through people and trying not to bump into anyone. Your friends were nowhere in sight. The air inside was foggy, like from a machine, but tasted sweet like strawberries. The lights made your eyes hurt at first, but it eventually passed. You ended up in a kitchen, one of the few quieter rooms in the house. Inside was a boy with platinum blonde hair holding a cup of red liquid.

"Oh? Someone lost?" He asked as he turned to face you. His eyes gave you the impression he knew something you didn't, and he wore a smirk on his face while speaking.

"Yeah. I was just looking for my friends," You replied.

"It's a big house. You should be careful you don’t get lost. Everyone is toward the living room and dining room. And, you can check the second floor, but you may walk in on some people enjoying the party," He giggled when he mentioned walking in on people.

"Oh yeah... that's no good," You were stiff with him. He was gorgeous, and you didn't know how to speak to him.

"You, okay? Need a drink to loosen up?" He held out his drink.

Shaking your head, "No, thank you. I like pouring my drinks for safety and everything."

He took a sip of it and offered it again. "See? Perfectly safe. So try some!" He pushed the drink closer to your hand. Somehow, the closer he got, the prettier too.

"O-Okay... One sip wouldn't hurt," You took a sip of the red drink. It tasted like strawberries mixed with club soda, but the carbonation was strong– and made you choke. "What's this again?"

He laughed at you, "It's just strawberry Fanta. Nothing special."

You stifle a cough to try and compose yourself, "Um, I'm y/n."

The man took another minute to calm down before replying, "Sunoo. It's my birthday today!"

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, "No way! Someone at the front door told me it was their birthday! Weird coincidence."

Sunoo tilted his head, "The door? You mean Jay, right?"

You nodded.

"He's my brother! My brothers and I celebrate our birthdays together, so today's all of our birthdays."

You feigned understanding of their weird birthday habit. "So, how many brothers do you have?"

"There are seven of us total."

"Seven–" Your eyes widened slightly.

Sunoo giggled at your reaction, "Yes. Me, Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Ni-ki, Jungwon, and Jake."

The last name rang out in your ears, remembering Jay's words. "Oh! Then, I was supposed to tell you that Jake's gift is hidden somewhere in the house."

Sunoo raised his eyebrow, looking you up and down, "Oh really? Did Jay give any hints on what it looks like?"

You shook your head, "Nope. Jay must want Jake to go on a scavenger hunt or something?"

He nodded in understanding, "Then I should go tell my brothers so they can get Jake to start looking. Good luck with finding your friends!" Sunoo waved goodbye as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone with the thumping bass of the speakers keeping you company.

There were no new messages from your friends. You sent them another text, mentioning you're looking for them before you leave the kitchen.

Heading towards another open area, you spotted someone who looked familiar across the room. In a rush to catch them, you stumbled on something and bumped into someone. Looking up at the person you bumped into, there was a huge red stain on his white shirt. The man's face spelled irritation. He was tall, had dark hair, and his skin was white like snow.

"Can you watch it!? Are you drunk?" He pushed you off him before storming down a hallway.

You dusted yourself off and stood up. Looking back to where you saw the familiar figure– the figure was gone. You frantically scanned the room, searching, until you saw the figure walking upstairs. You rushed to follow it up the stairs– moving through the living room. You saw a guy with brown hair and cat-like eyes watching you as you ran by. Something about him felt off, but you couldn't place it and didn't have time to stop.

Upstairs, you found a hallway full of closed doors. You couldn't see the figure anywhere, but you were sure they'd gone this way. You approached one door and put your ear up to it. It was hard to hear the music, but you could faintly hear moaning from the other side. You moved onto the next door, which was silent. You carefully turned the knob and started to push open the door. Before you could open it completely, you felt a hand on your shoulder that pulled you around. A man with black hair and a striped black and white shirt stood before you, red liquid dripping from his mouth.

"Hey there, pretty boy. What are you doing sneaking around up here?"

He boxed you in, he had you pinned against the door, and his grip was like metal. "I–I didn't know I wasn't allowed up here, I swear!"

He chuckled, "Nonsense! It's a party. Nowhere's off limits!" He pulled you closer, "Do you wanna enjoy the party with me–how about in there?" His eyes pointed to the door you were leaning on.

"I'm just looking for my friend. I'm kind of–"

"Lost?" He cut you off. "Please don't say lost..." His voice was still deep and sultry, but you could hear a soft tone of hurt behind those last words.

"Not exactly. Just turned around."

His mood brightened as he focused back on you, "What's your name, love?"

"It's y/n."

"Well, y/n. It's my birthday tonight, and I think I'd like my gift from you now," The man got closer as he spoke.

"W–Well, my friend has the gift!" You lied. You forgot it was a birthday party, so you didn't think about bringing a gift in the first place.

"You can give me something I want," He put his hand on your face, stroking your cheek. "God, your skin is so soft. Your lips are so cute. You're my type..."

"And so is everyone else, Heeseung. Take it down a notch," Another voice from down the hallway spoke. The boy from before on the couch approached the two of you, his eyes scanning Heeseun, "You've had too much to drink, so walk it off."

Heeseung looked like he wanted to protest, but the shorter boy pulled him closer, "Don't forget. Jake's gift is here. He needs this, and we all agreed to help."

Heeseung sighed before turning to you, "Okay, sorry, lovely. We can't dance together tonight." He winked as he wandered back toward the stairs.

The other boy walked over to you, "You okay? He didn't do anything to you?"

"No, I'm alright. Thanks for the save from that creep."

"My brother is a bit of an attention whore if he drinks too much, it's a horrible habit. I'm sorry about that."

You mentally punched yourself for calling his brother a creep, "Sorry about the creep comment! I didn't know–"

"Brother or not, a creep is a creep," He sighed. "I'm Jungwon. It's nice to meet you, y/n."

"How'd you know my name? I didn't tell you it yet..."

"You said it when Heeseung asked, didn't you?"

You nodded slowly, "Yeah... I guess I did." Did that mean he was standing there for that long before stepping in? "So, I'm guessing it's also your birthday?"

The boy nodded.

"Happy Birthday, Mr..."

"Jungwon. And you can drop the mister."

"Happy Birthday, Jungwon."

Jungwon smiled, "Thank you. I hope you're enjoying the party and my brother didn't bother you too badly."

"I'm enjoying it. I just really wish I could find my friends..."

Jungwon scratched his head, "They might be in the room at the end of this hall, the door on the right."

"Oh! That's amazing! Thank you!" You dashed off to find your friends before they had a chance to slip away again. But then it hit you– You never told Jungwon what your friends looked like. Turning to look where he was, he disappeared.

You went to the door Jungwon told you about, putting your ear up to it, no moaning this time. You checked your sides. No Heeseung either. You opened the door and poked your head in. Two men were sitting on the bed, both facing away from you.

"Jake, it's easy. You can't go this long without quality food. We both know that. This party is perfect, and these people won't remember a thing the next morning. You'll just be a weird dream to them," The first guy said. He turned in your direction, noticing you at the door. He had an eyebrow slit and blonde hair with an undercut. "Jake, it's time. Happy Birthday," He put his hand on Jake's shoulder, squeezing it tight, before leaving the room. He brushed past you, smelling like a soft mint, and his eyes looking straight into yours.

You could hear his voice, but his lips didn't move, "Don't be a letdown..."

You looked back at the second man in the room– he looked at you shyly. He had wavy blonde hair and a wet look in his eyes.

He jolted to his feet, "I didn't know someone else was–"

You put your hands up in defense, "No, that's all me! I didn't mean to interrupt your moment or whatever!"

Jake squeezed one of his wrists, "Would you come in?"

You looked back over your shoulder, out the door. Your friends were somewhere around here.

Jake's voice was more stern, "Come sit."

Your body moved into the room and obediently sat down on the bed. You were sitting next to Jake but couldn't stand and walk out, and your legs wouldn't move.

"You're a little close," Jake muttered.

You nervously scooted away from him.

"I–I didn't mean to leave! Please don't go!" He begged.

You moved back.

"What is happening?" You nervously whispered.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you do that..." Jake lowered his head sadly, "You hate me for that, don't you?" The look you gave him must've confirmed it as he shrunk into himself.

"Oh, I–I'm just a little confused. I'm not mad, I don't think." You assured him.

He sprouted back up. "Really? You're not mad? I didn't mean to do that– it just happens sometimes. My powers are fucked up since I haven't eaten in a while."

"There's plenty of food downstairs. I can grab you some."

He shook his head, "No, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"You met Heeseung, right? If he saw you walking around, he'd probably eat you on the spot."

"Eat me?" Your voice said disgusted, "I didn't know he was that creepy."

"My brother isn't bad! He's just had too much to drink." Jake said defensively.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment. Jake looked too nervous to speak, and you were still checking if your legs would work properly. A knock at the door broke the silence– a head peaked in slightly. It was Jungwon!

"Jake!" He called.

Jake looked at Jungwon, and as they locked eyes, it was just silence. It was like a conversation, but you couldn't hear anything, and their mouths weren't moving.

After a moment, Jungwon turned to you, "Hi y/n. I need a favor from you."

You nodded, "Anything. I still owe you for earlier."

Jungwon smiled, "Well, I'm going to use that now." He got closer and whispered to you, "I need you to seduce Jake."

You pulled away and looked at him in bewilderment, "Why!?"

"Lower your tone when addressing me," He commanded.

You suddenly felt small and helpless under his eyes, "Sorry."

"Jake. My friend here is interested in you, but he's a little shy. Could you show him a good time?" Jungwon emphasized 'good time' as clearly as he could for Jake. He smiled and shut the door as he left, locking it from the outside.

Suddenly, you were some sex sacrifice to his guy. And why were his brothers so desperate to get him laid?!

Jake turned to you, "Are you really into me?" His voice reverberated into you, commanding the truth from you.

"I'm not sure– I think I’m still mostly scared about not being able to control my body. I guess I just want to know what's going on..." You said frankly. You then realized your mouth was moving, "Why–"

Jake sighed, "I want to be honest and comfortable with you. Can I?"

You slowly nodded, cautious of his next move.

Jake moved closer, his hands resting on your thigh, "My brothers and I are vampires. And we feed on blood, just like the ones in the movies. But we've got some extra stuff, like commanding human minds."

You just stared at him, waiting for him to say he was joking. But he wasn't laughing.

"I–" Jake's face flushed pink, "I haven't fed on a human in a long time... and it's intimate."

"How long?"

"Like... maybe a hundred years?"

"Why?"

"That’s not your business," Jake looked up at you, deep into your eyes. "Please understand me..."

You immediately felt for him. Sympathetic even, "Of course I understand you, that's hard. I couldn't imagine having sex every time I was hungry."

He shook his head, "It's not sex! I'm not having sex with you to feed!"

"Okay! My bad!" You put your hands up in defense.

"I–I'm sorry. The hunger is making me moody."

"Can you eat like, not people?"

Jake nodded. "That's what I've always done. But after a while, it works less. I've started experiencing urges."

"Urges?"

"Like... if I'm not focused and I get hungry. I could devour a whole person if I get too hungry."

Your eyes widened.

"Well, not you! I won't do that to you!" Jake tried to hold you, but you shrunk away from him, "I also hate that. I don't like people looking at me like a monster. Heeseung lives for it, which is why he feeds the most out of us."

"Wait, all of you are vampires!? What about the people at the party? Are they vampires?”

Jake shook his head, "No. The party is how we stock up on blood for a long time. Luring in people, knocking them out, and then we drink some and store more blood elsewhere. The most that humans experience is a headache, like a bad hangover. They don't even remember us. Unless you're like Heeseung."

"What happened with Heeseung?" You shivered, feeling how he was so close to you.

"He... is a more traditional vampire. Drinking until they stop pumping, if you get me. But he believes sex is the best way for a human to end, to feel their high right before he digs in," Jake looked away as if remembering horrible memories.

"So, I just let you bite me, and I won't remember anything? I can still go home after," You asked.

Jake nodded, "Pretty much, but I don't like forcing people to–:

You rolled up your sleeve, "Is my arm okay, or do you have to be my neck?"

Jake hopped up, "You'd just let me drink from you?"

You nodded, "If I have to. I feel if I fight, I'd face Heeseung..."

"No, I'd never let him have you! You're nice!" Jake pulled your sleeve down, covering your veins, "I won't bite you unless you want me to. If you don't want me to, I'll sneak you out of the house and let you go."

You considered his offer closely. If Jake let you go, you'd remember the existence of vampires and probably ruin every vampire show for the rest of time. And if you let him bite you, then it's just a foggy memory. But then you remembered.

"What about my friends? If I leave, what will you do to them?"

"My brothers stick to our routine pretty seriously. So they should get the same routine as everyone else. A drain and release."

"Unless Heeseung."

Jake nodded, "Well, I can keep him off anyone else." Jake's eyes glittered in the moonlight from the window. They had an honest sense, loyal to their promises.

You sighed, "Promise me I won't end up dead."

"I promise. I'll guard you with my life," Jake smiled.

Laying back on the bed, you closed your eyes, "Okay... bite me then." 

There was movement and warmth, and you could feel his breath on your neck. You couldn't help but shake and brace for the pain. But it never came.

You opened your eyes slowly, holding your head and slowly sitting up. You were in a bedroom with sunlight pouring in from the window. The room was familiar, but it wasn't your room. You moved to sit in bed, only to realize you weren't alone. A handsome blonde man was lying in bed with you, both tucked under the covers.

"Jake?" You whispered, remembering everything from the night before until you closed your eyes. "Why do I know who you are?

[luveline]

Slightly different request but maybe we can see Eddie and roan having a close loving and cuddly moment together that mostly centres them? You’ve just characterised them so well and I love their daddy daughter dynamic

thank you for your request! eddie and roan ♥︎ fem!reader 1k

"Hey, pumk-min," Eddie says, "whatcha doing?" 

Roan looks up at her dad and squints. She's as Munson as they come, pale-skinned with dark curls, dark brows set over big brown eyes that look adorable when narrowed. 

"You're being 'spicious," she says. 

Eddie kneels down, knees in the soft rug Roan has claimed as her colouring den, and huffs. His pyjama pants are yours, purple with black and dainty flowers, and his t-shirt is a washed out charcoal grey that Roan's seen all her life. His hair is half dry, half damp from the shower, curls weighed down with water. He looks young, though Roan doesn't know that. To her, Eddie just looks like her dad. 

"I do have something to ask you," he admits.

She hums and makes an expression beyond her years. Yeah, I thought so. "What?" she asks. 

"I need help making dinner tonight cause Y/N's going out." 

Roan smiles at the mention of you, then frowns when she remembers you're leaving on a Saturday. "Where's she going? I want to go." 

"She's going to see her friends," he says. 

"I'm her friend," Roan whines. 

"You're my best friend!" you call as you rush down the stairs. 

You walk into the living room where they're sequestered, not so much as perturbed by the bombshell mess of pencils and crayons. 

"Like, in the whole world," you add, threading an earring through your ear before pressing on the back. "What do you think, do I look pretty?" 

Roan stands up and a collection of pencils fall from the fluffy skirt of her princess dress, shiny layers of turquoise blue that dance around her ankles as she rushes to climb up onto the sofa. She leans over the back and you receive her for a short hug.

She complains as you pull back. 

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," you say, smushing a kiss to her little forehead. "I won't be gone too long, princess, and that's a promise." 

Eddie stands too to see you out the door. Roan deflates against the couch cushions but doesn't cry, just says, "Bye, mom," in a sulky mumble.  

Eddie takes your hands. 

"Why does she always call me mom when I'm trying to leave?" you ask. Roan calls you mom sometimes, your name mostly, and sweetheart when she's feeling funny. 

"'Cause she knows it'll make you wanna stay," he says, which you already knew. "You look beautiful. Tell your other boyfriend I said hello."

You hug him and you smell like lots of things, perfume and hairspray and soap, arms behind his neck. Your jewellery sparkles almost as much as your smile. He squeezes your waist. 

"See you later. Love you." You poke your head around the door jam as you step back. "Love you Ro!" 

"I love you!" she shouts cheerfully. 

A quick kiss and you're gone. 

Eddie's glad to see, despite your departure, that Roan is in good spirits. She puts her hands under her face and holds herself up by the elbows, a poster child for pretty babies in her dress and her messy hair. 

"What's for dinner, anyway?" she asks curiously. 

"Anyway," Eddie repeats, laughing, "I was thinking we'd have what we always have when Y/N's not home."

Roan squeals and holds out her arms. "Cheeseburgers!" she shouts, climbing up into Eddie's chest as he wraps his arms around her. 

He'd been planning on carrying her to the kitchen. It's been a couple of hours since lunch and Eddie knows she must be hungry, but he gets a whiff of her jellybean shampoo and holds her closer. 

Roan melts into the affection. Her tiny nose jabs him in the chest, her silky soft curls tickling him all over as she cuddles in. He drags his hand up the breadth of her back. 

"It's not so bad, is it? Spending time with dad?" 

"It's the best." 

Eddie spins her around. He holds the small of her back and let's the momentum carry her head back, prompting a wave of delirious giggles. She enjoys it, and Eddie assumes that'll be the end of it, but when she gets her bearings back she wraps her warm hands behind his neck and stares up at him lovingly. It's the only word that can describe her little expression. 

"I love you," she says, beaming. 

"I love you, too. You're not just saying that because you want extra cheese, are you?" 

"I do want extra cheese," she says honestly. "But I will still love you if you don't give me any. Maybe." 

He hikes her up higher so they're face to face. For Eddie, it's like looking into a cuter, younger mirror. She's so funny and quirky and lovely, he gets a stab of emotion, heat behind his eyes. 

"I love you," he says, kissing her cheek. "Love you so much," —he kisses her other cheek— "you can have every slice of cheese in the house." He kisses her cheek again, too many times. 

When he pulls away, she's pink in the face. 

"As long as you don't–" 

"Don't tell mom, I know." 

They gather their resources and make the best burgers ever. Eddie melts the promised cheese on the griddle in the patty grease and Roan eats what won't fit on her burger with a spoon. She's crashing hard from a food coma when you finally get home, but she still makes a point to tell you how much cheese Eddie gave her. 

"Like, the whole packets," she brags sleepily, face half hidden in Eddie's chest. 

You press wine cooler kisses against their foreheads. "Yeah? Leave any for me?" 

"Oh…" Roan blinks at you with wide eyes. "Sorry." 

"In the microwave," Eddie mouths. 

You grin and dance away, clearly tipsy and humming. When you find the burger he'd made you, you laugh. "Aw, yis. My boyfriend's the best," he hears your say, awed. 

"Don't forget that ring on your finger!" he calls. "God knows my savings account won't." 

"My fiance is the best," you amend to yourself. 

Roan snuggles into Eddie's chest. Eddie pets her hair. 

"Love you, pumk-min," he says. 

Roan snores.

[blradley]

A powerpoint introduction to Liesmyth!

(I swear the next one will actually be in Comic Sans... shout out to @incandescent-creativity for popularizing this medium!)

Anyway...

Do you wanna read a dark, Norse-inspired Adult Fantasy?

Do you wanna read about queer gods causing mayhem?

(literally every single character is queer lmaooooo)

Do you wanna support a queer, multiply disabled author?

Look no further than Liesmyth! We're out on subs at the moment - so, pretty-please reblog this powerpoint if you like the concept! Let's prove to all those prospective publishers that there's an audience for my book!

Image IDs:

All eleven images are power point slides.

Image 1: Title card reading 'Liesmyth: or, how Sigyn ruined everything, by B. L. Radley'. The words are displayed over a person in (...vaguely) Viking-era garb, against a green background. Only a slice of their torso is visible.

Image 2: A picture of an ash tree against a green, cool, mountainous scene. In a yellow text box, words read: Welcome to a world inspired by Norse mythology, where witches can climb through the cosmos using the boughs of an ancient ash tree, and any magic is possible, so long as it is cast with a suitable sacrifice. Yes, it’s basically a Viking Isekai. Shoot me. Then, a quote in italics: I know an ash tree named Yggdrasil, Nine realms cradled in its loamy arms… Prophecy of the Voluspa, verse 19

Image 3: Meet the characters! An image shows a white woman in Viking-era dress, leaning against a fence, looking pensieve. She is introduced as Sigyn Narisdottir. Her quote is: “It’s a God-eat-God world out there…” Below this, there is a description of Sigyn, reading: Just a nice, normal Christian woman from a nice, normal Christian village. (Totally not a gay witch, haha no, why would you suggest such a thing.) After her father is killed by his own God, Þórr, Sigyn has only one chance to free his trapped ghost from eternal torment. She must confront Þórr and slay him in combat. But how can a mortal defeat a God? Traits are bullet pointed at the bottom of the page. Hers are: Ruthless, ambitious, cunning, and desperate.

Image 4: The next character description is of Loki. His quote is “Monsters lost their menace when they huddled crying in the corner. And when you might use them for your own ends.” His image shows a clean-shaven half-naked man sat against a scandinavian-esque backdrop of rugged rocks and dried grass. He is white, with curly red hair, and is looking curiously off to one side. His description reads: The savior of the Gods, or their bane? A framed innocent, or a prophesized murderer? A victim, or a monster? Loki is a man of juxtaposed polarities, not least of which being that he isn’t a man at all. At least, not when it doesn’t suit him. Sigyn knows he’s dangerous. But in the viper nest of Ásgarð’s royal court, he might be her only ally… or her downfall. His traits are: Sly, wily, and 'not to be trusted'.

Image 5: The two characters introduced on this slide are Freyja and Thor. Freyja's image is of an Arab woman staring directly at the camera, expression serene, curly hair falling around her face. Her quote is: “Goddess of beauty. Goddess of desire. All who saw Freyja fell a little in love—but though silken longing stirred in my belly, I wrung it dead, reminding myself that Freyja was a goddess of bloodshed, too.” Her description reads: Queen of the Vanir, Freyja is an ancient and powerful goddess who takes Sigyn as her indentured servant. Her traits are: Proud, cold, and vicious. On the opposite side of the page, Thor's image shows a white, bearded man in an iron helmet glaring into the camera, viking sigils scrawled across his face in charcoal. He is shadowy and menacing. His quote is: “I saw a rainbow flash over a church. I saw a broken sky. I saw the end of everything.” His description is: Eldest prince of the Æsir. Murderer of Sigyn’s father, and countless more beside. The living embodiment of berserker rage, he is the strongest god around – and next to inherit Ásgarð’s throne. Unless Sigyn can stop him. His traits are: Violent, mighty, and 'a storm made flesh'

Image 6: introduces Angrboda and Baldr. Angrboda's image shows a white woman with blonde braids, wearing chain mail and warpaint (black streaks over her face), with a huge axe over one shoulder. Her quote is: “ ‘Sigyn, meet Angrboða: witch of the Ironwoods, god of a lost nation, relic of an elder age, master of magics that not even my darling brother dares dabble in, cosmopolitan worldwalker, mother and father of my children, and—if I might say so—a practitioner of truly superlative strap-game.’ ” Baldr's image is of Assad Zaman, looking wistfully, beautifully, into the camera. His quote is: “Out strode the most beautiful man in all the Nine Worlds. His gentle smile, his topaz eyes, his black curls, the fawn velvet of his cheeks… Oh, warmth radiated from him. I looked at him and felt, for the first time in oh-so-very-long, safe.”

Image 7: introduces Saga and Menglod. Saga's image shows a Black woman in darkness, with facial tattoos and a nose ring. She raises her eyes to the camera, pulling back a dark hood, her expression difficult to read. Her quote is: “In another version of this tale, I stayed with Sága. We travelled to Ljósálfheim every winter—one for every six of Vanaheim’s years—and raised foundlings as our own (for ever were the elvish freer with their loves than those of my world). But in this tale, we reached Freyja’s palace, and I had a dream.” Her description is: Prophet, witch, worldwalker. The woman Sigyn left behind. Menglod's image shows a Black woman smiling slightly, slyly, as she looks back over her shoulder, her natural hair framing her face. Her quote is: “If I tended the hearth in Freyja’s chamber, I left ash on her floors. If I swept the ash, I left streaks invisible to any eyes but Menglǫð’s. If I breathed, I did so far too loudly and regularly, and if I were a considerate soul, I would stop.” Her description is: Freyja’s attendant, and Sigyn’s main rival for her favor.

Image 8: So, like, wtf happens? Set against a background of dramatic red-on-black fire is a description of the book's plot, as follows: Crumbling kingdoms. Hungering Gods. One woman who will end the worlds. Loki, Norse god of fire and mischief, will be tortured until the end of time. And he shall deserve every minute. At least, that’s how the story goes. Behind every great man is a great woman, and behind every genderfluid trickster-god is a spouse who darns his socks, plots his victories and keeps his secrets, as well as her own. After a thousand years of agony, Loki looks to the woman who kneels by his side – his jailer, his torturer, his wife – and asks for a different story. Hers.

Image 9: a continuation of the plot from the previous slide, this time with a cool blue lake as the background, with a viking-style ship floating atop its surface. The image feels less calming, more unnerving in its stillness and the lack of human life. The description reads as follows: Down with the gods. So swore Sigyn, a young mortal woman, after watching her father die at godly hands. One millennium later, she has joined the same pantheon she once despised. Now, as Ragnarǫk approaches – the end of all Nine Worlds – Sigyn narrates the tale of the Norse Gods’ fall, and her own.

Image 10: Themes. A picture of two crossed axes accompanies a list of themes, which are: 1) Revenge. What is a life worth? And what would you give up, to avenge the life of someone you love? 2) Corruption. Can you ever fix a broken system from the inside? Or will it, inevitably, consume you? and 3) Divinity. What does it mean, to become a god? What might you lose along the way?

Image 11: A picture of Loki as a woman, with red hair, dressed in a Viking-style dress and sat on the edge of a Scandinavian dock, accompanies text that reads: This book is for you if you like... Queer-led, queer-written fantasy, with main wlw and nonbinary characters! Court drama and political intrigue, mixed with a sizzling dash of mythology! A prophecy that cannot be averted; a tragedy that cannot be outrun…

[kxxkiecxre]

𓅪 THE BIRDS 𓅪 J.J.K

PAIRING: Jungkook x Reader

SUMMARY: Jungkook doesn’t know what this is, but it all leads him to only one thing, her.

WARNINGS: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, no seriously don’t be dumb) y/n is a submissive little bitch (but we love it), Jungkook loves her pussy, oral f & m receiving, tears???, overly jealous kook!!

GENRE: best friends brother Au

Wrote this on a whim while I was on the bus 🫶🏼 this can be read as a stand alone!!

WC: 2.0K

previously… next

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TOXIC, that is all this has become. You tell him you need to stop, and then end up tangled in your sheets with him. He tells you this is getting out of hand, and then he’s buried so deep inside you, you can feel him in your throat. This has become everything but reasonable.

He brought you here, with the intention of loosening up, of having fun like you did before, but in all fairness, going back to the way it was with him would be harder than anything in your life. Not when you know how he tastes, not when he’s ruined you for any other man.

You went to fetch some drinks as he stayed at the booth with his friends. You watched him with intent as you sipped on your martini, watching the way his skin glows, the way he radiates dominance. He’s insane. Insanely hot, and insanely jealous, you know that, fuck you know that more than anything, yet here you are. Sat in your pretty little black dress, the glitter contrasting your eyes. You smiled to whatever the stranger said, batting your eyelashes and knew you knew he was watching.

Fuck he knew.

The way you seemed so soft and flirty, so gentle when he knows just how hard you like it, just as rough as he does. He knows the little game you’re playing, and he’s got to give it you, you’re brave. Brave enough to so much as touch the guys arm, and Jungkook had to excuse himself from his friends, strutting his way to you. You could feel the sheer power of him as he reached you, arm snaking around your waist.

“You flirt with everyone’s girl or just mine?” He asked the guy, sipping your martini from your straw.

You are not his, at least not couple wise.

“Sorry man, didn’t know she had a guy” the man apologises, putting his hands up in defence.

“Well now you do, so why are you still here?” Jungkook continued, the glare he give to the poor guy run a shiver down your own spine.

“No need to get pissy dude, just waiting for my drinks.

“Kook stop” you whispered to him, grabbing onto his black shirt, the glitter sticking to your hands.

He licked his lips before downing your drink and grabbing your arm gently, despite the jealousy within his bones. You followed him as fast as your feet allowed you, which wasn’t all too fast considering you’re wearing heels and stumbling.

He reached the male bathroom, looking behind his shoulder once before he dragged you inside, locking the door behind him. You smirked, as he stalked towards you the glint in his eyes the shade of charcoal, black dark and deep, like an animal watching its prey.

You were so ruined tonight.

“You must love getting me riled up baby,” he finally reached you, pressing you just a little more to the wall as he closed the distance between your bodies, “you look so beautiful tonight”.

You said nothing, anticipating every move his rough hands made as they traced your arm raising goosebumps as they followed, “so beautiful,” he repeats, his hand on your jaw, thumb playing with your lip, “you’re make up is even perfect huh”.

His thumb pulling on your lip gently, your hands stuck behind you pressed to the wall by your ass, “too bad I’m gonna ruin it” he smirked.

Without giving you time to catch your breath, he attached his lips to yours.

A kiss full of jealousy and so many unsaid words, a mouthful of sin and bliss as he practically sucked your soul out with only a kiss. It was wet, loud and so hot. His hands tangled in your hair as he held your face, your lips smothered with his own, hot bruised and swollen as he pulled away for a split second to admire his work. Barely catching your breath he leaned in again, this time gently biting down on your swollen lower lip.

Eyes never leaving your lips he mumbles, “be a good girl and bend over the counter yeah?”.

You nodded, heading to the counter with a gasp in your breaths, your reflection in the mirror represented a horny mess with swollen red lips, but god you looked so hot. He’s right, you did look beautiful.

“Pull your skirt up for me pretty, let me see your ass,” he says, his own lips red and swollen as he stood behind you, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

You followed his direction, pulling the already short dress up, revealing your black lacey thong, “fuck baby, always so ready for me hm?” He whispers huskily, palming your pussy as you whimper at the minimal contact.

He pulled the thong to the side, kneeling behind you he admired the way your cunt practically dripped with arousal, glistening under the low light of the bathroom. He kissed it gently, groaning lowly as he sucked onto the left lip. Biting down on your lip to suppress the moan that’s about to escape you, you push a little towards his face, but he couldn’t care what you wanted. He couldn’t care that he should be quick, instead he attached his mouth to the other lip, before running laps up your pussy, smearing his face with your essence but fuck, he couldn’t care. Matter of fact he wants everyone to literally smell it off him, he wants his own scent to smell of you. So that people know you belong to him, and maybe it was nasty, but god he couldn’t care.

Small kitten licks was all he gave you as you whimpered, your clit pulsing and he knew because he could feel it in the tip of his tongue. The pulse bouncing on his flesh, like it had its own heartbeat. Shit he loved your pussy, he loved everything about it. He could never get enough of it, and he might have ruined you for other men, but you’ve ruined him for any other woman.

“Please Jungkook” you begged, at this stage so close to releasing yet so far.

He ignored you, blissfully in his own world as he hooked his arms around your legs, continuing his torturous licks, swirling, sucking and flicking his tongue with the slightest of touches possible, basically ghosting your clit yet it was enough to have you cum, heaving as you let it out but he didn’t stop, no he went back in licking up your cum as if to get the last drop, and as sensitive as you were you didn’t care to stop him. You let him abuse your cunt as he intensified his touch, sucking with more force, flicking more vigorously and you held onto the counter as you moaned, unable to hold it in anymore, his tongue practically wrestling with your clit and you were done for when he sucked on it, the tip of his tongue simultaneously flicking it, and you orgasm again, this time moaning his name.

He admired your swollen cunt again, chuckling to himself before raising to his feet again, and just when you thought he was done, he unbuckles his belt, all while maintaining eye contact with you. Smirking lazily while pulling out his dick.

“On your knees pretty” he whispered in your ear.

And like the good girl you are, you did as he asked. Falling to your knees as you looked grabbed his cock, spitting on the already leaking tip, and spreading it around with your palm. Up and down slowly, from the top to base. Your lips attached to his tip, your tongue licking up the leaking precum, tasting the bitter saltiness, before you took more of him in. Bobbing your head up and down slowly while your hand stayed at the base of his dick, you never gave up eye contact, watching each other mesmerised within one another as you continued to take him into your throat further, eventually letting go of the base, bottoming out as your throat spasmed almost gagging around him as he sucked a sharp breath in, watching you slowly come up for a breath, before you took the tip back into your mouth, your tongue touching that one spot right under the head, he loved it moaning lowly as he threw his head back tangling his fingers in your hair, he looked down at you before slowly thrusting in to your mouth, dragging his dick in and out of your mouth as held onto his thighs, and he knew you were ready.

Picking up the pace he thrusted faster, and faster, reaching the back of your throat as your pussy clenched around nothing, your throat closing up for a split second before easing up, accommodating to his size but not for long as his tip abused the back of it, tears pooled around your eyes and a small gag was what did it for him.

“Fuck get up,” he said hurriedly, breathing heavily, “let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours”

And back into your old position, he eases into gently at first, before thrusting mercilessly, his dick kissing your cervix, you mewled moaned and gasped underneath him, tears streaming down your cheeks as he fucked you like a slut. It was hot and loud, you loved it.

He showed no mercy, thrusting relentlessly as you gasped a strangled and high pitched “fuck”, your hands balled into fists on the counter, your ass pushing back into him as the band in your lower belly threatening to break, his own hands coming to tangle with yours, and with one final stroke you burst, cumming down his dick with a loud shout of his name, “yes baby, let them hear you”.

He wasn’t far behind you, shooting his cum deep in your cervix.

Pulling out of you, he spun you around but not before adjusting your panties and pulling your dress down, kissing your lips gently he leaned his forehead into your own, “keep my cum inside you yeah?”

“Yes”

With another smothering kiss he adjusts your hair, ripping some towels out for you and patting down your cheeks, “you’re okay? I didn’t hurt you no?”.

“If you had hurt me at any stage I would have let you know,” you smirk, balling your fists around his hurt and pulling him in for another kiss, almost like both of you couldn’t get enough of each other despite breeding like bunnies every day, “I liked it”.

“I don’t fuck you for one day and you pull a stunt like that to rile me up hmm? Could have just asked me pretty bird” he tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Don’t ever call me a bird again, you sound like a grandpa”, you snorted, rolling your eyes and exiting the bathroom as he followed you closely.

“Okay birdie, what do you say to going home?” He smirks at you, watching as you return that same devilish smile.

“It’s always going to be a yes, birdy” you mock him, laughing as you follow him outside.

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A/N: Srsly wrote this while on the bus smh lol I hope y’all enjoyed this little smut filler chapter or whatever lol.

MASTERLIST

DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE OR REWRITE MY STORIES IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM!!

[something-tofightfor]

Fool's Gold - Intro

Pairing: Pirate Oberyn Martell x Female Reader (with a twist)

Rating: M for now - but that will change later.

Word Count: 2,266

Summary: An accident on the open waters of The Narrow Sea leads you to a crossroads ... but not everything is as simple as it seems.

Author's Note: This story is what happens when I get fixated on a band and listen ONLY to their albums for two months straight. The title - and the overarching tone of this story are thanks to Caligula's Horse (specifically the Bloom and Charcoal Grace albums). The title comes from a song called "Marigold".

But it's also inspired by Pedro's SAG awards look because anyone that looked at that and didn't immediately think 'PIRATE!' must have been looking at a different outfit than I was.

Thank you to the people that have listened to me talk about this story for the last month - and that encouraged me to continue writing it. I hope you like it.

You woke from a deep sleep to the feeling of the ship shuddering, the motion so strong it nearly knocked you out of bed. 

It only took you seconds to get your bearings. As soon as you were able to, you pulled on your boots and hurried up the stairs to the top deck, holding your blanket tight around your shoulders. What you hadn’t expected to find was disorder; the ship’s crew hurrying back and forth across the flat space, shouting to each other and pointing up. 

You looked up, too, gasping at the sight. One of the masts was charred, the sails attached to it in flames that threatened to spread to the others if not contained. The crow’s nest is gone. Blinking slowly and then reaching up to swipe at your face with one hand, you shivered. 

It was still raining - the storm that had started before you went to sleep hadn’t let up. For a few seconds, you thought that maybe the water would help to extinguish the flames. But when a sudden gust of wind pushed them forward and toward the other sails, you knew it was unlikely. 

“You need to go back to your room.” A sailor gripped your shoulder, startling you out of your thoughts. “Stay below deck. It’s safer there.” He was young, and when you turned your head to look at him, you saw fear in his eyes. “Let me help y-”

“What happened?” You yelled the words, hoping to be heard above the sounds around you. “Why is the ship on fire?”

“Lightning!” He pointed up just as another flash across the sky seemed to confirm his explanation. “A lightning strike.” It made sense; with nothing else on the open sea, the tall masts of the ship were bound to attract the storms. 

“Will we sink?” You wiped at your face again, blinking as much of the water away as you could. “Should I prepare for -”

“No!” He whipped his head back and forth. “This ship will not sink. We will get you safely to King’s Landing and then to Oldtown, m’lady.” He dipped his head and you fought against rolling your eyes at the title. “Go back inside.” He pointed. “Get warm and dry. We’ll be fine by morning.” 

There was no reason to argue and so you didn’t, retreating back into the corridor that led to your room after taking one more look up and at the sky. 

You didn’t believe the sailor. You’d seen enough fires to know that even if they were able to put the flames out, the ship would be crippled for days and destined to drift across the Narrow Sea until someone found you. 

The route was typically safe; Braavos to King’s Landing was well traveled, so you knew that the likelihood of someone finding the ship and assisting you to port was high. But the ones who find us may not be the right people. 

There were pirates on the waters; fewer now than there had been, but it was still worrisome - especially with what you carried on the ship in locked trunks. Taking a few steadying breaths when you reached your quarters again, you looked around the room and then made a decision. 

After changing from your nightclothes to your everyday ones, you began to secure your valuables in the hidden spaces within your dress. A locket that you wore regularly was stashed in a small pocket at your waist. The ring from your mother’s mother took its place in a smaller pocket located near the buttons at the front of your clothes. A palm-sized wood carving of two birds was harder to conceal, and instead of attempting to hide it, you simply put it - along with a small dagger and a few other trinkets from home into a purse that you secured at your waist on a belt. 

You put your boots back on, lining the soles with all of the coins you carried with you and then laced them tightly, curling your toes at the uncomfortable sensation. I almost forgot. With a gasp, you opened the inner drawer of your table, fingers closing around the small, rectangular piece of metal that Wyllam had ensured you’d received. I cannot forget this. 

If there was one thing that your parents had instilled in you about the trip, it was to prepare yourself for anything. Traveling from Braavos to King’s Landing by ship and then by coach from the capital to your final destination was a long journey, but you’d have your guardsmen when and if you needed them … and even when you didn’t. And that’s why I have this token.

The ship shuddered again, and you reached out to steady yourself, sniffing at the air and frowning. The smoke smelled thicker, and so you left the room a second time. Instead of going back to the upper deck, you headed for the small roost near the stern of the ship where the ravens were kept. It didn’t take you long to pen a note and attach it to the leg of your raven, the one you’d raised from the moment it hatched - sending it out the small window and back to your parents. 

We hit storms. The ship is ablaze two nights in. I may be delayed. I’ll update you when we reach King’s Landing. 

You watched the bird disappear into the darkness, gasping when a piece of flaming debris fell in front of the window and hit the sea. That doesn’t look like a sail. Staring for a few seconds at the churning water, your attention was drawn up and toward the sky at the sound of a low roar. What is that? 

The beating of your heart quickened, but you didn’t look away, and when there was another flash of lightning, you saw the unmistakable outline of something massive in the sky - something that you’d been raised to believe was impossible. 

“A dragon.” You gripped the edge of the windowsill, unblinking. The next time you saw the creature, it was much closer, wings flapping to bring it nearer. You didn’t need lightning to see what it did then, screeching again and then opening its mouth to release a stream of fire in your direction. 

It wasn’t a storm that had damaged the ship. It wasn’t the lightning that set the fire, or threatened the lives of you and the crew. It was something much more dangerous and unpredictable.

You heard the roar of the flames from above you, coupled with the screams of the crew, and with shaking fingers, reached for a quill and another slip of paper. The second note you wrote was much messier than the first, though it was longer. 

My previous message was incorrect. It wasn’t a storm. We were attacked by a dragon, I saw it with my own eyes. The Sea Spider - and everyone on her - are in trouble. Two nights into our voyage from Braavos to King’s Landing, and everything is on fire. 

You winced at another roar from the sky, and then braced yourself for impact… but it never came. Returning to your note, you finished it off, scrawling your name and your age, along with the names of your parents, and then reached for another raven - that one marked with the sigil of King’s Landing. Fly well, messenger.

It disappeared into the pouring rain, and when you couldn’t see it anymore, you stared into the darkness, shivering. There was nothing more you could do, except wait - and hope - both of which could be done in your room. 

But even those plans changed a few minutes later when a different crewman burst through your door, his eyes wild. “We’re abandoning ship! She’s sinking.” He reached out, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and dragged you up to the top deck. 

It was chaos, and nothing could have prepared you for the sight of the completely destroyed masts and fierce flames, the scorched wood of the top deck smoldering in places. There was another screech from above you, and the crewman pushed you forward before spinning away, heading back inside. 

You were terrified. Assessing your surroundings didn’t help anything, though. Your eyes moved over the different groups of people that were working hard to free the few smaller rafts stacked alongside the outer wall while the ship’s hull disappeared slowly beneath the roiling surface. I’m going to die on this ship. 

The realization didn’t alarm you the way you’d assumed it would. Instead, you felt a sense of relief - dying at sea meant that you didn’t have to go through with the plans that had been laid out for you, but it also meant that choosing not to go through with them wouldn’t be your fault. 

With a growing sense of calm, you headed to the railing of the ship and gripped it, taking a few deep breaths as you felt the slope of the deck grow steeper. 

Your family name wouldn’t be tarnished. Your parents would be allowed to freely mourn you, and would still potentially receive at least some of the benefits that they’d been promised by signing your marriage contract. You had no siblings, which meant that none of your sisters would be forced to take your place. All things considered, it was one of the best possible outcomes. Even though I won’t be here to make the most of it. 

The seawater was creeping closer to where you stood, and even as you looked up to see what the rest of the crew was doing, you didn’t move, watching as they struggled to cut the ropes holding the boats down while keeping their balance. 

But when you heard screams, you whipped your head back and turned your eyes to the sky, mouth falling open at the sight of the returning dragon. That time, you felt the breeze from the beating of its wings, the moving air propelling the flames forward and causing them to engulf more of the ship’s deck. And when you saw it open its mouth and reposition its body, you knew what was coming. This is it. 

You thought of your parents’ faces as you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath and preparing for the burn … but it never came. 

Instead, you felt a wave of heat that pushed you backwards, your hip slamming into the railing and both hands shooting out to balance yourself as a gasp was forced from your lungs. 

The rest of the ship was aflame, and as more and more of it slid beneath the surface of the water, you caught sight of one of the crew members pushing a boat overboard before he was snatched up in the jaws of the flying beast, his screams echoing in your ears.

Your body made the decision for you then, deciding that it wanted to live no matter what that meant, and you dove overboard, the chill of the sea making you gasp. When you surfaced, you spun quickly in the water, searching for the ship - and the boat that had been pushed from it and into the waves.. 

But the dragon was back - and that time, it had a partner. The two creatures swooped and dove, sending short blasts of fire at the crewmembers still on the deck, some of them jumping into the sea as they were consumed by flames. 

You didn’t know if it was the ocean water or actual tears that were running down your face, but you forced yourself to look away and search for anything to keep you afloat once your arms and legs tired. Your skirts weighed you down, and you knew that if you didn’t have any luck soon, it wouldn’t matter. Seven hells, please just…

Spluttering as you propelled yourself through the water and away from the flaming remnants of the Sea Spider, you cried out as something made contact with the back of your head - a searing pain radiating through your skull. 

You went under, the pain overtaking all of your senses, and when you resurfaced again, your eyes were wide and wild, the pain still present and actually growing worse as you flailed and coughed, trying to clear the seawater from your lungs. 

But through it all, you searched for the source of the impact, and were rewarded with the sight of the small boat, bobbing against the waves. Taking action required all of your concentration, and even then, it doubled and then tripled in your vision as you started to swim toward it. 

It took everything in you to grab the edge of the boat and hoist yourself up and inside of it. You gasped out a breath as you collapsed against the bottom, curling up in an attempt to make yourself as small as possible and hoping that the dragons wouldn’t pay attention to you or the tiny vessel. 

You were in an agonizing amount of pain - head pounding and your limbs weak, but you raised a hand to the back of your skull, prodding at the space where you’d been hit. It came away wet, and when you used the light of the burning ship to look at your fingers, you could tell that they were covered in blood. At least if I die, it won’t be by dragon or drowning. Your hand fell, thunking against the curved wood of the small boat’s hull, and you sighed, closing your eyes.

The screams of the crew and the crackling of the fire continued, but you heard none of it - because you were unconscious. 

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