#you will be getting scrap metal regardless

[heartfullofleeches]

Maybe a better idea..... Farmer Flemish giant rabbit Yan catches Foxboy reader, but gives reader the choice that if he becomes the yans malewife he can live.

(That was the plan to some extent in the long run, but the chase is fun, no? Regardless, here's a blurb of the two lovebirds)

Male Flemish Rabbit Yan + Foxboy Reader

Warnings: Imprisonment, kidnapping. Reader's pronouns are not mentioned, but they are thought of as male. The term Wife is used.

-

That bastard....

"Let me out! Let. Me. Out!"

Rearing your legs as far back as the tight space would grant, your knees bump into your chest as you kick out. Metal grates dig at your arms with every slight turn and jostle of your body. Dirt and moulted feathers mat your fur, yet there isn't any poultry in sight for you to feast and console yourself upon.

Damn it... You knew it was too good to be true. That farmer was a fool, but a watchful and cautious one at that. He'd never leave the door to his pens open unless he was sick or injured. Maybe part of you had prayed that he was. Wrong as it may be to wish ill on someone making a living for himself, you were just trying to survive too.

"Let me out.... please.." Your voice wavers as the pains of hunger and stress exhaust what little strength you have left. Your balled fists slap pathetically against the metal cages as tears well in your eyes, daring to spill. You won't let them. You won't let him win.

"I said...GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

The gravel outside your wooden prison shifts.

"In due time, Love. We've got a deal to make first."

Dread consumes the emptiness in your stomach, pinning your limbs to the dirt covered floor as he at sinks to his knees. Your knees curl into your chest once more, body and mind subconsciously making yourself smaller as his larger figure draws into view - blocking your sight of the forest beyond his land. Your home. You don't even realize your crying till his fingers brush the wetness from your cheek. You have half a mind to bite them off as they get stuck between the grates.

You snarl- "If you wanted me gone you could've asked..."

The farmer presses a strong hand to his mouth, suppressing a laugh. "If I wanted ya gone, I would'a taken the sheriff's generous offer of a shotgun the last time I had him over. You know how he is about outsiders."

The bite in your stare remains - still, your legs quiver at the mention. "You aren't going to turn me over to him, are you?

He can't. The farmer is lenient towards your crimes, but that man.. That rabbit... He'll have you hanging from the town hall by nightfall.

"Please... I'll...I'll do anything...I'll work off my debt day and night, I-"

"Sweetheart...." The farmer rest a hand on the steel wall of the coop, gently petting its bars as he would your fuzzy little head once you agreed to be his. "It's okay. Nobody's gonna hurt you or make you do any hard labor."

"Then-" Your cracked tongue wets your splitting lips. "What do you want from me?"

The farmer cranes his head, meeting you eye to eye. The bags beneath his eyes seemed heavier than usual. How long had been out here waiting for you to return?"

"Cute little fox like yourself shouldn't be out here scrounging around for scraps or the occasional unattended hen. You should have a roof over your head, a comfy bed, all the food you could ever want."

What's he going on about? Another trap?... "If I'm not going to work for it... How does this deal benefit you?"

"I want you to be my wife."

"Wha?!- Ouch!-" Your head shoots up, ramming into the low hanging support beams. "Are you crazy?"

The farmer lets a chuckle slip. "Heh, I'd have to have lost my mind not falling for ya. Think about it this way, Sweetheart. You come home with me and I fill that belly of yours full of food. Or I call up the sheriff and he fills it with lead. Your choice."

Your howling stomach betrays any fight you have remaining. You don't have many options in this scenario. Push come to shove, you could possibly make your escape in the dead of night when he least expects it - taking as many of his hens as your arms could carry.

"Okay... I'll.. be your wife."

"Smart fox." The farmer stands - rounding the corner to the front of the henhouse. He lifts the wooden board that had fallen into place as you crawling inside hours ago. Your legs are too cramped and spent from all that kicking to fight him as he pulls you out by your tail and into his well built arms. The farmer presses his nose to your face, nuzzling your cheek as he walks off towards his home - carrying you bridal style.

"Welcome home, Hun."

[rallamajoop]

That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost

Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.

Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.

Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...

No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.

FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)

In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.

Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.

It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.

The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.

It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.

I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.

I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.

They probably deserve each other.

[getodrools]

𐙚 COMPARABLE FANTASIES: TOJI FUSHIGURO!

IN WHICH, toji proves even with new, cold attachments, he could still make you feel good regardless...

I 𝓲. I MDNI ୨୧ f! reader. slight jjk spoilers. lazy dovey morning turned messy feral muah mess. fingering. breeding. cock warming. squirting. creampies. | WC –> 0.8k+ est ! !

TOJI'S TONGUE PLAYS AT the shell of your ear, slipping in to whisper, "you feel… full." nuzzling down, you ache into his touch.

feening at cold metal dipping between bodies, toji trails along your tummy to mush at the small bump of devotion pooled stickily in your womb. his scar curls with his lips – smirking at the ghastly amount as he keeps his softening cock deeply buried in your walls.

groaning and twisting at the warm fill and shivering and cooing at the foreign object drifting at your skin. it was crushing to see the man you love once kiss death and now filled in with a new century of technology...

though, how he handled it. it was, manly... tantalizingly fun too.

filthy.

cold — freezing more of... the sudden touch of his new arm snipped at bare skin, feeling him slip between shaken legs was like glaciers moving through water… soon, catching at the puckered hood of your clit, he winds steady circles.

“cold? heh...” his words trail off into a husky groan, almost mocking at your worn shivers.

spent and warmly settled to spooning, his cock rests a slow rhythm before popping out. unplugged… a warm, white mess follows, dripping a soiled puddle into silk sheets.

toji knew it made you squirm — knowing the truth. it was new and something to get used to.

no different, he spreads slippery folds wide, forcing them to hug, now, two silvery fingers and cling tight as he pummeled cum back where he deems belongs. toji was quick and busy at stuffing spongy walls to the hilt, all while you were marveling in the taunt texture the entire way through, feeling scraps digging at you with fierce intent.

eyes fluttering back, toji pecks along your jaw,

"see, 's still makes you feel good.." lewdly locking lips, you squeeze at his forearm; the mass once strong muscle, scarred and expanse, now smooth, dull - and uncanny... but the sensible warmness growing to your tone left an ache.

incredulously prodding away, he digs eager fingers into your cum-swollen cunt – and one moment they weren't, the next, they were pressing against your sensitive bundle of nerves, running circles. your thoughts too, running mindlessly, hearing the squelching batter of juices and tainted shame.

"you're making me hard again, baby... maken' those pretty moans in my ear." you curl into his chest, sobbing out moans as his fingers pressed down and worked into your slit. hard and smooth, he dug them into the pliant, slick heat of your pussy, squishing at walls and kneading them around working digits.

you mewl, "oh!–" crudely before whimpering into submission. toji pops the metal tools out, yet kept a steady rhythm at your puffy hood, and probed his bulbous cockhead – hitting into you in no time at all. full chastity, his cock swole and throbbing again. toji sets a rhythm. strong and paced, and keeping firm at your clit; rolling and pinching when warm walls squeeze at his base.

toji holds you close as you sink into fervent putty; his arms so strong, one just as the other, keeping you warm and close... your stomach is coiling and your jaw hangs, "my pretty girl likes being stuffed? you enjoy looking like a mess? huh?" his free hand tucks under your neck, bullying eye contact from you.

you shakily nod.

"nothing can stop me from making you feel good baby?" he would be foaming at the mouth if possible; gasping at the deep-set of jungle eyes hooded, almost hunting for you through lids,

"don't ever doubt me, sweetheart..." panting with pearls of sweat mixing in, as both of you in sync like beasts – tongues even lapping sloppily at each other.

his life seemed to hold that fine line. It terrified you, every day because it could be any day... only the potency of resilience proved odds... and oddly, it was attractive how much he held that.

he fucked you good and well, always horny and hungry. never knowing if it could be the last to make you scream over his name ‘til you couldn't… the day he faced eternal gloaming and luckily found an escape through it, he stuffed you long and hard – ‘til you were packed like a snow cone...

toji buried himself deep while his swollen crown pushed hard against the breaking walls you lose control of – shivering in a pulsing high. licking up your throat, a wet and sloppy tongue cursing,

"can you even handle another?" he was mocking you and at your weakness, watching through droopy eyes how you shook into a mess at such little, yet so much...

watching how he fucks you into a mess and keeping metallic fingers pinched at your clit, you arched a perfect bow into the sheets; cumming a fountain and creaming a translucent ring at his base, his balls rise in a manner you adored in response. In a battering of his hips, solid nth-inch cock meat swelled with oozing cum. heavy holders, no less than before, and just as messy, empties every last drop into you.

…

barely room, ropes of hot seed decorate the soft mounds of your ass. almost bursting; his cock pops out still jutting in cloud nine as your womb was drowning in delight and with cum still struggling to find space... your chest heaves and his follows.

"ah-... y/n..." catching a rare breath, the same raunchy arm puckers up to your face and drags your chin back to his. showing no difference – just clanking bits and cold metal, he pulls and breathes at your bottom, quivering lip,

"i'll always, take care of you."

<– BACK: PINNED ౨ৎ NEXT: MORE TOJI –>

[hiraya-rawr]

little star — diluc 。

synopsis!! everyone knows the creator doesn't favor diluc (everyone is wrong).

cw !! gn reader, reader is peak diluc simp 😐 somewhat self-aware characters, mild sagau themes (not too much), reader is recognized as the player, reader is a little shy at first. angst with reverse comfort!

note !! the plot feels a little everywhere but i tried to organize it as best as i can, i think i got carried away eheh honestly doesn't feel up to my standards but it was pretty enjoyable to write

word count !! 2.8k something

"No, it's definitely Outrider Amber, she was the first to ever be favored."

"Are you kidding me? Outrider Amber may be the first, but sir Kaeya was definitely loved. Have you seen the sword he was gifted with?" One growls.

"It's the Acting Grand Master Jean!" Someone slams the table with his beer mug, "Twice was she bestowed with fallen stars of gold."

"I'd say that wolf boy in the woods seem lucky."

"It has to be Bennett. I don't know why but that kid has two crowns! Two!"

"You're all missing out on Miss Lisa!"

"Stop, stop! You rowdy drunks! Every vision holder in Mond has been granted favor, this is just impossible to decide!"

There was a pause. "Well. . . not every." Someone mumbles under their breath.

"Not every? Who's the poor allogene that couldn't even get the Player's favo—" Shushing sounds break his sentence, the men glare at their companion, pointing to the redhead behind the bar.

It's useless, really.

Diluc has been listening in the entire time. He can't really help it when their voices were loud enough to reach where he stood. Still, he was merciful and pretended not to hear. He's not exactly bothered by what they're saying. It was the truth, after all.

For two years, vision holders all around Teyvat were being granted favor.

It often begins with a meteor shower gracing the sky.

A star gently falling into the hands of a vision holder, embracing them in warm light.

They call the ethereal sensation as something akin to "coming home".

The favored would then be given different things; quality weapons, enhanced abilities, beautiful crowns— Some allogenes were even gifted summer apparel (Mondstadt is proud that their Gunnhildr sisters were one of the very first). Even their equipped wings would change into ornamented works of art!

It's been two years, and it seems like every allogene he knows of has received the Player's grace.

He supposed he just wasn't favored. It isn't too difficult to believe that he isn't likable.

He convinces himself it's fine.

It's fine if his summoned weapon is a cheap claymore made of scrap metal. It's still efficient to have the extra blade while he manually carries around another claymore (commissioned from Wagner as the best money could buy). Or that his abilities can only be improved through hardwork, unlike the many who broke the limits of their power through your favor.

It's fine.

As the bar goers leave for the night, as Venti and Kaeya wave around their almost divine-looking five-star weapons to show the crowd, and as he's closing up the tavern and retreating to his upstair quarters for comfort, he convinces himself that the he'll be okay on his own.

•

The arrival of the Creator was festive and grand; The day the sky parted itself and glowed as the brightest of all stars fell with grace into Mondstadt's very own Windrise.

Teyvat rejoices in the ecstatic ideal of being loved.

A meeting of vision holders was quickly held in the Cathedral, discussing immediate plans as some of the most favored (Venti, Jean, Kaeya, Albedo to name a few) went ahead to fetch the Creator from the large tree.

While Diluc was often the center of any other meeting due to his authority and influence, this was something he chose to step back from. Standing by the windows, away from the meeting, he watched on as Eula and the rest conversed around the circular table.

He isn't even sure why he's invited. Perhaps they felt it was obligatory for vision holders, regardless of favorability? Then again, he could always offer a fraction of his mountain-loads of wealth to help with the festivities.

At least he's competent at being a wallet.

As the others pull out their crowns and stars, weapons and artifacts, eager to thank the one responsible for the gifts, an unknown emotion bubbles in his stomach. It's faint, but it's there.

He tries to look away.

"Everyone, everyone! They're entering the gates!" Fischl announces uncharacteristically to the room as her eye glows brightly, undoubtedly looking through Oz's eyes from the sky.

"We should wait by the statue to welcome them, right?" Barbara chirps in, hands clasped and wavy hair bouncing with every step.

Diluc watches as people steadily leave the room, following last as they walk down the steps to greet the approaching group. Some civilians gathered to see the scene, others didn't really understand what a Player or Creator was to a vision holder, while Diluc—

Diluc stood by the steps to see them crowd around you.

You, surrounded with words of gratitude and cheerful squeals. He sees the smile on your face and feels relief that you don't seem too overwhelmed.

He leaves the area without a second thought.

•

He doesn't exactly see you around the next few days. With Mondstadt celebrating a new festival, the taverns were always full and busy with customers (both local and foreign). You were probably busy too, spending time with the different allogenes and entertaining those who came from Liyue to meet you. He's heard of a funeral consultant with three crowns (are consultants that admirable of a job to you?) and an adeptus gifted with various five-star polearms (this was understandable for the adepti, unlike the consultant).

He doesn't expect to see you at all until you leave for the next nation, honestly.

That is, until the tavern settles into a more peaceful atmosphere and Jean rushes in with several other allogenes. It's unusual to see his childhood friend in the tavern; still, he greets her amicably and asks what brings her here.

"(Name) will be coming here soon with Kaeya and a few others. It's a little impromptu, but we were hoping for a place to settle in with drinks. Perhaps try some apple cider." She smiles, taking a seat by the bar.

(Name)? Jean was already on a first name basis with the Creator?

Diluc thinks perhaps Jean truly is the favorite, she does have a few golden stars in her home.

Somehow, it's not surprising at all to know that his apple cider was famous enough to drag you in. At least there's something about the Dawn Winery in your favor. He promptly gets his employees to work, clearing a few tables near the bar, rearranging the furniture to give space good enough for a group.

Your entrance into the bar was just as lively; with your favored allogenes chatting away with you, everyone falling into place at different parts of the tavern, ordering drinks and meals.

He's glad you enjoy apple cider.

•

You're trying to play it cool, really. Trying your best not to get overexcited and glomp everyone and everything.

You're taking things step by step as you converse with Jean, Lisa, and Albedo; as you share meals with Barbara and Sucrose; as you play with Klee and Diona; tour the city with Fischl and Bennett. There's plenty of time to meet everyone and your schedule has been filled to the brim with all the fun your having.

You'll see that glimpse of red hair again— one that was lingering by the Cathedral staircase. Diluc doesn't like crowds, so it's fine that he isn't approaching you. It's also fine that he hasn't visited at least once, unlike the several raging from Liyue to Sumeru who took the journey to meet you early.

Diluc is too busy a person to meet you; whether it's because of the winery or his darknight hero duties, you wouldn't dare take his time.

— but when are you supposed to give him all the gifts you've brought for him???

Your determination to build him up in one go, from Talent levels to Constellations to Artifacts and Weaponry, all came down to this moment — and the man was simply nowhere to be seen!

An unknowingly loud sigh escapes your lips, catching the attention of the Cavalry Captain next to you.

"Now, what's got our (Name) so down in the dumps?" Kaeya hums, glancing at your face as you stutter a response.

"Aah it's not that, it's just. . ."

Your brother is too busy, I just want to meet him!!

"I'm thirsty." You deflect, looking around for a stall. The streets of Mond were nothing like the minimized version you see in the game; with the city being ten times larger than what you remembered it to be.

"Oh! Oh! Klee suggests apple cider!" The little girl giggles, running around your legs in excitement, "Angel's Share is nearby and big brother Albedo alwaaays takes me there for apple cider!"

Angel's Share. Bartender. A great idea has appeared!

At the excited look on your face, Jean walks up ahead of you.

"Why don't I go and inform the tavern to prepare us a space first, it would save us the waiting time."

"That would be great, Jean!"

•

You hope you aren't being too obvious.

With the way your eyes would linger on him, casting side glances and hoping he would greet you to strike up a conversation, the way most allogenes do. You didn't want to abruptly disturb his work, nor do you want seem desperate, so you waited for his initiative.

Yet, Diluc lingers just a little outside your group's circle. Your food and drinks were refilled by Charles, you've talked with nearly everyone but the person you want to talk to.

"It's getting pretty late, we should head home for the night." Someone suggests.

What?

No!

"Hm? Do you still have something in mind?" Kaeya asks. You realized you said it out loud, catching the attention of nearby patrons.

With a frantic glance around the tavern, your eyes make contact with Diluc's. He pauses as well, wondering what caused your little outburst.

You are definitely not leaving, not when you don't know when you could catch Diluc in his free time again! You'd be leaving for Liyue by then!

Hands slamming the table to stand up and with a small burst of courage, you approach the bartender who turns away from Charles. He raises an eyebrow at your approach. It's odd the way you feel flustered and nervous, finally facing him.

Pausing just in front of him, he looks on curiously.

"Would you like a refill?" He asks.

"A-ah no, I mean, yes but that's not why I'm here. I. . ." You stutter, stumbling over your words as you try not to behave awkwardly. Should you start with a casual topic?

"You seem to be quite busy." You say.

Diluc blinks. He isn't sure what you're implying. Neither is Kaeya or Jean, who stopped to look at the exchange of words.

"I suppose. . . but as a winery, we do thrive in impromptu festivities." He replies curtly before realizing, was it rude that he never visited the Creator?

"Ah, is it my lack of visit? I apologize, I would have visited but it seems that you were quite satisfied with your favorites and-"

"No, no, no," You wave your hand, cutting him off, "I understand you're busy. You don't have to visit at all! How could I take your time— wait," You pause, recalling his words.

"Favorites?" You tilt your head, "What do you mean I seemed satisfied with my favorites? What do you mean by favorites?"

"Your favorites... allogenes who received your favor. Those you have granted gifts."

Your jaw laxes. Favorites? They decided you play favorites based on how much you've built them?

"You think. . ." You say carefully, not wanting to hurt anyone's feelings, "That I offer gifts to my favorites?"

Diluc nods slowly, unsure of your questioning.

Although it would be a lie to say you didn't have your personal favorites, it would still be inaccurate that it's based on gifts. After all, you built everyone who came home by chance. As an avid player, you did your best to farm and push everyone to their full potential.

Diluc, however, never came home no matter how much you wanted him to. It can't be possible that he doesn't know how much he is loved, right?

"Then what about you?" You blurt out, "How do you think I view you?"

He stares at you oddly. At this point, many around you had stopped to tune in. Everyone knew Master Diluc never received your favor, so why are you conversing with him?

Meanwhile, Diluc wonders if you want him to admit it. Must he say it in front of everyone how he never received gifts?

"I suppose. . . I'm not one of them. It's quite understandable. I don't intend to question your judgement—"

"What?" You exclaim, a look of shock crosses your face, "You think I don't like you?" Voice raised in disbelief, you feel the eyes of many turning to watch the scene.

Diluc mirrors your confusion.

"I can't believe you would– no, that isn't it at all!" You stutter over your words, a frantic need to prove him wrong goes through you, "You— you of all people!"

"Me?" He repeats.

"I've always wanted you!"

A silence settles over the tavern. Did you have to put it so bluntly? You freeze in shock at your own words. Diluc's expression of disbelief turns flustered, face turning as red as his hair.

Explain yourself.

"I- I mean, I've always wanted you to come home. Ever since the start, really! It's just that you never did-"

"Hmm... so it implies that it's out of your control, correct?" Kaeya piqued, looking on curiously. He's been listening in the entire time. You nod your head.

"Yes! It's a game of chance for me as well. It's not to say that favor is an accident, I truly wanted everyone to come home! It's just that—" You turn to Diluc, "You never did, no matter how much I wanted you to. How was I supposed to give you your gifts?"

Diluc snaps out of his shock, blinking at you, "Gifts?"

"Yes, gifts! I've been saving them up for you, ever since the start." You pause, shyly looking away, "When I said I wanted you since the beginning I meant it. I came here for you, after all."

He looks at you in disbelief, and probably half the tavern as well. You can't help the small chuckle from your lips. With an outstretched hand, something materializes between you. It glows a blinding golden light, before settling to reveal–

"Wolf's Gravestone. It's a weapon for you."

You didn't have to say it— anyone with eyes could see how it was practically made for Diluc. With large handles and a color scheme that matches his own, Wolf's gravestone doesn't look as divine or ethereal as the other weapons you've gifted, but it looked just as powerful, if not menacing.

With a gesture, Diluc grips the handle.

"Fits like a glove." Kaeya whistles, impressed. As does the rest of the tavern who stopped to stare.

Suddenly, flames burst forth from the weapon. It sears and glows red. Unlike the common claymore that can't handle the the prowess of Diluc's flames, Wolf's Gravestone embraces it. Like an extension of his own hand.

He breaks his gaze away from the weapon to look at you.

"Thank you. . ." He mutters softly, but it's genuine. You smile.

"That's not the last of it, you know."

"What?"

With another flick of your hand, artifacts and talent books materialize. They flow around him like a dance as more and more begin to appear, lighting up the tavern like the night sky.

"I told you I brought gifts!"

All the days spent farming for him and other pyro characters finally paid off. The glimmering artifacts reflected in his own red eyes as he stares, entranced.

Favor did not come to him in meteor showers like it did to the other allogenes; rather, it came to him in your form. Proof of him being loved. The spectacle continued— after the artifacts and talent levels were the constellation (the crowd ooh'ed and aah'ed at the sight), then came the five star apparel (a nostalgic sight to him, and it changed his flames to a darker red), and the ascension materials you passed off as trinkets.

By the end of it, he had a hand over his lower face, his red bangs hid just the ends of his eyes. "I just thought I wasn't that favorable. . ." He muttered and you leaned in to peek at his covered face, wondering why he was shying away.

But it was evident to the tavern— the pink dusted ears, the flushed cheeks, and the overwhelming emotion in his eyes. Diluc Ragnvindr was flustered, and it's a sight enough to make even the drunks place down their beers for a closer look.

You bit your lip, trying to prevent the widest of smiles, "Do you believe yourself loved now?" You ask and he gives the faintest of nods.

"Thank you," He says, "For favoring me."

m.list 2 || consider supporting me on ko-fi ! || sagau m.list

note !! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE a very short brainrot that became a fic huhuhuhu

I don't often write creator sagau themes but here we are! this is like peak diluc simpery idk ive never been this down for a man. i wrote this immediately after getting his skin i just got so excited 😅 I wanted to spoil him so bad (but i gave all his mats to thoma before he came home :< )

taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @shizunxie

[pedgito]

please please PLEASE do a blurb of eddie fucking the reader and shes like struggling and saying “have.. to.. be.. quiet” while eddie is just cooing her telling her that she doesn’t/no one is home

author’s note: i will die on the hill of ‘struggling to be quiet’ fucking, thank you for coming to me ted talk and i hope you enjoy my poorly written smut.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), unprotected sex (pulling out), exhibitionism (sort of), eddie being a menace, just another reason to write depraved smut

word count: 1.6k

You were accustomed to the quickies that happened, more often than not, in the back of Eddie’s trailer—early mornings, late nights. Eddie wasn’t particularly fond of fucking you in the back of his van anymore, feeling rushed and uncomfortable, and you deserved to be treated beautifully—not forced onto your knees in the back of some metal death machine, scrapping them up for the sheer idea of getting laid. You deserved a bed, at least—but the only downside to that, despite his lack of being a teen, Eddie still lived with his uncle.

And as often as Wayne was gone, he also couldn’t stay gone forever. Most of the time it could be managed without worry—Wayne was gone more evenings and nights, aside from the rare occasion he had a day off, but Eddie didn’t have any qualms when it came to you and when he needed you—and there really was no denying him, not when you wanted it just as badly.

His uncle doesn’t question when you start staying overnight, it’s not his business and he knows Eddie’s grown and level-headed enough to make good decisions—and you’re good for Eddie, he sees it in the way Eddie carries himself now and in the way he does everything possible to accommodate to you first—it really isn’t necessary, but Wayne raised him to be a gentleman and he’d be damned if he didn’t see that through.

Regardless, Eddie loves to catch you at the most inconvenient times—particularly the warm, summer weekends when Wayne was off, saddled up on the couch in the living room catching up on the latest sports game, television blasting through the trailer.

He knew. He had to.

Besides, Wayne had been nice enough to give Eddie the only bedroom in the trailer—and as a hormonal kid in his last year of high school, it was probably for the best.

He shuts the door with a soft click, the mix of his radio and the booming television drowning out everything else—still, when he fucks you, his hand is clasped tightly over your mouth to drown out every last moan he pulls from you.

Eddie loves it, face lighting up in excitement as you struggled to keep quiet, eyes nearly rolling back in your head at how hard he was fucking into you, panting his own soft breaths over the back of his hand, his face so close your eyelashes could touch.

“Fuck,” He groans brokey, voice cracking on his final thrust, pulling out swiftly to come over the soft expanse of your stomach, pulling his hand away from your mouth,“—baby—“

It’s too loud for your liking, springing up from your reclined position to clasp your hand over his mouth, his eyes falling shut as he tugs at his dick, working through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He mumbled something against the palm of your hand, another curse or filthy remark, you’re not sure—but you’re more than thankful to have muffled his mouth because there was no surviving the shame of having to walk back to the entrance of the trailer after this.

When Eddie finally calms down, releasing his dick to pull at your hand, he’s laughing—and you can’t help but look at him with absurdity, shoving gently at his bare stomach.

“Eddie,” You say in a hushed voice of warning, “are you trying to get us caught?”

“He’s not stupid,” Eddie replies half-heartedly, shrugging, “He probably went out for a couple smokes anyways—he usually does.”

“Still,” You stress, “If you can’t wait, at least don’t make it so fucking obvious.”

Eddie smiles, tipping your chin up with his forefinger, the curved metal of his ring bumping against the skin.

“You can always say no,” Eddie reminds you playfully, “It didn’t seem like you cared a few minutes ago.”

Your eyes narrow, trying to look as intimidating as you could despite your soft features, “I was trying to be quiet. You were being loud on purpose.”

“You feel good.” He defends weakly, “Sue me.”

You roll your eyes fondly, swatting his hand away gently.

“Well, for my sake, try a little harder please?”

Eddie agrees with cautious regret, knowing he definitely didn’t have enough self control, but if it was for you—he would. And it becomes normal after time, almost too easy, and Eddie takes full advantage of it.

You’ve never fucked in a storage closet, let alone at school, but it’s something you can say you’ve tried at least once—all thanks to Eddie’s steadfast determination. He’s even bold enough to fuck you in the bathroom of your parent’s home during a big dinner with other friends and family—and no one had a clue. Eddie always knew how to take full advantage of every situation, both a blessing and a curse.

But when the rare occasion does come, leaving you both alone for the night and Eddie free of his Hellfire duties, it’s like you don’t know how to handle yourself, forcing yourself to keep quiet out of habit.

You pull your bottom lip tight between your teeth, snuffing out the soft whines begging to escape, the slow, full thrust of Eddie’s hips overwhelming when mixed with his calloused fingers working at your already sensitive clit. He moans unabashed, tossing his head back to throw his hair over his shoulder, free hand gripping your hip like a vice, pulling you against him just as eagerly as he thrust into you.

“Love watching you like this,” Eddie says softly, voice shot from pleasure, “—look so pretty on my cock, sweetheart.”

You nod jerkily, agreeing with whatever he said at that point, brows pulling together in concentration, mouth falling open on a soundless gasp.

“What’s wrong?” He asks teasingly, tongue peeking out past his lips and near the corner of his mouth, smug as fucking ever.

“Have to—“ You pant softly, “have to be quiet, Eddie.”

Eddie pouts endearingly, pulling you against him in a rough snap of his hips, your hands grabbing at his messy sheets.

“No, baby,” He shakes his head, “—it’s just us.”

“But—“ You start to protest, but Eddie's hand comes to grab at your face, gentle despite his quickening pace, less restrained than earlier. “—what if your neighbors, you know—“

It was true, sound traveled far too well in the tiny trailer park—but Eddie couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“I want to hear you,” Eddie tells you honestly, eyes falling upon your face, mouth gaping open in his grip, you nod slightly, “—unless you need me to force it out of you.”

And he could with no problem.

“Turn around,” He instructs softly, pulling out momentarily to adjust your hips until you push up onto your knees, face shoved gently into the mattress, “don’t hold back, baby.”

Eddie came in with a plan, sliding into you with ease, hips snapping at a hurried pace that had you gasping into the sheets, even then they were muffled, all semblance of thought and self control gone, practically drooling into his sheets at the brutal pace he’d set.

It isn’t enough for Eddie though, his hand winding into the back of your hair until it hits the root, yanking your head up tenderly—the strain is bordering on uncomfortable, but it’s worth it, the sound he releases as he thrusts into you with furious precision.

“Fuck—you feel so good,” He says in a haze, head tilted down to watch himself sink into you, squeezing at the dip of your hip, “squeezing me so tight, sweetheart.”

You nod, mumbling a soft “Uh huh,” in response, but it’s not what Eddie wants—he knows you have it in you, keeping it so calmly at bay.

“Am I making you feel good, too?” Eddie asks teasingly, another quiet nod, the motion weak against his tight hold on your hair. “Say it, baby—who makes you feel like this?”

“You,” You reply softly, pulling gently against his grip until he lets go, palms pressed against the bed to keep you upright, using your own momentum to slam your hips back against him, plunging Eddie so deep your vision feels like it goes spotty, “—fuck, you do.”

“Say it, sweetheart.” He instructs in a sweet tone, leaning back on his calves until you’re seated in his lap, “say my name.”

You gasp as his fingers reach around to find your clit in a desperate attempt to pull you to a quick orgasm—“Eddie.”

“Louder.”

You sob softly, the muscles of your legs twitching as the pressure builds, your body going white hot with euphoric pleasure as you come around Eddie’s cock, crying out a broken, “EddieEddieEddie—“

Eddie curses as he comes a few seconds after, over the swell of your ass, feeling desperate to catch your breath. He leans down a moment later, pressing a soft kiss to the middle of your back, running his hands along your arms gently. He lifts you up slowly until you can face him again, face at chest level from where he stood above you. His face is outlined by the low light of the room, another satisfied grin pulling at his face.

“Don’t act so innocent,” Eddie teases, “I knew you had it in you.”

You roll your eyes light-heartedly, shoving your fist against his abdomen gently, his fingers coming to wrap around your wrist with ease.

“I never said I didn’t.” You counter and Eddie grins even wider.

It’s safe to say that Eddie goes out of his way to make sure the trailer is always cleared from then on, never depriving himself of such an experience ever again.

[tanglepelt]

Dp x dc idea 40

Quick summary: Danny finds Ellie in the basement strapped to a table. They book it after destroying portal. Fentons think Danny’s possessed and chase. They capture Ellie again with GIW. Danny pretends to be an ambassador to the infinite realm. They don’t need to know he’s the king. Threatens war. Batfam are near. They intervene.

The fentons find out about Ellie. The whole halfa thing not the clone thing. They decide obviously a ghost possessed a dead child and was using their body. That’s why she could transform back and forth.

Que the metal table and straps.

Danny was very concerned when Ellie didn’t show up to there monthly meet up. He tried to text her and call her to no response. Being the good older brother he is he went hunting.

Not able to find her, Danny is ready to beg frostbite for the infamap. He promised not to take it again. But no one said anything about begging.

When he goes to the basement he sees ellie. Thankfully before and vivisection or cutting began. She was just strapped down with a machine taking blood.

Que him freeing her. Destroying the record they had. Injecting her with a ecto-dejecto to get ectoplasma in her system to kick up the healing factor. He breaks the portal.

None of his rouges were out. They had a monthly agreement. No one was to interfere with his Ellie day. The box ghost tried it once. He had to deal with a feral Ellie. The rule is in place for there safety.

He knows he’ll be hearing the complaints for the rest of his afterlife. The fact jack and Maddie strapped what looks like a human down. Who knows what they’d do to his rouges. Those ones actively cause problems.

Danny and Ellie have a lovely road trip. Constantly running. Watching that back. Barley sleeping. One for the scrap book.

The end goal is to get to Gotham. Jazz goes to Gotham u. She’d hide them. She’d meet them if they had there phones. They got left behind in the panic. Getting to Jazz would be safe for them. She has a Fenton creep stick after all.

Upon getting to Gotham. They realize they both have no idea where the university is. So no idea how to get to jazz.

It’s late when they showed up. Like the middle of the night late. So they can’t even ask. Not to mention pay phones don’t really exist anymore. They didn’t have quarters regardless.

That’s when the Giw show up surrounding them. Jack and Maddie show up from nowhere grabbing Danny from behind. Yelling that he’s just possessed. He wouldn’t be helping the ghost girl if he wasn’t. He wouldn’t of destroyed there life’s work.

Danny. Thinking fast starts yelling at them asking if they really want a war. That he’s seen what they can do. It won’t even be a battle. They’d just close off access to the afterlifes. You have to travel through the realms to get to them. Leaving the dimension to suffer. No relief of death. Just pain and suffering.

Screaming how that she was the second in line for the throne. The princess.

Ellie just stares at him the whole time. Like wtf. She’s fought off a lot of the GIW agents. But they have blood bosoms that force her down.

Danny couldn’t get free from jack and Maddie. Going ghost would just force him to the ground as well.

Starts yelling how he hasn’t sided with his parents from the beginning. That he had tried to play ambassador. Freeing those taken. Making sure the realm didn’t fight back.

He lies about how he totally stopped the master of time itself from destroying the timeline. That pandora has not attacked because of him same as the mighty frostbite of the far frozen.

Basically he’s just spouting nonsense. Then threatens to summon frostbite. Frostbite taught him how after an incident where he very much hurt himself.

Just then people with grappling hooks show up. They end up detaining the GIW and jack and Maddie. Which is a good thing.

The bad thing was the bat furry wanted to ask questions.

Good thing the furries got rid of the blood blossoms.

Danny just gets through them. (They let him go to Ellie). The fight left Ellie injured. The blood blossoms had made the injured way word.

We’ll look like he was summoning frostbite.

Not to fight but because Ellie was hurt. The bat people barley reacted to the yeti appearing from a glowing green portal. But they did tense and take up new stances.

It’s quickly seen that frostbite is in fact a medic. Not a mighty warrior (from what they can tell).

They actually think Danny was actually the voice for the infinite realm. That was enough to get him dragged to space.

Who knows how’d they react if they knew he was the king. But hey the GIW got disbanded.

Now has a fic started. Feel free to steal this idea still!!!

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[mumms-the-word]

Ascension, Return

Pairing: Gale x You (Reader POV) Summary: You watch as Gale restores the Crown of Karsus and temporarily becomes a god before disappearing to return the crown to Mystra. And you can only hope, now that he is a god, that he will return. ao3 link A/N: I was thinking the other day about how in the ending for an Origin run for Gale, regardless of how he plans to deal with the crown business, he always shows up as God!Gale in front of Mystra before agreeing to hand over the crown or deciding to stay a god. And it got me thinking...wouldn't a romanced Tav who is expecting him to give up the crown see him ascend? So anyway I wrote this to get those thoughts out there. As usual pic of my Tav Dani because I keep forgetting to ask to borrow people’s better pictures

It doesn’t take long for you and Gale to make plans to retrieve the crown from the depths of the Chionthar River. The sooner you get this over with, the better, you think, and yet something about this endeavor has you on edge. You secretly wish you can just leave the crown down below the waters…but then, anyone could get it down there, with the right spells or the right technology. You can’t risk that.

You don’t want it in Mystra’s hands either, but what choice do you have? She, at least, is a goddess interested in balance, neither evil like the Dead Three, nor entirely good and thus subject to extreme corruption. There’s no telling what she’ll do with the crown, but she has offered one thing in exchange—a cure for your lover’s affliction.

He’ll be free of the dark hungering orb at last.

It’s enough to convince you. You retrieve your worn bedrolls from the Elfsong and shoulder your pack, ready for your next little adventure—a small boat ride to the other side of the river, and a few days spent with Gale as he searches the murky waters.

You join him on the banks of the Chionthar, well away from the bustle of the city as it is trying to rebuild, watching over him as he sits, eyes glazed with concentration, guiding simulacrums to walk the riverbeds and floors of the river, combing through the mud for the crown. He could have let his simulacrums search without him guiding them, but he wants to be sure, to search closely. He doesn’t want to waste his time turning away simulacrums who bring back scraps of metal, shrapnel from the Iron Throne, or bits from the carnage of the fight against the Netherbrain. So he looks through their eyes, seeing nothing for hours but hazy water, mud, and river plants.

Though you long to lie back and watch the sails of fishing vessels drift by like clouds on the breeze, reveling in a hard-won moment of peace, you don’t want to miss a moment where he might need you. You do not want him to be caught unawares by some curious animal, or worse, a lingering enemy. So you sit and watch, your stomach twisting into knots as you face what you know will be inevitable—the moment when he finally finds the crown.

It takes all of two days of searching. After hours upon hours of looking, he stiffens, his physical body reacting to something beyond your sight, and you know at last that he has found it. You both stand as his simulacrum emerges, dripping water, with the cold bronze of the crown in its hands. 

The Crown of Karsus.

It’s so much smaller than you remember. When you faced it on the top of the Netherbrain it had easily been the size of a large carriage. Here, on the banks of the Chionthar, it’s no bigger than a normal crown. It looks innocent. Harmless.

But you know better.

The power it releases…you are no stranger to it. You readily recall the metallic taste on your tongue as you drew near it atop the Netherbrain and the way its very aura tried to drive you to your knees. Its power is weaker now, pulsating from the bronze metal like a faint heartbeat, but you know that it won’t stay that way.

You glance at Gale, wondering what you’ll see in his face. Dark hunger, perhaps, or something bittersweet. Reluctance, dread, or tired resignation. But his expression is surprisingly neutral. He doesn’t step forward to take the crown just yet. Instead, he studies it with his eyes before taking a deep breath through his nose and turning to look at you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

You blink, a little taken aback. “Of course,” you say. “Always.”

“That’s gratifying to hear. It will take me some time to restore the crown and the Netherstones to their original state, fit enough to give to Mystra. The process will be necessarily delicate, given the orb I carry. I should ask you to keep a safe distance. A city’s worth of space, perhaps, just in case, but—”

You cross your arms. “I’m not leaving your side, Gale. I’m here with you, for good or ill.”

He smiles then, as much relieved as he is amused and resigned. “I know. I expected as much. But I thought it best to offer or warn you regardless.” He takes a deep breath. “Very well, then. We stay together. I just hope you’ll be patient with me.”

You reach out and take his hand, threading your fingers between his. “I will be. I’m here for you. Take all the time you need, my love.”

He gives you a grateful look, squeezing your hand affectionately before leaning in to brush a sweet, gentle kiss against your lips. You let him pull away, slipping out of reach, and watch with bated breath as he steps forward to accept the crown, the mark on his chest glowing brighter and brighter as he nears and finally takes the crown in his hands.

You don’t know what you expect. A light show, perhaps. A wave of dark, Netherese magic, or a black hole effect. You steel yourself to the fear that he will simply evaporate or fall to his knees in pain.

But nothing spectacular happens, aside from his mark glowing brightly. To your eyes, the crown acts as little more than a normal crown. To him…

You see his chest expand with a deep breath, the orb flaring brighter, watch him blow the air slowly through his lips, his face tense. But without the tadpole in your heads, you can’t guess at what he’s thinking or feeling. He closes his eyes, simply breathing, concentrating. Fighting, perhaps. Wrestling with some unseen force. The glow on his chest dims slowly until it is only a faint purple tint on his skin. Only then does he finally tighten his hold on the crown and turn back to you.

You get the sense that he has just won a silent, unseen battle within himself. It occurs to you too late that putting the crown and the orb in close proximity might actually hurt him. But it seems that the danger has passed...for now. If he’s in pain, he isn’t showing it.

“Come,” he says. “Let us make sure we’re a safe distance from the city. Just in case.”

His words don't inspire confidence, but you say nothing. You merely follow him back to your camp further up hillside. You know he has work to do.

———

You give him time. That’s all he asked for. Time to concentrate on the magic. Time to manipulate threads of the Weave. The Mystran Weave and the Karsite Weave. Sometimes you think you understand what he’s doing, but more often than not, you don’t. The magic he is performing is beyond your comprehension, guided by notes in the Annals of Karsus which lays open in front of him. You suspect some of it comes innately to him, an understanding born from carrying Netherese magic for so long. The rest must come from Karsus himself, written down as instructions or incantations. You give up trying to understand and simply make yourself useful. Or you try to, anyway.

All you can really do is linger nearby, keeping an eye out for anything that might interrupt his work. You barely interrupt him yourself, save to place some food and water near him with a soft reminder that he needs to eat to keep his energy up. He’s not a god yet, you tease, but the words taste sour on your tongue.

Yet. But soon.

You don’t feel ready for it. You know it’ll only be temporary. You hope so, anyway. But you’re still not ready.

The day passes by without you noticing. Gale sits with the crown, working, weaving, an illuminated aura around him filled with heavy magic. You leave him to his work as the sun moves slowly overhead toward the horizon, painting the sky in tones of orange, red, and purple. You lay down to watch the swirls of violet and indigo magic that gather around him as night falls, until in your exhaustion, you close your eyes for a moment to rest.

You don’t know when you drifted off to sleep, but you’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by his hand on your shoulder. You stir, blinking groggily up at him.

“It’s time,” he says softly. He helps you sit up, hands lingering on your arms, your hands. The crown isn’t with him, but sits on top of his pack several feet away. “I’ve done all I can. The stones and the crown are together again. Functionally the crown is complete, but…there is one last step I need to take.”

He kneels in front of you, dark eyes searching your face in the dim firelight. No, you realize. Memorizing. You feel a sudden knot in your throat and though you are seated safely on the ground, it feels as though a yawning void is opening up around you, threatening to swallow you whole should you tip too far to one side.

This feels like a goodbye.

“Once I put on the crown, the magic of the orb will finally combine with that of the crown. And I will…change,” he explains quietly, while you try to calm the surge of fear that grips your heart. “The magic of the crown and orb will become one and give me the power at last to meet with Mystra as an equal.”

An equal. He doesn’t say as a god. But you both know the truth.

You can scarcely breathe. You want to trust him. You want so desperately to believe in him. And he is looking at you so lovingly, but the very air seems tinged with sorrow. Nothing is certain. Nothing save his love for you, and even then, the tiniest doubt worms its way into your head and your heart.

Once he is a god…will he even remember to come back to you?

“And then?” you ask, your voice no more than a whisper.

“And then…I will hand the crown over to Mystra. And hope she keeps her word.”

You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I trust you, my love.” You use the words, saying them out loud, to dispel your doubts and fears. You do trust him. With your life, with your heart, with your all.

If only you could trust Mystra. Can she be trusted to cure him? Can she be trusted to let him return? And if he does return, can she be trusted to let him return unchanged? Chosen or not, will he still be Gale Dekarios, the man you love? You don’t know. But you hope so.

He smiles at you and brushes the backs of his fingers against your cheek, his fingertips trailing along the line of your jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He leans in for a kiss and you, selfishly, wrap your arms around him and hold him tightly to you as your lips move against his, wanting to never let go. You rise to your knees, following him as he tries to pull away, kissing him deeply, tangling your fingers in his hair, until at last you are both breathless and you have to hide your face in his shoulder. You cling to him, reluctant to let him go just yet.

“Just come back to me,” you whisper. “Whatever happens.”

His arms tighten around you and you feel the bob of his throat as he swallows with difficulty. He strokes your hair and your back, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your head. You can feel it in every touch and breath he takes. He doesn’t want to let go yet either. 

“I will, my love,” he whispers back. “I swear it.”

It’s enough for now. It has to be. You could delay this day for a thousand days and still never be ready to let him go. But you have to. If he wants to be whole again, free of the orb, perhaps even free of Mystra…he has to do this.

You reluctantly loosen your hold on him and sit back on your heels, meeting his dark-eyed gaze in the early hours of the morning. He takes your hands and lifts them to his lips, brushing kisses against your knuckles, turning your hands over to kiss the center of your palms. Each touch of his lips to your skin is a reverent confession of love and longing and it only makes your heart ache more.

Please don’t let this be goodbye.

“Wait for me,” he says.

You cradle his cheek in your hand, gazing earnestly at him, soaking in every detail of his handsome face, committing it all to memory. “I will, my love. I swear it.”

He smiles at you then, full of love and happiness. He steals one last kiss from your lips before finally pulling away and standing, taking several steps back.

You stand too, preparing yourself for what is about to happen, even though you scarcely have any idea. You expect some of what you expected before, with light shows and waves of magic at best, disintegration and death at the worst, but now it feels even more real. Even more likely. You don’t know what will happen, so you brace yourself for the worst, heart pounding in your throat, gut churning with dread, and hope, desperately hope, for the best, even though you don’t know what that will look like.

You hold your breath as he moves several paces away from you and bends to pick up the crown. This image, too, you commit to memory. The way he looks illuminated by the firelight, the lights of the city glimmering behind and below him, the stars glittering above him. The sight of him with the crown in his hands, contemplating it with an expression of deep gravity. The crown looks small and harmless, despite the sharp curls and the soft glow of the purple, orange, and pink Netherstones that are now set once more in the bronze. But he looks serious, regal even, with it cradled in his hands. Like a king mulling over the weight of his position and the choices that lay ahead. He is beautiful. Heart-achingly beautiful. You wish this moment could stretch on forever, if only because it means not losing him to the crown. To godhood.

He turns to give you one last lingering look, your eyes meeting over the distance between you, before he slowly raises the crown to his head and settles it over his brown and gray locks.

The effect is instantaneous. A blast of magic blows outward from him, kicking up wind and dust and flashing bright enough to rival the sun. You cover your eyes, shielding your face, the light blinding you. Suddenly the air feels electric, tasting of metal and ozone, as though you’re about to be struck by lightning at any second. Wind swirls around you, picking up speed, a cyclone of power and magic with you caught in the edges. You struggle to stay on your feet, your body resisting the pull into the vortex. What little you can see is naught but a haze of magic, purple, blue, and inky black, rushing around you and mixing with the wind. Threads of blue and silver lightning dance around you, passing close enough to make your hair stand on end, shocking you when you take an unsteady step backward. The vortex of wind, lightning, and magic threatens to suck the very air from your lungs until, with crack like thunder, everything around you stops.

The air grows still. It is as though you suspended in time. Held fast by magic. Your ears are ringing with the sudden silence.

You cautiously lower your hand. You have to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust, but once they do, the sight of Gale causes a flurry of emotions within you.

He stands before you as something…more. A god in all but name. He’s taller, you swear he must be, or else his very presence makes him seem bigger. His skin has turned a shade of hard silver, his hair ashen gray. The mark of the orb stands out in stark black on his chest and when he turns his head to examine his hands, his body, you see splintered blue lightning crackling at his temples and down the sides of his face. His brown eyes now glow blue-white with magic, any trace of his former warmth consumed by the light of the power within him. He’s striking, awe-inspiring…

And you can’t help but fear him, just a little. 

On instinct you have the compulsion to kneel, but you don’t. You force yourself to stay on your feet and look at him, really look at him, and try to find the man you love behind this new godly veneer. He has to be in there somewhere. He has to be.

“Amazing,” he murmurs, and his voice is layered two or three times over with a strange echo, one that gives you unpleasant shivers. Even his voice carries tiny waves of power. You already miss the warm tones of his mortal voice with its Waterdhavian accent.

He flexes his hands, raising them before his face, his expression one of wonder and awe. With but a gesture, he summons threads of the Weave together in glyphs and effects you can barely make sense of, though you feel the thrum of magic deep in your chest and know, instinctively, that he is capable of snapping your mind with a thought or destroying you with a word. He smiles, and the effect is strange. He looks like himself but he doesn’t. Something about it seems wrong to you. Uncanny. Familiar and unfamiliar.

The pit of dread in your stomach grows.

But then he catches sight of you, waiting, watching breathlessly, nervously, hoping that he’ll remember his promise to you. His smile fades and for the briefest moment you catch a glimpse of the man you love. Even his blue-white eyes, shining eerily from his familiar face, can’t hide the love he has for you.

He lowers his hands to his sides. “It is done. The crown is fully restored once more.”

You nod. You haven’t the faintest clue what to say next. You’re still trying to make sense of the man-god before you.

He smiles again, and something about it is both patronizing, as though he pities you for not understanding, and sincere, an echo of his mortal kindness and patience. He presses a hand to his chest. “Well, I’d best be off then.”

“Wait—” You reach out as if to stop him and he pauses. Your hand hovers uncertainly in the air before you lower it to your side. "One last kiss, before you go. Please."

His smile softens. "I can deny you nothing, my love," he murmurs. He crosses the distance between you with a strange grace he didn't have before. Before he was elegant, but at times a little awkward. None of the awkwardness remains in him now.

You look up as he stops in front of you, his fingers curling beneath your chin the way he does when he wants to lift your face or guide your lips to his. You stare into his glowing eyes a moment before letting your eyes flutter closed. His lips touch yours...and it's different.

There's a magnetism there now that wasn't there before. You seem drawn in as if by gravity. He tastes of metal and magic, his skin cold but not unyielding. Your lips tingle with each kiss and the moment you seek to deepen the kiss—you gasp as a blue electric shock drives your mouths apart, your teeth practically rattling, your lips suddenly hot, almost burned. You press a hand to your mouth, looking up at him in shock, but he's just as surprised as you are. He seems unharmed, despite the tiny sparks of white-blue lightning still skittering over his lips.

"Ah...what an interesting side effect," he says, touching his hand to his mouth. The lightning calms. "Are you all right?"

You nod, rubbing your lips lightly as the numbness from the shock begins to subside and the tingling begins to fade. It wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't unpleasant either. Still, you're wary of trying it again.

He watches you, looking torn, before a new resolve settles his features. "Then I suppose that is my signal to go. The sooner I depart, the sooner I can return." He takes your hand carefully, moving it away from your face, and presses a cautious kiss to the back of your hand. His lips impart another, smaller shock to your skin, but this time you're ready for it. Your fingertips go a little numb, but you manage not to wince.

"Wait for me, my love," he says, finally letting go of your hand. "I won’t be long."

You step back, giving him room to do whatever he needs to do, and watch as he begins to glow, brighter than your eyes can stand. You keep your gaze on his until the very last second, when the light grows too bright to stare at. You blink—and then he’s gone, disappearing in a shower of starlight that fades too quickly.

You are left alone in the cool night, with naught but a dying fire for company. 

———

You don’t sleep. You barely bring yourself to tend to the dying embers of your campfire and stoke it back into warm flames. After that, all you can do is sit.

And wait.

And wonder.

And pray.

“Come back to me, my love,” you whisper into the cool night air.  "Please."

You half-wonder if he can hear you. If, on some level, you’re praying to him, the newest of the gods. You don’t know if that thought comforts you or worsens your dread. How does he think of you now, now that his mind is that of a god, capable of seeing beyond the constraints of a mortal’s limited view? If he hears your prayers, does he think less of you, or love you more? Will he remember his promise, or will the power he now holds tempt him to break it? You want to have faith in him—you do have faith in him—but doubt creeps in despite your best efforts.

Come back to me.

You recall what it was like to wait for him at Mystra’s shrine at the Stormshore Tabernacle. How he had explained that time runs differently in the Outer Planes. How he would only be gone for a moment. Each second that had ticked by during that time felt like a year.

Now, sitting on the hillside, every second that passes feels like an eternity.

The fire crackles. The lights of the city begin to dim. One by one the stars fade out, hiding from view as the black of night begins to lighten into the blue hues of pre-dawn. And still, he isn’t back.

Wait for me, he said. And you will. You’ll wait as long as you have to.

But what if…?

No. You can’t bring yourself to put your fears into words anymore. Doing so will only make them seem more real. More feasible. There could be a thousand explanations for why he isn’t back quickly. You just have to have faith in him.

You get up and begin to pace. You start breaking little sticks and twigs into tiny pieces to feed to the fire, piece by tiny piece, just for something to do with your hands. You pluck blades of grass one by one or count the stars you can see. And you wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Your thoughts are your own worst enemy and you wish you had called an ally to come and sit with you. Even Scratch with his favorite ball would have been enough to quiet your heart and mind. But instead, you sit alone, the crackle of a fire the only sound to break the silence.

Your eyelids are heavy now and your body longs to drag you down into slumber, but you resist. You want to be there when he comes back. If he comes back. When he comes back.

You get up to pace again, rubbing warmth into your stiff fingers, amusing yourself with memories of him. His smile. His sly jests and silly puns. His hands on your body and his body against yours, yours against his. The smell of him, as much as you can remember. The way he looked during battles, magic crackling and swirling around him. The way he looked in your bed, fast asleep. Gale Dekarios in all his mortal glory, the man you fell in love with. The man you wish was at your side once more. 

Gods, but you miss him. You press your hands to your chest, feeling your heart beat beneath your palms. What is taking so long?

The first hints of pink and orange appear on the horizon as you turn to pace away from the fire again, your steps wearing a noticeable path through the grass. At this rate, you fear the sun will arrive before your love does. 

You contemplate how you’re supposed to face the whole of a new day alone when a flash of light illuminates the darkness behind you. You whirl, heart racing, to see a shower of starlight once more—and out of it steps Gale.

Mortal. Human. Alive.

“Gale!”

You fly into his arms, which he is already holding out wide for you, nearly toppling you both into the ground with the force of your embrace. You both stagger, but you don’t let go, and his arms around you are as fierce in their hold on you as yours are around him. He practically lifts you off your feet. You can’t put into words how much it means to you that he’s solid your arms—warm, breathing, alive in your arms.

“You’re back,” you gasp, the tears in your eyes and clogging your throat making it difficult to speak. You don’t want to sob and make it seem like you doubted him, but the emotions welling up inside you are hard to suppress. “You came back.”

“Of course, my love,” he says soothingly, not yet relinquishing his hold of you. “You are everything to me. I could do nothing else.”

You untangle yourself from him to wipe the tears from your face and look at him, looking for any changes wrought by his visit to the Outer Planes or from his brief time at godhood. He looks like himself again, his lightly tanned skin flush with warmth and love, his dark brown eyes as rich and deep as ever. You comb your fingers through his soft hair, once more brown and shot through with hints of gray, rather than all over ashen as it was a while ago. Your fingers linger on his cheek, noticing for the first time that the dark vein-like threads that trailed from his eye to his chest are no longer visible. 

The mark of the orb is gone.

In its place are a series of faint scars in the same threads and shapes as the old mark, appearing just below his jaw and flowing down to form a circle over his chest. The tattoo-like color has faded away entirely and there is no dark bruise at the center of the circular marking. Any trace of Netherese magic is gone, leaving behind little more than scars faint enough to be missed by any who are not actively searching for them.

You trace the circular scar lightly with the tips of your fingers. “Does this mean…?”

“It does,” he says, pressing his hand over yours so that both of your hands are pressed flat to his chest. You feel his heart beating, his pulse perhaps a little elevated, but every beat strong and vibrant. “Mystra has cured me of the orb. Completely.”

You want to hate her, and perhaps you still do, and always will on some level. But in that moment you’re grateful and relieved too. You wrap your arms around him and squeeze him tight, overwhelmed with happiness and relief and joy. Your love is cured at last. The threat of losing him to Netherese magic is at last put to rest. He is whole again. Restored. 

And he is yours. Not hers.

As dawn colors the sky overhead and spills pink-golden light over the both of you, you kiss him, reveling in the taste of him, in the warmth and weight of him, in his hands on you. Not a single spark of lightning threatens to drive you apart, so you deepen your kisses as much as you please. You simultaneously want to push him down into the grass and make love to him there and kiss him for an eternity you know you both don’t have and simply gaze at him in awe and wonder that even while he had godhood in grasp and a crown on his head, he gave it all up for you.

He gave up godhood for you.

You never realized you could love him more than you already did. But you do. Your every heartbeat sings love for him.

You lose track of time kissing him. It could be moments or hours. You don’t know nor do you care. But at last, when you finally pull away from him, it takes you a second to remember where you are, standing out on the hillside across the river from the city. The sun is rising over the horizon now, painting the world in gold and shifting the hue of the sky to a beautiful, cloudless blue. A new day is beginning. 

A whole future awaits. And it is yours to shape with your love at your side.

“What’s next, my love?” you ask. “Now that we have everything we both want.”

“Next? For us?” He chuckles and takes your hand, bringing it up to press a tiny kiss on your empty ring finger. “If you still want me, I believe we have a wedding to plan.”

“I will always want you, Gale Dekarios. Now and forever.”

“Is that a yes to planning the wedding? Because I’ll have you know that Waterdhavian weddings are quite the large-scale affair.”

You laugh, his humor clearing the air like the sunlight warming away the fog of a morning and the dew on the grass. “Yes. Come on, let’s find some food to eat and get started. I can’t wait to begin a new life together with you.”

“My love, that new life starts now,” he says, bringing you in for another kiss. You smile against his lips and allow yourself to be corrected. He is right, of course.

Your new life with him begins now.

[sunnitheapollokid]

more leo x daughter of poseidon pls!!!

🐚┊ ༑ ࿐ྂ。WHAT A GREEK TRAGEDY!

leo valdez x daughter of poseidon headcanons & bonus blurb for y’all <3

📬 sunni’s notes : you got it artist!!! i’m having so much fun writing these two NSBAHAB like cmon. but can we talk about HOW MUCH I LOVE AND MISS THE BEACH i haven’t seen the beach in like two years it makes me wanna curl up and cry </3 and this fireboy and watergirl thing RAAAHHH also which do you guys prefer as a leo face claim?? because i use benoftheweek alot (also bc hes one of my comfort ytbers) im totally not biased. THIS IS A LITTLE SHORT SO MAYBE ANOTHER PART??? guys i actually need to shut up why is this so long okay have fun with this teehee!! lub u!!

⊹ HERE WE GO LEO BF HCS!!

⊹ since most poseidon kids are from the beach, leo’s from texas, you would kind of see it as a teasing opportunity.

⊹ “how’s my lil cowboy?”

⊹ “i’m going to tape your mouth.”

⊹ even though this, leo wants to show you texas so bad.

⊹ he tells you all the good bbq places, the best rodeos in town, fucking buc-ee’s.

⊹ out of topic but yall i literally have the buc-ee’s easter shirt the hype is real i love that shirt <3

⊹ ACTUALLY,

⊹ leo gets you that exact shirt. for your birthday.

⊹ since it’s the color of seafoam and it matched your eyes, he flew across manhattan and the absolute sea to get that for you for your birthday.

⊹ you chuckled at the beaver at the front of the shirt but you loved the effort regardless.

⊹ if you could, you would wear that shirt to sleep every night.

⊹ it’s canon that leo cooks right?

⊹ good. because he loves cooking for you, not just any food, BLUE FOOD.

⊹ i’m slamming my credit card on the table.

⊹ blue pancakes, blue soup, blue tacos.

⊹ he does it just to see the smile on your face.

⊹ also, whenever he goes on quests, he manages to sneak in goldfish or whale crackers for you when he gets back because they don’t have it back at camp and they remind him of you.

⊹ leo’s on a quest with piper and jason right? they’re fighting monsters yada-yada, and they have to flee. they left their stuff behind but leo goes to grab his backpack and piper just goes,

⊹ “for zues’ sake leo, LEAVE THE BACKPACK!!”

⊹ “HELL NO MY GIRLFRIEND’S SNACKS ARE IN HERE!”

⊹ this goes for seashells too. if the quest happens to come across like a beach, he’ll collect shells for your hair or just to have you decorate in your room.

⊹ this man is so stupid in love with you.

⊹ i like to think that leo makes cute lil sea animals for you out of scrap metal.

⊹ you have a metal whale, an otter, and a jellyfish sitting by your lamp.

⊹ leo calls them your guys’ children.

⊹ you’ll accidentally slip out and cuss, and he’ll have his ears over the animals.

⊹ “don’t say that infront of bubbles baby!”

⊹ the giggle you’d let out.

⊹ gods, he’d be melting.

⊹ anyway, leo would ask percy to teach him surfing.

⊹ he can skate?

⊹ watch him surf too.

bonus blurb — longer showers? ✧˖*°࿐

leo knocked on the girls’ locker room, “she done yet?!” he yelled. piper opened the door, with a scream in leo’s face, “no buttface! go away!” leo groaned, burying his face in his hands as piper slammed the door.

when you’re a daughter of poseidon, who happened to be leo’s girlfriend, you usually take longer showers. like, long showers. showers that can maybe even last the whole day.

and poor leo was suffering by the other side of the door, his girlfriend already spending an hour and a half in the shower.

“i am going to die out here.” leo mumbled to himself. and after waiting another half an hour by the steps and getting weird stares from other campers, (name) stepped out with her hair dry, perfect, and covered in pretty white shells. “oh hey baby.”

leo lifted his head up and, “FINAAALLYY.”

[envy-of-the-apple]

Hey, is it alright if I put in a request for a yandere Connor, nines, and 60? Specifically, them falling over the same human? I'm not sure what the reader would do to get a frankly suspicious amount of connors into them. Maybe they can be.. An artist or something, that supports the revolution? (Also, if you could add some non-con in there, i'd die but like in a good way) thanks!

(Dark, manipulation, non con/rape, vaginal fingering, abuse of power, overstimulation, afab!reader)

(Yandere!Connor, Nines, Sixty x reader)

Biological

AU where Connor, Nines, and Sixty all work at the DPD. Connor gets adopted by hank and is now Officially Connor Anderson AND he's captain of the police force

Up until now, you always thought Officer Nines hated you.

You aren't a cop. And you consider yourself unqualified to hold anything above a water gun. Regardless, your work rehabilitating androids requires you to visit the precinct often: gathering evidence for abuse, and testimonials from victims. Anything you can get your hands on to ensure the client your boss takes on will get the help they need.

It'd make sense that you'd get recognized eventually. Officer Chen greeted you with a simple head nod these days. Detective Sixty was a little more crude, preferring you call you petty nicknames with a sarcastic lilt in his voice.

Captain Anderson ("Conner," he'd insisted on so many times, his LED spinning a pleasant blue, "Just Conner is fine") would be more friendly. The RK800 models may look the same but no one ever mistook one for the other. Captain Anderson was kind, the only one of the models to take on a more human name. Whenever you stayed at the precinct a bit longer than you were comfortable with, he often volunteered to walk you to your car.

But Officer Nines just stared. Eyes tracing your footsteps until you were out of his view and even then you would feel it. He had to dislike you, you always thought, there's no way he couldn't.

At least, that's what you assumed until his lips met yours in the darkness of a closet.

"Pay attention." Detective Sixty's harsh voice broke through your head. He was here too. Between all the chaos, your struggle, you'd stopped to notice two sets of hands had grabbed you into the tiny room, shutting the door as soon as you stumbled through.

"Humans can't see when the light is so low," Officer Nines mused. He had moved to your neck now, tasting your skin. A large hand was covering your mouth, most likely because you screamed too loudly for their taste.

"It's instinct to be scared," the way he spat out the word felt so condescending and spitful. As though he were looking down on you. In a way, it made sense. Who were you compared to metal and wires?

In the end, his argument helped you. The lights flickered on, letting you finally see them. Nines was at your front, his synthetic hair brushed against your jaw. Sixty's hands were gripped along your waist, traveling longer and longer.

You didn't want to think what this was.

"Officers?" your voice was a squeak, barely a sound, "Please what's going-"

Nines' teeth scrapping over your neck makes you snap your mouth shut, curling into yourself. He's the opposite of biology, but his tongue feels so animalistic on your skin, leaving a wet trail. You tremble in their hold. Sixty gives a mean laugh.

"Come on, you can't be that stupid, can you?" He huffs in your ear, nibbling on it, making you jolt, "The big guy here has always wanted a taste. You'll be nice enough to give him one, yes?"

Nines gives a noise of disapproval, pulling back to watch you. You've never seen his gaze so soft before. Hands wipe the tears on your face.

"As if you weren't more desperate," Nines hums, affectionately kissing the corner of your mouth when you start shivering, "You'd still be following around like a lovesick puppy."

Sixty huffs at that, muttering something you can't pick apart.

It's not quite a smile, but Nines' eyes look satisfied when he kisses you again, exploring your mouth with the same softness. It makes sense why. They're not human. You can't hurt them, no matter what they do to you.

Sixty proves it by catching both of your wrists, pinning them behind you as he continues to shuck off your pants, revealing your cotton panties.

Nines pulls away when you start begging again, more delirious, more desperate.

"Don't-don't-" you can barely spit them out, the terror sinking into your tone, "I-I don't-"

He hushes you. It's not quite a frown on his porcelain face, but it's enough to depict how unsatisfied he was with your behavior.

"Don't worry," he says, low, almost like he aims to comfort you, "it's simply biological for humans to enjoy sex."

He says it so flippantly, as though it was a fact. The sky is blue. Fire is hot. They were going to fuck you and you were going to like it.

You flinch when he goes to touch you again, a hand trailing down your neck.

"Looks like this one doesn't like you anymore," Sixty sniggers, palming your ass through your panties, "maybe you should step out. Let us have some alone time."

Nines gives a full frown that time. His disapproval bleeds into his actions.

Nines is a lot less gentle on your clothes. The button-up you were wearing is no match for his strength. You yelp when he rips it open, buttons fly and bounce away. You're pushed further into Sixty's hold, something the Detective readily accepts.

Lithe fingers delve underneath your panties, busying themselves with your pussy. You twitch under his hold. Already your body reacts, despite your disgust, your fear, your dignity.

It's simply biological for humans to enjoy sex.

They were wrong. You didn't enjoy this. You didn't fucking want this. You opened your mouth, fully intent on screaming. Were any of the officers still here? Captain Anderson often kept a late schedule, right?

A hand clamped down on your neck, causing your voice to stagger, stop. Despite your fear, common sense kicks in. Nines would have no problem snapping your neck if you provoked him.

A single look from him is all you need to curl in on yourself. Your will to fight leaves as soon as it arrives. You sink back into his hold.

"See?" Sixty croons in your ear, finding your clit, "Doesn't it feel better when you just give in?"

You sob, it's a pathetic whimper, barely getting out of your throat. Despite your clear struggle, your body gives up immediately. You can feel your pussy grow wet as Sixty continues his assault on your clit.

You gasp when he finds your pussy, one finger pushing into your sopping hole as his thumb rubs circles on your clit. There's a hint of pain, and then Nines kisses you again. It feels like a distraction. It feels like a punishment. Somehow, it ends up being both.

By now, his fingers have left your neck. He grasps your bra, pulling the cups down to squeeze your tits. There's a skillful push of Sixty's fingers, and then you're moaning into Nines' mouth.

"Such a pretty body," Nines sighs when he parts when your lips. He glances down, flicking at your nipple, watching as they harden under his attention. "So reactive as well."

You hiss, arching your back as Sixty delves a second finger, positioning them deep inside you.

"Oh, you're close, aren't you?" Sixty sneers. "I can feel it."

You shake your head, but it'd be nothing but a lie. You can feel yourself slowly tipping over the edge.

When you come, it's nothing but devasting. Smashing you on the ground, shattering you. The only reason you don't collapse is because Sixty hadn't stopped moving inside you, yet.

Your pleas change, begs for him to stop because it hurts now. Sixty pays you no mind. He's more focused on the android in front of you, the one who watched your orgasm with haunting blue eyes.

"Well, big guy?" He asks, pulling his fingers out, "You said you wanted a taste, right?"

He doesn't waste a second, dropping to his knees. Every part of Nines is inhuman, his mouth especially. You keen at the temperature when his tongue dives into your folds. So hot, almost burning.

Nines eats you out like a man starved. He's pulled the panties off of you, the scrap of fabric abandoned on the floor. It's wet, messy, but the overwhelming pleasure of it forces you to toss your head back against Sixty's shoulder, whispering out your pleas through stilted moans. He plays the good cop this time, humming praises and coos into your neck, until you're cumming for the second time.

Nines relents when your thighs are shaking, close to giving out entirely. When he lifts himself up, he's wiping his lips away with the back of his hand. He doesn't break eye-contact with you, not as he starts unbuckling his pants because why would you think they'd stop at just ruining you?

The door swings open, catching all three of you off guard. Nines reacts the quickest, covering your mouth before you can scream. You can only stare into the Captain's brown eyes.

He really does look like Sixty when he's frowning. So far, you've only seen him giving soft smiles.

He's out of his uniform. That should have been your first sign.

"Gentlemen," he says, eyeing both Sixty and Nines before his gaze lands on you. His LED spins yellow. You can't even imagine what he's thinking. That his two best officers could do this.

And yet, the evidence is right in front of him.

"Cap'," Sixty responds.

That should have been your second sign. How casual they were about being found out.

"You're late." Nines says and you suddenly have this horrible thought that you weren't about to be saved.

Captain Anderson lets out a laugh, shaking his head.

"You were always much more impatient than you let on," he chides, brown eyes raking over your heaving body, "some of us had work to do. Why do you think no one heard you despite the recuss you all made?"

Nines lowers his hand from your mouth. Sixty leans into your ear. "He means you." He whispers but you can only stare at the Captain, his soft face, unassuming features.

You flinch at the hand caressing your cheek, but Captain Anderson doesn't bother. He traces a finger across your face, gently collecting the tears.

"Have they been nice to you?" Connor asks as though he can't see himself, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to get here before. I'll stop them if they go to far again."

You can feel Sixty's grin slice into your neck. Above you, Nine's is muttering something. You can't focus on any of it. It's all mush, sludge as the Captain's face remains eerily soft.

You must have forgotten. These weren't deviant androids.

They were rotten men.

"Captain-"

"I keep telling you over and over again," he sighs. The door shuts behind him. He smiles.

You think the worst part is his LED: A circling, calm blue.

"Call me Connor."

[winged-void]

Here's the story yall asked me to post

Hello! I am posting this short little story, which is the first of a number of short stories I have written about these two characters, a delusional noblewoman and her deranged maid. By clicking the readmore you agree that both characters contained within, regardless of what the text says, are girls.

In some forgotten corner of some forgotten city, a forgotten noble of a forgotten family sits in petty agony. 

Protected from the onslaught of acidic rain only by a hastily constructed sheet metal roof, he imagines Mother's pain at the tears in his coat, and the scion of the Branche family considers weeping. 

What would it cost? 

Too much. 

Elan Branche pushes it down. At twelve, one puts such childishness behind them. 

Back straight. Assess the damage. Find the solution. 

The coat was heavy. Too large, and far too decorated with old and meaningless signifiers of unearned and forgotten glory, weighed down further still by the damp of rain and blood (hidden at least by the deep red color of the fabric), he takes it off and hangs it on a bit of exposed rebar. 

It was old and beautiful; burgundy and torn to shreds. The sleeves and the tail had cuts and rips that Elan knew he could never fix. He thought of a picture he'd found of the family's old staff, and the dedicated tailor among them. All gone now, gone since before his birth. This burden, like all before it, must be borne alone. 

Put it out of mind for now. 

He turned away from the coat to inspect his blade. Sharpening the noble edge sharpens the noble mind, he thought, and began to clean. His adventures to these parts were proving more expensive than he thought, but the rabble must know the Branche Family. Their petty vassals and pettier commoners had forgotten and darkness had come to them. 

By sword and torch and pistol he would bring light and flame back. He would polish the old blazonry with the blood of those foolish and cruel enough to have taken advantage of the weakness of his family. No longer would commoner merchant thugs an-

Hold. A sound. 

Elan jumped and turned, blade pointed at his empty coat, hanged and swinging in the breeze. 

Foolish. Too easily startled. Undignified. Waving your sword around at an empty coat. 

But then another sound, like the whimper of a kicked dog. 

“N-Nothing gets by you, milord….”

A hunched and crouching pathetic figure emerged from behind the rebar, raising its hands, but holding onto what seemed to be an especially short thin piece of scrap metal, bent at the end such that a thread could pass through it. 

Elan's mind raced. First, relief, then recognition. Figure was a boy. No older than thirteen or fourteen. Thin, so thin, tall and dressed in rags. 

“You. You're that kid from the other day. The mugging victim, yes?”

Wasn't that mugging four towns over? 

He left it unsaid. He continued. 

“What are you doing with my coat?”

The figure squirmed, and tried to stand up straight. 

“I-I-I saw. The state of your coat. And I thought I might be useful, milord…” It paused, and jumped as though shocked, “My lord.”

It gestured towards the left sleeve, and Elan's eyes traced the crimson thread from the needle in its scarred hand to the sleeve of the coat, partially sewed with baffling skill. 

Elan considered the boy. His hair gray (common in these chemically stained regions), his form clearly starved, his body shaking but his hands so very steady. 

Potential and possibility, all of it. Solutions to problems named and those he refused to name. 

“How useful,” Elan lowered his sword and allowed himself to smile, “would you like to be?”

[bretongirlwrites]

The Falmer gone off in persistent search of my Thrown Voice, and the chaurruses likewise having scuttled away like cats to the rattling of their food-bowl, I bent beside the chest, – which I had determined was either not Falmer; or else some Falmer, tired of spiky grey minimalism and chitin plate, had decided to try a new design. I would not put it past the Falmer of Blackreach, – it must get dull down here, – once the novelties of scrap Dwemer metal and exciting new species of mushroom had worn off; but I was convinced this was from the above-ground; and made by the decidedly not scuttly. The wood had begun to crumple a little; and the hinges had fared little better; but there was a magic on it which even the miserable mizzle of Blackreach could not get to, which my own magic went determined into, and bounced straight off. 

‘Oh!’ said I: ‘do you know a better lockpicking spell?’

Marcurio looked askance at me, and said that the first thing every student learns, when clambering back to the university after a night of revelry, with the curfew in full force, is from the renowned book It's A Hard Lock Life For Us. – I therefore invited him to try. His spell, – o I could not imagine him revelling!, – bounced straight back as mine had.

‘If experience is anything to go by,’ said he, ‘the hardest locks guard fifty-seven septims and an iron dagger. – We ought to keep moving.’

‘Oh!’ I returned, ‘I want to see, – it rattles, listen, –’

And so after much deliberation, we decided upon trying a combined spell; joined hands, summoned it; and not knowing quite if combination worked, tried it regardless. The poor battered box looked miserably at us; creaked; and gave up entirely.

‘A crimson nirnroot!’ I cried at once.

‘Julienne, we already have thirty, –’ Marcurio protested. 

I must scowl and pick up the thing (which was damp quite beyond the norm for a nirnroot, more on the slimy sort of scale); and putting it carefully between two bits of paper, slide it in with the rest. The others in my bag were still chiming, faintly; this one let out a pathetic little whine and fell silent.  

‘Julienne, –’ said Marcurio suddenly. 

He thrust his hand into the box, and drew out the thing I'd wholly ignored, in favour of the sad nirnroot. – A thing which had kept its lustre, despite or perhaps because of the nirnroot-slime at the edges; which was so golden as to half blind us, in the thin darkness of Blackreach; and which we thought, somewhere in our unconsciousness, that we recognised. It was long, thin and perfectly unearthly. It was an Elder Scroll. 

Marcurio whistled: held the thing up as if to read it: thought better of it, valuing despite everything his sanity; and so kept it rolled up and wielded it quite fit to hit someone over the head with it. – I looked about for Falmer and doubted they’d succumb to a whack with a scroll. – The place still empty, – for my Voice had echoed over cliffs and chasms and possibly directly into a troll-nest, – he beheld it eyes gleaming, and said:

‘This must be what we’re looking for! Someone’s been to Mzark before us, –’

‘Oh!’ said I, ‘I hope they haven’t done anything stupid.’

‘They have left an Elder Scroll in a box in a Falmer camp,’ said he, ‘I don’t think we can hope for too much.’

‘How will we know if it is the right Scroll?’ said I.

Marcurio feigned having already been inspecting the thing for identifying marks. He was just about to declare that a particular engraving looked like a dragon; when suddenly he deflated, and cried:

‘The damnable, – the bloody, –

And all at once, he unfurled the Scroll and held it before him; I jumped forwards and feared we’d both be blinded and the ceiling collapse and the world end, – but nothing happened save that Marcurio put his head in his hands and threw the Scroll in my general direction. It did not blind me; nor was it inscribed in enigmas and mysteries; it said at the top: Special Limited Edition; and in the rest of it, things which cannot be related for reasons of decency and copyright. In the early Fourth Era, it seems, there had been a fad for novelty books, which had exceeded the boundaries of decorum, and also of people’s bookshelves; and which had, apparently, gone so far into the tacky and out of the other side, that we’d both of us been fooled. A run of popular books had been printed in the form of Elder Scrolls; and for reasons known only to a certain debauched actor of deepest history, one of them had been The Lusty Argonian Maid. 

‘I want to gouge my eyes out,’ said Marcurio. 

I looked at him; at the scroll, foolishly; thought the same thing; wondered if a Moth Priest had ever been driven to voluntary blindness by bad erotica; and burst out laughing.

‘It isn’t funny!’ said he: ‘we wasted so much magicka on that damn lock, –’

‘Oh!’ said I, ‘we have a crimson nirnroot, –’

It was too dark to see what else was in the box: but perceiving glimmers which reflected the distant pinpricks on the vault, I put my hand in. I found a coin or two, – what I hoped for fear of worse, were the wet remains of another nirnroot, – then, at last, after all our treasure-hunting efforts, my fingers fell upon something smooth, something cut, something faceted, –

‘A NEW HAND TOUCHES THE BEACON! –’

[yandere-romanticaa]

"I know you can't keep your eyes off me but, darling, for the sake of my work I must ask you to stop."

His tone was ever so arrogant but laced with the slightest hint of amusement which never failed to make your blood boil. Even with his back turned towards you his hideous smirk still burned, even if you couldn't really see it but you knew Alhaitham better than anyone else did.

Your misery was a favorite past time of his.

Here you sat on the floor, chained and angry like a wild animal as your captor made himself comfortable on his large and cozy chair, millions upon millions documents places on the pristine wooden desk but his attention kept wavering from time to time and the sound of your voice was the reason why. He was obviously trying to cover up the fact that he actually wanted to get up from the stupid chair and come towards you and push your buttons more but work called and no one else could really handle the papers other than the Scribe himself.

Naturally, you made it your mission to make it as hard as possible for him, regardless of how petty your tactics were.

It started out with random little sounds and noises here and there, then you switched to full on talking but never shouting - that could lead to a serious penalty that you honestly didn't have the guts to take. You spewed random nonsense, just things that randomly came to mind such as how clean the floor is, how oddly pretty the plants in the corner were and just how dreadfully tacky Alhaitham's boots were.

That one amused him more than your other comments, much to your chagrin.

Instead of annoyance or preferably anger, Alhaitham hardly said a word during the entire ordeal but it actually made him slightly more productive. The sound of his quill sped up ever so slightly as he turned to you every few seconds, finally managing to shut you up after a few hours had passed.

Letting out a sigh you lowered your head and closed your eyes, letting out any and all thoughts go and the only thing you could feel was the rusty sensation of the metal chains that kept you at bay. A few dark bruises had formed ages ago and showed no sings of leaving, causing you to slightly wince from the few stings of numbing pain.

Your mind didn't even register the sound of a chair being scrapped across the floor and hectic footsteps that were charging straight towards you, not until you felt a cold hand on your cheek and the scent of cedarwood invading your senses. There knelt Alhaitham, a strange glint in his eye as he inched himself closer and closer, his presence suffocating as always.

"You have my attention now, darling."

You scoffed, a hint of fear creeping up your spine.

You hated it when he called you darling. It made you angrier than usual these days, especially as he was really your only company and window to the outside world...

"Why not share what you're thinking right now with me? It's clearly bothering you and telling me might make you feel better."

His thumb circled your cheek slowly as he maintained eye contact with you, his gaze heavier than iron. A part of you hoped that this was Alhaitham comforting you, that he was sorry for what he had done but... that just wasn't him. That version of him was an illusion. In reality he was probably doing this in order to soothe you and keep you behaved... which might as well be him comforting you in some sense of the word, with his own spin on it of course.

With your vision becoming blurry you could do nothing but lean into his touch and he happily accepted, both his hands holding you steady as he pressed you against the wall, his hot breath tickling your neck as he kept you close to his chest, in a similar manner of a needy child holding a prized teddy bear.

Sometimes, you wished you could break free. But on occasion, you couldn't help but to indulge in Alhaitham's company which lead you to your current predicament.

If you ever had the chance, you were going to throw yourself off the Akademiya roof, if not to escape his clutches than to just spite him.

🕊️ TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @morigumy, @juuuuuj101010, @kalopsia-sonder, @b10h4z4rd, @xiaopleasecomehome, @yumekos-gamble

[ddejavvu]

Bully!Eddie seeks you out one morning but he finds you hurt with a scrapped knee because some lowlifes tripped you for being the freaks plaything:-( he's not sure what happens to him but something inside him takes over and he starts to take care of you, pecking away your tears and carrying you to his van so he can drive you to his trailer to get Wayne's first aid kit

this post is 18+, minors dni. (i didn't tag this as dark, because i feel like i didn't make him too crazy of a bully. he's more of a tease, really, he just annoys her, it's not like he's beating her up or something 😭 regardless, don't like -> don't read!)

When Eddie rounds the corner towards your locker, he doesn't expect his sneaker to ram into something soft. Nor does he expect it to groan.

You blink tearily up at Eddie from your spot on the floor, scraped knees to your chest as your back presses against the cool metal doors.

Upon seeing Eddie's perplexed expression the tears in your eyes spill lushly down your cheeks, a broken sob coming from your throat as well as a gushing groan.

You tuck your chin to your chest, silently begging for Eddie to move on and realize this was not the time.

instead, you feel a soft touch on one of your knees, burning as it presses into your cuts, despite being gentle. You hiss and jerk your knees apart, not caring that it exposes your panties from under your skirt.

"'The fuck happened?" Eddie demands, "Did you fall over?"

"Someone tripped me," You sniffle, a sob wracking your frame, "Please, Eddie, just leave me alone!"

Upon hearing you hadn't been the victim of your own clumsiness, Eddie feels his chest tighten. He squats so fast that his knees crack, and you jerk your head out of your arms to stare at him, startled.

"Who tripped you?" His brows are furrowed, nearly knitting together in the middle of his face, "Only I'm allowed to tease you."

"Some- some basketball player," You gush through an anguished sob, "Eddie I really can't do this today, please. Please, just go away!"

"Will you shut your trap about me leaving? I'm not gonna skip out on you," He scoffs, "Do you have band-aids in that little pink purse of yours?"

Your lips puff out in a frown, and you shake your head, smearing a tear away from your eyes with a rough finger. Eddie swats your hand away, but when he strokes your cheek it's gentle, and he cleans away the rest of your anguish.

"'Kay. Can't tell the school nurse, she'll just give you a fuckin' ice pack. I'm gonna fix you up, okay honey?"

You feel his hands grip the bottoms of your thighs before you can process his words, but when you realize he's peeling your back away from the lockers to pick you up you bolt out of his grasp.

He looks offended, "Hey!"

"Don't-! What are you doing?" You smear away another tear from under your eye, the ache prominent behind your lids.

"I'm taking you home," He spells out, rolling his eyes, "So that I can clean you up," He reaches out a hand, "And then I'll drive you back to your place for the day."

"You.. you'll fix me up?"

"Yes," He urges, "You.. you don't think I'd, like, hurt you, right?"

"I dunno," You mumble, eyes downcast, "You push me."

"Not into anything!"

"You trip me."

"I always catch you."

"You say I'm a ditz."

"I'm a super super senior. Don't let me insult your intelligence."

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip as you stare at him from below your lashes. He's waiting, arms wide for you, and when you take a tentative step forwards, he pulls you the rest of the way in.

"There you go," He yanks you to be flush to his chest, breath fanning over your face. You're intimidated by the close proximity, because anytime he clears this much distance between you, he usually has you pinned against something while his hands roam your waist. Your heart thumps in excitement at what you're trained to expect, and you're slightly disappointed when he doesn't touch you further. What he does do, though, is lean forward to peck your cheek, lips shining with your tears when you pull away. You sniffle lightly, hands curled into the loose fabric of his t-shirt, confused and concerned with this new side of Eddie.

It feels nice to have him kiss your tears away. But it's so much more exciting, it gets your stomach in more of a whirl when he kisses your lips, nipping at them until they're red and sore and stinging. Apparently he feels the roving of your fingertips against his chest because his expression darkens slightly, deepening from a grin to a smirk.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, this isn't permanent. I'll be back to pushing you around once you've got bandages on those knees. I think you owe me a thank-you for helping you out, don't you?"

Butterflies swarm through your tummy as you nod vigorously, mouth practically watering at the thought of his cock. You go with him much more happily now that you know what you'll get after he's done, and you find you rather like his sensitive side, even if it only lasts until he's smoothed band-aids over your knees.

[luciddreamingcrow]

hello! I really love your thoughts on vertin always stumbles upon reader on her travels. Always meeting reader who remained the same regardless of the many times of reincanation. Can you write headcanons about it? It really screams soul mate au :D

Thank you! And here are some strawberries for your lovely crows 🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

"But I love you so"

Summary:in every timeline you and Vertin are always ment to be, here's a link to a longer summary

Warnings!: MAJOR SPOILERS!!!slight angst, fluff, not proof read we die like Schneider 🗣️

A/n: AAAAAAAAAAAAAA I ABSOLUTELY LOVE SOULMATE AUS SM, ik that they are kind of dated but we deserve more soulmate aus in this world so I'll make it a soulmate au fic just for y'all, and tysm^^ the crows will love it!

So! Imagine, while you and Vertin were students in the St. Pavlov Foundation, you two would always get in trouble by pushing the limit of the strict rules of the foundation and try to find out more and more about anything in general.

It has become a habit for the teachers to punish you two separately because as long as you and Vertin were together, everything was alright and wherever you were, wether it be in the halls, in your dorms or were sent to punishment, you guys would be having a good time.

I can see you with Vertin trying to find books in the library about the outside world, even if you weren't a big fan of reading complicated books, Vertin would be more than happy to read them at loud for you and explain you some terminologies that you don't understand.

One of her favourite memories is you two spending time in your dorms theorising about the world, what about the frog she brought in? What kind of life did it have back there?

Her second favourite is you two finding a few scraps of metal in the library, they were two circular ones that fit perfectly like rings, from then on you guys kept them as matching rings.

At last you were one of the first people that she told her plan to go and witness the outside world.

This moment marked such a significant part in your guys friendship, even if you didn't tell her your feelings you felt really honoured to go with her, getting to witness such beauty is a onece in a life time opportunity.

As Vertin gathered more children that longed for freedom just like you two, you of course helped with the plan for everyone to escape.

But you were so innocent, as much knowledge the both of you had, you were still just children, gullible and naive.

The moment you inhaled the air of the outside world you felt as the world around you was embracing you and welcoming your truth, you felt as if life has welcomed you back to life.

That wouldn't last long though, the moment you turned around you felt a sharp pain in your heart, you saw Vertins eyes widen.

She saw how life was draining out of your soul

She has witnessed the Storm

Before you could understand what was happening, the last thing you remember seeing is her, your heart sank along with her's, as if your heart was a anchor strongly attached by a thread to hers

You were gone before her eyes, that marked the end of a era, you were gone, now the world didn't exist for her, she never could feel the oxygen in her lungs the same way as you did.

The only thing that was left is your matching ring, thats it, the only evidence that you were alive in her life time. And from then on she'd wear it with her, never taking it off.

As years passed by she always had this sinking feeling that wouldn't let her be.

In one of her travels she gazed at her clock seeing how long before the storm arrived at that timeline, "in 25 minutes and 11 seconds the Storm is comming" she said as she gazed at Sonetto as she nodded.

"It's a pity, this life time is so peaceful, it feels uneasy even, but there's nothing we can do now, how about a walk? Let's saviour some of these parts at least in our memories" Sonetto murmured before they start walking along a park with a beautiful view of a lake

Before Vertin could comment at the beauty before her she saw someone

Her heart felt heavy again, it couldn't be...

She stayed like a statue gazing on the person that felt so familiar, even if their backs were turned every part of them reminded her of you, but she didn't want them to turn around, she couldn't bear to see their life fading in front of her, so she let go and went back with Sonetto to saviour this time line for as long as she could.

There were multiple times before she saw people exactly like you, they even sounded like you but she couldn't bear to get attached this much again.

But in another timeline, there you were, but the only difference was that you were a Arcanist, Vertin knew she had to collaborate with you in this time line but she still held back.

But how could she? You were here! It was you! Your memories weren't the same but yet you talked to her as if you knew her from birth.

This time Vertin finally could let go of her guilt and mourning, so as the Storm closed in instead of seeing you disappear again she took you with her.

[pedrito-friskito]

Hiiiiii

for your Sundae thing, I’d like to do the roll for a fic option.

Americas Ass Dice bc lol, Pedro character, and if you could combine a smut and fluff prompt that would be awesome, but if not just smut is fine.

this is such a cool idea ❤️

hi lovely!!!! ok so….this one got away from me. I rolled a smut and a fluff and we got “is this real? are…are you real?” for fluff and “take off your clothes before I rip them off your body” for smut. and I rolled my favourite medieval grump, Pero Tovar! thanks for requesting, sorry I took so long, but I hope you enjoy! 💕

take my hand - pero tovar x fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (it got away from me I’m not lying LOL)

warnings: canon-typical violence, war, fighting, pero is a bit of a simp, explicit sex, unprotected p-in-v (wrap ur shit even in the old days okay)

(gif by @pedrohub)

Pero finds himself in the middle of yet another war.

He follows William, because he owes his friend a debt — a life debt. If William had not bartered for him, Pero would still be rotting away in that cell, or perhaps the soldiers would have lit black powder beneath his feet just to see what would happen. He tries not to think about it too hard.

Regardless, he has followed William, and his friend has somehow lead them to the edge of another battle, one far too large and vast for them to steer around. Everywhere he looks, blood spatters and arrows fly. The glint of blades make his hands hunger for his own swords, the sound of metal clashing ringing in his ears as they inch nearer.

“There is no going around this, Pero,” William says, squinting into the fray. “I wonder what sparked such bloodshed.”

An arrow whizzes past their heads at that point, embedding itself in a tree not three feet from Pero’s horse. In response, the steed rears back, tossing Pero from his saddle before disappearing in the direction they’d come. “Stupid fucking creature,” Pero grits, wincing as he gets to his feet. William slides from his own saddle with slightly more grace, and claps Pero on the shoulder.

“All we can do is move through the fray, my friend,” William says, pulling the bow from his shoulder and nocking an arrow.

Before Pero can protest, William disappears into the battle and Pero’s view is quickly obstructed by the clashing soldiers. With a growl, he unsheathes the two blades at his back — grateful as anything that William had thought to return them to him — and darts forward, swords at the ready.

As he moves through the fighting, finding William a little ways into the crowds, an interesting memory tugs at his mind, nearly tearing his focus. He lifts his curved blade to block a sword aiming for William’s back — though they bare no colours, he knows the pair of them appear enemies to either side — and the memory sparks to life.

+

He was young, too young, when he left the village he had grown up in. Barely out of boyhood, he was conscripted as a soldier, forced to fight in a war he had no interest in fighting. His mother had wailed when they carted him away, his little sister hiding her tears in their mother’s skirts. Their father had died not a year prior, and his entire being had instantly filled with worry at leaving them alone.

Pero reached his hand out, calling to his family, when you suddenly stepped into his vision. You grabbed his hand, running to keep up with the soldiers carrying him off, and squeezed his fingers. “I’ll watch over them, Pero,” you promised, your eyes bright with tears. “Just come home to us.”

He’d known you since he was small. The house you lived in bordered his own, a small fence separating the scraps of land. You’d grown up together, in a sense, spending your childhoods running through the grass behind your houses, playing pretend in the trees and swimming in the river that snaked through the village itself.

He was barely a man, and you were barely a woman, but you had the ferocity of a girl beyond her years. Pero could see it, even then, and especially when you swore to take care of his family.

It made conscription a touch easier, knowing someone he trusted was looking out for his mother and sister. Still, he longed for home, and on especially lonely nights, he longed for you.

The night before the soldiers had come to take him away, you’d rapped on the back door of Pero’s house. His mother and sister were asleep, and worry had leapt into his throat when he first opened the door to see you standing there, your eyes shining with starlight. “Is something wr—” he started, but you shushed him and grabbed his hand, hauling him out the door.

“Come with me!” you whispered excitedly, and Pero let you drag him down through the grass, right to the edge of the river. He tried his best to ignore the spark of warmth between your twined hands, the sounds of the night filling his ears as you toed off your shoes, gesturing for him to do the same as you stepped into the water.

“What are you up to?” he questioned, but followed you, the water lapping at his ankles.

Your hands were still linked together, and you pointed up to the sky. “Look, Pero.”

He’d never seen so many stars. The open air in the fields generally offered some impressive night skies, but this was something else. Too many to count, little dots of light everywhere his eyes moved. And then, as he stared up, something shot across the sky, as though a star was trying to move from one spot to the next. He hasped and you clutched his hand with both of yours.

“Isn’t it amazing?”

Pero’s gaze lowered, catching on your face, upturned like his. Your expression of pure awe was nothing short of beautiful, and his heart climbed up into his throat.

He’d always known you, but for the first time, he felt like he was seeing you.

“It is,” he agreed, and his free hand slowly lifted, palm finding the curve of your jaw, fingers fanning across your skin. “You are.”

“Pero—” you started, your face tilting back down to his. He moved closer, testing, making sure you wanted this just as much as he did. When he paused, you pounced, and when his lips met yours, Pero swore he saw the starry skies above bursting with light behind his eyelids.

You stood there in the riverbank, water around your ankles and your arms finding their way around each other, kissing for what felt like hours. When the water grew too cold and the sky above started to lighten with the coming day, you parted and moved back onto the grass. Pero found a blanket for you to lay on and kept himself close to you, kissing you in different ways, finding which way you liked best.

“I heard rumours,” you said after you’d both broken apart, desperate to catch your breath, “that the King’s men are marching through the villages conscripting any men old enough to fight.” There was fear in your eyes, burning hotter than the starlight. “That means you, Pero.”

The realization had sent a chill down his spine and he’d nearly toppled back.

“Promise me something,” you continued, finding his hand and slotting your fingers through his. “Please?”

He nodded and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “Anything, bonita.”

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise.”

+

The quiet thwip of an arrow zipping past his ear yanks Pero back to the present, deposits him back into the fray. His grip nearly falters as another blade connects with his own, but the memory of your voice, suddenly so clear, has him tightening his hold, swinging the blades down and around, the point of his own sliding through the gut of his attacker. The man falls with a groan and Pero can feel his heart hammering in his chest, rioting like a caged bird.

It’s been an age since he thought of you, thought of his promise.

It was not for want of trying. He fought the King’s battles for years, lost more friends than he cares to count. Your voice in his head kept him going most days, led him through each practice with his swords, every day growing more and more confident in his blades until they felt more like an extension of him than a weapon. He had to keep himself alive, keep himself whole, so he could one day return to your village, to his family. To you.

But the wars had other plans and soon enough, he was a man grown. There were other women, and he knew you would have had other men. You were beautiful as a young girl, and Pero would be the first to admit he’s often wondered how your beauty flourished over the years. 

With every clang of his sword, he wishes you well, wishes you a happy life, a man that loves you, takes care of you. Maybe a house in that village you both grew up in, your own children running up and down the lakeshore where he’d first kissed you. He’s loath to admit he wishes he was the one to give you that life, but he wishes it for you all the same.

Men fall on both sides of him, and Pero continues through the fray. He’s lost William for certain now, and just focuses on moving forward, dodging blows on either side, spilling blood of his attackers with nearly every step. 

Arrows fly from both sides and he swears he feels the sharp tip in his shoulder before he sees it. He growls, his left side exploding with pain and launches his curved blade in the direction the arrow came. It finds it’s mark, felling the archer that shot, and Pero barrels forward, ignoring the pain, lunging for the archer and pushing the blade deeper, yelling as he goes.

“Pero Tovar!”

Pero whirls, the voice familiar and unfamiliar all an once, his memory of you tinged with the battle raging around you. Surely he’s not still caught in his own head.

But it is you. Real as the arrow lodged in his shoulder, as the blades in his hands, the hot blood on his face. You stand before him, equally covered in the gore of war. A crossbow dangles from one hand, a short sword from the other, a quiver of bolts for the former strapped to your leg. Blood spatters across your face, a bleeding gash along your collar, the hem of your cloak ripped and caked with blood.

He barely notices the soldiers that rush past as he closes the distance between you two. Your arms open for him, your face pinched with a mixture of concern and relief as he stumbles into you. You hold him to you, tilting away from his injured shoulder, and Pero can feel your eyes everywhere, inspecting him, your hands brushing his back.

Somewhere, he finds his voice, and when he does, he’s that young boy on a riverbank again, not the scarred, war-torn man he’s turned into. “Is this real? Are…are you real?”

Above the din of battle, you laugh, and the sound is like bells. “Yes, Pero, I’m real.”

He tilts his head forward just a moment, until his forehead touches yours, until he can be sure. When he feels your warm skin against his, relief floods him, blocks out any pain he feels. “I thought you—”

You hush him, squeezing his good shoulder. “Time for that later,” you say, pulling back, your eyes darting around the battlefield. He sees a soldier barrelling towards the pair of you, but before he has a chance to raise a sword, you’ve lifted your crossbow and taken aim. The bolt makes a home between the soldier’s eyes, and Pero nearly topples over. “We need to get out of here.”

You stow your short sword, curling your fingers around his wrist. His mind flashes to William, his friend somewhere buried in the fray, and he must speak his concern aloud, because your head turns back to him, your eyes peering over his shoulder. You gesture with the crossbow. “Is that your friend?”

Pero turns, ignoring the pull of the arrow still embedded in his shoulder. Sure enough, there’s William, atop a new horse, shooting arrows left and right, dropping soldiers with every shot. He spots Pero, his eyes flickering to you beside him, and turns the horse in your direction. “Tovar, my friend,” he calls, bow hanging from his grip. “Who is—”

“Ride west,” you order, and the power in your command makes the hair on the back of Pero’s neck stand up. “Clear a path. My horse is beyond the edge of the forest, it’s a few hours ride to a safe place.”

Both men stare at you blankly, Pero hoping his gaze is full of admiration while William just looks confused. With a huff, you drop Pero’s hand, stalking over and turning William’s horse west. He opens his mouth to protest, but you smack the horse’s rear before he can get a word out, and off he goes.

“Come,” you say to Pero, offering your hand. “We need to go.”

He nods, takes your hand, and you start moving. William clears the path, as ordered, and it’s easier to get through than Pero is expecting. You lift your crossbow as you go, dropping more than a handful of men, and Pero manages to raise his sword more than once, blocking arrows from your body. Soon enough, you’ve reached the edge of the fighting, and you drag Pero into the trees. He follows you blindly, the ache in his shoulder more noticeable now, but he keeps going.

Eventually, you reach your horse, as promised. A chestnut mare that shakes her head at your approach, whinnying happily when you stroke her nose. You climb into the saddle with ease, offering your hand to Pero, and he takes it again, groaning as he clambers up behind you. You click your tongue at the horse, reins in hand as Pero slides his arms around your middle, mindful of the arrow shaft still sticking out of his shoulder. 

It’s not an easy ride. Every trot jostles him, making the pain spark. Somewhere in the first hour, he reaches up and snaps the shaft of the arrow off, tossing it away. It makes it easier for him to lean closer to you, to fit his face in the curve of your neck. You smell oddly good, like blood and battle mixed with something so achingly familiar his chest goes tight with it. He tightens his arms around you, fingers laced together over your belly, and as he settles a little deeper into your back, your hand covers his, brushing over his knuckles in a soothing motion.

“Is that the place?” William calls after the second hour. Sure enough, a small cottage lies at the forest’s edge, obscured enough that you wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking for it. You nod, nudging the horse a little faster. She must recognize the place, because she leads you around the side of the cottage, where a small pasture is fenced off, and steps right through the open gate. You slide from the saddle, reaching up to offer Pero your hand, and he takes it.

Back on solid ground, safe from the battle, he can’t help himself. Your lips part, words on your tongue, but he stops them, takes your bloody face between his hands and kisses you. The world around melts away, and he’s only vaguely aware of the pain in his body, William’s horse brushing past, the win through the trees. For a moment, there’s only you.

It’s a deeper kiss than he’s ever given you. Childhood has melted from you both, kept alive only by the memories, from the affection he’s held for you all these years. Something in him stalls then, has him pulling back, a flicker in his chest when he sees the way you chase his lips, your eyes hooded.

“Gods, I’ve missed you,” you murmur, and the hesitation that made him stop, the thought that your own affection had waned over time while his had stayed alive, vanishes, and he pulls you in again. The taste of you is different on his tongue, more addicting, and it brings his body to life in ways he’s only learned since he left you. His mind races, forming images of all the ways he wants to please you, more than the teasing kisses he gave you on the riverbank that night, both of you too young and innocent to know what else to ask for.

William clears his throat loudly, and you break apart, though Pero doesn’t let you go far. He’s still close enough to feel the heat on your cheeks, and he noses at your hair as you address his friend. “We should get inside,” you say, your palm flattening on Pero’s chest. “Let me tend to your wounds and get us something to eat.”

+

A few hours later, and all is quiet in the small cottage. Your stomachs are full, thanks to you — a delicious rabbit stew Pero told you multiple times was the best meal he’d had since he left home — and your wounds have been tended to. Your collar needed a stitch or two, and Pero had to sit back and watch William’s careful efforts; his injured shoulder made it impossible for him to trust himself not to hurt you further. The blood has all been washed away, clothes washed and hung to dry, spares given to both men for the meantime.

You show William to one of the bedrooms, make sure he has everything he needs for a sound night of rest before returning to Pero. Silently, you offer him your hand, and he takes it. His heart riots in his chest as you bring him to the other bedroom. The air is heavy with promise, warmed by the fireplace in one corner, and your grip loosens once you’re inside. Pero steps toward the bed, the mountain of pillows and blankets all too inviting, but turns to see you hovering in the doorway.

“If there’s anything else you need,” you stammer out, your eyes glued to the ground. Pero’s brow lifts and he closes the distance between you quickly, pulling you through the doorway completely and shutting the door behind you.

“There is,” he tells you, knocking a knuckle beneath your chin, lifting your eyes to him. They’re just as full of stars as he remembers, just as full of wonder and promise. “You, bonita. I need you. But only…only if you’ll have me.”

Your breath rushes out of you, warm across Pero’s mouth. “If I’ll—” You cut yourself off, falling into his arms. He catches you and holds you close, the flat of his palm roaming your back, sliding down the curve of your spine, just hovering over the dip of your lower back, the swell of your ass.

“Move that hand lower, Pero Tovar,” you murmur, a slick smile on your face, “or I’ll move it for you.”

He does as he’s told, grabbing a handful of your ass through the thin linen trousers you’d donned after getting cleaned up. For a second, he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him, that the heat the greets his fingers when he adjusts his grip, slides his hand past the waist of your trousers, gripping your skin for real, that it’s a figment of his tired imagination. But then a moan slips out of you when he grips you again, your knees parting to let his thigh slip between them. Pero drinks down the noise, kisses you like he had when you’d first arrived, not so silently begs for more.

Your hands clench in his shirt, a soft cotton tunic you’d given him to wear. He can feel the bite of your nails through it, and he’s desperate to feel your skin against his. You tug at the material and Pero grins. “Tell me what you need, bonita.”

“Take off your clothes,” you bite out, reaching up with on hand and gripping his chin, nipping at his bottom lip, “before I rip them off your body.”

He moves as quickly as he can, the ache in his shoulder unnoticeable as he tears the tunic off, reaches for his trousers. You’re naked before he is, and his trousers are barely off his hips when he sees you, all of you. He can’t stop himself, grabbing you, pulling your body flush to his and bringing you back to the bed. He lays you out, lets his mouth rove lower than you lips, tasting the flesh of your chest, ducking your nipple between his teeth. He’s attentive, watching the way your body reaches to each touch he offers.

Pero sets himself beside you on the bed, his mouth moving back up to your own while his hand wanders. Your knees snap together when his hand travels past your hips, cupping the heat between your legs, trapping him there. He smiles into your kiss. “So wet, bonita,” he murmurs, letting one finger tease your dripping cunt, the heel of his hand grinding into your clit, “so sensitive.”

You whimper into his kiss, the sound like honey to his ears, and Pero buries his face in your neck, nipping at your pulse. “Wait, Pero,” you say softly, and he freezes, pulling back, searching your face.

“What is it?” he asks, using his other hand to brush the hair from your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no,” you assure him, shaking your head, chewing your lip. “It’s just…”

His brow lifts. “Are you…” He can barely get the question out. “Are you a virgin?”

“No,” you reply, lifting your hand and tracing a finger over his scar. “That’s just it, Pero. I tried…I tried to wait for you. I wanted you to be the first, but then…” You shake your head again. “They told us you were dead and I…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” he repeats, like the word is foreign to him. “Bonita, I never expected you to wait. I never expected to see you again, truth be told. The god of luck must be on my side, throwing you back in front of me like this.” He drops his head, presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, careful of the injury at your collar. “I wanted you to be the first, too, but I…” He clears his throat. “I can think of something much better.”

“What’s that?”

“Perhaps I can be your last, and you mine.”

Your breath hitches as you pull him back down to you, the next kiss you offer even deeper than before. Pero drinks you down, memorizes the tastes of you. His hand works between your legs, two fingers pressing inside you, finding that deep spot that makes your body jolt in his arms. He murmurs to you softly in Spanish, words he knows you understand, and coaxes you up to that peak, thumbing at your clit as you topple over, gripping his wrist tight enough he can feel his bones shift.

“Pero,” you groan out, your chest heaving as you come back down, your lashes fluttering as you breathe. “More.”

“More, bonita?” he prompts, pulling his hand away, licking his knuckles clean. He’s not shy about it, sucking the taste of you from his skin, dropping his face to your chest when he’s done, scraping his teeth along the curves of your breasts. “Tell me, how much more do you need?”

“Need you inside, Pero,” you reply, your body writhing beneath his, back arching into his mouth. “Need to feel all of you.” Your hand snakes down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his cock. It makes his breath stutter in his chest, but he doesn’t let up his ministrations, nipping at your sternum. “I can’t tell you how many nights I laid awake, with my hand between my legs, thinking of where you were, the man you’d turned into, how well you’d fuck me if you were there with me.” Your other hand grips his chin again, lifting his head from your chest, your eyes locked with his. “Don’t keep me waiting any longer.”

“Sí, bonita,” he grits out, and maneuvers you both the best he can. He slides to the edge of the bed, pulling you into his lap. You’ve got him hard as a rock between your hot kisses and your heady touches and your dirty words, and his cock bobs against his stomach, sliding through the dip where your thigh meets your hip as you settle into his lap. “You like it like this?”

“I’m yours, Pero,” you say, your voice soft. “You can have me however you like.”

The words make something in his chest snap. Pero slings his arm around your waist and lifts you just enough to notch his cock at your entrance, groaning at the heat that instantly floods him. Unable to hold back any longer, he pulls you down hard, filling you to the hilt in one fell swoop, and the loud gasp you let loose is music to his ears. 

“Mine, bonita,” he growls, gripping your hips in both hands, bouncing you on his cock. “All mine.”

Your words are gone, replaced with open-mouthed nods, your brows pinched together. You twine your arms around his neck, locking your fingers in his hair. Pero plants his feet on the ground, uses the floor as leverage to piston his hips up into yours, driving his cock deep into you, finding that same spot his fingers had grazed. It makes your body seize, your chest plastered to his, and Pero can feel the quick thump of your heart as you start to climb that peak once more.

He’s not far behind you, and when you clench around him, pleasure flooding your body a second time, he can’t hold back. Pero drops his mouth against your shoulder, bites down hard, and your responding moan has him spilling deep inside you, painting your insides with his spend. The feeling is almost too much, overwhelming in all the right ways. 

“Gods above,” you murmur, your fingers stroking through his hair, your lips at his temple, “that was…”

Pero lifts his head and finds you mouth, giving you a soft kiss that tastes of salt and a tinge of copper. “Everything, bonita.” Another kiss. “That was everything.”

[the-dragon-girl-27]

In my previous post i talked about how I have a lotta scrapped MV ideas, well may as well dump some designs i've made based on songs over the years because like I probably wouldn't post these otherwize

also heres a few nice picture of miku from one of em to make you click on this post because its gunna be a long one and all these are hidden below a read more

for the record don't expect me to do anything with any of these, also these are from old to new some of these date back to early 2022 and it shows

This one i posted a storyboard for actually its An Aliens I Love You by Utsu-P.

I gave young Rin a sakura motif with her dress because of miku and rin meeting under a sakura tree, teen miku has a pink ribbion and hairclip to continue this. both rins bow and mikus outfit get darker outfits overtime to sybolize the song getting darker. I also gave adult rin the future rin hair. Miku's "alien" form is more or less how its described in the song tho i was lazy and didn't draw the 4 arms in the refs.

also Lily is Rins mom in this yup there she is indeed.

I actually have a lot of assets finished including the ones above i may show em off one day who knows.

This one is Stained Nocturne by Toa i actually did finish this one

the grey one is when they talk about being colorless

i gave them both very cute and elegent outfits i think it matches the vibe of the song. The starry outfits are the real highlight. if you wonder how I drew em over and over i just copy pasted the stars on their dresses.

they also are very blue because yknow nocturne. I forgot if i dumped the assets for this MV or not maybe next rant post.

This one is Corona by Utsu-P no idea why i did it its probably not even in my top 20 Utsu-P songs i just had some brainworms that wore off. I finished like a minute of it I guess.

I really like rin's outfit. "goth metal astronaut" is such a weirdly specific concept but she absolutley nailed it. 10/10 desin

This one is Garando by Picon. I gave her a like idk what to call it paperboy outfit like the one you see in the MV a few times. her eyes are yellow like bullets because I had this one S teir visual idea. I have some assets for this one i may show off one day.

i also considered doin the sekai ver i really like garando if u cant tell lol

This one is Happy Haloween by Junky another one i finished

Rins is just from the OG mv the rest are themed around the characters

Minori is a dark angel because tenshi no clover is themed around... a normal angel

haruka has candy and a penguin mask because thats her thing

airi is a vampire cuz she has fangs

shizuku is a witch because of her cast a spell on you outfit

This one is NEXT NEST by Satsuki Ga Tenkomori. The cubes are from the original MV image thing. I gave her a super cybernetic look to match the song vibe. I also gave her a plaid skirt to match miku's concept desin because this song is like sorta miku becoming sentient or smth idk been a while since i read the lyrics.

another S teir design. also zamn this ref goes hard lol.

This one is Bluff Liar by EZFG. VY1 doesn't really have a desin so I went with this based on the semi official one (we dont speak of her new official one also i drew this long before that regardless lol) I have a shitty animatic thats 80% stick figures for this. never posted it tho.

tbh i put the file to this ref on an external hard drive cuz this whole video killed my storage because i actually finished it so i yeeted all th assets off my computer as soon as i was finished so i just dowloaded the little thing of assets from this post

not much goin on its kinda just normal ol luka lol

This is Black Hole Artist by utsu-P. its not in project sekai and never will be but it reminded me of Ena so I had this idea. not much to say, I have a few assets for this but nothing really finished.

Another VY1 EZFG song, IDK what my plan was for drawing this over and over. also pretty asthetic ref lol. not much to say i don't draw very cyberish designs so its fun

this is just concept art. this is Roless Weapon by Neru and Inubakumori. yeah those two colabed you wouldnt know cuz this song has no MV. IDK what my plan for this was tbh but like when else would i show this off.

From here on its just concepts lol. this is Atari Front Program by Utsu-P... god how many Utsu songs is this lol

S teir desin i love miniskirt plus pants combo idk its just a vibe.

this drawing sucks lol. this is Live by Mizuno Atsu. Long haired kafu is cute I have better drawings of this in my sketchbook somewhere I think. I might revisit this it would be very simple and cute.

also weirdly my fav part of this aside from her hair is her shoes.

anyway Kafu needs more outfits for songs tbh theres like 3 kafu songs where she has a unique outfit

actually i lied about only having doodles, this is Where Shall We Go by Mellowclle

already made a post bout this

this is my most recent. I sketched this after finishing this art of this song. It is Memento Mori by Buriru

I love this song the creator said its supposed to sound like a mecha anime opening so i went with that vibe. teto looks great, miku doesn't. Teto doesn't really have a counterpart so I assigned miku as her girlfriend lol.

sadly I cannot draw robots so idk what my plan was tho i have a cool visual for the end in my head.

anyway thats everything I could find. does anyone give a crap? probably not but hey character design is fun and i love messing around.

anyway fun trivia more songs i have video ideas for i won't make: Poster Girls Prank - Utsu-P (but with MMJ project sekai)

Stella - Jin

Paranoia - Mezame-P

and probably more i'm forgetting lmfao