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gay-wh0re-slut · 5 months

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Pre-Show

rhea ripley x reader

content: sad rhea and helpful reader, maybe some smoochin, maybe some sexual undertones who knows?!

Getting put against Liv Morgan was not what Rhea wanted this week but she had to do it anyway. She had been quiet the past week because of it. You tried your best to keep her spirits up and take her on dates and keep her busy to stop her from thinking about but it seemed like that’s all she could think about.

“Obviously you’re going to win,” you tried.

“That doesn’t change what she did to me,” she fired back.

You stared solemnly at her rubbing her arm in comfort. She gave you a weak smile, running her hand through her hair before walking into the living room. She curled up on the couch and Barry cuddled right next to her. You knew he could sense that she was feeling down. She turned the volume up higher than usual and watched whatever channel she thought suitable to keep her mind from wandering.

You sat on the side the dog wasn’t and leaned your head on her shoulder. A muscular arm wrapped around you and held on tight. The wrestler knew that her being like this took a toll on you too but she was never good at expressing her feelings. But her actions of reciprocating the cuddling or bringing you a snack or drink when you never asked, would let you know that she appreciated you being there for her.

The day finally came and the crew allowed you backstage to be with her. They all knew how hard this was.

“Can you help?” she was almost fully dressed with her makeup and hair done. She held out the almost empty bottle of baby oil towards you.

“Sure baby,” you gently took it from her. Opening it with a click you put the rest in your hand, “turn around,” you said quietly.

She followed your command and held her hair out of the way, even though it wasn’t long enough to be a problem anyway. She held her shirt to her chest not letting it fall, leaving the back untied for better application. You rubbed it in making sure every inch of her shoulders and bare back was covered. You wiped the rest on her arms and tied her shirt the way she liked it.

“Thank you,” she whispered putting the bottle in the trash.

“Anytime love,” you smile.

A crew member knocks on the dressing room door before cracking it, “Rhea?”

“What’s up?”

“15 until the show starts.”

“Thank you,” as she watched them close the door.

“You’re the third match though so you have some time,” you reassured her.

“Yeah,” she sat in the big lounge chair that made her look small.

You sighed quietly looking at her for a moment to think of anything you could do to cheer her up for even one small minute. You watched her stare into space chewing at her cheek, twiddling her fingers.

“Hey,” you said walking towards her.

“Hm,” she responded without losing her stare.

You sat on top of her, straddling her thighs, sitting yourself down nicely.

“Hey,” she finally looked something other than sad, resting her hands on your thighs.

“I knew that’d do it,” you giggled, “when this is all over,” you placed your hands on her tight shoulders, “maybe we could have a nice night out somewhere.”

Her shoulders almost immediately relaxed when she felt your hands on them. “That sounds good,” her voice sounded not so sad anymore.

“But maybe later tonight,” you brushed her hair behind her ear, “I can do something…for you,” that had a specific tone to it that Rhea definitely caught on to.

Her eyes lit up, only slightly, but you could tell you were getting somewhere. You leaned in to give her a deep kiss, not caring about the black lipstick stain that would be left.

She hummed into it, gripping your thighs tighter. You could literally feel the hypothetical weight being lifted off of her in that moment.

Breaking the kiss, “You’re too good to me,” she sighs.

“Nah,” you scrunch your nose.

She looked at her phone for the time, “We still have a while,” she cocked an eyebrow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” and with that she pulled your face forward for another deep kiss.

You braced yourself on the back of the chair. The two of you were trying your best to be wary of the makeup situation but that quickly left your minds as time went on. Your mouths dancing against one another like they have multiple times before, but you could never have enough of her. Your hips involuntarily began to slightly grind on her. Your hands were tangled in her hair as she was pulling you in closer by clawing under your shirt at your back. Small moans fell from both of you. Sweat began to form on her back from the leather seat, so she pushed forward into you. A familiar tattooed hand nudged its way to your waistband, trying to unbutton and unzip-

*knock, knock, knock*

Both of you stopped immediately.

“Rhea?” said the crew member through the door.

“Yeah?!” she yelled.

“10 til places!”

“Thank you!”

“Damn,” you breathed.

“Damn,” she reiterated.

You gave her one more long but lazy kiss before stumbling off of her. Looking in the mirror at the damage you did, you wiped off the black smudges as best you could. She smacked your ass before fixing herself too, replacing what was wiped off and cleaning up around the edges.

“Look good?” she asked turning towards you.

“Always,” you smiled wide.

She held your chin and gave you a big kiss on your cheek wanting to leave a mark, smiling at her creation once she finished. She pulled you in for a deep hug, kissing the top of your head.

“Beat her ass,” you snarled.

“As long as I get to see yours later,” she pushed you back.

“There you are,” squeezing her arms before pushing her towards the door, “now go,” you slapped her ass one good time.

“Do it again,” she stopped just before the door.

So you put your all into it, winding up and landing perfectly on her left cheek so well the sound echoed in the room.

“Fuck,” she held it for comfort, “where’d that come from?!”

You laughed as you shrugged at her, “Go! The sooner you beat her the sooner I can have you at home!”

She stood smiling at you, her sparkle was back in her eyes.

“Go!!” you pointed to the door.

She gave you one more big kiss before heading out the door and closing it behind her.

“Beat her ass, Ripley.”

#rhea ripley #wwe #rhea ripley x reader

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sugar-grigri · 3 months

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What is a family?

Hello everyone, I'm in exam period so we're going to start with a very short analysis

We saw in the previous analysis, in chapter 152, that Denji wanted to be a CSM and that suffering, mental and physical pain, was inherent to being a CSM. Suffering was a claim for the protagonist, that of accepting his suffering to the point of finding pleasure in it, that of accepting that experiences can be painful, of not being protected

Especially by Nayuta, the control devil who can only conceive of happiness with one person, and that's enough for her.

But above all, I think that since Denji had accepted the fact of committing himself to the path of suffering, he didn't want Nayuta to join him, hence his desire to keep her away from him.

But what this chapter shows is that a family can't be chosen, it's simply there.

People do what they do, always projecting all their frustrations onto CSM, this faceless chimera. CSM is as much a good-luck charm as a match to be burned for bad luck.

Denji's dream of being seen was full of meaning, because what people see in CSM is precisely their suffering and despair.

Yes, CSM represents suffering - yes, you have to suffer to be him, just as he will only evoke suffering for others.

The contract with the fire demon was simple: become what you want. As he had suggested to Yuko, the thought-hearing monster was suitable for a socially eccentric girl who had trouble understanding others.

So when people try to burn CSM, they're burning what they want CSM to be: their suffering.

The lighter was an image that had already been introduced by Barem, who ironically presented himself as a CSM fan, foreshadowing the fact that many CSM fans had pacted with the demon of fire, fire capable of destroying them in return.

Burning CSM to make the wannabe CSM disappear always comes down to the same logic: CSM is there to save, whether this is done by reigniting him or by killing him.

So the fire is there to atone for the suffering, Denji simply tries to tell them that the fire is already there, burning down his apartment and his Meowy family and the dogs.

Why burn Denji? When he's already burning. He has already lost a part of himself.

Denji proclaims that he seeks suffering because he wants it to be his alone. He realised that even if he stopped being a CSM, those close to him would continue to be attacked as if the cycle had never been completed.

Denji has never had any confidence in himself, obediently following the rules laid down for him every time. Nayuta's rules, which symbolise this apartment, didn't work, and neither did those of the public hunters, because even if you respect the contract, suffering will always be the end result.

So Denji tries to free himself from all these rules, because they don't allow him to escape suffering.

He also tries to free himself from his loved ones, because it doesn't allow them to escape either, but humanity won't let Denji be free.

Denji had made it clear that he didn't want to hurt mankind because he wanted to preserve the last link that bound him to them: the kiss he had with Asa (Yoru). He doesn't want to belong fully to the demons, as Nayuta had recommended, but why not become one after all?

Denji loves violence, even against humans. He likes it because he is still CSM after all, a monster whose raison d'être is suffering. Yet the link that allows him to consider himself still on the other side is a simple kiss that didn't cause him any pain.

Because this kiss is exactly Denji's life, a touch of pleasure in an existence that is always painful. A boy who can't even say he can't betray humanity because he has friends because he has none.

Nayuta has never thought of her existence as separate from Denji's, the reason for her happiness, her beloved big brother. So she is now facing her worst fear: being cut off from this dearest of beings, being rejected by him.

But as they try to keep her away from her ailing brother, telling her he's no longer her family, she realises that this thing that rejects her, that hurts himself horribly, is still her family.

More to the point, it's the person behind this faceless monster who's reaching out to him, because CSM isn't a being capable of embracing with his chainsaws. Denji's arms are outstretched to him, as if he's standing between CSM behaving like a monster and his own anxieties: there's an obvious love there. She shouldn't see her fear in the foreground, what she should see is Denji.

This thing that dares to cut ties with her, to put itself in danger to the point of suffering so much, has never ceased to be her family.

The only way to see anything apart from CSM, apart from this figure of suffering, is to love Denji.

is to see the boy behind it.

A boy who can't stop laughing despite suffering, in a way that may be terrifying, but which gradually gives the impression of a brother forcing himself to smile to avoid putting his sister in danger. Look, I'm crazy, so stay away from me! And I don't want you anyway!

His laughter is as uncontrolled as his gestures, all acting as reflexes to keep Nayuta away from danger.

CSM is a being who belongs to neither world, hero of humanity when it suits them, hero of the underworld terrified by his fellow creatures, he is held responsible for both worlds, the suffering of demons and that of men.

But Denji may not belong to either world, but he does belong to a family.

Denji may not be seen by people, but he has been seen by a demon who loves him deeply.

The hero has always been hunted because he has never been accepted by humanity, suffering while swallowing that of others, he has always had to be rekindled, to serve someone once again.

And finally he's given permission to run away.

No CSM, don't swallow the suffering of others

It's hard enough to swallow your own.

Denji, you are loved by the demon of control who now agrees to do something unnatural for her, to allow you to escape her control, her vigilance, her protection. Because she knows she doesn't have to lock you up in a gilded cage to be able to find you.

A family always waits with open arms, don't they?

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #csm spoilers #csm 153 #csm 152 #csm 150 #csm 149 #csm 146 #csm 142 #denji hayakawa #nayuta hayakawa

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ganondoodle · 8 months

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okay i got an idea, do you think this works?

sages past:

fire = goron water = zora wind = rito thunder = gerudo spirit = mineru light = rauru time = sonia shadow = / earth = / - ((ganondorf)) (the plan wasnt yet finished so the search for someone suitable was still ongoing when the end started)

sages present: fire = yuno (fire boom thing) water = sidon (long range attack/ or just adding element on weapon + damage boost) wind = tulin (wind gust) thunder = riju (lightning strike) spirit = purah (guardian laser? or sth related to tech) light + time = zelda (she has a shield, you get time gimick) shadow = koga (teleport)

((earth = ganondorf, cataclysm + general tree theme with miasma))

keep in mind i just want to make it seem plausible, theres no way to put anyone into a clear role and im taking the enigma stones as just a power boost to whatever magic someone wields rather than anything super divine (in this game)

so again its just supposed to be believable, i could match koga for almost every single one of the powers tbh, im taking feedback on this of course, but still theres no perfekt solution sadly

#ganondoodles talks #zelda #totk #ganondoodles rewrites totk #its super hard to get these sorted out #since magic is always changing #and i cant jsut copy oot or any other game with sages bc they all change #ww had only two and it was earth and sky AND SKY WENT TO MAKORUS AND EARTH WAS MEDOLIE??? DA BIRD #so its like #cant put anyone into clear boxes like it is with everything #also the addition of thunder is making it all come apart #fhkdfhnkdhkfd

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everybodyshusband · 9 months

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this is technically a request fill for a couple of anons but turned into what's basically a vent fic, so i didn't feel comfortable wasting your requests on it. to those anons, your requests will be filled properly at some point, i promise.

cw for self-hatred, and desires of self-harm and suicidal thoughts while regressed. please also be aware that there is one line where rain considers killing an animal because he's so angry. this work is not suitable for regressed kiddos or littles.

but ! without further ado, 2.2k words of rain trying to hide his regression from dew and having a breakdown about it under the cut.

“Rain?”

The water ghoul looks up from his bass at the sound of Dewdrop’s voice, carefully schooling his expression into something typical of how he acts when he isn’t regressed; when he’s normal, his brain unhelpfully supplies. He clears his throat, giving himself a little more time to prepare himself for the conversation ahead. “Hey, sundew. What’s up?”

The words come out easier than he expected them to, but it still feels so wrong. He’s not supposed to talk like that, he’s not supposed to direct the conversation. He’s supposed to crawl into Dewdrop’s arms and let himself be held and loved, but he can’t. Can’t, because he has so much to do today. Has so many assigned duties on top of everything else he’s wanted to get done all week. He can’t focus on any of it if he’s regressed, so if he pretends to be fine—to be normal—then maybe he’ll be able to do what he needs to.

He’s jolted out of his head by Dewdrop’s voice. “Want a practice partner? I– I’m kinda struggling with some of the solos…”

The hesitation in the fire ghoul’s tone immediately sets Rain on edge. Dewdrop needs comforting, he thinks, but that’s not something the water ghoul is able to do when he’s regressed; not well, at least. Still, Rain tries. He smiles what he hopes is a regular, reassuring smile and reaches an arm out, ushering Dewdrop to sit down next to him. The gestures come to him easily. It’s a relief, but he can’t help the small voice in the back of his mind telling him the reason he’s able to pretend to be normal is because he pretends to be regressed.

(Which isn’t true. He knows it’s not. It’s proven by night curled up in Swiss’ arms, unable to murmur even a single word because he’s just too small to do anything else. By all the times he hasn’t been able to function without someone holding his hand, guiding him through the day. Alas, it’s never been something he can stop thinking. That he’s a fraud; so desperate for the attention of his packmates that he’s resorted to lying, deceiving them, in order to gain a shred of affection, a kind word here and there.)

The fire ghoul grins happily and sets himself up quickly, eyeing the music on Rain’s stand to gauge where he should flip to in his own music. “Rats, eh?”

“Mhmm, wa– Rats.” He turns away from Dewdrop, cheeks burning as he clears his throat and attempts to brush the slip off as something catching in his throat. “Good bassline. Hard when you haven’t played it in months, though.”

Dewdrop hums in agreement. “Mmm, I can imagine.” He fidgets with the tuning pegs, tilting his head in Rain’s direction, silently asking for a note to match. Rain obliges. “D’you wanna start from the start, or…?”

“Start’s fine,” Rain smiles. He knows the start best, he’ll be able to do it, he’s sure. He can ignore the brain fog. He can pretend. For Dewdrop, he can pretend. The fire ghoul seemed insecure and burdened enough when he asked to run through the solos. He doesn’t need Rain’s regressed headspace making anything more difficult for him. “Uhm…” he begins, unsure; failing already. “B– Backing track?” He stutters on the B and the K is over pronounced in compensation of his difficulty with the letter, but Dewdrop understands—and more importantly, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I think we’ll be fine, right, Rainy?” He turns to smile at the water ghoul, eyes so soft and gentle, but there’s something underneath his tone that makes Rain fumble his bass.

“W– Why are you calling me ‘Rainy’ like that? You only say it like that when I’m… small.”

Dewdrop’s smile falters slightly, but his eyes remain warm. Kind. “Well, you can tell me if I’m wrong, but I thought you might’ve been feeling a bit small, love. Am I right?”

Rain readjusts his bass on his hip, refusing to meet Dewdrop’s eyes. “N– No… I– I feel fine,” he lies. “Normal. ‘M good. Promise.” He knows Dewdrop doesn’t believe him, but he can’t help but hope that maybe he’s convinced the fire ghoul. After all, Dewdrop has things to do today as well. He can’t blow off a whole day just to help Rain. Rain can’t ask him to do that.

“Are you sure, puddle? You’re not just telling me that because you feel bad about being small?”

“...Oh. Uhm… N– No?” Rain does his best to sound convincing but he knows there’s no persuading Dewdrop now, not when he already knows.

Dewdrop fixes him with a look, still adoring, but stern. “It’s not nice to lie, my love.”

And just like that, Rain’s facade crumbles.

His eyes fill with tears as he curls in on himself, hugging his bass tightly to his body. “I– I’m sorry, Dewy,” he cries. “I– I didn’ mean to! I’m sorry sorry, I’m really, very sorry. I didn’ mean to lie, ‘m sorry!”

He rocks back and forth, doing his best to self-soothe but it’s not working. He doesn’t know how to calm down. Doesn’t really know why his reaction to Dewdrop’s gentle chiding is a breakdown. He knows the fire ghoul was only trying to nudge him out of his pretences but he can’t help but listen to the voice in his head that whispers softly, cruelly.

He hates you for lying to him. He’s never going to talk to you again.

You got too comfortable with him. Shared too much. He doesn’t want to take care of you. He only does it to have an excuse to tell you what you’re doing wrong.

Such a burden to him. To the pack. Why can’t you just stop regressing? Just stop it. Stop being so small. Stop being so fucking weak.

He lets out a panicked yelp when Dewdrop reaches out to comfort him. “Nuh uh! Don’t touch me. I– I don’ deserve it.”

“Wh–” Dewdrop flounders.

That means it’s true; Rain doesn’t deserve it. He curls in on himself even further; he shouldn’t have said anything. Should have kept it to himself. Should have left the room the second Dewdrop entered it. Should have thought about someone other than himself and his own pathetic, useless needs for once.

“What makes you think that, Rainy?”

“Liar get punish,” he parrots as accurately as he can manage. “Only good boy get to be touch.”

“Oh, love…” Dewdrop sounds so disappointed. Rain braces himself for the inevitable. “That’s our rule for when you’re big and we, uhh…” He trails off, clearly unsure of how to phrase what he needs to say. Rain wishes he could rid the fog from his head enough to be able to reassure Dewdrop that he’s okay; it was just a slip of his mouth that made him say that, it’s not what he really thinks. But if he says that, it’s only fuelling the fire, and he’ll be punished more for lying; he’ll punish himself for lying. “Look, Rainy, love,” the fire ghoul tries again. “My point is that those rules don’t apply to you right now. They’re only there for when you’re big and we have our… Our special playtimes, yeah?” Dewdrop cringes at the words special playtimes and Rain knows exactly why; the phrase sounds so forced. He hates that Dewdrop feels the need to mince his words around Rain when he’s like this, as if the water ghoul doesn’t retain his understanding of the world and his own life when he regresses.

“You– You don’ like special playtime?” Rain’s goading Dewdrop into giving him an answer that he’ll hate, that will make him feel worse, he knows he is. But as long as the fire ghoul doesn’t notice, Rain doesn’t care. He deserves to feel bad, he knows that much. But he doesn’t feel bad enough, and it’s going to be hard to sink himself down to the level of bad that he deserves with Dewdrop watching his every move.

“No, no, Rainy,” he disagrees quickly. Too quickly, Rain thinks. “I love our special playtimes. I love them a lot, I promise. But… I don’t think this is something we should be talking about when you’re little, okay? We can talk about it when you’re big again if you want to, though.”

“O– Okay…” Rain’s heart sinks. It’s always like this. The very nature of their ghoul pack results in him being left out of most things when he’s little. Sometimes he doesn’t mind, and he’s more than content to sit with one of his packmates and fill some colouring sheets with bright pencil markings or curl up in their arms and drift off to sleep. But other times? His pack’s refusal to include him in certain activities or conversations feels less like protection and more like a poor disguise of their hatred of him, of their unwillingness to involve him in pack affairs. He understands, really, he does. He knows that when he’s regressed, there are things he shouldn’t be exposed to. Knows that when his pack are frustrated with him, he’s rarely the one at fault, just the one unlucky enough to bear the brunt of their frustration, no matter how much they try to hide it for his sake. But he also knows that the pack’s exclusion of him is because they don’t like him. Don’t enjoy his presence in any of the forms it takes. Don’t care about him enough to hide their annoyance, despite knowing their frustration directed at him can cause him to spiral so intensely that he barely remembers the rest of the day. He knows all of this, but nothing makes it hurt any less.

If he were in a better state of mind, he might reach out to Dewdrop and ask to be held for a while. Might sob and scream and cry until there aren’t any tears left but it would be okay, because he’d be safe in the fire ghoul’s arms. As it is, he can’t. He tells himself he doesn’t want to, which is true, in part. There’s a part of him desperately fighting to run away from Dewdrop, to refuse to ask for comfort, to never be a burden, never show weakness because otherwise he won’t love you anymore and you’ll be all alone all over again. The other part longs for comfort, regardless of the negative impact he knows it will have on his relationship with Dewdrop. He wants to be held, wants to be reassured that it’s okay to cry, that it’s okay because Dewdrop’s got him and he’s never letting go, never leaving. And so, he finds himself at an impasse and so angry at himself that he wants to punch something. Scream. Break his arm. Kill one of Copia’s rats. Kill himself.

The only benefit to being regressed that he can think of right now is that if he screams, no one bats an eye; all too accustomed to toddlers throwing tantrums that they don’t seem to care. And so when Dewdrop tentatively reaches an arm out, testing the waters to see whether Rain is ready for touch, the water ghoul screams. And he does it properly.

He doesn’t know how long he screams for before stopping, but once he stops, his throat is raw and aching in the silence of the room. He’s curled in on himself on the floor—bass discarded somewhere off to the side, hopefully in one piece—surrounded by pleasant warmth and pressure. Slowly, he realises that he’s wrapped up in Dewdrop’s embrace, and he begins to panic all over again, throat refusing to make another sound dispute his frantic attempts.

A warm hand cards through his hair, soft voice shushing him gently. “If you really want me to let go, Rainy, I will,” Dewdrop reassures him. “But I don’t want to let go, love. I want to help you, and I don’t want to leave you alone like this, okay?”

Rain turns his head and buries himself against Dewdrop’s chest, sobbing quietly. His emotional regulation for the day has been used up, and he knows that any and all emotions he feels for the rest of the day—or week, probably—will be on full display for everyone to see, no matter how much he wants to hide them. He finds himself nodding along to the fire ghoul’s words without his own brain’s permission. It’s impossible to deny for any longer that he wants comfort—he needs it so desperately it may as well be oxygen at this point—but he can’t bring himself to ask for it. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows that he’ll only feel worse later as a result of talking to Dewdrop and receiving his love and affections, but for now, that’s a problem for future Rain. Right now, all he really cares about is curling up in Dewdrop’s arms and soaking in the gentle comfort that the fire ghoul seems to be so good at providing him when he’s like this.

He doesn’t feel better about it, and he knows he’s not going to. To be honest, he doesn’t even want to try to feel better about it. But now that he’s here, he’ll accept the comfort of gentle caresses and chaste forehead kisses that Dewdrop seems intent on gifting to him. He’ll work on not feeling even worse about the fire ghoul’s affections another time.

#scheduled post.#rain sure does have Symptoms Disorder #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #regressed ghouls #husband writes #<<< i think it's long enough to go under that tag #projecting onto rain ghoul is my favourite hobby actually :')#please be kind lol #vent fic

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the-pen-pot · 22 days

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'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.' 'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?' Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.' ------ When Arthur assists Merlin in a magical ritual, he realises just how much could truly be his, if he only had the courage to ask for it.

Read on Ao3, or hit "keep reading" below!

Of Root and Sea and Sky

Arthur Pendragon watched the man who rode the pretty bay mare at his side, his seat confident and steady after years in the saddle. Merlin sat straight and at ease, his clothes suitable for travel but far more fine than his baggy servant things. A dark coat of soft leather fit across his shoulders, showing off his narrow frame and the subtle strength that lay within it. The blue tunic beneath, Arthur had noticed as they departed that morning, matched his eyes. Tight breeches clad his thighs, no longer threadbare at the knees and hems, but sturdy and perfectly tailored.

The sight had a detrimental effect on Arthur's composure, and he'd had to tear his gaze away more than once since they'd set out from the citadel.

'Where are we going?' he asked, proud that he managed to keep his voice steady. Now was not the time to be caught mooning over Merlin. He could not tell when the unfortunate admiration had begun; only that it had been years. It had grown since their first meeting, unacknowledged as they seemed to careen from one calamity to the next. It was something Arthur had learned to live with: not just the lust that glowed in the pit of his belly, but the love that threatened to bloom in the caverns of his heart.

He was fortunate to call Merlin his friend. He had resigned himself, long ago, to the realisation that anything more was nothing but a fantasy.

'The druids mentioned a Quercetum is ailing: a blight of some kind.'

'Sounds painful,' Gwaine said from where he and Elyan rode behind them, the tack jingling in rhythm to the horses' steady pace. 'Do they need an ointment or something?'

Merlin snorted. 'A Quercetum is a grove of oak trees. I don't think one of Gaius' creams will do much good. It needs me and Arthur to set things right.'

That, at least, Arthur understood. After his father had succumbed to a blade in battle and Arthur became king, Merlin had spent long evenings drinking wine with him in front of the fire and explaining the ancient connection between the throne, the magic and the land itself. They sustained each other, the rule of a kingdom going far deeper than the crown upon someone's brow.

In the days before the Purge, magic had been an integral part of every realm in Albion. A mere twenty-five years without it had sent many lands plunging into poverty and conflict. The earth withered, and the corruption his father had railed against found a home in the hearts of ruthless men.

Slowly, that damage was starting to heal, and it was something that could only be achieved by a ruler who took his vows seriously and a sorcerer who used his power well.

One of his first acts as king was to overturn Uther's laws. He had done it for the good of his kingdom, of course, but if he were honest, there had been more pressing, personal reasons to make it legal once more. He cast aside tyranny for Morgana and Merlin, neither of whom deserved to live in fear.

He still remembered, sometimes, how pale they had been when they confessed to him – terrified. In that moment, Arthur's character had been tested. The balance could have gone either way. He could have fallen back on everything his father had told him, leaning into the safe foundation of prejudice, or he could have tipped forward into a future of possibility, one that led his realm into a golden age as the wounds of the past began to fade.

To his shame, it had not been an easy choice, but in the end, he had placed himself firmly on the side of sorcery. Now, more than a year later, Camelot flourished with a new kind of peace.

'Anything we should know?' Elyan asked, raising his voice to be heard as they left the road, guiding the horses through last year's leaf-litter. It rustled as they picked their way through the boles of the trees, following Merlin's lead.

'Not really. It shouldn't take long, but these are holy places to the druids. Swords should be set down outside the edge of the grove. There's a good chance the magic will hide us from your line of sight. Don't interfere. Not unless I call for you, or you'll throw the whole thing off and we'll have to start again.'

Arthur hid a smile to hear the calm authority in Merlin's voice. It shouldn't surprise him. Even as a servant he'd had a way of speaking sometimes that gave others no choice but to listen. Now, with magic legal once more and its study permitted, Merlin only grew stronger and more knowledgeable of his abilities.

And with each passing day, Arthur found it easier to accept the druids' claims. He looked at Merlin and could well believe it when they said that he was the strongest warlock to walk the earth – and the nearest thing the magical community had to a king of their own.

And Merlin was his: his court sorcerer and his closest friend. Perhaps that was why Arthur had not spoken of the way he felt. One by one, so many of his excuses had fallen away, revealing the fear that lay at the heart of his silence. In truth, he had far too much to lose, and so he held his tongue and let his longing flourish unheeded.

A huff from Hengroen broke into his thoughts, and Arthur frowned, focusing once more on their surroundings. At first, he could not understand what had made his gelding tense, but before long he noticed the smell in the air: sweet, dry rot and arid earth. It was out of place in the lush, flourishing woods, tickling at the back of his throat and stirring some prickling, instinctive awareness to life. He was not like Merlin. He could not tap into the living world all around him and hear its hum, but he could detect that something was amiss. His kingdom bore a wound, and he could not leave it to fester.

'Gods.' Gwaine's curse was low and sympathetic as they brought their horses to a halt, staring. The oaks stood in a cluster, occupying a broad clearing amidst the more slender pines. Yet where Arthur would have expected to see tender young leaves, there were instead withered branches. Strong trunks were bleached bone-white except for where dark blisters pocked the bark, and more than one large branch had fallen from the stark canopy to lie, twisted and ruined, upon the ground.

'What happened?' Elyan breathed, sounding devastated. 'What could do this?'

'That's what we're here to find out,' Merlin promised. 'You two stay here. Arthur and I will need to be in the middle of the trees to work out what's caused this and set it right.'

'Be careful. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.'

Arthur threw a glare in Gwaine's direction, but it softened the moment he got a look at his face. There was no customary leer, and the joking tone in his voice had fallen flat, dragged down by his concern. He and Elyan were more lax with protocol than Leon, but they still took their duties seriously. While they may understand that they needed to keep watch from a distance, that didn't mean they were comfortable having either Arthur or Merlin out of their sight.

'We'll be all right,' he promised as he slipped out of the saddle, the leaves rustling under his boots as he unstrapped his scabbard and set his sword aside. 'Merlin knows what he's doing.'

'Course he does,' Gwaine replied, all unapologetic confidence as he dismounted, stopping at Arthur's side and lowering his voice. 'He'll blast anyone who tries to harm a hair on your head. Just – Be careful, yeah? Watch his back?'

Arthur clapped a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. 'Always.'

Elyan took Hengroen's reins, promising to tend the horses as Merlin jerked his chin towards the grove: a wordless invitation. Each rustling footstep left the knights further behind, their weapons drawn and at rest, ready to fight any danger that made itself known.

'They'll be all right,' Merlin murmured, resting his palm against one of the ailing oaks.

'The trees?'

'No. Well, yes. I meant Gwaine and Elyan.'

'There's plenty of dangers that lurk in the woods,' Arthur pointed out.

'But nothing they can't handle. Besides, I put a up a ward as soon as we entered the forest. It covers more than a mile. If anything crosses it meaning us harm, we'll know about it.'

Arthur's heart fluttered, and he stepped closer, bumping his shoulders and grinning as Merlin nudged him back. He shouldn't be surprised about the wards. Merlin had been feral about protecting the people he called his friends, right from the start. These days, he made sure they were safe without apology, weaving stunning magic as if it were as easy as breathing, and it warmed Arthur through from soul to skin.

'So, what exactly are we doing?' he asked, peering up at the sad remnants of the trees. 'Can you really fix this?'

Merlin's long fingers grabbed the sleeve of Arthur's jacket, tugging him towards the centre of the grove. 'Remember what I said about how, once, rulers of their kingdoms were tied to the land? How they can act as conduits?'

Arthur suspected he knew where this was going. 'You plan to use me in the spell, don't you?'

'Not... exactly.'

Merlin stopped, turning to face him, and in his expression, there were subtle hints of that same old pain that had come to the fore whenever Arthur, in his uncertain past, had twitched away from Merlin's magic. It had happened more often than he'd like to admit, back when he had first confessed. His father's teachings were hard to shake, and Arthur had needed time to learn there was nothing to fear. Not when it was Merlin who wielded the power.

'If I can pour the spell into the land through you, it will have more strength and precision. This' – He gestured at the trees around them – 'is caused by a corruption in the natural magic of the earth. I can cleanse it without you, probably. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. It's just that it would be easier if –'

'Merlin.' Arthur reached out, grabbing his hands and holding on, bringing the rush of words to a halt. He wished he could ease those scars of uncertainty that lingered still, not in his own heart, but in Merlin's. He had spent far too much of his life hiding what he was. Too many years had passed where he had heard, time and again, that magic was something monstrous, and Arthur hated to see him apologising for what he could do. As if his power was a curse, rather than a blessing. 'Of course I'll help you. Just tell me what I need to do.'

Merlin's grin was bright and infectious, showing his dimples and making his eyes gleam, yet he still gave Arthur a probing sort of look. 'Are you sure? I mean it. There are other ways.'

'You're the one who has been harping on at me about how king and kingdom are connected. Besides, I want to help.' He looked at the trees, stark and suffering, and saw nothing more than a cry for mercy.

Perhaps they were not important to the people within Camelot's walls, but there was more to his realm than the souls sheltered in the citadel. The druids had started to creep back in, tremulous and uncertain, but with growing confidence. This was their land, too, and he would not deprive them of assistance simply because of his father's old prejudices. 'You said this was a sacred place. Why? What makes it special?'

Merlin looked up at the window of blue sky above them, criss-crossed by the bare, skeletal branches. 'Oak is supposed to have a lot of magical properties. Different groves have different qualities. Some are meant to imbue strength to those who seek shelter beneath their boughs. Others offer wisdom. This one is a Sōþfæstnes.'' The word rolled of his tongue, comforting to Arthur's ear for all that he didn't understand it. 'A place of honesty. The druids use them for ceremonies and meetings. They believe you can't utter a lie when in one of these. They're used for handfastings, too, so that people know the vows are genuine.'

'Are they right?' Arthur was still not sure where the druids and magic came together. There was a whole system of belief that he knew very little about. It was part of the reason Merlin kept reminding him that he was not a druid himself. He had power, but not the culture that the druids valued so highly.

'I don't know.' Merlin shrugged. 'In a way, I don't think it matters. The druids believe it's important, so it's worth fixing. Besides, it would be a shame to see these trees die.'

That, Arthur could agree with: on both counts. 'Where do you need me?'

He watched as Merlin closed his eyes, his body falling motionless as a sudden, playful wind swirled the leaves around them. Arthur did not know what he was looking for, but it seemed he found it as he reached for Arthur again, guiding him to a spot that looked like any other. 'Hold my hands, and relax. This might feel a bit strange, but it won't hurt you. If you want me to stop, just say.'

That last part was added in a firmer tone, as if Merlin knew full well that Arthur wouldn't back down, even if his instincts were screaming at him to retreat. It was enough to make Arthur shoot a quick, imperious look in his direction, trying to hide the flutter of trepidation that stirred deep in his gut.

He'd seen Merlin perform magic before. He had stood on the periphery as he wrought his enchantments, revelling in the warm-sunlight sensation. Yet despite all his talk about the importance of the realm's ruler to the balance, Merlin had never invited him to be a participant. He'd always worked alone.

Now, as he watched those blue eyes flare bright, brazen gold, Arthur felt a new world open up within him. It started softly, like the breath of a summer breeze, gradually filling his senses. He could hear the steady hum of life throughout the woods; could sense the birds on swift wing or taking their perch, the dart of deer and the slippery chill of water as it seeped through the roots. The rich, heady perfume in the air intensified, and he could feel the pull and ebb of sap across his skin, sticky and vibrant.

Yet there was more. Hidden within those details there was a sense of something vast and ageless: a slow, steady beat like the pulse of the earth itself, resonating up through the bones of the world. Magic flowed there, pooling and diverging, collecting in knots only to disperse once more: an eternal lightning storm miles beneath his feet.

Yet where they stood, the light had turned thin and frail, its thick branches ebbing to threads as it choked and stuttered. Here, the magic had fallen out of balance. Arthur could feel how it threatened to drain away entirely. It had retreated deep, deep down, leaving the oak trees withered husks of their former selves.

'Ready?' Merlin asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

Arthur focused on the man before him. Seeing the world through the lens of magic, Merlin was like the sun, so bright his outline was almost lost. Yet Arthur could feel his heat and life: the warmth of a hearth and the cold splash of water on a sweltering day. He was helpless to do anything but shift closer, pressing near to the interface of that power as if he had been starved for it since the day he was born.

'Ready,' he managed, his voice little more than a rasp that faded to nothing as all that light poured through him and into the earth beneath his feet.

He had expected it to feel overwhelming, a surging tide threatening to eradicate every facet of his being. He had anticipated a struggle to contain it and feared being lost in its surge. He had never thought it could be like this: soft and brimming with love.

It did not smash through him, but whispered down his thighs and filled his chest with its glow. It rushed down to his feet and stirred the fine hairs on his arms into shivering awareness. Each breath tasted sweet, and as the magic reached out through him, he felt the tattered remnants of it in the earth stretch back, curving towards him like seedlings seeking the sun.

He watched them, not with his eyes, which had slipped shut in pleasure as Merlin's power filled him to the brim. Instead, it was as if it were the essence of himself that observed the world. Something deeper than skin and bone, intimately connected in ways he had never imagined. He bore witness to the magic's struggles to thrive once more, and he urged it on with the race of his heart and the mute cries of his being. He lost his breath, somewhere in the tumult of it all, until he felt that his own fate had aligned with the oak trees around him – that in this moment he would triumph or perish, and one was just as likely as the other.

And then, a single strand, as delicate as spider-silk, brushed against the plunging roots, and power surged up through the earth.

Arthur reeled as it exploded through him, his grip tightening fretfully around Merlin's hands. Yet there was no pain. It was euphoria and ecstasy: heat in his blood and the pit of his belly. Every part of him felt alive, tingling and pulsing as the darkness was washed away. It was like sunlight after the longest night, chasing off the shadows and bringing the warm touch of life in its wake.

Distantly, he heard the trees creak, their bark swelling as sap moved once more, sluggish at first, and then with growing urgency. The ground beneath his feet shifted as the roots shook of their rot, and overhead there was an ongoing susurrus as the magic rushed across the bare branches, doing the work of a season in a moment to shade them with a canopy of emerald green.

Yet there was something tenuous about it, and Arthur drew in a shuddering breath as he felt what he had to do. Merlin had provided the power. He had poured it through Arthur's skin and bones and blood, but it was up to him to anchor it in place. Without him, while the grove may not die, it would always struggle to thrive. The land would bear the scar, but with Arthur's influence, it could be healed in its entirety.

His lips parted, a question trembling on the tip of his tongue, but he did not need to speak a word. Merlin's magic was like his hands, strong and capable. It ran up his arms and curved around his shoulder, cupped his jaw and rested over his heart. And with it, silent but sure, came the knowledge of what he needed to do.

There was no incantation to utter – no grand spell to tie everything in place. Through the oaths he had taken and the crown he wore, he and the kingdom were one. All he had to do was accept the magic, and the land would welcome it in turn.

Once, it would have been impossible. Fear had been his foundation, and his father's words were nothing less than poison dripped in his ear. All his life, he had been told of the evils of sorcery, and yet, thanks to Merlin and Morgana, he knew his beliefs were flawed.

Morgana had been the one to show him the human face of sorcery – to bring the issue closer to home in a way Arthur had always secretly feared, but it was the man in front of him who had taken the time to teach him. He had shown Arthur that, in the right hands, magic was a gift. He had challenged his belief that it corrupted those who wielded it, because if there was anyone who Arthur truly believed was incorruptible, it was Merlin himself.

Yet it was also by his gentle explanations that Arthur came to understand that magic was far more than a mere tool. It was a natural force, like the winds or the tides: an essential part of the world that Uther had sought to strip away. To decry its nature was like shouting at clouds, utterly pointless.

And it was thanks to that quiet tutelage – to long nights in front of the fire and Merlin's steady, low voice explaining everything – that he was able to peel aside the lingering veils of his doubts and open himself to the power seeking admittance.

It was... indescribable. A falling star blazing through him, threatening to burn him up even as it chased off every last shadow. Each breath felt painfully inadequate, as if nothing as simple as air could keep him alive. His head spun and his muscles shook, his blood surging as his heart hammered fit to burst, driven wild with elation.

For one, fragile moment, he could feel his kingdom within him. Its rivers were his veins, its mountains his ribs and the valleys the spaces in between. He could sense the blaze of life and the tender cradle of death as existence unfurled through him, and he revelled and mourned in equal measure.

At last, when he thought he could bear it no more, the frothing tide began to recede, draining from him with a lingering caress that stalled the breath in his lungs. Every inch of his skin felt hot and aware, his flesh too tight across his bones. He came back to himself in increments, no longer standing toe-to-toe with Merlin, but slumped in his arms, that surprisingly broad chest holding him up as he sagged against him. His nose was buried in the hollow under Merlin's jaw, and one hand smoothed up and down his spine, coaxing him through it.

'You with me?' Merlin asked, his voice deep and rough. 'Sorry. I should have warned you it's a bit intense.'

Arthur managed a huff of agreement. He felt wonderfully drunk, warm and care-free. His senses echoed and blurred, so that for a moment he was able to enjoy the feeling of the sun on leaves he didn't have and the rich, dark earth between his roots. Gradually, even that dimmed from his awareness, binding him once more in the constraints of his human frame.

Yet there, on the very edge of his hearing, no louder than a breath of a breeze, there was a voice, soft and musical, whispering in his ear.

A truth, our dearest King, in thanks for what you have done for us: he guards his heart well, but he would be yours, if you would have him. He loves you, as you love him.

Arthur blinked, barely daring to believe his ears. At any other time, he might have written it off as the cries of his stupid, desperate heart, but Merlin himself had said that this stand of trees was a place for honesty: one where the truth found its way into the light.

'Arthur? Are you all right?' Merlin's hand was gentle as he cupped his jaw, lifting his chin so that he could look into his eyes.

He swallowed, feeling shockingly naked beneath the weight of Merlin's gaze. There, caught up in that bottomless blue, was everything he had never dared to acknowledge: tenderness, concern and a deep, abiding well of emotion that Arthur felt in kind.

He could feel the pressure of his choice before him – a split path that his life could take. On the one hand, he could retreat back to known territory: the realm of friendship, hard won and deeply cherished. Yet at the end of that road, he could see the end of them. One day the court would force him to claim a queen, and it would be duty, rather than distance, that steadily eroded what lay between him and Merlin.

Or, in this precious moment, he could reach for what he wanted: a life together and a love shared. Something he had thought impossible and still barely dared to hope for.

'Arthur?'

'I'm okay.' He flexed his grip where it was caught in the leather coat, the hide smooth like butter beneath his touch. 'I – I –' His voice hitched, tangled in the briar of his uncertainty. His courage – so dependable on a battlefield – threatened to abandon him, and he swallowed hard, pursing his lips. 'I'm okay.'

'What did you hear?'

He blinked, his gaze darting back to Merlin's in surprise. His hand still cradled Arthur's cheek, soft and careful, as if he were something precious. His body was a firm stretch of heat all down Arthur's front, and his heart thrummed, crying out for more.

After a breathless eternity of indecision, Arthur reached up, grasping Merlin's wrist. He turned his face to brush a kiss – butterfly-light, tremulous and desperate – against his palm. Merlin deserved so much more, and yet in that moment, it was all Arthur dared to offer him.

He heard the quiet gasp stutter past Merlin's lips, but he did not dare look at him. It felt as if he were awaiting judgement, the ecstasy of freedom or the horror of execution. He braced himself for Merlin to make his retreat, excuses on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, Merlin's free hand splayed across the small of Arthur's back, urging him close until they were nose-to-nose, their shared breath whispering between them. His voice was little more than a cracked murmur, laced with raw desperation as he repeated his question. 'What did you hear, Arthur?'

He shivered from head to foot, lost beneath his own, inevitable surrender. 'That you love me,' he managed, swallowing hard as he dredged up the words and laid himself bare. 'That you love me as I love you.'

The kiss scorched him, Merlin's mouth hot over his own as every inch of him sparked to life. It was no sweet, chaste brush of lips, yet nor was it restrained to wanton desire. There was devotion writ in the pressure of Merlin's lips and the stroke of his tongue. It was engraved in the strength of his arm around Arthur's waist, and he surrendered himself to it, clutching Merlin to him. Want and need, love and desire all battled for the upper hand, and Arthur was lost all over again, not to magic, but to Merlin.

He kissed him as if he would die without it. One hand gripped gently in that dark hair, the other crept beneath his jacket to clutch at his tunic, eager and desperate, fearful even now that this was some sort of figment that would vanish with the morning light, as so many of his dreams had done in the past. Yet not such cruel twist of fate found them. Instead, they kissed until they were breathless with it, shaking in each other's arms as years' worth of emotion finally revealed itself.

The only thing that stopped him from rutting himself blind against Merlin's thigh, right there in a grove of sacred oak trees, was the knowledge that Gwaine and Elyan were waiting for them back at the horses. It would only be so long before their knights came looking. As it was, while they might not get an eyeful, they would still find them both flushed, their mouths swollen and their clothes in disarray.

A regretful groan caught in his throat as he eased off, his kisses turning shallow and scattered. Try as he might, he could not pull himself away, and he stayed there, safe in the circle of Merlin's arms as they rested their brows together.

'Clotpole,' Merlin breathed, sounding unbearably fond. 'How could you not know I love you too?'

'You never said anything,' Arthur pointed out, deciding he had to defend himself, at least in that respect. 'You're never normally shy about telling the world how you feel.'

'It took you four years to acknowledge we were friends,' Merlin replied. 'I thought anything else might make you break out in hives.' He grinned, that bright, dazzling smile that Arthur loved so much. A moment later it softened, and Arthur looked into that face and wondered how he could possibly have missed it. Merlin's heart was right there for the taking: Arthur's, if he wanted it.

And he did.

Easing back, he held out his hand, feeling as if he were asking so much more as one word slipped free of him. 'Home?'

Merlin's blue eyes sparkled as if he had heard everything Arthur didn't say. The promises he made and the hopes he carried in his raw and bloody heart. Yet he did not hesitate or turn away. He met Arthur head on, unflinching, as if nothing could stop him seizing the future before them.

Those long fingers brushed against his palm before entwining with his own, and in his answer, there was the subtle glimmer of a promise. 'Home.'

As they departed, shoulder-to-shoulder and hand-in-hand, the trees ruffled their leaves and whispered their truths. One day soon, the two men would return, and there beneath the bower they would be hand-fasted to one another, their devotion absolute. Camelot would have no queen, but two kings to rule side-by-side in quiet triumph and eternal love.

And never would it falter.

#Merlin #Merthur #My fanfic

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buckets-and-trees · 10 months

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Game: match the character with the trope & give a little explanation why you paired them/how you would go about writing that type of fic 🩷

Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Ransom Drysdale, Ari Levinson & Nick Fowler

Forced proximity, forbidden love, fake dating, hidden identity & arranged marriage

Okay, this was fun, Em! And at least this time I didn't get TOO carried away...

ARI LEVINSON - FORCED PROXIMITY - I don't know... maybe this 2500-imagine-ish pitch that spilled out of my fingers this weekend? Hahaha

BUCKY BARNES - HIDDEN IDENTITY - I think this could happen over many different period of Bucky's life, but I'm especially interested in Bucky on the run after Winter Soldier and before Civil War. I love reading fics that take place during this time, and I've got a fic that I started and need to go back to (and maybe rewrite so I can complete it) that would be him hiding for short periods of time in cabins/rentals/vacation homes as he makes his way out of the DC Metro area those first months after CA:WS and while he's crashed at one particular place, Reader shows up, and they spend a few days or maybe a week together before moving on to the next place (and the next and the next until he eventually ends up in Romania).

RANSOM DRYSDALE - FAKE DATING - When a petition citing some extenuating circumstances/technicalities/the manner in which his confession was coerced/etc, a judge is willing to review it due to Ransom's good behavior (read: MONEY) while he's been serving time, and he gets him out of jail. You are immediately hired to be his Cinderella-image of a girlfriend so he can become the public's wronged and misunderstood Prince Charming because Linda won't have any more bad press - it's affecting all of the family businesses. Why are you willing to take the deal? You came up in an initial pool of suitable eligible females in the local area and it just so happens that one of the editor's at Harlan's publishing house (still overseen by Walt) has been considering one of your novels for publication, and this presents an opportunity for them to sweeten a proposal for this PR relationship by offering you a six-novel publishing deal as long as you maintain the relationship with Ransom for at least 18 months.

NICK FOWLER - FORBIDDEN LOVE - You're a detective working for Interpol. You know the trouble he's caused. Even though he was able to cover up his deeds initially with the CIA, once the Chinese/MSS took him into custody, it all came out. But he's managed to escape. He's managed to find his way to Romania, which is where you just so happen to be stationed now. You worked a case closely with him six years ago in Portugal, and...though you both kept it professional, his charm was undeniable. He had no idea you were in Romania, but he's not mad about that in the slightest now that he's spotted you. He could have some fun with this. Are you ready to play with fire?

STEVE ROGERS - ARRANGED MARRIAGE - In a Steve Stays scenario, if he's going to refuse to be Cap, he's being lobbied to still use his influence and power to help bring some order to this post-Blip society. He went tried to retreat and fade into the background, but things are escalating, and Pepper - who had also tried to stay in the background - is concerned that there are things happening maybe because of their inaction. She's got an idea. She wants to get Steve into political office, and she's going to appeal to his sense of duty (which she can do because it's the guilt she's also feeling). He'll agree because he trusts her judgement. For the best image, he's going to need a wife - this is a harder sell, but - again - he trusts Pepper Potts, he doesn't even need to vet the candidates, because if he's all in on this idea, he'll be all in, and he knows Pepper will pick someone who will fit the bill as his suitable trophy wife. You.

would... well would anyone be interested in any of these if I thought about actually writing them?

#steve rogers imagine #nick fowler imagine #bucky barnes imagine #ransom drysdale imagine #ari levinson imagine #aspen's extended anniversary sleepover #sleepover dare #em/writing for marvel

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lavellenchanted · 3 months

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💖 & Fredwina

💖 rough kiss

"You're infuriating, do you know that?" The words slip from Edwina before she has even realised what she's going to say. "Is this all a game to you?"

Fredrich's eyebrows raise almost to his hairline and something flashes in his eyes, and perhaps for the first time since she met him his perfect smile slips.

"A game to me?" he repeats, disbelievingly.

It feels oddly, queasily satisfying, to think she might finally be about to get a glimpse of what lies beneath his princely mask, and despite the voice in her head screaming for her to stop she can't help but keep going. She wants to know if he can feel anger the way she does - somehow she has the idea that if someone so golden, so lovely, can burn with rage, it will make her own rage less frightening.

"Yes, you. Do you find it amusing? To play the gentleman and flirt with a girl the rest of society scorns? Is it your way of rebelling or do you just want to use me as a shield against actual, suitable matches?"

"You accuse me of using you?" He doesn't raise his voice, but there is anger simmering there. He steps forward so he's looming over her, but despite the fact that she's rarely been so aware of how tall he is and how short she is, Edwina doesn't feel afraid of him. Maybe that's why she can be so angry with him. "You, who will smile at me and dance with me, tease me and challenge me, but will shut me out as soon as I try to get close to you? Are you not playing with me, schatz?"

Edwina shakes her head, almost wanting to laugh. "How could I possibly play with you? You're a prince, I'm nothing."

"Don't talk of yourself like that," he snaps, and the fact that even in the midst of arguing with her he will defend her from herself makes her want to growl in frustration.

"I don't know what you want from me!" she bursts out.

"Really? I find that hard to believe. You're not an unintelligent woman, Edwina."

Her heart's beating wildly in her chest because perhaps she does know, but she could never believe - no matter how intently he in staring at her, no matter how much it feels like his gaze is searing her from the inside out -

"It's impossible. You're a prince," she tells him again. "You can't."

Then he does look angry, his brow furrowing into a scowl as he says sharply, "The hell I can't," before he has surged forward, clutching her face his hands, and covered her mouth with his.

It is not a soft or gentle kiss, like the sort Edwina always imagined when she read her fairytales and romances. It is raw, unrestrained, his lips almost bruising where they press down on hers - and what felt like anger suddenly feels like something much different, though it courses through her veins like fire and burns her just the same.

His arms come around and she finds herself being pushed back against the wall, locked firmly in his embrace as he continues to kiss her mercilessly, biting at her bottom lip and teasing her mouth open so that he can deepen it. Edwina's heartbeat is now a roar in her ears and it takes her a moment to realise the low moan she can hear beneath it is her own. Her breathing already ragged but she brings her arms up to wind around Fredrich's neck, her fingers raking through his hair as she seeks to bring him even closer and kisses him back with the same rough, unrestrained passion.

Because god, maybe it's foolish of her but she wants him. Has wanted him, almost since they met. She's just been afraid.

But between the slant of their mounts Fredrich is murmuring, "I don't want anything from you. I just want you," and she thinks that if he keeps kissing her maybe, just maybe, she'll start to believe him.

kiss prompts

#this is not a snipper but oh well #it was FUN #thanks lovely hope you like it!#edwina sharma #prince friedrich #fredwina #edwina x friedrich #bridgerton #my fic #otp: a diamond and her prince

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octuscle · 10 months

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I’m a New Yorker, and while I was rushing to make my connection in BEG, I somehow ended up with this strange piece of luggage…

What's so strange about that now. A duffel bag. Could be from the Serbian army. But you don't know that much about it. If you interpret the pickups of some soccer clubs correctly, it is not one of an active soldier. Such a thing would not have been allowed at least at the time of your military service. Anyway, if you hurry now, you will still get your connecting flight to Warsaw. As you walk through the terminal, you consider that the duffel bag is probably a bit big for hand luggage. Maybe you need a few extra minutes for the discussion with the flight attendants. You quicken your pace once again. Your steps become heavier and heavier. Shit, combat boots are not suitable for jogging. You start to sweat. And without thinking, you take off your hoodie and wipe off your sweat with it. So you reach the gate dressed only in a pitbull tank top. The flight attendant looks at you with wide eyes. And doesn't say a word because of the duffel bag.

With a lot of force you even get the duffel bag pressed into the overhead compartment. And yourself in the middle seat. Seriously? These planes are getting tighter and tighter. Your seat neighbors are pressed to the side by your shoulders. And you don't even notice it. But you take your flask out of the outside pocket of your combat pants. How did you get them through security? But you might have to ask yourself the same question about the Bengal fire, the brass knuckles and the switchblade.

In Warsaw, you are glad that you flew a few days before the Europa League match of Red Star Belgrade. In a few days, the place would be full of cops and you wouldn't have had a chance to get through without being bothered. You put your hoodie back on and walk to the exit. A pal has recommended an underground gym where you can get in shape for the next few days. And the guesthouse where you will meet with the other ultras is not far.

Better! After the tight fit on the plane, you can finally flex your muscles again. And at the latest after the end of the soccer game for the third half you will need them.

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #inked man #srb

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vinghen-tmblr · 7 months

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Random banter Amidst Chaos:

A Flirtatious Battle

Probably somewhere on start of 2act, but there's no specifics or spoilers. They still thinks that they are playing their Game.

The battlefield was a chaotic symphony of clashing weapons and roars of combat, yet amidst the chaos, Astarion couldn't resist the allure of their usual banter.

"Well, Elowen, it seems our enemies are dropping faster than your excuses."

Elowen, her focus divided between foes and flirtation, raised an eyebrow. Without missing a beat, she changed the tune of her enchanted songs. Her voice carried a playful tone as she responded:

"Oh, Astarion, my dear undead friend,

Your biting wit won't be the end.

For in this fight, we stand so strong,

While you're just singing the same old song."

The other companions chuckled at the exchange, entertained by the verbal duel amidst the physical one. As blades clashed and spells were cast, Astarion continued, "You know, Elowen, your singing is almost as deadly as your flirting."

She grinned, accepting the challenge. Astarion had asked for it. She was a charismatic bard and an adept player of their manipulative game. She replied with another verse, mischief dancing in her eyes:

"Astarion, darling, don't you see,

My charm's as sharp as it can be.

You might evade the morning sun's light,

But my words will pierce your heart tonight."

Astarion, his eyes smoldering, leaned in closer to her amidst the turmoil, his voice low and suggestive:

"My darling, it's a shame we're so busy right now. I had other plans for those lips of yours."

She leaned in as well, their faces dangerously close, her lips almost grazing his ear as she whispered, "Do you now..?" But before he could react, she leaned back and sang:

"Oh, Astarion, you flirt with such style,

But you'll have to wait, just a little while.

In the heat of this battle, our desires must wait,

But, darling, you'll find I'm well worth the date."

Their companions watched in amusement, with Karlach giggling and Shadowheart rolling her eyes. Lae'zel grunted in disapproval. Gale couldn't help but smile at the exchange.

Astarion smirked, "Elowen, you're playing a dangerous game. One of these days, I might not resist."

Elowen, her voice dripping with sensuality, teased back:

"Astarion, darling, danger's my thrill,

But patience is key, and I have the skill.

When the time is right, our passions will ignite,

And we'll set the night on fire, just right."

Astarion couldn't resist the playful challenge in Elowen's verse. His lips curled into a seductive grin as he leaned in closer, their faces inches apart, the tension between them palpable:

"Well, Elowen, it seems you think you've mastered the art of teasing. But remember, darling, patience isn't the only key to unlock a fire."

He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering for a tantalizing moment. "And as for danger, well, we're quite the match in that regard, aren't we? But setting the night on fire? I look forward to seeing if you can keep up, my dear."

With a wicked glint in his crimson eyes, he pulled away, leaving Elowen with a knowing smirk and a promise of fiery encounters yet to come.

Elowen, unwilling to back down, sang in response:

"Astarion, darling, you're quite the bold one,

But patience is key; let's have some more fun.

As we dance in the shadows, our secrets take flight,

Our desires unspoken, burning hotter than night."

Their exchange of words was interwoven with parries, dodges, and spells cast in the midst of battle. As they continued their flirtatious banter, Gale finally chimed in, attempting to refocus their attention on the battle at hand.

"Perhaps, my friends," he said, "we should concentrate on our current predicament and save the amorous exchanges for a more suitable time?"

Wyll, with a smirk, added, "Or perhaps you two should find a room if you're so eager to continue."

Elowen and Astarion, despite the interruptions, couldn't help but share a mischievous grin.

Oh, they loved that game of theirs so much.

#baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate three #astarion bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #elowen #Elowen and Astarion #banter #silly shit #the note of violence #ao3 writer

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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years

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Previous - Epilogue - Series Masterlist - Series Playlist

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags/Warnings: fantasy au, violence, smut, angst, fluff, non-major character death, pregnancy, dub con/fuck or die but only kinda?, enemies to lovers, there's an arranged betrothal somewhere in there that eventually goes away, spoilers for dabi's identity

ao3 link here / art here and here

And so it was.

The Black Dragon of the League became the right hand of Clan Todoroki's soon-to-be famous war general, and together, they forged the Clans into one mighty hammer with which to crush the Empire once and for all. The ensuing war lasted for many years to come, spiraling into what we know as the War of Wayfaring; and, as was her wont, the High Priestess of Cerridwen devoted herself to becoming one of those "wayfaring" soldiers, living the life of the roaming warriors that she had become accustomed to with the League. Like the warrior-women from the Age of the Immortals, she was as practiced with sword and shield as with puppets and playthings, choosing both motherhood and the life of the sword. Her daughter, Yara, grew up wild like a bob-cat and prettier than the finest pale-white lily— she was always underfoot of the greatest warriors of the age, and, having inherited her father's penchant for mischief and her mother's charisma, she often proved to be too wily for the life of any human child. Sometimes, it was whispered that there was something of the fae about her, something supernatural… but no one whispered too loudly too close to her father, who was known to bare dragon's teeth and swipe dragon's claw in defense of his darling child (who had plenty of dragon tooth and claw of her own to flash).

The War of Wayfaring lasted a decade— the longest war since the Battle of the Beginning, which lasted the fifty long years it took the goddess to cast out the Seven Devils from the Realm of Men. Many have said that the War of Wayfaring might have lasted years longer if it were not for the smallest Todoroki dragon making her debut on the scene of battle, but my mother— Jenny of the Archives, She Who Knows— always said it might have lasted decades longer if Yara Battle-born had not proved herself worthy of her name.

Truly proud like lions, the soldiers of the Empire foolishly clung to their power and prejudice alike for far longer than strategically advisable. Despite heavy losses, the Empire persevered in its attempt to oppress and subjugate the lands west of the Summit, closer to the sea where their supply ships had control of the harbors; it is believed that their strategy was to pull back to the coastline to control sea-trade on the western coast, which might have served them well had the Clans not produced the greatest smugglers the world had ever known. Whatever its purpose, the Empire's steady retreat westward was suspicious to the two Todoroki generals who manned the western front. Black Dabi and Shoto the Cold decided to hold off on chasing the imperial forces further west and to instead make camp inland so as to avoid walking into an ambush; my dear reader, I was in that camp, just a lad myself, when my Lady Yara was told of this news, and when I say here that I have never seen such wrath as I did on that day, I truly mean that no creature on this green earth could have been more against the halt of the company than the little lordly lass with flaming, Todoroki-red hair.

I remember well the way her eyes burned, the way the white streak at the front of her hair waved in the storm-day breeze; she was fierce and unyielding, and both of her parents threatened to hog-tie her if she didn't stop her raging. Not even my mother, her caretaker, could calm her fire, and when I think back to that day, I wonder if they should have hog-tied her— for that was the night I followed her into the unknown, packed with food and rations to last us the time it would take to get us from the camp to the coast. She was a vision, reader, a magnetic force unlike any I have ever felt. I would have followed her anywhere, and even then, whithersoever she asked me to go, I went.

What happened on those days of travel will remain a secret forever. It is not my story to tell, and Yara— my Lady, my dearest friend— would rather it remain a memory between only us two.

The story I can tell you, reader, is the Historie of the Battle of Barker's Bay. Three hundred and seventy-six imperial ships were burned that day, not including any ships of the traitor-clans which flew the flag of their family next to that of the imperials. Yara Battle-born, with blue flames and so many fire-arrows, burned them all with fire so hot no man could have survived; she was seen by none on the ships, and thanks to the Blessing I inherited from my absent father, she was seen by none leaving them, her form rendered invisible by the light-refraction I control at will.

Dear reader, I will never forget the words she said to me that night, when I asked what would happen should the fire spread. When she looked at me then, brilliant eyes aglow with azure flame, I felt a thrill up my spine and the goddess's eyes on my very soul as she said,

"Stand too close to the wicked, and fire from the heavens will strike you down just as surely. Any man might have done what I did tonight. None did. The will to do what others will not— that is what separates the Hand of the Goddess from the rest of mankind."

I have had many years to think of that night since. As I reflect now, Yara Battle-born was right; as her mother before her had taken a broken, wounded man and loved him whole, turning the tide of history,Yara has taken a broken, wounded nation and has done just the same… but I digress.

Upon Yara's return to the Clans' encampment, word of the incident at the bay had already reached the ears of her father and mother. After a sound scolding and an even more sound encounter of our bare bums with a freshly-cut switch, they told Yara and myself that our efforts had effectively cut the Empire off from their supplies, and that they had negotiated the terms of the Empire's surrender the day before. After so many years, the Clans were finally free of imperial rule.

Tonight, on the 50th anniversary of this day, I honor my Lady Yara's wishes in finishing the series of Histories she asked me to write on the legacy of her family. My purpose here is fulfilled, and yet too late, I fear; I had hoped to give this collection to the former Hand of the Goddess, my second-mother, grandmother of my children, so that she might be the first to read the story of her life, but not twenty hours since, she passed beyond the veil, never to return. I was not with her when she passed— I was here, writing, trying to finish on this day of remembrance— but my Lady Yara said that (Y/N), Hand of the Goddess, passed peacefully, and with a final command to her daughter, who held her hand as she left the earth.

"Take care of your fool father," she told her, smiling as merrily as ever she had. "He won't know what to do without me."

Black Dabi, too, met his end this day, not ten hours before the time I am writing this; upon seeing the body of his wife of fifty years (for the anniversary of their wedding was this very day), he turned to his daughter, kissed her forehead, and took my hand. He said to us,

"I will not long outlive your mother, I fear— her soul pulls at mine, insufferable bitch. When I die, tell your children the story of our line. Make sure they know who we were, and why we fought. That is my last request,"

There were tears in his voice, if not his eyes. In all my long years, I have never seen such grief from a single human being. I believe his death was a mercy— separation from the love of his life was too painful, even for a man who had known more pain than most. In a way, I understand. As the man who married his daughter, I know what it's like to bind my soul to a woman who is more divine than human. Your life belongs to her, whether you give it willingly or not, and it feels as if she owns your very soul.

Following the death of Todoroki Touya, there was a question of succession in the Clans. Since the end of the war, the Clans have been governed by a member of the Todoroki family, doing away with the ineffective Council. When Todoroki Shoto lost his life in a border skirmish some twenty years back, Todoroki Touya was there, battle-hardened and trustworthy to take the position, leaving his younger siblings, Todoroki Fuyumi and Todoroki Natsuo, to fulfill their chosen duties. Now, however, with two reluctant and aging Todorokis and one Hand of Cerridwen to choose from, there was some debate over whether allowing the Hand to rule or the elderly was more inappropriate.

In the end, the Clans decided that they would rather disband from this cohesive form of government and return to ruling their own lands, tending their own flocks and farming their own fields, instead of caring for the collective good. Though my wife and I both agree on the folly of such a decision, I cannot deny that it is an honor and a privilege to record this event as it happens, chronicling it for future generations to study. It is the perfect end to the tale I aspired to tell.

I have done as you have asked me to do, Todoroki Touya. I am telling the future who you were, and why you fought.

So Ends the Age of the Clans.

Blessed be She who Reigns.

— Balthazar the Wise

#dabi #dabi x reader #mybigbangacademia #touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #dabi x y/n #touya x y/n #fantasy au #enemies to lovers #a suitable match (to start a fire)

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lumelii · 11 months

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hi ho! it's been a while. but i come bearing a gift. hope you like it!

word count: 3.3k

content warning: slightly nsfw at the end, a whole lot of angst, bullying (?)

Let me know if i missed any tags. Thanks as always to Moni @karamfilmare for being my beta.

Why won’t the ringing stop?

You were sure her name had been given as she was introduced to you, but the words did not register over the incessant peal which started as soon as you saw her with Yuuji across the room. You didn’t need her name though. Yuko Ozawa, the daughter of an old friend of Mr. Nanami’s from Oxford College. She and her father were staying with the Nanamis while her father attended to business in London, though this was the first time you had seen her out in public. From what you understood, her family lived in genteel poverty somewhere in the countryside, not enough money to spend the social season in London.

Your cousin’s hand on your arm was the only thing keeping your knees from buckling as you stared at Yuuji and Yuko. The look was plain on his face as he watched her. His lazy smile, the soft crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his gaze sparkled and wouldn’t be ripped from hers even if a fire broke out in the Gojo’s grand ballroom.

You must have been taking too long to respond to her introduction, not able to even curtsy without the fear of falling on your face. Ichika stepped in, curtsying deeply enough to support you as well as you did your best attempt to maintain some sense of decorum.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ozawa.” Ichika smiled brightly from the corner of your eye. The grip of her hand tightened slightly, a silent prompt.

“A pleasure.” You parroted emotionlessly.

“The pleasure is mine. Mr. Itadori speaks highly of your family.” Yuko’s smile was kind. It didn’t make you hate her any less.

“I’m sure more than we deserve, he is complementary to a fault.” Ichika gave Yuuji a teasing look.

“You surely jest, Lady Okkotsu. I only give credit where credit is due.” His eyes went to your cousin only for a moment to smirk before he focused his attention back to Yuko.

The ring in your ears dulled slightly, enough for you to finally take in the woman before you instead of only looking at Yuuji. Her hair was simple, curled at the sides similarly to yours and tied in a low bun at the nape of her neck, though she had no adornments in her hair nor at her neck or ears. Her dress was of a quality far beyond what her family could afford, and you recognized it immediately.

“What a lovely dress.” You commented, right in the middle of whatever Yuko was saying to your cousin. The other three members of your small circle turned to you, a range of confused expressions on their faces at your interruption.

Yuko recovered exceptionally well, smiling politely as she looked at the skirt. “Thank you. I didn’t have anything suitable for tonight since it was such short notice. Mrs. Nanami leant me one of her dresses.”

You knew this already. The style was slightly older, but not enough to be outdated. The dress itself was hard to forget, however. Monica Nanami had worn the dress during another party at the Gojo residence in London many years ago. The white muslin gown gathered just below the bust, the light, flowy skirts skimming the floor. The overskirt was intricately embroidered at the edges in gold and multi-colored thread which matched the embroidery along the vee neckline and edges of the bodice. The women at the party had fawned over the wearable piece of art the whole night, and Monica had given every opportunity to praise her husband and his taste. Mr. Nanami’s ears had turned permanently red from all the attention, both from the women at the party and from husbands who gave him a good-natured ribbing for making the rest of them look subpar. It had been a fun, intimate night. You had wondered if one day, Yuuji would do the same for you when you married. If you would married.

That dream was disappearing faster with every second Yuuji looked at Yuko with all the adoration in the world.

“How fortunate then, your stay with the Nanami family.” You took a small drink from your lemonade glass, watching her over the rim.

Her smile became confused but she hid it as best she could. “Yes, I suppose so.”

She looked at Yuuji. He gave her a reassuring smile and looked at you, his brow slightly furrowed, a question in his eyes. You were behaving erratically, you knew this. But you just didn’t care anymore. It was clear your goal, why you had agreed to this flirtatious farce with Megumi Fushiguro, why you sacrificed your own beliefs for the mere chance Yuuji Itadori might notice you, was for naught.

You were never even a consideration to him. Now, your pain would be everyone else’s.

“They take great pride in their charity work.” You continued. “Though your father must have known that, reaching out to such an old friend for help.”

“(Y/N).” Ichika murmured your name as a warning. But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t allow yourself to cry, and your anger needed a release. A barbed tongue was your only option.

“Mr. Nanami wouldn’t dare refuse. And how fortunate that he brought his young, unattached daughter with him knowing Nanami’s son would be in town for the season.” You pushed onward, even as Yuko’s face crumbled. “You must have known Mr. Itadori is the heir of his own fortune.” You made a point of looking between Yuuji and Yuko, then up and down at her dress. “Why else would you base yourself enough to wear another woman’s gown, if not to capitalize on the opportunity of a ball to sink your hooks into someone so far above your station?”

The unmasked pain you had caused in Yuko’s eyes should have made you feel something. But it didn’t. You wanted her to hurt. She was living what you had always wanted. What years of pining and waiting had never dimmed. Yet she came into town, and within weeks Yuuji was at her beckon call. You hated it. You hated yourself. Why had you never realized your feelings would never be reciprocated? Why now was it necessary for this innocent girl to suffer? This pain could not be leashed.

“That’s enough, Miss (l/n).” Yuuji hissed. His eyes flashed with an anger you had never seen before as he glared at you. But you found it was not as devastating as it would have been five minutes ago. Let him feel the pain you felt as well, seeing his love hurt. He should have been aware of your desire. You didn’t try to hide it. Yet it was never even addressed. You didn’t mean enough for even an acknowledgment.

Yuko forced a stiff smile and curtsied, murmuring an apology before she practically sprinted away. Yuuji didn’t give you a second look as he chased after her, which made the chasm in your chest widen further.

“What is wrong with you, (y/n)?” Ichika demanded once they were both gone. Her eyes were hard as well, though her expression could have been interpreted as genuine concern. “You’re not cruel, what was that about? You don’t even know Miss Ozawa.”

Her grip was still on your arm. It was too tight. The room was too hot. Your heart in your chest was pounding too hard. And the tears you had been fighting back since Yuuji and Yuko approached you seemed to be coming one way or another.

You wrenched yourself free from her grasp and ran out of the room. The entire house felt too cramped, though it was one of the largest in the city. You found the patio doors and pushed your way outside running into the garden to find a secluded spot.

The fresh air should have improved your breathing, but as you finally found a secluded alcove your gasping only grew worse. You had never felt this kind of pain before. You were young when your mother died. You hardly remembered her face, let alone her voice. The grief you may have felt as a child had been forgotten with time as time blunted whatever pain you experienced. If it was anything like the hurt that currently clawed through your chest, you were glad you didn’t remember.

As a slight breeze blew through the garden, you realized that at some point in your solitude, you had begun to cry. You wipes furiously at your cheeks to rid them of the wet tracks on your skin, but more took their place. Your gasps had turned to sobs, so forceful you bent over and braced your arms on the stone bench in front of you. Your tears stained the cool limestone beneath your hands as you failed to stop the emotions pouring out of you. You were not like this, you weren’t emotional. You thought you were in control of yourself, but events from earlier and your current outburst proved otherwise.

Had you been wrong all along? Had you confused Yuuji’s kindness as possible interest on your part? You had thought with time, maybe he would see you as more than his friend’s cousin and would pursue you as the other men in the ton had. You had ignored them all for him, and when he did not show his affection you became desperate enough to enter this farce with Megumi Fushiguro. But was it a farce? Megumi, though distant, had shown he cared in his own way throughout your arrangement. Was he interested in truly courting you? And why was it that a small part of you wished he was? You clutched your head in your hands. No. You couldn’t think of this now. That couldn’t be a possibility. Megumi made it clear your arrangement was purely for gain. And you loved Yuuji, you would have him.

“Y/N.”

You looked to the entrance of your little alcove. Megumi stood there, his face obscured by the darkness. The sight of him made you tears begin anew. He was only a reminder of what you had done and how it was all seemingly for naught. You wiped furiously at your cheeks to rid them of the wet tracks on your skin but they were replaced with new ones. You would not allow Megumi to see you cry.

“Not now, please not now.” You sobbed. “Leave me be.”

“What happened?” He stepped further into the small garden. “Are you well?”

“No!” You shouted. “I’m obviously not well! Now why don’t you go back inside and leave me to crumble in solitude instead of reveling in it?”

His face was infuriatingly passive as always, and you could see every inch of it now in the moonlight. Something about it set a change in you, and your sorrow morphed into anger.

“So, are you satisfied?” You straightened to face him, your chin held high. “You were right. My plan didn’t work. Yuuji is now seemingly completely and utterly enamored with Miss Ozawa. He does not desire my company. And now, all my work is for naught and my reputation will be ruined.”

“I do not enjoy seeing you in pain, Miss (l/n).” Megumi’s face still did not change. He could at least pretend to care, but he did not. He never did.

“Oh, I am sure you do not!” You laughed mirthlessly. “You have only been telling me this whole time to set my hopes aside because Yuuji did not want me, that this plan was ridiculous, that it would never work. Well, you were right. Enjoy your victory and leave me in peace!”

“What victory?” He stepped closer so he was only feet away. He was angry now, you could see it in the way his brow was drawn and the hard set of his jaw. His green eyes sparked dangerously as speared you with his gaze. “Do you think I revel in this?”

“Yes! You were right, I was wrong. And I hate it!” The words were bubbling inside you, just as they had in the ballroom, and you couldn’t stop them even though you weren’t entirely sure you meant them, but you were hurting and you wanted someone else to hurt too. “I hate you!”

“Do you?” He moved closer, crowding your space even as you stepped back until you were almost chest to chest. If you breathed too deeply, your bosom would brush against the lapels of his jacket. Your breath quickened to prevent any part of you touching him. The look in his eyes was dangerous, challenging as a cruel smile spread across his face. You were grateful for it. You didn’t want his pity. You wanted a release to this anger, and you knew he could provide it. “Please, Miss (l/n), enlighten me. Why do you hate me?”

“I hate how you never smile. I hate how you act like you’re above any social interaction and avoid everyone at all costs. I hate how you pretend you dislike something I know you truly enjoy so as not to give someone the satisfaction that they know something about you. I hate how you look someone up and down and you give them that indolent smile like you know something oh so devious and they’ll never know it, because who could ever be as clever or even compare to the great Megumi Fushiguro?” You spat.

“Is that so?” Your chests were touching now after he stepped forward, but you would not back down. He had tried to hold the upper hand this whole arrangement, but no longer. There was nothing left for you to lose. You had already lost Yuuji, though did you ever really have him in the first place? The thought caused the gaping hole in your chest to widen, the pain renewed. You could not hold onto this. It needed an outlet, and it stood before you.

“It is!” You yelled in his face though he did not flinch.

“Good.” Before you could blink, his large hands were cupping your face, his fingers lacing through your hair. You barely registered the intimacy of his touch because a breath later, he surged forward and planted a kiss harshly on your lips.

You started at his touch and his brazen action. Even if you were to attempt to retreat his arm has already encircled you, keeping you held to him as his lips commanded your own. But you didn’t want to pull back

It was the events of the night, you were sure of it. There was no other reason why your arms had found their way around his neck encouraging him. You were hurting, his touch filled the gaping hole in your chest just a little more. To know someone wanted your affection, or at least your touch. You were desirable. Why didn’t Yuuji see that?

You’re lying. A small voice inside you crowed as Megumi slanted his mouth over yours, deeping your kiss after the placement of your arms around him showed you weren’t resisting his advances. This wasn’t just because you were hurting, that you needed another’s touch. You had found yourself wondering over the past several weeks as you spent more and more time with the dark-haired man who was now running his tongue along your bottom lip, what it would feel like to touch him, to kiss him. To have this arrangement between you be truthful, rather than a ruse to spur your true target into action. What would it be like for Megumi to hold your hand and smile, to send you flowers sincerely instead of keeping up appearances? Was there even a possibility that he felt that way? As his tongue explored your mouth and you reciprocated in kind, albeit clumsily, maybe it could be true.

This feeling was different. There was a coiling deep in your belly, growing tighter as Megumi’s large hand covered one of your breasts and gently squeezed, finding your nipple through the layers of fabric and teasing until it was a hard nub. You gasped against his mouth at the jolt of pleasure that shot to your core and arched into his touch. This was wrong. You were with a man unchaperoned in the dimly-lit gardens. He was touching you inappropriately, and yet you wanted more. This was an extraordinary sensation, one you never would have thought would come at the hands of Megumi. Why was he expressing such outright desire when you were certain he tolerated you at best?

When Megumi’s hand left your breast you almost whimpered at the loss. It traveled lower down your body, tracing your silhouette over your dress, squeezing any soft place it landed until it was finally behind your knee. You wondered what he was planning, why would his hands stray so far down? It was then he hoisted your leg up so it was around his waist and you were balancing on your other foot. You gasped at your sudden unsteadiness and clung to him more tightly to prevent from falling. Megumi had no time to spare. He attacked your mouth again, commanding your lips for only a brief moment before he broke away again and started kissing down your neck. A whine escaped from you while he sucked on your pulse point then licked up the column of your throat, tasting the salt on your skin.

“Megumi.” You almost didn’t recognize your own voice as you moaned his name. His head snapped up at the explicit sound, green eyes flashing with a fire that matched the one growing in your stomach. The prospect of what burns that fire could cause almost scared you. Almost.

A loud crash caused you both to look over to the entrance of your small hideaway, still clinging to each other like monkeys. You couldn’t bear to let go yet. One of the small statues flanking the arched hedge entrance had fallen, its head broken off as it hit the ground. It was the force which caused the statue to fall in the first place that made you and Megumi both start in horror.

Yuuji stood at the entrance, his hand outstretched like he had tried to stop it from falling but had been too late. His eyes, however, were fixed on the pair of you and your sordid embrace. You wished you could discern the expression on his face. Shock, obviously. But there was something else behind his eyes. You didn't have a further opportunity for study as he had turned and was running back the way he came before you had finished your breath.

“Yuuji!” Megumi had released you and started running after him, pausing just for a moment to raise his hand in a ‘wait’ sign to you, and he was gone as well.

You didn’t allow yourself to wait. You couldn’t. Realization was setting coldly into your bones now at what you had done and what the repercussions would be if anyone were to find out. You were ruined. What would become of you now? Your uncle and aunt had graciously taken you in and treated you like one of their own to give you the opportunity of a life you never would have never been offered, had you lived with your father. And now, you had taken their generosity and spat on it. Their investment in you was now for naught.

Your hands shook as you smoothed your hair just enough to be presentable before you ran out of the gardens, around the house and to the carriages waiting out front. People would speak of your absence. It was certain their tongues were already wagging at your outburst against Yuko in the ballroom, but it didn’t matter. All you cared about was getting back home and hiding, Maybe then, you would wake up and find this was all a cruel dream.

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#regency!megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk #jjk megumi #my writing #regency!au #jjk fandom

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adobe-outdesign · 10 months

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Can I request a review of one of my favourite pokemon line : the Talonflame line ? ( I feel like the English translators did them dirty btw when they translated their name, for example the french ones sound 100 times better )

I think this line, as a whole, is one of the better early-route birds; the visuals are pretty memorable and striking despite the very simple theme of "bird, but Fire".

Fletchling here is okay, though I think it's the weakest of the line; there are a few parts of it, such as the white-tipped wings or yellow eye triangle, that exist to solely connect to the other stages. I'm also not overly fond of the body proportions, but that's just a me thing.

I will also say that I do wonder how necessary Fletchling actually is; Fletchinder is small and simple enough that it feels like you could've easily just made this line a two-stager starting at Fletchinder and not actually lost anything. However, that aside, what we got is still nice; the red pops nicely against its body and the tail feathers are pretty unique with their chevron'd look.

Fletchinder is probably my favorite of this line; it feels better proportioned and has more meaningful design than Fletchling, but it's much more simple than Talonflame. I still really like the bold markings on the tail, but now they're complimented with sharp yellows and blacks on the wings that further make the colors really pop.

What I also really like about this design, and something I think the other two stages lose a bit, is the sense of flow. The cardinal-like head feathers point backwards, as do the eye markings, wing markings, and legs. All this backwards motion then leads up to the tail, which is the most important and visually striking parts of the design.

My only little complaint is the chest markings. I get that they're meant to lead into Talonflame's, uh, flames, but it's the one part of the design that doesn't match with anything else. A v-shaped division there would've complimented the tail patterns much better. Otherwise, it's really solid.

Talonflame (terrible name btw. what is this, Warrior Cats) is arguably based off of a bunch of different kinds of birds, but I always saw it as a black kite specifically. Black kites are known for carrying burning twigs to non-burning areas and dropping them to flush out prey, something referenced in Fletchinder's 'dex:

I'd also argue black kites look a bit like Talonflame, what with the black wing tips, barred chest, yellow beak base, and mottled (or flame-like) transitions on the wings.

I do like how fire-y Talonflame looks with the flame patterns, and it keeps the same bold palette and design elements as its pre-evos. It also looks suitably more powerful, being more of a bird of prey than a songbird at this point.

However, I do think that it might have just a bit too much detail. For example, the eyes have four different rings of color; black, white, yellow, and then black again. The sheer amount of spots on the underside also feels like a bit much; they probably could've tapered off long before they reached the legs.

I also feel like the yellow tail feathers look a bit off; I think they could've been grey, and the yellow could've stayed solely as a suble accent color. Said grey also could've been a shade or two lighter, as it's very close to the red tone as-is and starts to vibrate a bit.

All that aside, I think this is a pretty strong line. All of the stages go together coherently, the design elements are unique despite the simple premise, and the colors are high-contrast and help it stand out. As a whole, one of the better early bird Pokemon.

#fletchling #fletchinder #talonflame #pokemon #pokemon reviews

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chunkypossum · 4 months

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Azriel x Eris

4112 words

Part One of Three || or… Read on AO3

1 2 3

- Happy Holidays! Special thanks to my favorite little urchins and gremlins for throwing an eye on this and helping me. Love y’all!! @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

Winter Court for Solstice, Autumn for the Equinox, Night for Starfall. While every court had their own holiday they celebrated with the rest of Prythian, these three were the most anticipated.

The purpose of these holidays, officially, was the promotion of peace and goodwill between courts. The idea was that everyone had a chance to show off their hospitality in the wake of the age of war ending with the fall of Koschei. Feyre Cursbreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and first High Lady of Prythian, spearheaded the campaign that quickly caught fire among the direct allies of the Night Court. With the help of her sisters and the High Fae that owed her a life debt many times over, she managed to construct a simple but elegant way forward. Officially, that is.

Unofficially? A true High Lord is nothing if not incredibly vain. Not only did the courts try to one up each other with their respective holidays, they also tried to beat out their own parties from the year previous. Fae lived a very long time, which meant this could get out of hand quickly and three years into the new tradition, it had already started to.

On an unused piece of property, deep in the arctic wilderness, Kallias had constructed a massive five-story ice castle just for the evening. In the way that only high fae can be dramatic, winnow points were erected outside in the blistering cold. That way, when guests were received into the foyer, they could bask in awe and warmth under the cathedral ceilings laced with the ethereal blue light of glow worms. The space was dripping in frivolous luxury. A massive fireplace was situated on the right hand side, its mantle and threshold also seemed to be made of ice, though more opaque than the shining floor and ceiling with its sparkling icicle stalactites hanging from intricately carved beams. The spelled fire within changed colors every few minutes to the delight of those mingling in the space before entering the main hall. Elaborate designs were carved on the surface of the walls from floor to ceiling. They depicted great winterscapes, forests of life size, towering pines, bear drawn carriages sledding through the snow, and so much more.

On the left side of the room were ornate, magically formed displays. Wilderland beasts made of ice carrying trays on their backs or in their paws holding layers and layers of glasses filled with sparkling liquids in bright blues, puffy pinks and simmering champagnes. The displays had tailored cards to match each type of drink with tiny descriptions in the corners and important disclaimers that stated each spell's expiration times and who exactly to find if you needed one immediately removed. Most were labeled alcoholic and not suitable for children warning teenagers of the dire consequences for trying to sneak one away. All of them had fantastical sounding magical effects and despite the warnings, more than one teenage youngling was seen skirting away various drinks to try with their friends.

Navy blue and glittering for staying light on your feet and moving with the grace of a swan on the dance floor. Cerulean for side stitching fun as you become the funniest person in any given crowd (what happens when two or more people drink it in the same group? Well, that’s probably what the emergency instructions are for). Bright pink for adding a layer of glamor over yourself and getting anyone you want to beg you for one dance. The more curious ones had simple labels with seemingly higher alcohol content. Rose for bubbles, glitter or flowers, champagne for weather, baby blue for … hair? From there, they only got more ridiculous with the most absurd listed on a sign by the doors leading into the grand space. It promised floating bubble shots that would do anything one could think of from making you glow in the dark to giving you a high, squeaky voice.

After guests warmed themselves and chose their drinks they were ushered through a set of carved, ice doors at least 25 feet tall and marked with thousands of stars. The foyer was impressive to say the least but the sight that greeted people as those doors opened onto the rest of the castle left many breathless.

Winter, besides being fucking freezing all the time, was known for the animals that eagerly worked alongside the High Lord. There was a special understanding between the Court and the creatures that inhabited it. So much so, that one could often see snow white hares delivering mail or great polar bears donning armor for battle. This year, Kallias and his Lady Viviane had employed every manner of beast to take part in the festivities.

Caribou sentries flanked every doorway, adorned with crystal collars and antlers that shined like freshly fallen snow. Arctic foxes, hares and little ermines jumped, ran and skirted around the ballrooms, playing with the fairy children and earning more than a few giggles from the adults as well.

The first floor was nearly completely overtaken with a dance floor. At its center grew a live evergreen tree which the castle had been built around. The floors above had been cut to accommodate the height which could have been 100 feet or more. Its boughs were laden with snowflake garland and colorful bubbles of ice. Where it wasn’t crusted over with the gem like baubles, snowy owls sat perched in masse. As they preened and fluffed their feathers, shaking the branches, the snow and orbs, lit from within with their own special magic, shook and shimmered, clinking together like little diamond bells.

Polar bears with golden harnesses offered sled rides around the ribbon of ice on the outer edge of the dance floor and white wolves heralded important arrivals with their haunting calls. Spelled against the animals, everything was pristine and smelled like iced cranberries and supple, fresh winter evergreens.

It wasn’t hard to tell who had tried what drink, the evidence of the spells wafted around each person and through the air. Much to the horror of the teenagers who had snuck drinks, not only did the magic sense their age and nullify the alcohol, but once drunk, it made them confess one of their most embarrassing moments to anyone that was near. The space was full of bubbles, and tiny storm clouds that spat soft snowflakes. Some fairies were trailing glitter or flowers in their wake while others were running around chasing their friends to touch their hair and turn it pink or make them grow a temporary beard. Squeals of delight could be heard from every corner.

Eris was eternally grateful for his own foresight as he pulled a flask of whiskey from an inner pocket of his velvet lined coat. He had declined to choose from one of the prepared cocktails, refusing to look too foolish, at least this early in the night. Having stopped reading the information cards after hair, he didn’t dare go near any unfamiliar bubbles floating in the air.

Though Eris would never admit to it, secretly, he thought some of it looked quite entertaining. Namely, he would love to send a little rain cloud over the top of Helion’s head.

“So that’s what ‘hair’ meant.” A gruff voice sounded next to the Autumn Prince where he had taken up residence at one of the tall tables near the sidewall.

“Lucien.” He greeted, without turning. Eris kept his eyes trained on the dance floor, inclining his head only slightly.

“Don’t drink those.” Lucien said with a shudder as they both dodged a violet bubble with liquid inside. “I’m not sure what all of them do but I’m pretty sure the purple one makes you sound like a mouse.” Eris raised a well manicured eyebrow at his brother before turning away, dismissing him.

Unbothered by Eris’ obvious snub, Lucien asked, “Where‘s dear old dad?” He noted Eris curiously tracking his tumbler of clear liquid as he set it down on the table top and added, “Vodka. There is a normal bar on the second floor.”

“Father sent me alone to represent the Autumn Court this evening. He was feeling rather ill.” Eris took a sip off his flask before returning it to his emerald coat's inner pocket.

“Is that so?” Lucien said suggestively, turning to face Eris fully.

“Believe it or not, I had nothing to do with it.” Eris replied simply. Normally, he wouldn’t bother engaging Lucien, even at these more relaxed events. His brother, who learned well from Eris himself, was just looking for information he could exploit. Lucien didn’t actually care to talk to Eris otherwise. Pretending it was any other way would only lead to heartbreak down the line. That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway.

“Suppose I do believe you. Would you return the favor and trust me about something I’m about to say against my better judgment?”

Eris didn’t turn to him. The only sign of his curiosity was the slight twitch in the tip of his pointed ear.

“Depends.” He murmured.

“You know brother, as much as you piss me off, when it is time… I’ll be there.” They both stiffened at the words, too close something they both needed but neither was willing to properly provide just yet. Lucien added in a barely audible whisper. “Somehow, I’ll always end up in your corner.”

Eris huffed a disbelieving laugh and shook his head slightly. He didn’t have it in him to hash anything out with family tonight. This evening was meant to be about the absence of family, at least the one he was born into. So, he let the words go as if he hadn’t heard them. Giving Lucien and himself the benefit of ignorance for a little while longer. If he hadn’t, there would likely be a brawl before midnight.

As it turned out, Eris, even without the help of a special cocktail, was in a rather good mood that he didn’t want spoiled. His father really was sick and with any luck, the cold he caught would kill him. For the present though, it just meant that Eris was allowed to come to a party, unescorted. Any excuse to be out of the damn forest house without his father was good enough, but one with the promise of something more was especially exciting. Eris’ eyes roved over the dance floor, lingering in the darkened corners of the room, searching.

“Looking for someone?” Lucien asked just a bit too casually. Eris finally turned his eyes towards his brother. It had taken every ounce of his grace not to bite his head off for presuming they could have a brotherly chat like Lucien hadn’t spent the last few centuries dragging his name through the mud. It would take a whole lot more patience than he had to continue to provide him with that kind of privilege.

“What do you want?”

Lucien shrugged before turning to watch the dancers once again. His smirk was anything but innocent. “I’m just trying to make conversation.”

“Why?”

“You’re impossible.”

“Hmm. Quite.” Eris hummed, turning away again and taking another sip of his whiskey.

“Fine, I’ll take the hint, but after you’ve had time to imbibe a little more, I expect you to be nicer to me.”

With a wave of Lucien’s hand, a tumbler full of whiskey appeared in front of Eris. He took it gingerly in his hands and before he could react, Lucien used his own glass to toast them both before sauntering off into the crowd. Unable to help himself, Eris smiled after his brother. He was so used to having to keep a tight leash on his emotions that he sometimes forgot that he could talk to Lucien again. Even though the male didn’t actually want to have anything to do with Eris, at least not anything real, it was still a nice feeling, if not a strange one. One day, he would get used to it. Someday, it would feel natural.

The more Eris drank and the longer he stood there at that table, the antsier he became. He was a social creature after all and sitting idly by while a party went on around him did not suit him well. After nearly an hour he began to make the rounds.

The host and hostess were out mingling with their guests and when an alcohol soaked Kallias spotted Eris he clapped him on the back and invited him to join the conversation he was having with Thesan. The conversations flowed easily enough and the company was pleasant but the longer Eris was at the party, the more irritated he became. It seemed like every time he turned around, there was another face greeting him and never the one he wanted.

After Kallias had been beckoned away by his wife, Thesan and his lover had taken Eris onto the dance floor which he tried heartily to decline. They weren’t hearing any of it and just when Eris thought he might be able to get away, Elain of all people cornered him and asked him for a dance as well. Lucien may not have wanted a real relationship with him but his mate still tried very hard to include Eris. To anyone else it might have felt like a sweet gesture. Eris just tried very hard not to be rude about how suspicious it actually made him. It wasn’t her fault after all.

Chatting with him idly, Eris got the feeling that Elain was not exactly there just to keep him company. She kept him busy well past what would be considered appropriate which is why he almost didn’t feel the eyes on him. Almost.

Towards the end of their third dance, Eris sensed that someone had been staring at him. The back of his neck felt hot and he swiveled the two of them expertly around the dance floor in search of that stare.

“I’m boring you.”

“Hmmm.” Eris agreed, completely distracted by his search.

Elain giggled softly, breaking Eris out of his trance and he looked down at the small female and flushed.

“Oh, no. No I -” He blew out a breath and tried again. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little distracted this evening.”

“I was told you might be.”

Eris raised a brow in question but Elain just shook her head and smiled.

“Very well then.” Eris grinned down at her. “You have my full attention for the rest of this song.”

“How generous.” Elain replied, the sarcasm sounded unfamiliar on her tongue.

“I did apologize.” He joked.

“Well, make it up to me properly. Tell me something embarrassing about Lucien.”

Eris’ heart panged in his chest when he thought about his brother in that way, like they were still family.

“You know little Archeron…” Eris began as those wide doe eyes looked up at him in question. “Lucien and I, we’re not -“

She dismissed him with a wave of her hand in his face making him blink. “He will come around, just leave it to me. You’re my brother now too, whether that sardonic grump likes to acknowledge it or not. I promise to always help you two find common ground.. And… I’d like to be your friend too.”

She looked away sheepishly and Eris, despite himself, smiled at her earnesty.

“I’d like that.” He replied gently.

“Besides, I think the pair of you are far closer to being what you would like to be to one another than either of you idiots are willing to see.”

Eris looked at her in surprise and laughed. Elain was turning pink around the tips of her ears. It dusted the tops of her cheekbones prettily and Eris sighed. He knew Elain was trying and it was a gesture he appreciated so he obliged. Just this once, he told himself.

However, the bastard’s ears must have been burning because as soon as Eris uttered the words “Have you heard about the time he tried to impress a date by putting on my mother’s-” Lucien appeared out of thin air and cut in to sweep his mate away. With a wink towards Eris’ they turned into the crowd of other dancers and were gone. The slightly annoyed and crestfallen look on Elain’s face made him laugh softly to himself as he turned to leave.

Of course he couldn’t be that lucky.

Eris spent the better part of another hour being twisted and turned by what felt like every pair of hands in the room except the pair of roughly scarred hands he really wanted.

Per usual, Eris was pleasant enough, able to fake his way through niceties, even going so far as to actually enjoy himself more than once. Helion even managed to get a light laugh out of Eris when he grabbed the wrong drink and accidentally turned his hair fuschia.

Finally spotting a pair of leathery wings headed straight for him, Eris’ eyes narrowed. They were entirely too small to be the ones he was really looking for but they would lead to the bigger version all the same.

“Hello little prince.” Eris crooned, smiling. He crouched down to eye level with the 6 year old.

“Momma told me to come find you.” Nyx said in a practiced way that made Eris laugh with disbelief. No wonder he could feel eyes on him all night. Eris was being baited.

“Oh she did now. Well, if you want me, you’ll have to catch me I suppose.” Eris tousled the little guy's hair and stood up swiftly, gaining a few feet in retreat before Nyx caught on.

“Wait! Come back!” He giggled, nearly tripping over himself to catch up to his target. Eris, careful to keep a balance between staying ahead of Nyx’s grabby hands and not losing him in the crowd, wove in and out of the dancers towards the giant tree in the middle. Because he wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings, Eris nearly careened right into someone carrying a tray of those spelled cocktails. He quickly ducked around them, snatching one of the rose colored ones, downing it in one gulp.

Eris, smiling, made a show of tumbling backward before sitting with his legs crossed under the tree. Nyx came barreling towards him, the look of concern from Eris’ fall quickly turning to a toothy grin. When he collided into Eris’ lap the elder male broke out in a fit of laughter. Accompanying the sound, his laughter was made of pink and gold bubbles spilling out from between his lips. They tasted like sugar. Nyx squealed in delight trying to catch as many of them as he could.

The laughter felt good and Eris knew that it meant he had already had entirely too much to drink but he was safe here tonight and could indulge in the things his heart yearned for. Playing with this child that he hoped someday would be a real part of his family, was one of those things. Nyx was the easy one in the family, as was his mother. Eris enjoyed their company plenty and didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of them. He sighed as those deprecating thoughts wound their way through his brain. That was ok, it’s not like he needed everyone’s approval. Eris was used to having a certain version of himself attach to people in a way they couldn’t easily shake.

They all lived such a long time. Maybe someday it would be different.

Animosity aside, incredibly the only actual unsafe people in all of Prythian were Eris’ father and some of his brothers. Perhaps there were a handful of spies watching the soft way Eris played with the youngling that would love to sell this kind of information back to Beron but Eris couldn’t be bothered to worry about them at the moment. When his family was absent he felt free to goof off and enjoy himself. No one at the party paid him any mind except for that incessant pair of hazel eyes he could feel boring into him but couldn’t yet see.

“You caught me!” Eris exclaimed, making a show of covering his wounded heart. Every word was laced in bubbles and Nyx couldn’t stop laughing. When the bubbles began to coat only every other word, then once a sentence slowly ebbing away, Nyx finally had a chance to calm down. The tiny sprite stood up with all the audacity of his Night Court heritage and grabbed a hold of Eris’ wrist.

“Come on. You’re my prisoner now.”

“Well, fair is fair I suppose. You caught me so I must go with you.” Eris groaned as he stood up, his movements purposely sluggish. Nyx was not impressed and tugged hard on Eris’ arm, grunting with the effort it took to pull him along.

“You let me catch you.”

“Did not.”

“Yes you did.” The little terror sounded smug about his catch either way. They went back and forth like this all the way across the dance floor where Feyre was waiting, drink in hand. She was holding back a smile and winked down at her son who beamed proudly as he presented his prize to his mother.

“I see you’ve finally deigned to make an appearance.” Eris said, bowing to the High Lady of the Night Court. When he stood back up he looked around the room for the rest of the Night Court, for one person in particular.

“Oh.” She smiled wryly right back at him. “We’ve been here the whole time, we were just ordered to stay quiet and hidden.” She glanced casually down into her glass before bringing it up to her lips, her smile widening.

Eris' mouth fell open slightly. “That little-”

“Language.” Feyre chided, glancing down at the little boy still attached to Eris’ wrist. His mouth popped closed and Eris huffed through his nose instead picking up the runt by the ankle and holding him upside down.

He scrutinized the dangling child, squealing his head off and poked him in his stomach where his shirt had ruched up. “Well, do I get the privilege of his company? Or do I need to take a hostage?”

“Put me down!” Nyx swung a fist out in vain, giggling through his aggression. “Momma Help!” He added when Eris did not immediately put him down and began tickling him instead.

Eris smiled gently as he pressed Nyx into his mother’s reaching arms. “Well, “ He sighed. “There goes my bargaining chip.”

“Uncle Az is-” Feyre pressed a hand against Nyx's traitorous mouth and laughed.

“Nyxie! Your uncle has worked very hard this evening. Don’t spoil anything.” She laughed. The image of this tiny fae female wrestling her, not so tiny 6 year old made Eris wistful with longing for his own mother, who had never had the chance to play with her children in that way.

It was a reminder at how different things were going to be for the next generation of fairy children. Eris knew he would make sure his own children would never have to endure the psychological and physical abuse that he had to grow up with.

Feyre glanced up from the mass of wings and giggles that was her son and saw the bittersweet look on Eris' face. She smiled softly at him and set Nyx back on his own two feet.

“Ok my Nyxie, time to go keep auntie Elain company.”

“Wait!” The little imp yelped, running over to Eris. He gestured for the male to bend lower so he could whisper in his ear. Feyre eyed him suspiciously but allowed him to continue.

Eris bent low and winced when the prince’s secret was not as quietly whispered as Eris was sure he intended. “I promise to help you gang up on uncle Az forever.” Feyre grimaced slightly but quickly smoothed over her features into a simple smile. Eris on the other hand grinned like a wildcat at the little one’s promise.

“I’ll hold you to that child.” He told him, rapping a knuckle lightly on Nyx’s cheek before standing tall once again.

“Ok Nyx, let’s go.”

“But momma!” He protested, stomping his feet. “I wanna go with you.”

“No darling. You know the plan.”

“Oh so there is a plan.” Eris cut in, glaring at them both. Feyre and Nyx gave him identical guilty faces and quickly sealed their lips. Well, Feyre did anyway. Nyx’s silence was only temporary. He inhaled deeply about to spill another secret when Feyre pressed her palms to his cheeks, squishing his little face in admonishment and they disappeared in a puff of star flecked night.

#acotar #azriel x eris #so fluffy i wanna die #light angst #eris my beloved #he is very weary #IC being menaces #but in a cute way #acotar fic #winter solstice #azriel acotar #eris acotar #nyxie being adorable #uncle Eris #acotar fanfiction #lucien vanserra #feyre cursebreaker #nyx archeron #elain archeron

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