#air's dabbles
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i saw the new miyazaki movie and i have a lot of thoughts. also i took notes almost the entire time. however since the word count on those notes is Bonkers i will not be organizing them or writing a cogent thesis at all. so i'm dumping everything from my notes app directly under a readmore.
War setting-framing-imagery apparent immediately
Conscription propaganda
research use of flag/choice to not depict symbol of imperial power when depicting time period. commentary from well-versed historians/animators?
Elderly women first characterized and animated to look unnerving as they swarm around the canned goods— reflection of mental state of perspective character?
heron flying directly out of rising sun over shinto lantern— came out of the decrepit european tower- broken wooden sword
Practice sword emulating father? Inheritance
Mass of fish and frogs swarming and compelling mahito to “join us” in apparent parallel to conscription imagery
Imagery of father’s shoes dividing natsuko and mahito’s
Father is the foreman of a war machine factory— child is at odds with agricultural volunteers
Bribes school for mahito’s exception from school- parallel to father’s own exception from war?
Self-reliance/ insistence on creating weapons/ stealing through more difficult means and bribing male figure while eschewing aid of female caretakers— still emulating aunt/stepmother in choice of weapon
Was too concentrated on training in weaponry to worry about natsuko
How to Live 1937- transition point into accepting help from elderly maid and searching for Natsuko. inheriting guidance
fecemi la divina potestate- dante’s inferno reference? Divine power made me
dante inferno beatrice and virgil? heron virgil figure?
Class and bloodline codified. inheritance again
Heron from wall design in mystical library that caused greatuncle to “lose his mind”. Power of art and representation? How to Live and its influence
Eyes in the sun motif in the center of the tower— closeup of heron’s eyes.
Heron’s power represented with water. Mother’s death- fire
Rose shattered— phantom of the opera reference? Organic material frozen as a rigid unchanging representation
Multiple paintings evoked- isle of the dead, ships, the plains, pilgrim looking over the mist
All of those who seek my knowledge shall die- at gate on isle of the dead
Rejects Kiriko’s help initially and attempts to send her away, but the representational world kiriko becomes a mentor figure, and he implicitly accepts the protection of the elderly women as guardian dolls
Kiriko is a very hot woman but there are a lot of mixed ideas about overfishing and humanitarian relief that are also tied up with what appear to be Soldier metaphors
The usual antiwar sentiments are here, but the framing of imperialism and imperial projects are difficult to untangle. Might be due to protagonist’s perspective? Confusion of positioning and coming of age. War and colonial project as inheritance?
The departure of the small figures/ letting the dead go
Death as a ship— departures
Eating as provision and care vs eating as predation and consumption
Water as illusion and death (eternity?) vs fire as vitality and ephemerality. Protection.
Kiriko’s outfit depicts wheels
Father prioritizing production over family/
Explicit depiction of war proceeding
Okay so explicit parallel of bomb with a Structure destroying surrounding life right before the meiji restoration— nature intrudes and the granduncle builds a european style tower that consumes those who go near
Father arms himself and dresses in symbols of imperial power/ stuffs chocolate and a sword in his suit while holding an explorer’s lantern
“The one who made the hole has to fill it”
Using a knife to cut fish or to mend the beak or to craft a new weapon
Flight imagery in different contexts— heron/ departure of the dead/ fire flight
Guard birds have lanterns/ constrained fire as opposed to the free burning flames
Parakeets- caged birds
Birds and consumption
the attempt to fight against imagined or fantastical danger that becomes ridiculous within the context of the real- parakeet soldiers become real/harmless parakeets
New life within a grave— cycles of death and rebirth
Natsuko’s morning/mourning sickness within the context of her grief
Literally forced away from Natsuko by grief and representations of death that are then burned away by the power of her sister’s love and the thing that eventually killed her
Attempting to bridge the gap of rejection and being pushed away with acknowledgement of familial connection and a willingness to approach one another
The master of the tower continually evoked through famous western masterworks
The hallway of chiascuro- classical columns
Tapping at the geometric shapes. It’s literally a Study. His study is made out of artistic studies
God i wish i remembered the actual names of these paintings instead of just being able to recognize them
Evil greatuncle is the antagonist of slay the princess
His power of eternity comes from literal stone. Inorganic and thought to be unchanging, but subject to entropy
He imagines a world that is not subject to death and in this way disrespects the dead. His tools of study and construction are made from tombstones. Literally using the dead as building blocks
Stone and water are used to sharpen blades. Sharpening as an act of fighting against entropy
Food is a huge focus— plenty available for the parakeets, but the pelicans are starving. The shades cannot hunt for their own fish. In reality the people are desperate for canned food and rations
The parakeets eat people and display slavish devotion to their king. They all bear arms
Occasional staging like a Shakespearean play- hamlet moments
Silence when focused on the granduncle. Sound of wind when camera shifts to mahito
A tower built with malice toppling, an empire built upon graves, resentment for the frailty and mishandling of a structure leading to the parakeet king hastening its demise and destroying it with a symbolic weapon
Sincerity and death as interlinked concepts
Self-inflicted wound as representation of malice
The granduncle trained in england and brought ideas back. Isolated self from family in pursuit of perpetuity and… art? Empire? Imperial control and its manifestations through art? Inherited ideas
Miyazaki’s antiwar sentiments always seem to be filtered through the understanding of those dwelling within or benefitting from the empire’s power
Mahito does explicitly refuse the building blocks of empire/ imperial tools and reject the project/ inheritance with reference to his own capacity for malice. Gestures at self-inflicted wound. Implicit acknowledgment that empires cannot exist without malice? Seems too narrow/individually focused, but may be symptomatic of a story that is simultaneously attempting to be about family, art, and empire. Inheritance as throughline
I do think Miyazaki should retire for real this time and make time to bond with his grandson instead of trying to transmit a lifetime of lessons through a symbolic art piece maybe
#air's dabbles#how do i find this later. what tag do i even use.#well. i will come back and tag this later i'm gonna pass out
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omg just scrolled the masters of the air tag and now have an OC idea that i was not anticipating 🫣
#and now there’s some new scenes out on youtube and i SCREAMEDDDD#now the ideas are flowing#prob won’t be a full length story like my other fics but i’ll dabble :)#masters of the air#hbo war <- is it good to tag mota like this?
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I'm going to go on a stupid rant here for a minute...
I think it's really dumb and unfair how fics with certain kinks get worse kudos/hits ratios than more generic sexy fics.
there are piss kink fics out there that are objectively good, and if people don't have the ability to read and understand a tag, that's their fault. It's what it says in the freakin' tags!! why are you reading a piss kink fic if you don't like piss kink? and then just not leaving kudos? I don't get it. like what did you expect?
if you read a "weird" kinky fic just to check it out, the least you could do is leave a kudos if it's objectively well-written.
anyway. ugh. tired of the piss kink disrespect.
#it's not even one of my big kinks but like I do dabble in reading it for sure!#and it's such a damn breath of fresh air after reading the same type of sex scenes over and over#everyone should be more kinky is what I'm saying#royjamie#roy x jamie#wasn't gonna tag the ship but guess what I couldn't resist
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i could just collect sougo figures normally but instead i have the sudden urge to undergo the project of making a custom nendoroid doll for him
#i've dabbled with mlp customs before i love painting faces i just had trouble with air v oven dry clay bc i couldn't reroot#but i can afford better materials now and i wouldn't be doing anything from scratch mostly modding things#this would also give me an excuse to get into collecting miniatures again
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every few months I develop an obsession with a new city where I become convinced that maybe it’s the one with the right quality of life and/or relative affordability to live the life I want and right now it’s Minneapolis
#montréal is also a consistent one#but previous obsessions have included seattle (definitely lacking the affordability though)#Missoula#Burlington Vermont#and a very wide variety of smaller to medium sized cheaper cities around the US#occasionally#dabbled in international obsessions as#well#like Montevideo#and Buenos Aires and#Santiago at one point#there have also been various French cities and a few of the larger Australian cities#even though many of them are not realistic possibilities because I'd have to satisfy immigration requirements obviously
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well whatever im fucking crazy . back to my darling dear skdp pd au because ohhh baby do i love to say shit !!!
#william could so be the deathbringer btw. if he wanted to#he wouldnt but i think like. mal is the head of the temple abd william defected young then fucking died and got crazy powerful bc he doesnt#need to channel his necromancy.. he hasnt had his surge yet though so he dabbles in elemental shit though mostly fire and air since theyre#the most powerful by FAR. dakota has tge unbreakable skin thing with the strength and all. no surge but his powers were formed by instinct#so he doesnt know how to do other things. absolutely no clue about vyn as per usual but i can keep the alt dimension shit thats a thing#hed be old enough for his surge buttt probably wouldnt have it if hed only gotten to that dimension a couple months before? magic existed#in his homeworld so maybe he tries out elemental stuff before maybe going for powers similar to tanith with wallwalking and something extra#bc i think it would look cool. ok. and i make the rules
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Mars and Sex
18+. Mars' house placement or aspects may modify certain details/traits
MARS IN FIRE (Aries Mars, Leo Mars, Sagittarius Mars) 🌶️
They are fun and playful in bed, not taking it too seriously. If something silly or awkward happens during the act, they're quick to laugh about it. They can also make you laugh before they make you... you know. Sex must always have an element of excitement or thrill for them, which is why they need a very sexual, passionate partner. A dry bedroom is like a death sentence for them. They get off on an element of danger, like public sex or doing it at an inappropriate time, like a family visit or on a flight. Potentially getting caught is really hot to them. They also LOVE a good simp and the especially confident ones attract this easily. The more you worship them and their body, the better. At the least, they need you to consistently tell them how hot they are and how awesome they are in bed. Validation turns them on. Calling out their name while doing it really works. Hype them up! It's their fuel. They're also most likely to record themselves, as in making a sex tape, and most turned on by that.
MARS IN EARTH (Taurus Mars, Virgo Mars, Capricorn Mars) 💋
These people are very straightforward sexually. Typically, they have very simple and non-kinky desires. They're pretty vanilla but do not take that in a negative way. Most of them are downright experts in bed and can really, um, impress partners with their skills. They just don't need any bells and whistles. The pure physical pleasure of sex is more than enough to satisfy them. (Sex toys aren't really their thing, either. They'd rather just have another person or their own hand.) However, if their partner is kinky, they will fully commit, so long as it's within their boundaries. Foreplay is also a MUST. Lots of kissing, maybe some wine, working up to the action. They prefer a nice buildup. Jumping right in too quickly or without any sensuality turns them off. They hate it when a partner doesn't kiss, for example, and they're usually superb kissers themselves. Using their mouth in that other way is also their special skill.
MARS IN AIR (Gemini Mars, Libra Mars, Aquarius Mars) 😏
Do not let a chill or innocent demeanor fool you. Some of them come across that way but these people are WILD. In general, definitely kinky and always down to experiment. You might be shocked if they ran down a list of the sexual things they've dabbled in. Sex is a very mental thing to them and they will try any idea that either comes to their mind or that someone else has. They can actually be very impressionable in that way. Communication is their thing, so they can be very verbal in a really hot, effective way. This can also translate into plenty of sexting or some video-call action. They love hookup apps, too. But, some of them talk a big game yet get nervous when they actually have to do all those things. Yes, they can get bored easily but they also can be most eager to please in bed. Typically, they care a lot about you enjoying yourself. Some can take that to the extreme of wanting to watch you get off or even watch you be with someone else (if you're into that).
MARS IN WATER (Cancer Mars, Scorpio Mars, Pisces Mars) 💦
These people are not necessarily the genteel lovers you may expect them to be. In fact, many of them are very rough in bed or just love to be roughed up by their partner. Generally, it's like you see another layer of their personality during sex that they may be too shy or self-protective to reveal otherwise. The flip side of this is that some of them are surprisingly much softer during sex than elsewhere, either being very submissive or having that "soft top" energy. Either way, sub/dom dynamics are HUGE with them. They are really into choking or slapping or inflicting pain. Sex may not be satisfactory for them unless it leaves bruises; on them or their partner. But, unless they're mentally unwell, they would never want to hurt without consent. Safety words and such. Sex for them can span a wide range because, if they feel safe enough, they can have the most tender lovemaking sessions. Or baby-making sessions, if it's a hetero couple who want that. Casual sex can be very hard to nearly impossible for them. Some may convince themselves they can do it but if they sleep with someone just a few times, things inevitably get messy. They can get very irrational or insecure if they don't feel truly needed by their partner.
#astrology#mars in astrology#mars signs#mars placements#mars in aries#mars in taurus#mars in gemini#mars in cancer#mars in leo#mars in virgo#mars in libra#mars in scorpio#mars in sagittarius#mars in capricorn#mars in aquarius#mars in pisces
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✿ 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨 ✿
characters: jing yuan x gn!reader
warnings: fluff, bad attempt at humor, reader is immortal, established relationship, jing yuan being jealous, found family slightly in there, yanqing coming in at the wrong time pt19487288482877
notes: i have fed yall enough horny food. now its time for fluff food aka small dosage of serotonin. open wideeeee🚂🚂🚂
the constant noise of your irritated lover was something that you disregarded with little to no attention. you could feel it after all. that familiar feeling of your husband’s eyes boring into the back of your skull like the insanely heavy glaive he carries. it wasn’t exactly a common feeling to receive but on the moments that it happens, you could never forget the feeling.
you can just imagine it already. the pout pulling on the white haired man’s lips, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the impatient thumps of his feet rapidly hitting the floor as small sparks of lightning would float around him. of course, you can’t forget the iconic, “what about me?” puppy eyes he pulls.
“beloved” the deep baritone voice of jing yuan calls out, sounding way too serious for anyone’s comfort. if his soldiers that stand guard inside his office would still be around, they would be shivering in their armory from the sheer amount of unsettling feeling it brought. it wasn’t like that they have never seen their general angry or serious. it was just that, it rarely happens and so much fewer now since he was nearing his retirement.
turning around from what you were most greatly occupied with, you give him a few seconds of acknowledgment. finally, you were looking at him now. your eyes on him, the brightest stars he loved to gaze into even as the ever burning ones around him twinkles. you were always his favorite.
“jing yuan” you simply hum with a nod before turning back to what you were obsessing over. the loud dramatic gasp that comes from where your husband is barely fazes you, as you knew he was simply trying to get your attention. you knew your husband like the back of your hand and you knew for a fact that he wasn’t hurt as he shows himself to be.
“how dare you!” the man’s voice raises a bit, the sound of his steps sounding heavier than usual as he finally comes behind you to sweep you up into his arms. you immediately let out a soft grunt, feeling his strong arms tighten around you possessively as he refuses to let you go. instead, he pulls your smaller form flush against himself, face buried into the crook of your neck with a "hmph!". such a big baby you were married to.
"jing yuan, let go of me" you say, not bothering to wiggle yourself out of his grasp since you knew it would be an impossible task. your husband can be dangerously clingy and possessive at times and this was definitely one of those times.
"nuh.." your husband immediately rebuttals, shaking his face and proceeding to nuzzle his face further into the crook of your neck. deeply inhaling your scent, you could see his broad shoulders visibly relax and slump to indicate that he was calming down from his earlier mini temper tantrum. the two of you stay like that for a while. you, held captive in his arms as your husband takes his time to cuddle you close to himself. as close as fleshly possible. not even single moment for something else to wedge between the two of you, not even the cool air of his office. if there were to be the smallest bit of distance between the two of you, he would be extremely deprived of his already dangerously low level of [name] affections.
you had been away to the xianzhou zhuming for a business trip. as one of the most accomplished merchant and the head of the trade association, sometimes your work required you to move back and forth between places, worlds and even galaxies. and this time was no different as your business partner of long time in the xianzhou zhuming had come to a stalemate in their business there due to the ipc's recent dabbling in the xianzhou alliance's trading business. it had dragged on way longer than what you would've liked which also translated to an extended period of time of not seeing your husband, your son and daughter all together. a time away that your clingy husband took very badly, even worse than your son and daughter.
but not for you, as the first thing you did upon coming back from the trip and stepping in through the large doors of his office was to head straight towards your daughter - mimi. the large lion was sulking quietly in his office ever since you went away for your business trip, constantly pawing at jing yuan's clothes and whining for your presence. and upon seeing your face, she immediately pounced in your direction, wasting no time as she pushed you down into the hologram showcasing the large starchess board as she licked all over your face. an act of affection that you returned with a hearty laugh and kisses to her adorable fluffy face. an act of affection that your husband was very very very jealous of.
he was supposed to be the one to tackle you down and pepper your face in kisses and in return have his face peppered in kisses in return! not mimi!
and yes, jing yuan was jealous over his own fluffy daughter stealing his spouse away from him. blatantly, unabashedly, without shame was jealous over. which led to now, in you being trapped in his inescapable hold. really, the galls of this man.
"mmrrp? mrreeow?" mimi meows, butting her head against jing yuan's legs to get his attention while also making it sound as if she wanted the attention back on her again. it was tough having not one but two needy lions scampering for your attention.
"mimi, you have already had enough of their attention. now it's my turn with my own spouse!" jing yuan chides the lion softly, making her let out an irritated huff. mimi wanted her parent's attention but jing yuan also wanted his spouse's attention. it was a tug of war between the two lions with you as their unfortunate victim.
after many back and forths between the two lions, jing yuan had decided he had enough and decided to swoop you off of your feet. quite literally. the smug bastard had kicked your legs under you, making you fall back into a dip with a startled gasp. giving you an "i told you so" look, your husband cups your cheek in the palm of his hand before leaning in to place a fluffy of kisses on your face. cheeks, the bridge of your nose, forehead, chin, eyelids, lips - nowhere was free from the mercy of his kisses and jing yuan was going to make the whole world be reminded that you two were happily married.
"general! i heard that [name]'s bac-EWWWW!!!" the sudden barging in of you two's son is what finally separates you from his barrage of kisses. turning to look at his son, jing yuan makes a shooing motion with his hand - momentarily letting go of you cheek in the process - with mimi.
"me and [name] are busy right now, yanqing. take mimi out for a walk for an hour or two" the white haired man says without an ounce of shame, your breathless self still in his hold. reluctantly, yanqing does as told, calling mimi to his side to leave you two lovebirds be for some time. but not without one final word of advice.
"wait until back home at least, you two!!" and with that, your son and daughter were gone, leaving you both behind to have at least a small dose of affection that the both of you were deprived off of. with an amused chuckle at his son's words, he shakes his head before turning to you with his resting cat face. pair of golden eyes crinkling as mirth and devotion dance in them while his lips pull upwards into the genuine smiles he permanently has on his face whenever you were in his line of sight. all jing yuan could do was thank the reignbow arbiter and every aeons out there for granting him to be able to live in the same time as you.
"how i am blessed to be with you, my most beloved"
#nobu.writes#hsr x reader#hsr x you#hsr x y/n#hsr x gender neutral reader#honkai star rail x reader#honkai star rail x you#honkai star rail x gender neutral reader#honkai star rail fanfic#hsr fanfic#jing yuan x reader#jing yuan x you#jing yuan x y/n#jing yuan x gender neutral reader#jing yuan fluff#gender neutral reader
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dp x dc Chronos part 2
Part 1 and Part 3
The Justice League sat in the Watchtower, some of them at least. The meeting was meant to be a quick one, only certain members in attendance to make sure they were all on the same page after the debrief of the last mission. Not all of them were necessary and most were usually busy.
Today Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash and Green Lantern were in the middle of wrapping things up when the alert sounded. The siren blared twice before the red lights in the corner of each room flashed in an emergency.
“What in the world…” Flash grumbled but was obviously the first to the controls to look for the problem. None of the main alarms had been triggered, none of the doors messed with. No unusual motion noted in parts of the station that were currently vacant. “Weird.”
“What is it?” Batman was next beside him, arms crossed as he peered at the screen with narrowed eyes.
“It’s the sensors.” Flash said. “We’re picking up some kind of interference.”
“Way up here? What kind?” Green Lantern asked, he’d moved to one of the wide windows of the viewing deck as if he would be able to see something approaching. As things were, there was nothing but the normal vastness of space with Earth to one side.
“No idea.” Flash said. “Never seen something like this before.”
“Any idea on a location?” Superman asked, appearing by Green Lantern’s side.
Flash just clucked his tongue, hitting buttons much faster than a normal person. It was almost an irritation that he had to wait for the computer to keep up with him. “I mean, there’s nothing exactly to track yet.”
“An anomaly then.” Wonder Woman said, leaning back against the conference table they’d all just been sitting around. “Something natural?”
“There’s nothing natural about this.” Batman said, tone skeptical as he gazed at the screens.
“Gonna side with that bat on this one.” Flash said, “It’s more like a warning before anything happens. Something setting off the sensors but nothing else? Feels like it was on purpose.”
Green Lantern rolled his eyes. “What, like something’s knocking before they make themselves known?”
Before anyone could even offer their opinion on what they thought of something so ridiculous, a spark of green ripped through the air like lightning. Just as quickly it spread out into an obvious portal. Every member of the Justice League sprang into position, circling the phenomenon to block it in from every direction. Things like this shouldn’t have been possible, but it wasn’t the first time an intruder had gotten creative to get inside the Watchtower.
Without any fanfare, a man stepped out. They presumed it was a man anyway. He was dressed in mostly shades of purple other than his leather boots and gloves. He was covered by a cloak and hood, but when he looked up, it was hard to say what about him was the most unsettling. The red eyes. The blue skin. The pendulum clock that set back into his chest so far that he could only be missing crucial organs.
“Who are you?” Superman demanded, quickly trying to assess if there would be a fight or not.
“How did you get here?” Batman said right after, gravel tone somehow more frightening because he was calm.
The intruder just gestured with his thumb at the portal behind him. “Thought it was rather obvious.”
“Your purpose?” Wonder Woman asked, looking relaxed but her body was tense and ready to react in a moments notice.
“My purpose?” He chuckled quietly. In his hand was a staff they’d almost missed before, the top of it cradling a clock. It seemed to be a theme given the number of watches and clocks he wore. “I’ve come to call in a favor. The Justice League owes me several.”
“We owe you? Ppfff. Yeah right. We don’t even know who you are.” Flash rolled his eyes.
The intruder turned to the Flash, his brow raised. “Speedster, with the amount of times you’ve dabbled in the time stream, you alone owe me your life a fair few times.”
“Time, huh?” Green Lantern looked him over. There were a lot of clocks... “Guess that’s your schtick.”
He chuckled again. “I go by many names, only one will be relevant to you today.” He turned his attention onto Wonder Woman who squared up under his gaze. If she was going to be his focus then she’d take him head on.
“And?” She arched a brow at him. “What name may we call you?”
He looked amused, red eyes filled with mirth. “You, Diana, may call me grandfather.”
The room stilled, the others looking around in varying degrees of confusion while Wonder Woman just paled.
“Chronos. God of time…” she muttered, making it very clear to the team what they were dealing with. A God.
“I go by master of time these days, but yes. I am that Chronos. I have a task for you, Diana. One i do not think you will turn down but i’ll give you the illusion of choice.” Chronos said, the minute and hour hands on his staff moving strangely.
“You’re a god, and you come to us for help?” Batman asked, unimpressed no matter the glowers he was being sent by the others.
“You are the Justice League, aren’t you?” Chronos looked pleased. “Righting wrongs. Defending Earth. Justice is in the name and everything.”
He didn’t talk like a god. He didn’t even talk as formally as Wonder Woman herself tended to occasionally.
“Doing tasks for you is asking for trouble.” Wonder Woman muttered. She’d heard stories, so many stories.
Chronos shrugged. “Time is messy. Keeping it in line is difficult. Especially when there are those who mess with it who should not.” He was not above verbally throwing speedsters under the bus.
“What do you want?” Green Lantern asked, obviously suspicious but paying very close attention.
“Simple.” Chronos answered, still looking at his granddaughter. “You will take custody of your uncle for a time. He needs a safe place to rest and live.”
The silence that followed was loud, no one knowing what to make of that. Wonder Woman herself looked puzzled.
“Are you claiming a sibling of Zeus needs a babysitter?”
Chronos hummed. “He is my son though he holds no biological relation to your father, i suppose.”
“Then how is he her uncle?” Flash asked, with a hint of sass.
“You can ask Batman how it works.” Chronos mused, saying all he would say on the matter but that was enough.
Wonder Woman couldn’t fathom what kind of person her grandfather would see fit to adopt. “Are you going to tell me more?”
“Telling you more would imply you were agreeing to the task.”
She tsked. “None of your word games. I want to know what i could be walking into.”
Chronos never once looked threatened or put out, he did however, appear to look a few years older than he had when he’d first appeared. “He recently needed to be removed from his home for his safety. He can easily visit me but staying with me long term at this time is not beneficial to him for health reasons.”
Superman frowned. “Removed from his home? How old is he?”
“Sixteen. If that is all you need to know, i will fetch him. It may take some time for him to regain consciousness.” Chronos said.
“He’s been hurt?” Batman was frowning at the thought, looking more and more unhappy as the conversation progressed.
“I did say he was removed from his home.” Chronos said, almost flippantly as he stepped back into his glowing green portal. It remained open, everyone exchanging looks.
“Diana, is this a good idea?” Superman asked, willing to accept her judgment. Greek gods were more her wheelhouse.
“Chronos was a titan. Is a titan?” She frowned. “His power is immense for a being thought to be killed.”
“Something about him is off.” Batman agreed. “He was not worried at all. That is someone aware they have the upper hand.”
Wonder Woman just nodded her agreement. Chronos was the god of time. There was no telling what he knew. “I’ve never met him before.”
“Hell of a time for family reunions.” Flash snarked, heading back to the controls to see what readings they could get on the floating portal. It was obvious each of them wanted to study it in their own way. Scans and samples were first on their minds but it was clearly some kind of magic they weren’t familiar with.
It was almost a shame there wasn’t a single member from JLD currently in the Watchtower. They might have been able to provide answers.
Before much of anything could be done, Chronos returned, somehow looking several years younger than when he first appeared. In his arms was a lanky teen, cradled carefully as if he were fragile. He was equally a sight that left the League speechless. He wasn’t blue, in fact he looked more or less human other that the freckles that shined.
Superman was the one to immediately note they were constellation patterned.
His hair was a stark white that wisped and flowed as if he were under water. His clothes were strange, a detailed variation of an old hazmat suit, all done in black and white. Floating above his head was a crown that didn’t seem to know if it wanted to be on fire or covered in ice. It bobbed back and forth and even did a slow flip in the air but never left the area about the boy’s head.
When no one uttered a word, Chronos took that as permission to begin the introductions. “Diana, this is your uncle. Danny Phantom. Son of the Stars. The Personification of Balance. The Ghost King. High King of the Infinite Realm.”
“He’s a king?” Batman frowned. “He’s a boy.”
“He could be both, Bats. He’s got a crown.” Flash chuckled softly.
Chronos shared his amusement. “I did say he was only sixteen.” The god paused for a moment as the teen twisted in his arms, his face pressed against Chronos’ shoulder and a hand lightly pressed against the door of the clock embedded into the man’s chest.
The fact that, even asleep, the boy was comfortable in the gods arms didn’t go unnoticed.
“Is he injured?” Wonder Woman asked. They’d gone over this already but he didn’t look actively wounded. He seemed to be sleeping only.
Chronos grunted once. “One form heals faster than the other. He needs rest, ambient ectoplasm which he knows how to get on his own, and food. He can answer your questions if he feels like it.”
“If he feels like it?” Green Lantern frowned.
“He’s the King.” Chronos’ lips twitched in amusement again. “If he decides to tell you more, or seek help, that is his decision.”
“Seek help?” Batman’s eyes were narrowed. “Seek help for what?”
Chronos approached and shifted the teenager into Wonder Woman’s arms. His crown shifted back and forth but never left the teen. The grip he had on the god wasn’t noticed until he tried to pull away and Chronos needed to carefully extract the boy’s hand.
Ignoring Batman, he pressed on. “He’ll need to follow up with his doctor by the end of the week. He’ll know how to do that. If he doesn’t, his doctor will come to him. That should be incentive enough.”
“Does he know you’re dropping him off here?” Superman asked, brows knitted together in concern. The heroes had been expecting a fight, not to be handed a royal teen.
“He has a fondness for for space, so you might want to let him wake up here.” Chronos said instead, ignoring that question too. He was growing older again, a short, white beard starting to form.
“How long will he need to be in my care?” Wonder Woman asked, noting the boy weighed very little in her arms. In sleep his features were soft, hopefully he was as sweet as he looked.
“Good luck.” Chronos said, staff reappearing in his hand now, turning back to the portal without giving her an answer.
“Hey! Wait!” Flash yelled but for once, he was too slow, the god and the portal disappeared.
Five members of the Justice League just stood in a mild stupor, their attention shifting to the sleeping teen.
“Well…” Superman muttered.
Wonder Woman looked at the boy, floating hair and crown moving in tandem. “I’ll set him down. We’ll see if he can answer any of our questions when he wakes up.”
“You gonna call him Uncle Danny?” Flash asked, not bothering to hide his smile.
Wonder Woman just ignored him and turned to stride off towards the med-station.
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No idea at all if i’ll continue this. If anyone else wants too, go for it. ^_^
@markus209
#dp x dc#dc x dp crossover#clockwork#justice league#Looks like Wonder Woman is Danny's guardian now#Danny Phantom#wonder woman
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Of the Same Mind
Benedict Bridgerton x Reader
Summary: A mutual distaste in a certain author—should he even have the grace to be called that—leads to an unexpected meeting.
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: mentions of drinking/alcohol, pregnancy, fluff, time skip
A/N: a cute lil request! made me actually read a little Byron myself to get the gist! and it wasn't that terrible I'm so sorry to disappoint
Dull.
Everything was dull. What was supposed to be the social event of the season was shortened due to poor weather—an outdoors event of sorts, it seemed, Benedict really didn’t pay his mother much attention when she explained the whole ordeal. Thus, half of the ton was crammed into Lord Whitehill’s home instead of his luscious grounds, all due to the pouring rain. Most conversation was boring, most of the ladies were whining about the rain, the men whining about their whining wives and daughters.
At least the drinks were good.
“…seriously think that fodder is worth your breath?”
Benedict’s ears perked up, focusing on a conversation that was decidedly not about the current weather. A breath of fresh air.
“I-I did not mean to insult you, miss,” a young gentleman sputtered, his face rosy red. “I only meant to indulge you in poetry of the highest regard—”
“If that was your intention, you would have chosen from a finer list of poets. Byron?” The lady nearly laughed out loud. “Byron is the bottom of the barrel, as it were, so your intention was ill-placed.”
“Byron is a well-regarded poet—”
“By who? Chamber pots?”
Benedict nearly spat out his drink. The action alone brought the attention of the arguing couple to him—both sets of eyes trained on the tall Bridgerton at once. “Oh,” he fake coughed, “it seems the drink went down the wrong way, please, forgive me.”
The man—who Benedict now recognized as Lord Whitehill’s son—scoffed. “Bridgerton. You are well versed in the arts, are you not?”
Benedict nodded. “I dabble.”
“Would you please explain to Miss (Y/L/N) that Byron is a novel poet,” Mr. Whitehill asked, “and that she should be flattered I recited poetry for her, regardless of the poet?”
Miss (Y/L/N). So that was the lady’s name.
“But that would be lying, Whitehill,” Benedict gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. “And I am ever a gentleman, raised to never lie, especially to a fine lady such as Miss (Y/L/N).”
She smiled at that.
“You do not agree?”
“Oh I certainly agree with Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict said quickly, setting his glass down. “Byron is a mockery to the art—meaningless words and jaunty titles, why, I tried to read his latest and it put me right to sleep.”
“I fear I had the same reaction,” Miss (Y/L/N) said, turning to Benedict in earnest. “Right before I decided to throw it to the flames.”
They both laughed.
“Imbeciles, the both of you,” Mr. Whitehill said, pushing past the newly acquainted pair. “Keep insulting me like that and I’ll have my father throw the both of you out into the storm.”
“Mr. Whitehill,” Miss (Y/L/N) said softly, her eyes melting into puddles of apology. “I fear we were not insulting you, but rather your taste in poets. I also fear there is a stark difference in that, for if I were to insult you, I’d make a more fitting jab, more educated in that regard.”
The shorter gentleman stormed off, steam nearly pouring from his ears. Benedict laughed.
“I must say, Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict leaned down. “You have quite the sharp tongue.”
“I am known to be rather well spoken,” she beamed, standing a little straighter. “Perhaps it is my taste in literature?”
“For that, I believe we are in agreement,” Benedict said, grabbing a fresh glass from the table beside him. “May I offer the lady a beverage?”
“Only if you decide to share whatever’s in that pocket of yours,” she pointed to his chest. Benedict’s ears went pink. “Do not think I did not see you pour an added flavoring into the lemonade—it seems impolite that you would neglect to share.”
“It would be impolite,” Benedict said, carefully pulling his flask out of his coat. “I am surprised you saw that, though, given the crowded room.”
“You are a tall man, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, taking the glass from his hand. Benedict poured a healthy amount of clear liquor into her cup before adding the rest to his own. “I would have found it hard to ignore you.”
“Your first season? I presume?”
“Technically,” she said, looking up into his blue eyes. “My family, we just moved to Mayfair. My father came into some money and relocated us here this year, my brother is set to study at Eton in the fall.”
“And you?”
“I am now expected to marry a rich and eligible bachelor,” she laughed into her glass. “Which I really have no problem doing, save for the fact that gentleman is nothing like Mr. Whitehill.”
“Mr. Whitehill is rather rich,” Benedict smirked. “Would that not placate you?”
“And listen to him dribble about Byron? Perish that thought,” she said. “When I do marry, I expect my husband to be of the same mind, a similar taste in the arts.”
“You know,” Benedict nearly whispered, “that is an admirable thought. But how will you find this man?”
She looked him up and down, quickly and all at once, returning to drink from her glass.
“I suppose I will know when I find him,” she smirked.
Benedict smiled back. “Well, please let me know when you do, I feel rather invested in your prospects.”
“You will be the first to know, I assure you,” Miss (Y/L/N) said, nodding her head. “But, if I may be so bold, if you are not currently preoccupied, would you care to further our discussion on Byron? It is hard to find someone who agrees with such a… contrasting opinion of the poet.”
“Why, Miss (Y/L/N),” Benedict finished his glass, offering his arm, “I was afraid you’d never ask.”
—
The gardens on the property were lovely, so lush and full of life. She made good on her promise to keep them well maintained, only keeping the finest blooms and plants in their care. It was always the perfect place to spend time on days like today, sunny, a gentle breeze.
They had given the governess a day off, her mother had fallen ill, it was the least the Bridgertons could do for her.
“Mother!”
The lady looked up from her book, eyes meeting with her eldest daughter. Blue eyes, just like her father.
“Yes, darling?”
“Might I go inside to grab other books? Aunt Eloise recently sent some to Father and I want to read them.”
The lady gave her daughter a trying look. “Do you not think they may be above your comprehension level, my love? They were intended for your father, after all.”
“No need,” a looming voice bellowed. “I have them right here.”
She didn’t need to look up to know who it belonged to. “Benedict, I thought you were spending time in the studio this afternoon.”
“And miss spending time with my darling wife and children?” Benedict grinned, the crooked way she fell in love with. “That seems foolish on my part.”
“Father!” Their eldest exclaimed, running over to the tallest Bridgerton. “You brought the books?”
“Indeed,” Benedict nodded, handing the parcel off to his daughter. “Aunt Eloise thought we may have better use of these than her and Phillip do.”
Their daughter lit up with excitement—ever the reader, she was. It took a village to keep their library stocked with appropriate books for her age, but she was quickly out-reading her entire family’s collection. “Thank you, Father!”
“Well,” Benedict said modestly, “you must write to your Aunt Eloise and thank her, I had little to do with such a gift.”
“What about me, papa?”
Their son, only a few years younger than their daughter came bounding up past his escaping sister, clearly having been playing in the mud. “Do I have any gifts from auntie?”
(Y/N) opened her arms. “Not this time, sweetheart, but come here, let mama wipe that dirt off of your nose—”
“No!” He exclaimed, turning from his mother. “Dirt makes me ruggable—like Uncle Colin!”
“Rugged,” Benedict corrected gently. “And, no, dirt makes you dirty. You need to stop spending so much time with Colin…”
“Once baby brother is here I will,” their son nodded, putting both hands on his hips, looking down at his sitting mother.
“Oh darling,” (Y/N) said, trying to raise to her feet. Benedict quickly offered his hands, pulling her up. “Baby will not be here for a few more months.”
“Then more time with Uncle Colin!”
Benedict and (Y/N) sighed, watching their adventurous son run back to the mud. “We must write Colin, tell him of the monster he has created.”
“Our eldest is such an easygoing flower,” Benedict said, noting how she was carefully skimming through the various books on her lap. “Our son tests our patience.”
“And how do you think this one will be?” (Y/N) asked, placing his hand on her swelling stomach. She only had two or so more months until the delivery, if she had been correct on the conception. The latest Bridgerton wedding seemed to be the culprit, stolen kisses and a romantic rendezvous to the greenhouse away from the party—it was a perfect recipe for baby number three. “Calm and collected? Devilish and adventurous?”
“I pray they are just like their mother,” Benedict rubbed her belly affectionately. “And perhaps a bit more behaved than their brother… I suppose I should also write my mother an apology.”
“Whatever for?”
“I reckon my brothers and I acted much like our son,” Benedict said sheepishly. “Acting like Bridgerton boys, I am afraid.”
“As if that is the only explanation,” she giggled, leaning into his side. “But I am sure your mother would appreciate such a gesture. Perhaps you should send her a bouquet from our garden, too?”
“An excellent idea, my love,” Benedict said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “What a brilliant mind you have.”
“Father, Mother!” Their daughter called out, waving them towards her. “Aunt Eloise sent a book by an author I have never heard of before.”
“Oh?” Benedict quirked his brow, walking with his wife over to her. “And what author may that be?”
“A Lord Byron,” she said, showing the book with a deep brown cover to her parents. Benedict scooped the tome quickly from his daughter’s grasp, holding it close to his chest.
“And you shall never read such filth,” Benedict said seriously.
“Oh Benedict,” (Y/N) laughed. “Perhaps we should allow our daughter to expand her mind—come to her own conclusions on the matter? Surely Aunt Eloise meant the gift in kind.”
“Aunt Eloise clearly meant to send it as a cruel prank,” Benedict corrected.
“What is so wrong with that author, Father?”
“A shorter conversation would be what is not wrong with this author,” Benedict said, turning to call his son. The little boy ran over to his father’s side, ever eager. “Take this and bury it, preferably far away from here.” His wife could not stop her laughter, watching their son hurriedly run over to the new rose bushes, making good work at digging a deep enough hole for the book. “You,” Benedict pointed at the girl, “are forbidden to read anything written by that lowly man.”
“Oh Benedict,” (Y/N) admonished, trying hard to stop her laughter, “forbidding her from reading seems silly—”
“Are we not of the same mind on Byron?” Benedict asked. “I rather think that is how we met, is it not, dearest wife?”
She pursed her lips, fighting a smile. “We are.”
“Besides,” Benedict stood a little straighter, “the roses could use a bit more sustenance.”
She could only roll her eyes.
#Bridgerton#Benedict Bridgerton x Reader#Benedict Bridgerton#Bridgerton x Reader#bridgerton imagines#if this title has been used before i apologize!#still not sure if I'm digging the whole... photo thing with the post#but it's cute no?
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Any smutty dabbles with mean brat tamer geto?
GETO SUGURU has the habit of losing his temper when it comes to you. usually he is a kind and loving boyfriend, never daring to hurt you in any kind of way. except of course in bed.
he is dominant and merciless. making you cry, whimper, beg. your whining shooting every drop of blood into his cock before ramming himself inside, stretching you out. what really gets him (and you) riled up though is him having to tame you.
this time however you overstepped. you made a fool out of him in front of gojo and shoko. how dare you tell them his most embarrassing moments? show them pictures you swore you deleted? gojo and shoko were dying of laughter – their faces red, barely able to breath. and even when geto told you to go home, his voice strict and demanding, you disobeyed. it ended with geto grabbing your hand and dragging you home. now you had to face the consequences.
“you’re a dumb fucking brat”, he hissed into your ear, shortly after he brought his belt down, smacking your ass.
“T-ten…please, daddy, please st–stop”, you whimpered. your ass was burning as you were bent over his desk – naked, legs spread wide to expose your slick, wet cunt.
fuck, did he love the view. ten whips, a few were across your sweet, sweet pussy. he could see how wet you were, even from a distance, the lights of his dimly lit apartment glistening on your slit.
geto reached out, his index finger caressing your hot skin, tracing what his belt left on your behind. you looked so good – drooling, legs trembling, begging.
“you just need to apologize, princess, that’s it.”
“…fuck no”
another blow hit your ass, a squeaked eleven falling from your lips.
“dumb lil brat.”
how long were you going to keep this up? geto was hard – rock solid, his cock pushing against his pants almost painfully. you just needed to apologize, just say ‘i’m sorry, daddy’ and daddy would thrust into your soaked hole.
with heaving chest geto reached his free hand down to unbutton his pants and pull out his aching cock. it was long and thick, veiny and leaking pre-cum. in a swift motion he threw the belt away and used his hand to give you your twelfth smack.
suddenly you felt something hot gliding between your ass cheeks and something hitting against your pussy. geto couldn’t help himself. his goal was to punish you be denying penetration until you’ve muttered those three words but fuck, he was horny, desperate to fill you up. so, instead he used your body to satisfy his desire.
“keep counting.”
feeling geto’s cock against your skin surprised you but you had no time to think about it. his flat hand landed on your cheek, the next one following shortly after.
“thirteen…ngh– f-fourteen”
his eyes were glued on the beautiful view. your ass was burning bright red due to his spanking, his cock looked perfect between those smacked cheeks and every time he spanked you, he could see the recoil. he was going to lose control. he wanted to fuck you so badly, wanted to drill you, push himself into you as deep as he could and kiss your cervix with every thrust. but he needed to tame you first.
“you’re such a bad girl, ah, a little brat.”
“f-fifteen!”
without a warning geto stepped back, the cold air hitting your marks causing goosebumps all over your body. you heard geto walking towards something before he instructed you to stand up and walk over to him. what you saw left you breathless.
geto was sitting on his chair, leaned back, legs spread wide, his cock pressing against his stomach. a few strands of hair falling across his face, lips parted. his eyes were filled with nothing but primal desire. almost hypnotized you followed his command, stopping right between his legs.
“now kneel, slut.”
once again you followed suit, resting your head on his thigh, your breath on his cock making it twitch slightly. his hand rested on your head, softly caressing your hair.
“open your mouth for daddy, baby”, geto now put both of his hands on your head, “now, baby, apologize for the shit you’ve done. stop being a brat.”
you looked at him through your lashes, mouth open wide and your drool dripping down coating his dick, and you shook your head no.
“so you wanna be a bratty slut? daddy’s gotta treat you like one then.”
there was no time to answer. geto pushed your head down, his cock entering your mouth, down your throat. it felt so good. your tongue pressed against him, knowing what spot he liked the most. and then he started to fuck your face.
he grabbed you by your hair to hold you in place and vigorously moved his hips upwards, fucking into youz
“mph…ngh”, was all you could muster. it turned you on – a lot. being his slut, being his personal fucktoy. feeling his cock pulsate in your mouth, barely letting you take a breath between his hard, sloppy thrusts.
“bet you’re fucking wet…mmh”, geto picked up his pace, “don’t you fucking dare touch yourself, baby, i mean it.”
touching yourself wouldn’t have helped. your insides were screaming for geto. they were clenching around nothing, your panties already soaked through. this time you listened, trying to concentrate on your breathing.
“wish you could see yourself right now. my…f-fuck, my cock inside your mouth, your lips wrapped around it so tightly.”
geto licked his lips. drool was already dropping down your chin, your tears mixing with your mascara and rolling down your cheek.
“like a dirty little slut. that’s what you look like. a desperate, needy bitch who acts like a brat just to be fucked harder.”
geto was never this mean. this was new.
“so pretty when you let me use you as a toy, whore.”
you breathed through your nose, trying your best to relax yourself as he fucked your mouth. pushing your head down onto his cock, geto stopped fucking your face to hold your head down so you couldn’t pull away.
you choked, tapping his thigh before he let go of your head. you pulled away from him, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his tip.
“please…please, d–daddy…’m begging for, for your cock , daddy.”
“yea, you wanna have daddy’s cock? do you think cocky brats deserve it?”
out of a sudden he pulled you up, positioning you on his thigh. you instantly started to rock your hips, your clit rubbing against the rough fabric of his pants.
“riding my thigh now?”, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your waist, forcing you to roll your hips faster, “beg for daddy’s cock. tell me how much you need me to fuck the shit out of you, slut.”
“begging, daddy…mmh, fuck, please, daddy. fuck me. need–need your cock so much.”
every part of you was lusting after his cock. the way he fills you up, stretches you out, his rough and hard thrusts reaching to your deepest parts, your pussy clenching, tightening around him.
“apologize then.”
“…don’t wanna!”
you could see a fire igniting in his dark eyes as he wrapped his fingers around your throat, lifting you up so that you couldn’t grind your soaked cunt all over him.
“guess daddy has to tame you for good this time.”
#𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk x reader#smut jjk#jjk smut#geto suguru#suguru geto#geto jjk#geto smut#geto x y/n#geto x you#geto x reader#suguru x you#suguru x y/n#suguru smut
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“Sure.” Clark grinned. “By the way, how’d this fit into your master plan?” He asked, gesturing at his arm.
“It didn’t,” Batman said, a sulky edge to his voice. “You moved.”
Clark held back a snort of his own. Apparently, planning for every eventuality didn’t account for complex, obscure variables like ‘someone moved a little bit’.
At Long Last. The Chapter for Which This Fic's WIP Tag is Named is Upon Us. Batman is here and real and he is in the sewers.
(promo image contributed by Stella )
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Fan Theory: Alastor had a rivalry with Thomas Edison (yes, really) in the 1920s
I originally had a whole theory typed up with lots of evidence for this, but my computer crashed and deleted all of it, so here are some of the basic points of the theory that I came up with:
Alastor grew up in the early 1900s, when the phonograph, invented and sold by Thomas Edison, was the main form of music recording and playing in the United States. Alastor was likely called a "gramophile", or gramophone enthusiast "who eschewed a wife and children to focus on music", as he was an asexual during this era. However, radio started to replace phonographs in the 1920s-1930s, cutting into Edison's profits, to his frustration.
Alastor was a popular radio host in the 1920s-1930s, and was one of the main reasons why people were buying and using radios, instead of Edison's phonographs and records, to play music. If people could listen to music for free on the radio, why would they buy Edison's phonographs? (Alastor was quite smug about this.)
The quality of music on the radio was often better than on Edison's phonographs and recordings, as many radio shows provided live music, which means inviting the band and musicians to play live on-air. It wasn't something that could be mass-produced for profit, also to Edison's consternation.
Alastor's specialty was jazz, a form of music originally "invented by, and for, the phonograph". (He also dabbled in blues as well.)
Unlike Edison and other phonograph and record producers, who were often racist and used what is called "digital blackface" today (i.e. pretending to be Black in recordings, because hiring Black artists over white artists was unthinkable), Alastor was an authentic mixed-race Creole host, though likely "white-passing".
Vox seems to be based, at least somewhat, on Thomas Edison, particularly as Edison didn't just formerly control the music industry with the phonograph, but also the movie industry, with one source stating that 75% of Americans in the 1920s went to the movies "every week". (Edison sold his film studio in 1918.)
Alastor seems to have a special disdain for Vox and his "picture show", all movies and TV shows. My guess is that this came from his disdain for Edison Pictures and the movies vs. radio rivalry.
Edison died at the age of 84 in 1931 from old age and diabetes complications, whereas Alastor was killed in his 30s-40s in 1933.
As an edit, here is Part 2 of this fan theory with a lot more evidence.
#hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor hazbin#alastor the radio demon#thomas edison#hazbin hotel theory#human alastor
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I’ve put a little too much thought into atla slang for gay people tonight so here’s this.
Kyoshi Island:
Speaks about sexuality openly on Kyoshi Island but knows to be more careful around outsiders.
“Is she, you know…a student of Rangi?” (gay/lesbian)
“No. But she does follow in the footsteps of Avatar Kyoshi. She prefers the versatility of the fan over the sword or the shield.” (bi)
Water Tribe:
More “traditional” than the other nations so it’s a bit more subtle and reliant on accompanying eyebrow movements, hand gestures, and tone of voice.
“He’d rather go sailing than stay in the village.” (mlm)
“She’s shown some interest in ice fishing.” (sapphic)
“I personally prefer to fish in the same waters as Avatar Kuruk.” (bi)
“He’d rather spend the winter months alone.” (ace)
Earth Kingdom:
“Are you a member of the Flying Opera Company?” (lgbt+)
No one, including the Kyoshi Islanders are aware of the origins of this particular phrase
Fire Nation:
“I’ve dabbled in dragon’s fire before.” (This phrase specifically would be something like ‘I did some experimenting in college’ but the reference to dragon’s fire/breath would mean lgbt+)
“He wears a crown of fire lilies.” (lgbt+)
Even before the hundred year war they were one of the more intolerant of the nations (based on the Kyoshi novels) and they probably only got worse during the hundred year war. I’m sure they would’ve come up with more slang by the time we get to Korra’s time but I’m out of ideas for the Fire Nation.
Air Nomads:
As they are totally open and accepting to all genders and sexualities they wouldn’t feel the need for coming up with specific labels, let alone weird secret codes and slang. When nomads begin exploring the world and start to learn about the other nation’s ideologies and slang and everything they’re always confused but respects the other nation’s traditions and cultures.
bonus
Swamp benders:
Even more open about gender and sexuality than Kyoshi Islanders. They’re super casual and blunt about it without being disrespectful but also not trying to be respectful because why would anyone be disrespectful about this? There’s a polycule consisting of roughly ten people who all connected through an asexual tribe member that each member of the polycule has a qpr with. Darryl over there is interested in folks of all sorts. His spouse is all the genders. Not to be confused with Jim over there who is none of the genders. Not to be confused with Junjun who is the third gender… (etc)
I didn’t do a big deep dive into each nation’s culture and history. This is just from the top of my head and is just for fun. Let me know if you guys have any other ideas!
#avatar the last airbender#atla#kyoshi#rangshi#rangi#avatar kyoshi#avatar kuruk#legend of korra#lok#atla slang#korrasami#zukka#kyoshi warriors
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you’re an angel, i’m a dog ; satoru gojo
synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.
word count; 4.3k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.
a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…
satoru thinks you deserve everything good.
”haah…”
— the sigh spills into the air, dripping with exhaustion, a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching.
just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.
another sigh. deep, exasperated — from satoru, this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment.
”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”
you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.
”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”
he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”
then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.
even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.
but you just won’t listen.
”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”
a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.
”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”
at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.
”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”
and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.
time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right.
of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.
still, though.
”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”
you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”
”my little night owl.”
that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.
with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”
satoru softens.
(always so good to him.)
”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”
in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.
he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.
satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease.
satoru thinks you deserve everything good.
it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.
so he’s been worried.
it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.
he just doesn’t trust your professor.
that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.
it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.
(it was only a matter of time.)
satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.
and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —
it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.
it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled.
there’s only one way to satiate it.
so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.
then he grabs his coat and slips outside.
the moon is visible through the window.
a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast.
(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)
”who… w — what are — ?”
satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure.
just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick.
he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.
he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.
he just can’t bring himself to care.
”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”
silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat.
it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.
satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”
another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.
then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”
the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.
before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”
it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair.
he wouldn’t lay a finger on her.
but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.
a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.
the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.
finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve.
three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly.
there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact.
that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.
(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?
it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)
there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.
and there you are.
on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes.
you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.
suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.
“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”
his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.
“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.”
he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch.
but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.
satoru would never cage you in. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious.
so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.
(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)
“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.
“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”
“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”
satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat.
and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance.
“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”
and he grins. like clockwork. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”
again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”
“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”
and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.
“right! i almost forgot!”
then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.
he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.
but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance.
satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.
you, you, you. the only thing that exists.
all of him is for you.
”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw.
”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting, slipping from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”
”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”
another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.
so precious that he forgets about everything else.
this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care.
you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.
it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it.
(something worth cherishing, no matter the cost.)
as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date.
satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.
“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”
satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”
“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“
“— yet.”
a pause.
satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”
a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist.
he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”
a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.
“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”
satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.
”you’re so gross.”
a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”
”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue.
”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.”
”charmer.”
”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”
and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything that’s good, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches a flicker of joy dance within your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.
the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think.
satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back.
so why not bear the weight of your burdens?
all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.
he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.
“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”
he prays it never will.
#im a lil unsure how to feel abt this piece i feel like it lost its flow pretty quickly 😔👉👈but i rlly did have fun writing it hehe#my baseline for yan!gojo is basically; a kind man who’s so in love w u that he’s willing to compromise his own morals to keep u safe#he’s not particularly possessive or even obsessive?? to him violence really is just . a necessary means to keep u happy#this is almost definitely the only yan piece ill ever write bUT im very fond of this gojo … he’s a tortured little meowmeow <33#cw yandere#yandere gojo#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#tw yandere
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His Grace is no Gentleman ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
— Wriothesley
⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, afab!reader (they wear a dress but are not referred to by feminine terms or gender pronouns), Wrio is taller than the reader (he is 6'6), author self insert coded fic, arranged dates, courtship, childhood friends, awkward tension, societal conventions, first date, semi-public sex, oral sex (reader receiving), clothed sex, unprotected sex, creampies, doggy style, Wrio is a gentleman, reader is a hot mess, slight insecurities, ambiguous ending.
⊹ Run time. 4.3k
⊹ Note. I started this fic before he was introduced in the archon quest so his lore doesn't line up 100% to canon so consider this a canon divergent fic <3
❝After years apart, you find yourself on a date with your childhood friend Wriothesley. With late summer heat that stifles and chokes and an unbearable amount of tension, you search for a way to reconnect with the stranger who stands before you.❞
The August air was stifling, a thick muggy heat hung low around the Court of Fontaine. Sweat and moisture clung to bodies like a second skin as summer held its last hurrah before fall elbowed its way in and left the region plunged in the wet season. Both were tortuous in their own ways but as you stood among throngs of hot, sweat-dabbled bodies, you’d much rather be shivering and damp as the cool autumn air rattled your bones. The small, lace-covered fan that hung off your wrist did little to quell the flush that filled your cheeks. It pushed around the warm air and swatted the heavy perfume that the woman next to you wore into your throat and eyes, making you choke.
Pushing your way out of the main gala room, you stumble through the halls, opening and closing doors until you happen upon a small empty room that looks upon one of the dozen decorative balconies that cover the outside of the building. The door shuts behind you with a loud slam but you pay little mind to it as you plop onto the first cushy chair within your reach. The cool evening air that filtered in through the open windows provided the slightest bit of relief. Plucking the gloves off your fingers you sigh, slouching further into your chair.
“I take it the gala has bored you?” A familiar voice asks, you jolt upright, your heart leaping in surprise, “I suppose I should have warned that the twins do take their time in setting up the stage for their performance.”
Wriothesley hovers near the doorway, fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket. You had been so wrapped up in making yourself comfortable you didn’t notice the door opening behind you. Rising to your feet, you attempt to mask the cringe that covers your expression.
“Your grace!” You exclaim, smoothing the layers of your skirt down in an attempt to make yourself appear presentable, “You have it all wrong! I was feeling faint from the heat.”
His pale blue eyes flit up and down your figure, “You do appear rather … flustered,” he states, tucking his hands into his pockets, “I extended to you an invitation to attend this gala with me.”
“Indeed, you did,” you blink.
“That makes me your date,” Wriothesley all but spells out, “You could have told me you were feeling ill.”
“Right.”
Guilt burns in your stomach. You had been a bit bored making small talk and you would have bolted at the first chance even if you hadn’t been sweltering. Wriothesley was a kind enough man and though you knew him during the tender years of childhood, the unfamiliarity that came with your growing pains left each interaction with him rather awkward. He was never the most talkative child and now as a man grown he’d become hardened by life and his stringent line of work. His austere gaze was disconcerting and unintentionally left your skin pimpled by chills.
“My apologies, your grace,” you reflexively dip your head into an apologetic bow, “I was not thinking clearly, I did not intend to abandon you, I assure you that I am very grateful to be here with you.”
It only takes a few steps for Wriothesley to stand before you thanks to his long stride. He appears somewhat disappointed in your response and you're an inch away from trying to kick yourself for offending him. A gasp cuts through the air when Wriothesley’s fingers wrap around your face, your lips forcibly protruding as he squishes your cheeks in the palm of his hand. The callouses that mar his skin are rough against your face, now that he’s just inches away you can see the blotchy yellow bruises littered across both of his knuckles and the barely visible mark on the underside of his jaw.
“I hate when you call me that,” he grits, a rare look of frustration crossing his features, “You know my name, you can say it.”
His voice is stern, but you don’t feel as if you’re being scolded though he regards you as little other than a petulant child.
“I want you to.”
You blankly blink up at him, gesturing with your hand to where he holds your face. Wriothesley releases you with an apology muttered beneath his breath, loudly clearing his throat afterward.
“Wriothesley,” the syllables of his name feel strange on your tongue after all these years, too many were spent turning him into some imposing, faraway figure, “You should know I have never been one to enjoy the festivities or formalities of court, the demands are far too taxing on my delicate constitution.”
He laughs at your slight joke and you crack a demure smile. It frustrated your parents and governess endlessly, your staunch refusal to partake in anything resembling formal gathering utterly maddening on the best of days. He’d seen the worst when you were six and he was ten but all that remained of that day was hazy memories of a tantrum, being dragged kicking and screaming down the stairs, and your parents' embarrassed expressions as they apologized to Wriothesley’s family for the dramatics on your behalf. But, you were no longer six and ten, a meltdown was no way to react to an invitation when you were well into your twenties even when the thought of spending time alone with a childhood friend felt all too daunting.
Every detail had to be nothing short of perfection when toeing about the court. Though, Wriothesley had been afforded the luxury of escaping such lessons as he grew far from the controlling hands of society. Etiquette lessons and expectations did not taint him or plague his mind as they did you. His gentlemanly disposition must have been pure charm on his part, he’d been kind to you and nothing short of gallant despite his rather gruff exterior. His reputation greatly preceded him these days and the weight of this evening was not lost to you. It wasn’t often he had time to himself, let alone time to entertain others. If you bungled this affair when your parents were hoping for a love match, you’d be humiliated and they’d be furious with you.
They held far more respect for a man gifted a title that was never his to own than they did for you, their flesh and blood. If they knew half of what you did, they wouldn’t feel so passionately but you supposed overflowing coiffers could breed enough ignorance to turn any man into an eligible bachelor.
“That I do,” he agreed with a humble nod, “That is why I chose a magic show, all the attention would be placed upon the stars of the show.”
“Thanks.”
Wriothesley gently cups your cheek, though his body seems rather rigid his expression is filled with sincerity. The gesture offers little comfort as he intended it to, but you feel the slightest bit better about continuing this evening. As you lean into his touch, chasing the tendrils of what used to offer relief when you felt unease, you smile at him as a sign of good faith. As if the slightest tick of your lips upward would erase the discomfort he brought you, when Wriothesley was here with his heart on his sleeve trying just as you were.
You force your lips into a smile in hopes of disguising the way your heart uncomfortably thrummed against your ribcage. The feeling of discontentment that soaked through your skin made your face prickle warmly with shame. You wanted to feel comforted by him but the weight of your parent's expectations crushed you like a bug beneath slippered feet. The heat of his gaze searching your face brought a whimper to your lips. It was throaty and low, quite pathetic too but you were sure that the sound wouldn’t reach Wriothesley’s ears.
But, it did.
A splash of pink washes over the tip of his nose and the tops of his cheekbones. His brows shoot up into his hairline as his eyes widen in shock, “Are you … Alright?” Wriothesley choked out, blinking rapidly at you, “I have not made you uncomfortable have I?”
“I … I am quite well,” you murmur shyly, sweat gathers at the nape of your neck and your knees threaten to buckle from the intensity of his stare.
He’s rather fixated on your mouth, you can feel how his eyes trail over the dip of your cupids bow. His tongue, pink and wet, darts out to wet his plush bottom lip. You can’t help but stare too. Wriothesley had always been cute, cute in a way that had all the lords and ladies of the country constantly cooing over how darling he was. With unruly raven-coloured hair and round rosy cheeks, he was like a doll come to life and he didn’t go a day where he wasn’t reminded. It filled his mother with such satisfaction that you would have thought it was her constantly being lavished with attention. Now though, as a man whose stature brushed just under 6’6, he was anything but cute. He was rather handsome, that much you allowed yourself to admit when you set your eyes upon him for the first time in several years, devastatingly so. Had your nerves not been so scrambled, you might have taken a moment to admire the man he’d grown into.
“Are you sure?”
You nod your head so your voice doesn’t betray you but the moment is far too quick. It’s almost eager. The calloused pad of his thumb slides against your cheek, it nearly brushes the corner of your mouth. Your breath hitches and for a moment you allow yourself to wonder. Would it be so wrong to shirk societal convention? It couldn’t be, not when it was just you and he, alone in this room with no prying eyes to cast judgment upon each minuscule movement. He must know this too, why else would he gaze upon you with such heat in his eyes?
“Indeed, I am,” you whisper, your throat tightening, “Do I seem unwell?”
Wriothesley shrugs, his lips pursing, “You seem …” His voice trails off, growing gruff near the end, “Can I not simply inquire about my oldest friend?”
“You may if that should please you.”
His face nears yours, his breath fanning across the bridge of your nose as he inches closer. Tendrils of his hair flop over his forehead and tickles your skin as he looms over you. The heat radiating off his body draws you closer, chasing what you once longed to escape.
The tip of his nose brushes against yours, his mouth dangerously close to yours, “And what pleases you?” He rasps, allowing his eyes to grow lidded.
Your jaw slacks, your lips forming a slight “o” shape as you fight off the wanton sound that claws at the inside of your throat. His lashes, long and wispy, sweep across his cheekbones but they hardly hide the dark inky pools of his expanded pupils. You can almost see your reflection within them, you’re thankful it's obscured. If you look as off-kilter as you felt, you’d rather not know.
Any response you may have had for him shrivels up and dies on the tip of your tongue. Furling your fingers into the fine satin of his shirt you offer Wriothesley a pathetically pleading look in hopes that he could still read you as well as he did in your tender years of youth. It seems in all your years apart, he hasn’t learned the art of reading minds nor expressions because he peers at you expectantly, waiting for something other than worried noises to leave you.
You can feel his heart thrumming through the thin material of his dress shirt, “Wrio …” You sigh, your eyes flickering between his mouth and eyes, “It should please me if you were to kiss me.”
Your voice warbles and you have no choice but to avert your gaze to focus on the scarred expanse of his neck. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his veins bulge beneath his skin as he clenches his jaw. The cool breeze that drifts through the open window rustles your dress and rattles your bones as you shiver. You move to take a step back, but his other hand flies out to grab your waist. His fingers press into your thick corsetted top, nearly grazing the space where your top meets your skirt and your skin is exposed.
“I must admit this is how I hoped the evening would end,” Wriothesley confesses as he tips your chin upward, his mouth ghosts over yours and your breaths mingle as he speaks, “But did not anticipate my fantasy would come to fruition.”
His bottom lip brushes against yours, “Is it fantasy if I am here and I am asking?”
Wriothesley shakes his head before dipping down to bring his lips to yours, tentatively kissing you. The air in your lungs exits in the form of steam blowing out from your ears and you feel lightheaded. Years of pent up want pours out from your mouth and drips into his, he laps it up with a fervent vigour that will plague you tomorrow when you reflect on this evening. He’s the only person you could open yourself up to. Wriothesley cared little for societal convention and conducted himself without any of the fanfare that followed a title like duke. You and he were human; carved from flesh, blood, and want. The shared desire that flickered in the spaces between your bodies also harboured an unspoken understanding. If you were amiable, he could fuck you on the floor of this empty drawing room and there’d be no expectation of a ring. You were unsure if marriage was what you wished for but you couldn’t deny the want that lived like a beast in your belly.
You stumble backward as the weight of him presses into you. His broad stature threatens to full engulf you and your frame. You welcome it, allowing his rough and inexperienced grip to persist even when it becomes uncomfortable. His tongue slips past your lips to lave over yours. The needy little sounds Wriothesley draws are drowned out but the wet smack of your mouths meeting. Your ears burn with embarrassment but it’s nothing compared to the heal that pools in your belly. It’s difficult to discern whether it's the muggy cloud that’s descended upon Fontaine scorching your skin or if it was the bubbling desires that grew far past a manageable, quiet simmer.
Wriothesley possessed a cryo vision, you thought his touch would be frigid but he melts your rigid, nervous exterior as his hands move to grope your waist. There isn’t much to feel, your frame is swathed with layers of thick, expensive fabrics. You managed to talk your mother out of tying a hoop skirt around your hips to elongate your figure. Still, there’s an unwanted barrier between you and the rough calloused palms you wish would tug your corset loose and make their way between your legs.
“More,” you pant between fevered kisses, yanking on his hard enough to pop a few buttons loose and reveal his scar-covered, hairy chest, “I want more.”
Your unspoken words hang precariously between your aching bodies. Wriothesley knows well enough, he must with the way you eagerly press your hips flush against his.
“Should that please you?”
You nod before your mouth can form words, “Yes,” you whisper though it sounds far closer to a whimper, the cocky smile that stretches across his face squashes the growing embarrassment that blooms and prickles at your chest, “It would please me greatly if you were to get on your knees before me.”
His expression turns wicked at your confession as if he’s pleased by your honesty. It’s the first time this evening that you haven’t minced your words or lathered them in half-truths to avoid confrontation. Wriothesley makes quite the show of sinking to his knees before you, the fine material of his slacks grows taunt around his muscular thighs and offers you an eyeful of his bulge.
“And what shall I do now?”
Slipping his hand beneath the hem of your gown, Wriothesley curls his fingers around your ankle and rubs a small circle into the silver of exposed skin, “Don’t play coy,” you whine as you thread your fingers into his hair, turning the nicely coiffed style into an unruly mess, “It is unbecoming of you, you know what I want Wriothesley.”
“Do I?” He wonders out loud, his mouth only snapping shut when he catches sight of your displeased expression, “Fine, I do!”
The beginnings of a sneer are quickly wiped from your face when Wriothesley ducks his head beneath the layers of your skirt. Clamping your bottom lip between your teeth, you fight off the shudder that slithers up your spine when his hot breath hits your wet cunt.
“No small clothes?” He questions, you can hear the smug expression he wears bleed into his words.
“Shut up!” You stammer, reaching behind you to steady yourself on the side chair, “It is far too hot for all these layers.”
Whatever he murmurs next is muffled and falls deaf on your straining ears. Your nails dig into the plush arm of the chair as he plants a sloppy, open-mouth kiss on your mound. Your knees nearly buckle but the ironclad grip Wriothesley has on your thighs keeps you standing upright as he brushes his mouth along your labia. His teeth poke out from his top lip and graze against your throbbing clit. Your stomach leaps into your chest at the sensation, your head growing heavier.
“Archons above,” you sigh, allowing your eyes to roll back.
The soft pleasured sound that dribbles down your tongue must reach his ears because his mouth falls open and with it, his tongue lolls out. The wet, hot heat of his mouth on your pussy draws a wanton whimper from you. Your ribs rattle from the heavy pants of breath that pass your lips in quick succession. His tongue swirls around your clit before he wraps his lips around the bud to suckle on it.
Your nails scrape uncomfortably against the plush velvet of the chair but your grip only tightens as pleasure fans across your sweat-dabbled skin. Your head drops against your shoulder and your hips arch forward as if you could bring yourself closer to him. The muscles in your belly grow taunt, and the feeling of his rough hands on the bare skin of your thighs and hips makes your toes curl.
“Wriothesley,” you moan, cursing under your breath when he lays his tongue flat against your folds and licked a strip from your sopping wet hole to your pulsing clit.
It grows tighter, the little coil in your belly that reminds your brain that bliss is coming so you fight the panic-stricken urge to shed your constricting corset and relax. Your chest heaves, the fat of your breasts bulging and nearly spilling out from your décolletage. You try to tell him that you’re close, to spur him on but all that comes out is a mumbly mess of moans and half words that trail off into unabashed, needy whines.
You don’t register that his tongue and mouth have left your weeping cunt throbbing and unsatisfied until his dishevelled head pops out from beneath your skirts. His thin lips are puffy and glossed with your slick. It drips down his chin in a rather obscene manner that makes your chest ache with need until your brain begins to speed up. A petulant whine gathers at the back of your throat and is ready to pierce Wriothesley’s pride once you’ve realized that he has left you without reprieve. The forceful press of his mouth to yours wipes your mind clear of any lingering disappointment.
The taste of you lingers on him, it’s slightly musky and twinged with the salt of sweat. You groan into Wriothesley as he rolls your taste around your tongue and the gums of your teeth. It is filthy and uncouth but the sweltering pit of desire within you grinds your reservations to dust. His belt and the set of handcuffs attached clink against one another as Wriothesley uses his free hand to free his cock from his slacks
“Lift ‘em,” he grunts with a nod of his head, “I- hah, need to be inside you, lift your skirts and turn around. Now.”
The bulbous red tip of his cock oozes precum as Wriothesley gives the base a firm squeeze. Gathering the layers of your skirts, you tentatively turn around to face the armchair. With a warm, steady hand pressed to the small of your back, he guides you to rest one leg up on the plush seat and angles the rest of you to lean against the back. Your body burns with something that dances between utter mortification and thrill. Calloused palms smooth over the supple skin of your ass as he slides his cock along the seam of your cunt to gather your arousal.
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Your hands tremble with anticipation as you crane your neck to peek at him from over your shoulder. His bottom lip is smushed between his teeth, you’re surprised it doesn’t bleed, his eyes are pressed shut, and his head is thrown back. The two of you moan when Wriothesley presses his cock to your hole, the stretch burns and tears begin to prickle at your eyes from the slight pain. They spill over your lash line and slip down your cheeks when he thrusts into you. The heat of his body is suffocating as he presses his chest to your spin, his chin resting on your shoulder.
“You can take it,” he whispers gruffly against the shell of your ear, “I know you can.”
His chapped lips graze across your cheekbone and his tongue darts out to lap up your tears, “Wrio…” You whimper, burying your face into the arm of the chair, “You better make me finish.”
Your command comes out feeble since your cheek is smushed against the chair and your voice is thickly coated with wanton need. Still, his hand snakes around your body and beneath your bunched up skirts to stroke your clit as he thrusts into you from behind, grunting into your ear. Your head spins as his cock slowly slides in and out of your velvet walls, the rough pads of his fingertips against your clit steal away your breath as pinpricks of pleasure zip up your spine.
“Uhuh,” Wriothesley absent mindedly groaned, his teeth catching on your ear lobe, “You’re taking me so well.”
There’s a hint of accusation in his words, or maybe you’re reading too into his words. Your brain had always been your worst enemy. Amidst the hazy swamp of lust and pleasure, there’s a small panicky voice that reminds you that life will go on outside of these walls and you’ll be stuck with the memories of desire fuelled actions that cannot be taken back. It nags at your brain, eating away at the space between your lungs at a terrifying speed and you realize despite the awkward tension that permeated the air, you didn’t want this to be the end of you and him.
You aren’t afforded the chance to ruminate on it for too long, your orgasm washes over you and swipes away the tangled web of thoughts that have made a home against your skull. Your throat is raw and scratchy as you moan out the broken syllables of his name. His chest rumbles with endeared laughter when your hand flies back to desperately seek purchase in his sturdy, warm frame. You manage to hook your fingers around his dress shirt, and the hard lines of his body tremble and contract with each sloppy thrust into your overstimulated hole.
Sweat dribbles down the curve of your neck, “Please,” you plead for nothing in particular, your moving to speak words of no consequence because it needed something to do to stave off the overwhelming waves of pleasure that rolled through you with each snap of his hips against your ass, “Give it to me, I need it.”
Your words seem to bring him there, his thrusts begin to stutter and cant forward and rest flush against the dough flesh of your ass as he cums, his hands squeezing at your torso as he buries his face into your shoulder. His spend seeps out of your cunt and sticks to your inner thighs. You’re sure it stains the waistband of Wriothesley’s dress pants but he says nothing as he nuzzles closer to your heaving body.
“You’re going to take me on a date,” you pant, swiping your knuckles across your brow bone to wipe away the perspiration gathered there, “Next week, somewhere private and quiet.”
Your chest tightens as you await for his response. It takes Wriothesley to gather his wits, his heavy breath slowing into a calm rhythm, “I can do that,” he says, chuckling a bit to himself, “But, only if you wear this dress again.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you mumble, “I think the fabric may be ruined from our sweat.”
You can’t see his face, but there's a smile on his lips that bites into his words, “A noble sacrifice, huh?” He jokes.
You nod a bit, biting your lip to hide your own growing grin.
“Only if you kiss me again, maybe then it’ll have been worth it.”
And he does, his stubbly jaw scratches against your face as he presses his lips to yours. You hope there will be more to come, on the streets of Fontaine and out in the wilds of the country. With the way he tenderly cups your jaw, and caresses the side of your face, you think there will be.
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#wriothesley smut#wriothesley x reader#genshin smut#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#gi smut#wriothesley x you#genshin impact smut
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